The Rescued (15 page)

The word seemed to echo in the quiet room, and Adam felt the tension drawing close around them like a fence wire.

“Who is talking about arrest?” Bishop Thomas's voice was grave.

John gestured with the paper. “I am. I was harnessing the buggy horse to come here when a police car pulled in my lane. The officer gave me this.” He handed it to the bishop. “It orders me to send my boy to school tomorrow or they'll arrest me.”

A murmur of dismay spread through the room. Mattie's hands clenched each other so tightly her knuckles turned white. Adam longed to reach out and take those straining hands in his, but he couldn't, not here where everyone would see.

Bishop Thomas read his way unhurriedly through to the bottom of the page, his face grave. Finally he looked around the circle. “It's true. Our brother John is facing arrest.”

The murmurs grew louder. Those closest to John touched his shoulder in mute sympathy.

“We must decide how to combat this threat.” He shook his head. “I blame myself. Pastor Colby feared it might come to this, but I didn't dream they would go so far. He offered to seek legal advice for us, but I held back.”

They all knew why. The Amish didn't go to the courts for relief of wrongs. If trouble came, it was because God had allowed it.

“How do we know this man isn't trying to trick us?” Behind
John's usual bluster, Adam could hear the fear. So must their ancestors in Europe have felt. Who could be trusted?

“I have talked with the pastor several times,” Bishop Thomas said. “He may be sincere and still not able to influence what happens.” He looked slowly around the circle of faces. “I feel it isn't right for the church to make this decision for all of you. Each parent is in a different situation, so each one must decide for himself. Or herself. No one must be held to blame for the choice.”

Adam hitched his chair a little closer to Mattie's and exchanged glances with his onkel on the other side of her. Mattie's face was so white it seemed there was no blood left in her at all. She wasn't going to pass out, was she?

“Denke.” John's voice was heavy. “I have decided. I will not send my son to the school. If I must go to jail, I will.”

Adam had never admired the man more. John might be bossy and abrasive, but, like the martyrs, he was ready to sacrifice himself for what was right.

Bishop Thomas nodded. “We will make sure that there is plenty of help at your place for however long this takes. And I think we must accept Pastor Colby's offer to get legal advice for us. If we are to stand up against the Englisch law, we must know what to expect.”

There was a murmur of agreement. Adam hadn't expected anything else. For the most part, when it came to real trouble, people relied on Bishop Thomas's wisdom.

A few more people asked questions, but the group seemed to fall silent quickly. Each one of them probably anticipated a visit from the police. Each one questioned what he or she would do in that case.

Adam looked at Mattie, and his thoughts were filled with
such confusion that he barely heard the bishop's final remarks or his prayer. Mattie must be protected. What was happening to John Stoltzfus must not happen to her.

•   •   •

“I'm
sorry to take you away from your own chores on a Friday morning.” Rebecca whipped a sheet across the bed in one of her guest bedrooms, and Judith caught the edge and pulled it straight. “But with Barbie working all day at the bakery and last-minute guests coming—”

“Ach, forget about it. My mamm is happy to have Noah all to herself for a few hours, and I was glad to come. It's more fun to do someone else's chores than our own, ain't so?”

Besides, Judith had her own reasons for wanting to be away from home for a bit. Maybe here she could stop going over and over what had happened with Isaac and Joseph. She might be able to keep herself from weeping in pain and frustration.

“Barbie doesn't usually work all day at the bakery, does she?”

Rebecca shook her head, smoothing the double wedding ring quilt down the length of the bed. “One of the sisters is down with a bad cold, so Barbie is helping out longer. They're usually busy over these nice fall weekends.”

“Like you.” Judith plumped the pillow on her side and looked around to see if anything else needed to be done.

“I'm wonderful glad to get these extra bookings now that summer is over. It's unexpected money coming in. But with the wedding only a month away . . .”

“I know.” Judith struggled to suppress her own sorrows and show the joy that Rebecca surely deserved. “Can you believe that you and Matthew will be married so soon?”

Rebecca stopped what she was doing to stand still, smiling, a stack of clean towels hugged to her chest. “I really thought I'd never find love again, but God had a surprise in store when he sent Matthew to me.” She seemed to chuckle at her own enthusiasm. “Ach, listen to me, sounding like an eighteen-year-old. But love makes you feel that way, ain't so?”

