The Haven (11 page)

He almost smiled at the irony of his thoughts. From one family came M.K., who seemed like the type who would want to push every envelope: Draw a line and watch me cross it! And then there was Sadie, who saw the rules of the church as comforting, the way a snug seat belt in a car is meant for your protection. How could two sisters begin at the same spot but end up as such different individuals?

As soon as the church service ended, it was as if someone had fired a warning shot. The young boys in the back rows all leaped into action, crowding into the aisle and bursting out the door to soak up the sunshine. Gideon Smucker stepped into the aisle to let the boys gallop past him. He wanted to try to get a moment alone with Sadie, but Fern stood next to her like a mother bear shielding her cub. Before the service started, Gid had watched a few girls snub Sadie. He thought he had seen tears in Sadie’s eyes. His own eyes stung in sympathy. How could he fix this?

When their eyes met, she grew flustered and pivoted away. He tried to draw near to her as she was heading to the kitchen to join the women. He raised his eyes and let himself feast on her for just a few seconds. Strands of loose hair fluttered across her cheek. He could hardly resist touching her cheek and smoothing back a wisp of hair. Twice, he opened his mouth to speak; both times, words failed him.
I love you, Sadie!
he called out silently.
Do you love me? Just a little?
But, of course, she didn’t hear him. And after that, Sadie avoided looking at him. Discouraged, he decided he would just make up a feeble excuse about needing to get home and skip lunch altogether.

“Gideon Smucker! You hold up there a minute.”

Stifling a groan at the sound of Fern’s voice, Gid came to a halt just as he reached the door.

Fern’s stern frown sent folks scuttling out of her way. “I need your help with something. There’s a young fellow staying at Windmill Farm to babysit the falcons. His name is Will Stoltz and I want you to sit with him for lunch.”

Gid looked over at the English fellow. He was standing on the outskirts of a group of Amish men who were milling about, discussing the weather. “He looks like he’s got plenty of company.”

“That’s the truth. He does seem to make friends easily. Sure does buzz around Sadie.”

Gid had noticed Will Stoltz had hopped right outside when Sadie had gone out from the service with the baby. What was Fern trying to say—that Will Stoltz was interested in Sadie? Or could Sadie be interested in him? Not possible!

“I’ll eat with him,” he told Fern.
I’ll keep him away from Sadie
, was what he meant. He slammed his hat onto his head and charged out the door.

The lightning bugs were out in full force. Sadie sat on the swing in the backyard and listened to the night sounds. The last few nights, after settling the baby down, she had started coming outside to pray. There was something about being under the open sky, she found, that made it easier to put her thoughts into prayers. She had a lot to pray about these days. She felt an urgent decision bearing down on her. “Lord, this can’t all be for nothing,” she cried aloud.

“What’s for nothing?”

She spun around and saw a flicker of light from the far end of the back porch. The flicker became a glow, accompanied by a ribbon of aromatic smoke. Uncle Hank’s deep chuckle resonated in the night. He smoked a pipe every so often, but rarely before witnesses. “Did you think it was the Lord Almighty answering you back?” Another chuckle. “Well, Sadie, come on over here and join me since you’re up.”

Sadie made her way to the edge of the porch, where Uncle Hank sat in one of two rickety straight-back chairs. Sadie sank into the second chair, smiling when a barn cat stretched out her paws and meowed in greeting.

A thin band of smoke circled Uncle Hank as gentle puffs rose from the pipe’s bowl, flavoring the air. The smoky scent was sweet, earthy, manly. Uncle Hank took a draw on the pipe, creating a soft glow in the bowl, and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “I’m quitting soon. Real soon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. But in the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Fern about this. You know how she thinks I’m going to burn the porch off the house one of these times.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Sadie said.

“Want to tell me what’s keeping you awake?”

Sadie let out a deep sigh. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.” She didn’t have to say anything. He knew. People underestimated Uncle Hank, and he liked to keep it that way—he often said it was comforting to have such low expectations placed on him—but Sadie knew he grasped the heart of important matters in a way few others did.

“Don’t take a few mean-spirited remarks to heart, Sadie. NOSIR. There will always be folks that behave like a flock of chickens, peckin’ on the one they see as the weakest.”

Sadie nodded. She had witnessed the hens’ ill-treatment of one poor bird in the coop—the one M.K. named Toot. Sadie’s heart stirred with pity each time she glimpsed that bedraggled, skinny hen huddling in the corner of the coop. She had tried to rescue it and raise it as a pet in the barn, but Toot kept escaping and heading right back to the coop. In a way, Sadie thought she understood Toot’s logic. That poor hen would rather be with her friends, pecked at and heckled, than be without them.

W
ill Stoltz had never worked so hard in all his life. On Monday morning, Amos set him behind two harnessed-up chestnut Belgians with white manes. They carried the odd names of Rosemary and Lavender, the gentlest, biggest beasts known to mankind. When he asked how the horses got their names, Amos said that he always allowed his children the privilege of naming the animals. Julia named the cats, Menno named the dogs, M.K. named the chickens, and Sadie named the horses. All of the horses had names of herbs or spices, he explained, because that was Sadie’s main interest. The newest buggy horse was named Cayenne. Now, that was a name that needed no explanation. Will had already noticed Cayenne, pawing away in her stall like she was trying to break free.

