A Simple Charity (7 page)

He went around the side and saw that both buggies were gone from the garage. Hmm. Nobody home.

Zed walked out to the old carriage house, a ramshackle building with two boarded-up windows that resembled missing teeth in a weathered face. Although neglected and battered by time, the structure had good bones. He had been here more than a year ago, helping Tom and Caleb patch up the roof. Holding his hand to the brim of his hat to ward off the sun, he could see the signs of their
work, where new black shingles were mixed in with the faded gray. The three large bays for carriages had been designed for buggies, but they hadn’t been used that way for years, since the Lapps housed their buggies in the newer garage next to the house.

The door creaked as he pushed it open and stepped into the cooler air. The interior was just posts and pillars and a dirt floor. A pile of fresh lumber stood in the center of the space. He tested the steps of the wooden staircase to the right as he climbed, passing through dust motes in the sunlight from a broken window. Ya, the staircase was good. Upstairs was a basic attic that could be used for storage.
A very hot attic
, Zed thought, wiping sweat from his brow as he headed back down the stairs. A Dutch door led to a small stable area in the back of the building, where horses had once been kept. Someone had planned the building well, but that had been many years ago. He wondered what the Lapps wanted to do with it now.

Figuring that someone would be back soon, he went around to the back of the house where a pale green table and chairs sat in the inviting shade of a thick box hedge. It was cooler back here in this small yard, such a peaceful place for a quiet moment. This was one of the things he had missed in his time away from Halfway, years spent trying to find the spark of life out among the English. Taking a deep breath of honeysuckle-scented air, he tossed his hat onto the table and scraped back his brown hair. If working here was to be part of his punishment, Zed was a lucky man.

Zed was here by order of Bishop Samuel, who had told him that he needed to show with his deeds that he was ready to join this Amish community that had been the home of his youth. Zed left Halfway during his
Rumspringa
, and he had stayed on the outside for many years—too many years. And now that he had come home, he found it wasn’t so easy to pick up where he had left off. He had been a young man when he left, and now, at twenty-nine, nearly thirty, Zed found that his childhood friends were married with
children of their own. He was far too old for youth events and far too solitary for gatherings of couples and their children. In a community that followed rules and traditions, he was the odd man out.

Each week in the sessions with the bishop to prepare for baptism, Zed felt a sharp awareness that he was the old man of the group. Bishop Samuel had said flat out that Zed would be the oldest man he had ever baptized. No one in the group had commented, but later, Elsie Lapp had tried to mend the hole inside him. Little Elsie. She’d been a child when Zed had left, but even then she’d been jolly and sweet, a bright, smiling flower. After class, Elsie had patted Zed on the arm with a knowing smile, telling him not to concern himself with age. “You are at the exact right place at the right time,” she’d told him. “I know that because I know that Gott doesn’t make mistakes.” It was true, Zed knew that. But he hadn’t been able to shed the awkwardness of being on the outside for so long. He had made the Englisher mistake of trying to find himself when he should have followed the Amish way, losing himself in his community. He had grown accustomed to English folk talking about the things they wanted—so many wants.

Zed grunted. It was good to have the modern world behind him, good to be home, even if he was still on the outside. But he was taking the classes for baptism, and Elsie and Rachel were in the group. Zed had gotten to know them in the weeks and months after the accident, and now he was grateful to see their friendly faces at the weekly classes with the bishop.

Leaning back in the chair, he realized it was a bit shaky and gave it a look. Loose bolts. He could tighten this up. All the chairs could use a bit of tending.

He fetched his tool kit from the buggy and set to work in the backyard with a screwdriver and wrench. The bolts tightened easily, and he tested the first chair. Good and sturdy. These chairs, this table, they were plain and simple, durable and strong. He knew the Lapp family had sat around this table in good times and bad, taking
their supper out here on hot nights, cleaning strawberries or stringing beans. From the brushstrokes on the side of the table, he saw that it had been here a long while, standing the test of time.

But back among the English, such a table would have been pushed out to the trash heap by the curb. Abandoned for a shiny new replacement.

Just like me
, Zed thought. He had been replaced for a newer model. It had taken him a while to sort it all out, but finally he had turned back to the community he’d grown up in. Now he saw the Amish with new eyes.

He started tightening up the other chairs. From beyond the fence came the low rumble of a passing truck, and he realized the yard backed up to a road. An endless road. Zed had learned that one road always led to another, and when you had a vehicle and money for gas, you could keep rolling until the day you died. He had been down those roads, driving an eighteen-wheeler. It was long hours, but he didn’t mind the work, and in the beginning, the journey was just what Zed was looking for. To go to another place, with palm trees and sunshine or mountains and snow—that had been his way of getting away from himself. In a new place, hundreds of miles from Halfway, he had thought he would be a new man—confident and free from the Ordnung, the rules that dictated everything from what a man could wear to when he could marry. But as the years wore on, he began to see that he could never get away from himself.

Why had he stayed out so long among the Englishers? He wasn’t so sure. There was some
Hochmut
—pride—that had kept him from admitting to himself that he had made a mistake in leaving.

And what had drawn him away in the first place?

Cars.