The smile felt frozen on Judith's face. Somehow she managed to mumble an agreement, but she was relieved when Rebecca went out of the room to put the towels in the bathroom.

She let the smile slide away and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Dear Rebecca. She was as close as a sister. If only Judith could tell her what had happened.

But she couldn't. It wasn't fair to disrupt her cousin's happiness with her own pain and disappointment. Besides, telling anyone seemed disloyal to Isaac.

A knife seemed to stab at her heart. Isaac was already convinced that she'd been disloyal to him, and she'd begun to think nothing could ever change his feelings.

Twice she'd tried to talk to him about Joseph—once after the kinder were in bed and again this morning. Both times he'd walked away before she could get two words out.

She'd hoped that in the privacy of their bedroom last night they might be able to talk, but when Isaac had come in, his face had been so stony she hadn't had the courage to speak. He'd gotten into bed, turned his back to her, and gone to sleep. Or at least pretended to do so.

And Judith had lain awake much of the night, trying to pray, trying to allow only silent tears to escape.

“I think that's everything up here,” Rebecca said, reappearing in the doorway. “Now for the baking.”

“That's even more fun.” Judith forced a smile. “What are we making?”

“I thought shoofly pie and walnut streusel coffee cake for breakfasts.” Rebecca started down the stairs. “And I like to have plenty of bars and cookies on hand for snacks. At least these folks didn't sign up to do suppers here, so I don't have to worry about that meal.”

Rebecca served big breakfasts to all her overnight guests, and she would provide other meals if they wanted them. It meant more money, but Judith guessed it probably got a little tiring, as well. She followed Rebecca into the kitchen, where mixing bowls and pans were already out on the counter.

“At least the family eats whatever we put in front of them.” Without asking, Judith began chopping walnuts for the coffee cake. “I suppose your guests might be a little fussier.”

“Barbie says as long as we call something by a Pennsylvania Dutch name, the visitors will eat it.”

“That sounds like Barbie.” Their younger cousin seemed to have a frivolous attitude toward just about everything.

Rebecca smiled, shaking her head. “Ach, she's not so bad. She has a kind heart under her manner. Grossmammi thinks it's high time she was getting married, but Barbie claims she's having too much fun.” Her expression grew tender. “She doesn't know what she's missing, does she? Sharing a life with someone you love with all your heart . . .” She stopped, staring at Judith. “Judith, what is it? Was ist letz?”

She couldn't help it. The tears she'd been so determined not to shed spurted out, and her body shook. She dropped the knife she was holding and put her hands over her face, ashamed but unable to stop.

Rebecca's arm went around her as she guided her to a chair and sat down next to her, patting her gently and murmuring the soft nonsense words they might use to one of the kinder. But this was far worse than a scraped knee, and neither Rebecca nor Judith would know how to fix it.

Finally the tears slowed. Rebecca moved to the sink and returned with a cool wet cloth. Judith took it gratefully, pressing it against swollen eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered. “I didn't mean to . . .”

“Don't be foolish,” Rebecca chided. “You've seen me cry often enough. Tell me, but only if you want to.”

Judith took a breath, trying to ease the tightness in her chest. “The trouble between Isaac and Joseph—” She stopped, shook her head. “I didn't know what to do. All Isaac can think is that the farm should be Joseph's, because that's what his father had planned. And Joseph isn't interested in the farm at all. He's mad for working with machines.”

“But Isaac did let him take that class he wanted, ain't so?” Rebecca set a glass of water in front of her, and she drained it quickly.

“Ja, but only because he thought it would be useful on the farm. He's just . . . It's like Isaac is blind on that subject. Everyone else can see what Joseph wants except him. I was just trying to keep the peace. Telling Joseph to wait, to let Isaac understand gradually that running the dairy farm isn't right for him.”

Rebecca patted her shoulder. “That's gut advice, but I suppose like most boys, he was too impatient to take it.”

Judith buried her face in her hands, wishing she could live yesterday over again. “It's worse than that. Joseph was sounding off to me about it and Isaac heard. Now he blames Joseph for
not wanting to do what their father wanted, and he blames me for not telling him.” She pressed her fingers against her temples. “I just . . . I love them both. I don't want them to hurt each other. If Isaac can't change, I fear he'll lose his brother entirely.”