Amos promised him that plowing the field would be as easy as dragging a spoon through pudding with the help of these two mighty Belgians. “You’ll have it done in no time!” he said, patting Will on the back as he turned to leave him. Rosemary and Lavender dragged the plow back and forth, turning the ground over, exposing rich, dark soil. Thick as it was, only the horses’ combined strength made the task bearable. After turning the plow in the opposite direction, Will’s arms felt shaky. Like they might rattle right off. He was pretty sure his arms would go completely numb before he finished this field. If, that is, he ever finished. He might expire right here, in the middle of a field, and not be found until the buzzards circled over him.

But there were worse things than having to deal with two gigantic horses and a plow all day—like having to deal with his own problems. He couldn’t believe it when he heard his cell phone ring in his pocket. He groaned, recognizing the ringtone he had set for Mr. Petosky—a startling alarm. How was it possible to get extremely sketchy service on this farm, but whenever Mr. Petosky happened to call, he seemed to be in just the right spot for it to come through? He stopped the horses and sat down on the plow to answer the phone. “I thought we had an agreement that you would wait until I called with updates.”

“So sue me,” Mr. Petosky said. “Any activity with those birds? Are you scouting them out?”

“Yep, morning, noon, and night,” Will said. He looked up and saw Adam fly over the cherry orchard, off in the distance. Or was it Eve? It was hard to spot the difference in size without his binoculars. “Look, you’re going to have to be patient. You can’t rush nature.”

“Think it’s going to work?” Mr. Petosky asked. “Are they sticking around?”

“I think so. The falcons like this farm. The female is staying close to the scape. Wouldn’t surprise me if she lays her clutch this week.”

“Good. Good. Keep an eye on those birds.”

Will had sensed from the beginning that Mr. Petosky had a lot more interest in these rare birds than he let on. “That’s what I’ve been doing, Mr. Petosky,” he said, his voice thin on patience.

“Well, I’m just trying to give you some tips, that’s all,” Mr. Petosky said. “How do you like living out there in the boonies?”

“It’s not the boonies.” Will looked around, praying no one would come by.

Mr. Petosky snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to enjoy living with those kooks.”

“They’re not kooks, Mr. Petosky. They’re a very nice family.” Probably the kindest people Will had ever met. “They’re not like you think.”

That only got Mr. Petosky laughing out loud. “Imagine that! Will Stoltz, trust fund kid, bound for medical school until he gets himself kicked out of college—”

“Suspended. There’s a difference.”

“—trying to pay off his lawyer to get rid of his DUI before his old man hears about it—imagine a kid like you wanting to be Amish.”

“I never said I wished I were Amish. I only said these are nice people.” Will was irritated now. “Look, Mr. Petosky, if there’s nothing else you need from me right now, I really need to get back to work.”

“That’s fine, kid. Just remember that June 16 is right around the corner.”

Will heard the click of a hang up.

Rosemary and Lavender looked at him with their big brown eyes and long eyelashes, wondering what he wanted.
What do I want?
he thought as he shook the reins to get the gentle giants moving.
What in the world do I really want?
Life here was nothing like Philadelphia, but he felt just as lost.

When Gid returned to the house after school let out on Monday, he wasn’t surprised to find the deacon, Abraham, sitting on the back porch with his father, sipping iced tea. That sight was nothing new. The ministers and bishop and deacon often had church problems that needed discussing. Long conversations, looking at the problem from every angle, trying to find solutions that were fair and just and pleasing to God. So as to not interrupt them, Gid went through the side door and washed up at the kitchen sink. The back door was left open and he heard Abraham say, “This is on shaky ground, Ira. There’s no real cut-and-dry answer.”

“But you wouldn’t ask him to quit, would you? If he married her in six weeks’ time?” He heard his father let out an exasperated sigh. “He loves teaching, you see.”

Gid grabbed a dishrag and took a step closer to the door.

Abraham took awhile to respond. “I heard of one community that let the fellow continue teaching because the pupils wouldn’t have to shun him, seeing as how they aren’t baptized.” Gid heard Abraham settle back in his chair. “But most would make him stop until he was a member again in good standing.”

Gid leaned against the door. He thought something like this might be stirring after receiving a few chilly receptions in church yesterday. Before lunch was served, he had walked up to his friends, deep in conversation, and they suddenly stopped talking, looked uncomfortable, and the circle broke up. If this was how he had been treated, how must Sadie be feeling? His heart went out to her. He wasn’t going to let her face this alone. He threw down the dishrag and went out to the porch.

Abraham looked up when he saw Gid and smiled, standing up to welcome him. The deacon was shorter than Gid by several inches. He reached out and gripped his hand firmly. “Have a seat, please,” Abraham said, and he waited until Gid had sat down before he took the chair facing him. Gid was reminded of how he felt when he met with the ministers about becoming baptized, and in a sense he supposed that was what this was all about.