The answer still brought a hot flush of shame to his cheeks when he thought about it. He had told his parents that he wasn’t ready to join the church just yet, and they had let him go with a sad nod. He
did not mention his fascination with cars and trucks and engines, but they had to know. After all, he had left behind a broken-down Jeep that he’d spent hours tinkering with during his early rumspringa. There was something about driving a vehicle, being in control of a loud, powerful engine, that had held Zed in awe. Driving made him a man, or so he thought.

With the help of a Mennonite cousin who gave him a place to stay, he had gotten his license and a good job as a truck driver. He made enough money to pay for what he needed—at least until he’d met Jessica. An Englisher, Jessica described herself as a plain country girl, but she was far from plain. She was always shopping at malls or paging through magazines, trying to find the shoes or lip color that would make her feel good about herself. Zed used to ask her why she didn’t feel good as she was, but her response was always a little smile and a nudge on the shoulder.

In the years that he courted her, she began to buy clothes for him, too. Blue jeans and striped shirts. Expensive leather shoes. But Zed had no interest in the clothes. Broadcloth pants and a simple shirt suited him just fine. Too bad it took him so long to find that out. That was when he realized that he would never fit in with Englishers. He didn’t talk or think like them. He would never belong there.

It had been a long, hard lesson. He immediately saw that Jessica bought clothes and jewelry to fill the hole in her heart. It took him longer to realize that he was doing the same thing with his interest in cars and trucks.

After he had returned to Halfway, Zed had tried to hire on with an Amish contractor. Although there would be no more truck-driving for him, he was good with his hands, a capable carpenter. But no one would hire him. Some Amish folks had been so cold, you would have thought he was under the
Bann
. People knew he had turned away for a long time; they weren’t so quick to welcome him back with open arms, that much was clear. He knew he would
have to prove himself to them, show them that he was here to stay, that he wanted to be a part of the community.

For now, he would have to work without pay. Amish charity. He didn’t mind that so much, and he was glad to help the Lapps, his family.

Sometimes Zed still found it hard to believe Thomas Lapp was gone. When Zed had returned to Halfway, Tom Lapp was one of the few men who would look him in the eye and give him work. Tom and Fanny had been close to Zed’s parents, Rose and Ira. And somehow, Gott had seen fit to put Zed in the van with Elsie and Tom Lapp on that terrible night last winter. From that day on, Zed and his parents had kept a close watch on Tom’s family, vowing to step in if they ever needed a helping hand. Zed figured it was the least he could do for Tom’s widow.

With the chairs fixed, Zed closed up his toolbox and walked past the hedge, where sparrows darted in and out. Bees bounced along the honeysuckle, and the warm breeze brought the scent of cut grass. This was one of the things he had missed, trapped in the cab of his truck: the sight and smell of the land. The simplicity of a wooden fence built to keep boundaries.

He was ready to obey those boundaries now—the Ordnung, the church rules, the customs that were like Amish law. Submission was the key to
Gelassenheit
, bowing to the Almighty.

As he leaned into the buggy to replace his tool box, the sound of a horse’s hooves on pavement caught his attention. A buggy was coming down the road. The kapp of its driver seemed white as snow in the stark sunlight.

Such a familiar sight; another comfort of being home. It was good to wake each morning to the language and manner he was accustomed to.

Even if he did wake up in his old bed in his parents’ house. Twenty-nine was too old for that, and he was eager to find a place of his own as soon as he could get a job and save some money.

Not that his parents minded having him. “It’s good to have you home, Zed,” his mother always said, “but I know it’s just for a short time. Before you know it, you’ll be leaving for your own place with your wife.” Mamm liked to remind him that he would be expected to take an Amish wife after he was baptized in the fall.

“Wife?” Dat always teased. “Don’t put the cart before the horse, Rose. He needs to find a willing gal first.”

“And what Amish woman would have me?” Zed would answer, poking fun at himself. “I’m like the apple that fell off the cart on the way to market—a little scarred and hard to sell.”

That usually made Dat laugh, though Mamm would swat away the comment as if it were a pesky gnat. Zed couldn’t tell his mother that he had already encountered a few interested young women. Becca Yoder always came over to talk with him after church, but talking with her was tedious work, like digging up potatoes. And he knew what Mamm was doing when she sent him to the bakery each week for a loaf of bread. Rose Miller spent plenty of time in town; she could have easily made the purchase. The bread wasn’t nearly as important to his mamm as getting Zed to talk to Dorcas Fisher, a woman Zed had grown up with who was still single and at least thirty. Zed had always avoided her as a kid, hearing the way she criticized other children at school, and the stories she told. Dorcas still liked to gossip. These days the Fishers’ bakery had more news than
The Budget
, the local Amish newspaper.

There was no shortage of unmarried women. It was Zed holding things up, his thoughts still wrapped up in the life he used to have … the woman he used to love.

A woman who had chosen another. Although Jessica was married with a child, living a hundred miles away, Zed had trouble chasing her from his mind. Sometimes it was hard to move down the road when the heart lagged so far behind the head.

6

S
uch a glorious day! Fanny smiled through her weariness as Flicker’s hooves tapped the asphalt road. Despite all the obstacles, a new baby boy had been born. Another sweet child in their community! Ah, but Gott had truly blessed Fanny, allowing her to help deliver new babes.