“Oh, my dear, I'm sorry. So sorry. I wish I could help.” Rebecca's voice was filled with sympathy.

“I know.”

Rebecca couldn't help her. No one could. She'd thought she could deal with the problem, and look at the result. More pain for everyone, and no end in sight. If Isaac couldn't forgive her . . .

“I'll pray,” Rebecca said. “God can change people's hearts, ain't so?”

Judith nodded, trying hard to believe it would happen. “If only I could find some way to get them to talk calmly about it. If I'd been wiser in how I handled it, maybe this wouldn't have happened.”

“And it might have turned out just the same,” Rebecca said firmly. “You aren't to blame. Perhaps it's time you stopped trying to handle things between them and let them work it out themselves.”

Everything in her rebelled at the thought. How could she stand back and see two people she loved hurt each other so badly?

But what could she do? She'd already tried, and she'd failed. The cost of that failure was tearing her heart in two.

Lancaster County, Late September 1953

M
attie
glanced at Rachel as her daughter turned the buggy horse into the lane at Mary Ann Miller's house. The morning was chilly, and she'd been glad of the warmth of her cape on the ride over. Fall was in the air, and the sumacs in the hedgerows already wore their autumn colors, their tops like so many blazing torches.

With all the worries of the past weeks, Mattie hadn't really felt much like a quilting frolic, but Mary Ann would be disappointed if they didn't come. Besides, Rachel could probably use the distraction. Ever since word had come of John Stoltzfus's arrest, they had both tensed each time they heard a vehicle coming down the road. No doubt Rachel wondered, as she did, if this time the police were coming to deliver a demand to her.

So far it hadn't happened. John had been sentenced to five days in the county jail, with the rest of the community taking over the work at his farm. He'd come out sobered, but apparently none the worse for the ordeal, and still he kept his boy
home, despite the threat of a longer jail term if they arrested him again.

What were the officials waiting for? Mattie had begun almost to feel that it would be better to face the situation rather than to bear this uncertainty. But perhaps that was part of their plan. If they wanted parents to be sick with apprehension, they'd succeeded with her.

“Are you all right, Mammi?” Rachel drew up to the house.

Mattie forced herself to answer normally. “Fine. Let's take care of the horse and get inside. It looks as if several folks are here before us.”

But Mary Ann's oldest boy was already running toward them, looking pleased with himself since he'd obviously been given the chore of taking care of the horses and buggies. Greeting him, they slid down from the buggy, collected the sewing basket, and headed inside.

“Those who live the closest are always the last to get here,” Mary Ann teased as she welcomed them into the kitchen. “Komm. Have coffee and greet everyone. We'll start in a few minutes.”

It was more than a few minutes, of course. A quilting frolic was as much about visiting with the other women as it was about the sewing. Mary Ann's two married sisters were there, as well as her sixteen-year-old niece, Ella, who immediately pulled Rachel to her side and embarked on a conversation that was mostly whispers and giggles.

“Anna!” Mattie hurried to exchange hugs with Anna Lapp, who was married to one of Ben's many cousins. “I didn't know you were going to be here. It's wonderful gut to see you.”

Anna and Jacob Lapp didn't live all that far away, but it was a long enough trip that it took a special effort for her to come.

“I didn't know either until yesterday.” Anna's face glowed with pleasure. “But Jacob had to get a driver to take him over to New Holland for some equipment, so he said they might as well bring me on the way. And Jacob's mamm was eager to watch the kinder, so here I am.”

Anna and Jacob had married soon after his return from the conscientious objector camp at the end of the war, and they already had four little ones and another on the way, Mattie's experienced eye told her. After the two of them had been forced apart for so long, everyone had rejoiced when they'd finally been able to pick up the lives that had been interrupted by the war.

“Ben's mamm is at my house, and just as eager to have her grandchildren to herself, I'd guess,” Mattie said. They smiled, each knowing how much grossmammis enjoyed special times with the young ones on their own.

“Komm, now.” Mary Ann eventually decided it was time to interrupt the eating and chatting. “You can talk around the quilting frame, ain't so? Let's get started. There's chicken soup on the stove for our lunch after we get some serious sewing done.”

“You mean we have to work for our lunch,” one of her sisters teased, but no one minded Mary Ann being a little bossy. It was just her way, and they all knew her well enough to see the kindness behind it.