Abraham steepled his fingers together, as if praying before he began to speak. “I take it you heard what we’re talking about?”

Gid nodded.

“A child is always a good thing. We thank God for bringing this little boy into our lives. But we need to make things right for this child.” He glanced at Gid. “Just because a marriage starts off on the wrong foot doesn’t mean it can’t find its right path.” The deacon crossed one leg over the other and set his Bible on top of his thigh, both hands resting on it. “So, your father tells me you are willing to make a confession that you have sinned. Is that true?”

Gid nodded. He could make a confession like that. He definitely could. He knew he was a sinner. Didn’t his thoughts often wander down slippery paths?

Abraham clapped his palms together, pleased. “So then, I will ask the bishop if we could let you keep on teaching.”

Ira asked Abraham a question and the two went back and forth for a while. Gid was beginning to breathe more easily now that he realized that he probably wouldn’t be called on to do much talking.

Abraham turned to Gid. “And after six weeks’ proving time, then the bann will be lifted, and you can marry.” He clapped his hands together. “And then . . . a fresh start!”

Ira gazed at Gid, waiting for him to respond to Abraham. But what could he say? If he objected to getting put back or marrying Sadie so quickly, he would be betraying her. “What I mean,” Gid started, “is that . . .” but then he couldn’t think of what to say or how to say it. This was what he hated so much about conversations in which he was forced to participate. He could never end his part right. He was always trailing off lamely and leaving thoughts unfinished. Maybe he should suggest using pencil and paper for a conversation sometime. He was sure he could come across better if he could write his responses. Or better still, if he could find the words in the works of Shakespeare or Wordsworth, and they could speak for him. But that wouldn’t really be addressing the heart of this dilemma. He didn’t need Shakespearean language for that.

There were a few things Gid knew for certain about himself: He wasn’t the life of the party. He didn’t enjoy casual conversations, like striking up conversations with people standing next to him in a grocery line or at the hardware store. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever doing such a thing. He didn’t make friends easily or quickly. He knew those things about himself. But he was loyal to a fault. When he loved someone, he would stick by to the bitter end.

Abraham was waiting for his answer. Fumbling to speak, he blurted out, “I want to make things right for Sadie.”

Abraham stood. “Well, then. I guess that’s that.” As he passed Gid, he placed a hand on his head like he was giving him a blessing.

Gid looked at his father. “That’s it?”

Ira leaned back in his chair and sighed, relieved. “That’s it.”

Will Stoltz felt muscles he never knew he had. After putting the plow upright in the barn with the other tools, Amos told him that now he should spread manure from the compost pile over the field he had just plowed. Shoveling manure atop the field took the rest of the afternoon. Oh, how his father would relish that sight! The way Will’s luck was going lately, he was surprised the game warden hadn’t dropped by to check on the falcons while Will was knee-deep in manure.

Thinking of the game warden reminded him that he had better hurry to go observe the falcons at dusk. He hadn’t spotted any eggs in the scape, but any day now, he was sure one would appear. Hopefully, more than one. A niggling doubt poked at him, but he pushed it away. He
wasn’t
doing anything wrong. Not technically.

As he left the barn, he saw a horse and buggy pull up the drive. He shielded his eyes from the western sun and thought he saw Sadie in the driver’s side. He smiled. His luck was turning.

Will met Sadie as she pulled the buggy to a stop. He opened the door to help her down. “Where have you been?”

“To the store. I left a few things there.” She reached into the backseat to get a couple of packages of cloth diapers. “And Fern says it’s time to switch this baby from paper diapers to cloth.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was a little disappointed to hear that.” Then she got a whiff of Will. “Why, you’re as dirty as a peasant in a mud puddle. What have you been doing today?”

“Your dad got me plowing.” Will pointed over to the field. He was proud of his work. Palm on his forehead, he heaved a mighty sigh. He opened his palm and looked at it. His hand was filled with blisters. So was the other hand.

“Oh no! Will, didn’t you use gloves?”

“Believe it or not, I did.”

“You’ve got some serious blisters there, and more coming.”

“They’re not all that bad. I was just pouring some water over them when you arrived. They actually feel much better now.” More likely, his hands had lost all feeling. His arms hadn’t lost that shaky feeling, as if he were still plowing.

She looked at him as if she didn’t believe him. “You’d better come up to the house. I’ll fix something up for those poor red hands of yours. I have just the thing to speed up their healing.” When he hesitated, she added, “You’ll be sorry tomorrow if you don’t let me help you now.”

“I’ve got to get out to the falcons before the sun sets.” He looked down at her. Strands of hair fluttered across her cheek. Automatically, he reached over and used the back of his fingers to tuck them behind her ear. A slight blush stained her cheeks, which charmed him. She was so unlike the girls he had known. “I’ll stop by later, after you all have supper, if that’s okay.”

Side by side, they strolled toward the house. Mouthwatering aromas wafted from the house and Will’s stomach rumbled. Sadie glanced up at the house, then back to Will. “Join us for supper.”

Will winced. “I’m not so sure your housekeeper would want that. She isn’t too fond of me.”