Crossing (7 page)

“I know, Grandmother. And I know he’s happy now.” Yancy played with some leftover eggs on his mostly empty plate then asked moodily, “So what did you mean? What’s rumspringa?”

Zemira hesitated for a few moments, staring into her coffee cup. “We’ve debated about telling you this, because your father thought it might just—confuse you. But you’re a smart young man, Yancy, and old for your years, so I think you should know.” She lifted her head and continued. “The Amish realize that young people must have some leniency, some … leeway. And so we give them a time, called rumspringa, which means ‘running around.’

The church rules are relaxed, and it’s understood that in these times there will be a certain amount of misbehavior. It’s neither condoned nor overlooked, but it’s understood at the end of this period, the young person will be baptized into the church, will marry, and will settle down in the community.”

“So this is letting me run around?” Yancy asked with astonishment. “This is running wild? Seems to me like I’m watched like I’m a prisoner most of the time.”

“We let you wear your own clothes, which violates the Ordnung,” Zemira answered gently. “And as I said, we pretty much let you decide what you’re going to do every day. We don’t hold you to chores, and we let you ride around all day without questioning you if you wish to. In other words, we’re letting you make your own decisions.”

Yancy stared at her. “What if I decide to leave? To go back to the Cheyenne?”

“Would you do that? Leave your family?”

He dropped his gaze. “No, ma’am. I don’t want to leave Father … or you. You’re the only reason I haven’t gone stark raving crazy.”

She reached over and patted his hand. “I love you very much, Yancy, and you can’t know how glad I am that you and your father are here. I’ve been very lonely since your grandfather died. To have family again is precious to me.”

He kept his head low, his gaze averted, and Zemira could sense his discomfort. She withdrew her hand then asked lightly, “Has your father told you about our family? The Tremaynes?”

“Not much. He—I think he feels bad about leaving, about Grandfather and all.”

“So he does. But he’s making up for it now, and your grandfather loved him always. Anyway, his great-grandfather Tremayne, and my great-grandfather Fisher, along with the other families, came to the valley in the 1730s. They found a good land, a fruitful land, and established our community. All of the families here can trace their land back to that time. When they started, there were only eight families. Now there are twenty-two, and we’re still growing. It was a good thing, to find this place,” she said dreamily. “It’s been a good home.”

“It is a good home,” Yancy agreed quietly. “I do like the valley, very much.”

She smiled warmly at him. “When our great-grandfathers came here, there were several tribes of Indians. Mostly Kiowa, but also Iroquois, Shawnee, and Algonquin. And our great-grandfathers made fast friends with them. We traded with them, we sometimes cared for their sick, we attended their funerals, and we even broke bread with them. But then when the English—the
Long Knives
, the Kiowas called them—began to come into the valley in greater numbers, the Indians slowly left, going west. And our forefathers regretted it. They felt that they had lost people that belonged in the valley, even though they regarded them as heathens. You see, Yancy, the Amish never judge others who are not of the People. We believe we should always show them God’s love. So whatever you do, Yancy, we will love you. Always.”

Yancy climbed up on the buggy, sitting beside Daniel on the driver’s bench.

Zemira sat on one of the benches in the back.

“Can I drive, Father?”

“Sure, Yancy. You’re a good hand with a buggy, just like you are at riding.”

“We’re going to the Keims’ house, is that right?”

“That’s right. That’s where church this Sunday will be.”

The Amish had church services every other Sunday. Each Sunday, services were at a different home in the community, for the Amish didn’t believe in building church buildings. They took this from the verse Acts 17:24, “God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands.”

Each congregation of the church owned community property in the form of tables, chairs, benches, and wagons to transport them from farm to farm as the services were held in each home. The men from the congregation moved them every other Sunday for services.

Yancy spoke to the mare, and she started out with a sassy little toss of her head. He liked the look of her and the way she high-stepped. She had spirit, so he had to keep her on a tight rein, but for Yancy that only made the driving better. He had no use for a plodding, slow-moving horse and kept the mare at a fast trot.

“Good mare,” Daniel commented. “Now who is she?”

Yancy took care of the farm horses. “This is Fancy,” Yancy answered. “I named her that ‘cause there’s nothing else around here that is,” he added mischievously. “She’s the one that has that fine little foal, Midnight. He’s young, but I’ve already started training him. Grandmother says he’s a showy horse, too showy for the Amish.”

“Guess that’s true,” Daniel agreed. “The Amish have a simple life.”

Yancy shook his head. “Their church services sure aren’t. First a short sermon, then singing, then prayers, then a long sermon, then a longer sermon, then more singing, then the longest sermon. Last week over at the Beilers’ house it lasted for over four hours. How are you supposed to stay awake for all that?”

Daniel said regretfully, “I had the same problem, son, when I was your age. Guess the sermons do get a little long-winded, and those benches are downright uncomfortable. The Methodists have seats with backs on them instead of those backless ones that the People like. For the life of me, I can’t see that a comfortable seat would be a sin.”

“I was just saying stuff like that to Grandmother, Father,” Yancy said soberly. “Like, why can’t I wear my own clothes to church? I hate these stupid breeches. They’re itchy and too short. And these shoes are like wood blocks on your feet. They hurt.”

“It’s a matter of respect, Yancy. The Amish wear simple clothes. You notice all the men dress alike, and so do the women, pretty much. And we let you wear your clothes all the time, except for church.”