They all trailed into the living room, where some of the furniture had been moved out to accommodate the quilting frame, on which Mary Ann's newest creation was stretched. Chairs had been placed around the frame, and folks chose seats and began pulling needles and thimbles from their baskets.
Mary Ann would provide everything that was needed, but most women wanted their own thimbles, at least.

Mattie slipped her grandmother's thimble onto her finger, as always having an image of Grossmammi's work-worn hands creating a quilt or sewing a heavy pair of men's pants. It never seemed to matter what she'd worked on, as long as her fingers were busy.

“That's a nice pattern, Mary Ann.” Anna settled into the chair next to Mattie. “A broken star log cabin combination this time, ain't so?”

Mary Ann loved quilting, and unlike those who stuck to the traditional patterns, she seemed to enjoy combining them in different ways. This time the log cabin blocks were interspersed with the angles of stars.

“It is.” Mary Ann sent a smiling glance toward Rachel. “And the colors are thanks to our Rachel. She was helping me the day I started it.”

There was a murmur of approval around the frame, and Rachel's cheeks grew pink as she ducked her head.

“Your Rachel has a wonderful eye for color,” Anna said quietly, her words just for Mattie. For the most part, the Leit didn't praise their sons and daughters to others, not wanting to sound prideful, but Mattie had to admit that she liked hearing it.

She nodded. “Rachel loves to sew. Sometimes I'm tempted to turn all the family sewing over to her. I think she'd like to set up in business as a seamstress when she's a little older.”

Unless Rachel's life changed in ways Mattie couldn't imagine. If the school board had its way and Rachel was eventually forced to attend the consolidated high school, would she lose
her pleasure in such simple tasks? Would she be persuaded that it was better to do something the outside world considered important?

When needles were threaded and ready, Mary Ann looked around the quilting frame and nodded. “Let's begin.”

Needles swooped, the thread diving down through layers of quilt top, batting, and backing and then sweeping back up again, like so many hummingbirds darting quickly from one flower to the next. Everyone knew who the fastest needles were in the group, just as everyone knew that the quilt would not be advanced on its frame until each person finished the area in front of her. There was no point in hurrying or trying to be first. It was far more important that the quilting stitches were straight and tiny and nearly invisible.

Mary Ann smiled in satisfaction as she glanced around the frame, and Mattie understood her feeling. With so much they couldn't control happening in their lives right now, it was satisfying to work on something they could.

Just the thought was enough to take a little of the pleasure out of the moment, and she shouldn't let that happen. As long as they were living as God planned for them, nothing should be able to take away their joy.

Of course it was too much to hope that the trouble on everyone's mind wouldn't surface soon. The break came in the form of a question from Mary Ann's sister Barbara.

“Anna, is your church district having trouble with your school board over trying to force the scholars to stay in school longer?”

Anna shook her head, a frown disturbing the peace of her expression. “Not yet, but I fear it is coming. The Englisch are
planning for a new high school, like the one your district has.” She looked around at their faces. “So we are watching you, I guess. Maybe we can learn from you how to handle it when it comes.”

Mattie glanced at Rachel, finding her calm undisturbed. She would rather the subject hadn't come up in front of her, but it was inevitable, with every Amish parent worrying about it.

“I don't see why the Englisch can't just leave us alone.” Mary Ann stabbed her needle through the quilt with unnecessary force. “It's begun to feel like it was during the war, with everyone choosing sides and mistrusting each other.”

“We got through that, and we can get through this.” Anna's expression was tranquil at the reference.

Her peace must surely be hard-won, Mattie thought, remembering when Ben had told her of how Anna's own brother had left the family and joined the army, only to die somewhere out in the Pacific. And her beloved Jacob had been sent away to the camps for five long years.

“We don't have any choice,” Mattie surprised herself by saying. “We must live as God wants.”

“Seems like the Englisch think that freedom is just for them and not for anyone else.” Mary Ann's voice was tart. “As far as I can tell, they're all set against us.”

Despite the murmurs of agreement, Mattie shook her head. “Not all. Never that. There's that young minister who has been helping us. And the man from the hardware store—I think he would listen to our side.”

And even Mrs. Graham. She didn't want to mention the woman's name, but she had seemed sympathetic and understanding, even if she hadn't been willing or able to help.

An awkward silence fell, and Mattie realized it was because she was the one who'd spoken up, and it was her child who was threatened.

“Mamm is right,” Rachel said, her young voice firm. “Some of the Englisch understand, even if they don't have the power to do anything. And if we don't go on loving them, how can we say we are doing God's will?”

A smile trembled on Mattie's lips, even as tears filled her eyes. Her Rachel had done a lot of maturing in recent weeks. As her mamm, Mattie didn't dare to falter.

“That's well said, Rachel.” Anna's voice broke the momentary silence. “If we love only those who love us, we are not deserving of God's grace. Forgiveness comes with a heavy price sometimes, but as Mattie said, we don't have a choice.”

Mary Ann seemed to take a deep breath and then let it out in a lengthy sigh. “If Mattie and Rachel can say so, knowing they might be next, I guess you're right.” She shook her head. “Now, can we please get back to our quilting? Otherwise we'll never be done, and you'll all have to come back tomorrow.”

Everyone chuckled at that comment, as she'd probably intended, and the tension in the room eased. Mattie swallowed, trying to relax the tight muscles in her throat. She'd meant what she said, but it didn't seem to keep her from being afraid.

Tomorrow.
The word echoed in her mind. If they came for her tomorrow, would she be able to count on her faith being strong enough? She just didn't know.

•   •   •

Isaac
walked across the field toward Onkel Simon's place, well aware that his steps were dragging. He had no enthusiasm
at all for the task ahead of him, but he couldn't come up with an alternative.

At least Judith had gone off to Rebecca's to help prepare for her weekend guests. If she were here, she'd wonder why he was going to see Onkel Simon when he'd just been here to help with the milking. And she'd want to talk. She'd try to explain why she had kept a secret from him. The fact that his stomach began to churn at the very thought told him he wasn't ready to talk.

Somehow he couldn't get past the fact that she had apparently shared something with Fred Yoder, of all people, that she hadn't shared with him. He was Joseph's brother. His guardian. The person responsible for him. Certainly Fred wasn't. Judith wasn't, either.

He felt a tiny pinprick from his conscience at that thought. Judith had been the boy's mother since he was five. She was as devoted to him as to their own kinder. But that didn't give her the right to act without consulting him, did it?

Every time he tried to think through the situation, his mind ended up in a tight coil. But one thing stood out clearly: He couldn't go on accepting Fred Yoder's charity in the matter of the generator.

He'd placed the order for a new generator, so there was no turning back now. He had to either borrow from Onkel Simon or borrow from the bank, and both options left a bad taste in his mouth.

Onkel Simon, pushing a wheelbarrow toward the field planted in winter squash, stopped and waited for Isaac. Now or never—he had to decide. Daad had never believed in borrowing, but Isaac felt certain-sure that he'd have accepted help from a relative rather than go to an Englisch bank.

“I wasn't meaning I needed help when I told you I was picking some winter squash this morning.” Onkel Simon grinned. “Not that I won't accept it.”

A flicker of shame went through him. He'd been so preoccupied with his own troubles this morning that he barely remembered hearing his uncle mention the squash. Still, the words about accepting help seemed aimed right at his current problem.

“I'm glad to give you a hand.” Isaac took the wheelbarrow handles and trundled it toward the field. “It's a bit early, ain't so?”

Onkel Simon gave him a questioning glance. “Thought I mentioned the trouble I'm having with a pesky groundhog. Dratted creature takes a nip out of one, then goes to chomp on another. I wouldn't mind so much if he'd just eat a whole one while he's at it.”

“Sorry. I guess I missed some of what you said earlier. Do you want me to bring the twenty-two over to try and get him?”

“If I don't get him this evening, you and Joseph can give it a try.” He gestured toward a thick row of squash plants, weighed down by the acorn squash that were beginning to turn green. “I figured some of the ones he's bitten can be used instead of pitching them on the compost. Judith said she'd take some, and I'll send a few over to Lige and his wife.”

Isaac stepped into the row between the plants and bent to examine a squash, turning it carefully to avoid pulling it free of the stem. “I see what you mean. There's a bite gone from the bottom of this one. It'll go bad if it's not used.” He twisted it free of the stem, hefting the heavy squash in his hand and putting it in the wheelbarrow.