After a rather awkward silence, Yancy said, “Yeah, I know. Grandmother told me about rumspringa today. You’re letting me off easy for now.”

Daniel studied his son’s face. In profile, he strongly showed his mother’s heritage. He had a thin nose, very high cheekbones, the slight copper tint of the Cheyenne. His eyes were dark and penetrating. Even at thirteen, he was beginning to lose his childish awkwardness and fill out, lean and muscled. His hair was glossy black, and he wore it longer than the Amish, with the back brushing his collar and a lock that fell over his forehead. Sometimes Daniel thought that the only thing Yancy had inherited from him was the cleft in his chin. “You’re so much like your mother …” he murmured absently. Then he roused and said, “Rumspringa, yes. But it’s not just me and your grandmother, Yancy. It’s the bishop, the deacon, the secretary, and the preachers. They all watch out for the young people in the community.”

A redtail hawk suddenly crossed the road in front of them. Yancy watched it longingly until it disappeared. “Sometimes I wish I was a hawk. They don’t have bishops watching them and don’t have to go to sings and wear hard shoes that hurt their feet.”

Daniel grinned and slapped Yancy on the shoulder. “Even hawks have their hard times, too.”

“Guess so. Good hunters though.”

“Yes, they are, but living by hunting is hard, Yancy. You and I both know that.”

Yancy was silent.

Daniel hesitated then said in a light tone, trying not to sound dictatorial, “I know it’s hard, Yancy, but I’d like for you to try to be more friendly. There are some good young people here.”

Yancy protested, “But all the girls think about is courting and getting ready to marry. Who wants to think about getting married when they’re thirteen?”

“Girls do,” Daniel said drily. “But you don’t have to think about that right now. And the other young men are interested in the same things you are—fishing, riding, even racing.”

“But no gambling,” he said disdainfully. “I know the other fellows like to fish, and they’re interested in horses. It’s just that I’m used to doing all those things alone.” It was the Cheyenne way.

Daniel decided to say no more. Actually, he was proud of the way that Yancy had surrendered such a free life for one of close confinement. Yancy hadn’t complained much. In fact, he said very little at all about their circumstances. He kept to himself. Danieldidn’t realize that that was something else Yancy had inherited from him.

So it was something of a surprise when Yancy asked carelessly, “So, Father, are you going to marry that lady?”

Daniel replied steadily, “You know her name. It’s Becky, and yes, I am.”

“You’ve been sitting on the Brauns’ porch for a year now, sipping lemonade and all of them watching you like that redtail hawk we just saw looking for a mouse. When are you going to ask her?”

“I had to take the time, son, to make the Brauns see that I’m a dependable man now, that I’ve settled down, and that I’ll be a good husband,” Daniel explained patiently. “When I feel the time is right, I’ll ask her. So how do you feel about it?”

Yancy shrugged. “Okay, I guess. She’s pretty nice. But she’s not my mother.”

“No, she’s not,” Daniel said quietly. “But she would be a good mother. I know she would.”

Yancy drew the mare to a halt by the corral.

The lot before the barn was already crowded with buggies, and two men were working, unhitching the horses and turning them into the corral. Sunday services and dinner was an all-day thing.

Yancy helped his grandmother down and she immediately went to a group of women who were standing by the house, in the shade of great oak trees. Daniel and Yancy started unhitching Fancy from the buggy, who pranced and snorted as if to say,
I could go another twenty miles if I had to
! Yancy loved her, for she was also a good saddle horse.

A young boy Yancy knew came running up. “Hey, Yancy! Why weren’t you at the sing last Sunday? So when are we going fishing? You promised to take me.” The boy was Seth Glick, and he was twelve years old.

Seth had met Yancy at the Amish school, which was a one-room schoolhouse with children from six years old to fourteen, the age limit of Amish education. Seth tagged along after Yancy every chance he got.

Yancy shrugged. “Hi, Seth. Whenever we can get together. Not sure.”

“That’s what you said before,” he said. “You promised, Yancy.”

“I know, I know. We will … sometime.”

The boy, his shoulders rounded and head drooping, went toward the barn. In the smaller houses the young boys often sat in the barn for services, and one of the preachers would go out there for the service. Yancy had sat in the barn once, but Daniel had found out that he had sneaked out, stolen Fancy, and gone riding. Since then Daniel made him sit in the house with him and the other men. The women were separated from the men, often in different rooms.

As they finished leading Fancy into the enclosure, Daniel said, “You ought to take the boy fishing, Yancy.”

“He doesn’t know the first thing about fishing. He talks too loud and too much. He’d scare away every fish in the stream.”

“Then it’d be a chance for you to help him. You could teach him. He’s looking for a friend, Yancy.”

Yancy looked surprised. “I never thought of that.”

Daniel clapped Yancy on the back. “Friends are good things to have. Everyone needs them, even you. Make some friends. You’ll be happier here.”

The congregation, which was about a hundred people including the children, moved toward the house. Many people spoke to Daniel. In the last year, he had established himself as a good man, a good neighbor, and a fine, upstanding member of the community.

Yancy usually spoke back to those who greeted him, but quietly and with few words.

Yancy was thinking about his clothing—mostly about his shoes that hurt his feet and wishing for his soft moccasins.