Going Home (8 page)

“Jah, sure.” He picked up his cup and took a drink of coffee. “I was just thinking is all.”

“So, Noah, who’d you give the cake you made to?” Pop asked.

“Gave it to Faith, figuring she might need some encouragement today.”

“That makes sense to me,” Mom put in. “Faith’s a nicelooking woman, wouldn’t you say?”

Noah shrugged. “I suppose she does look pretty good in the face.”

“So do some of my baby pigs, but looks ain’t everything.” Pop thumped his chest a few times. “It’s what’s in here that counts, and I have a hunch that wayward woman isn’t as pretty on the
inside as she is on the outside.” He grunted. “Let’s hope she’s learned her lesson about chasing after the things of the world and has come home to stay.”

Noah could hardly believe his father would compare Faith’s beauty to one of his pigs, but the thing that really riled him was Pop’s comment about Faith not being pretty inside.

He sat there a moment, trying to decide how best to say what was on his mind. Pop could be stubborn and rather opinionated at times, and Noah wasn’t looking for an argument. Still, he felt the need to defend Faith.

“I think we need to pray for Faith, don’t you? Pray that she’ll find peace and contentment here in Webster County, and that her relationship with God will be strengthened by her friends and family.”

Pop’s forehead wrinkled, and he opened his mouth as if to reply, but Mom spoke first. “Noah’s right. What Faith needs is encouragement and prayer.” She smiled at Noah and patted his arm. “I’m glad you gave her that cake, and I’m sure she’ll enjoy eating it as much as we do whenever you bake something for us.”

Noah chuckled. “Was that a hint that I should do more baking soon?”

She nodded and took a bite of the sugar-free cake Noah had made especially for her.

“I’ll probably do more baking after I get home from work tomorrow evening,” Noah said.

Pop snorted. “You ought to quit that foolish job at the tree farm and come back to work for me.”

Noah shook his head. “No thanks. I had enough dealings
with smelly hogs when I was a boy and we were raising them to put food on our own table. You’re better off having Abel Yoder working for you. Ever since he and his family moved here from Pennsylvania, he’s been most happy to help with your hogs. ”

“That’s because raising hogs is good, honest work, and Abel knows it.” Pop leveled Noah with an icy stare, making Noah wish he’d kept his comments to himself.

“What Noah does for a living is honest work, too,” Mom defended.

“Jah, well, it may be honest, but Christmas trees aren’t part of the Amish way, and if Noah’s not careful, he might be led astray from working with that English fellow who likes to listen to country music all the time.”

Noah’s mouth dropped open. He’d never said anything to either of his folks about Hank playing country music, and he couldn’t figure out how Pop knew about it.

“News travels fast in these parts,” Pop said before Noah could voice the question. “You’d better be careful what you say and do.”

“I’m sure our son hasn’t gotten caught up in the world’s music,” Mom was quick to say. “And just because his boss chooses to listen to country music, that doesn’t make him a bad person.”

Noah smiled. He couldn’t have said it better himself.

Pop set his cup down so hard on the table that some of the coffee spilled out. “Jah, well, just don’t let anything Hank says or does that’s worldly rub off on you, Noah.”

“Like I would,” Noah mumbled as he turned away. Why was it that Pop always looked for the negative in things—especially when it came to Noah?

I
n the days that followed, Faith and Melinda settled into a routine. Faith got up early every morning to help with breakfast, milk the cows, and feed the chickens. She labored from sunup to sunset, taking time out only for meals and to help Melinda learn the traditional Pennsylvania Dutch language of the Amish.

The child had also been assigned several chores to do, and even though she seemed all right with the idea of wearing her aunt Susie’s Plain clothes, she wasn’t used to having so many responsibilities placed on her shoulders. Nor was she accustomed to being taught a foreign language. Amish children grew up speaking their native tongue and learning English when they entered school in the first grade. Since Melinda would be starting school in the fall and already spoke English, her task was to learn Pennsylvania Dutch.

“I don’t like it here, Mama,” Melinda said one morning as
she handed Faith a freshly laundered towel to be hung on the clothesline next to the house. “When can we go home?”

Faith flinched. Home? They really had no home. Hotels and motels in whatever city Faith was performing in—those were the only homes Melinda had ever known.

She clipped the towel in place and patted the top of her daughter’s head. “This is your home now, sweet girl.”

“You mean,
our
home, don’t you, Mama?”

“Oh, yes,” Faith said quickly. “And soon you’ll get used to the way things are.”

Melinda lifted her chin and frowned. “Grandma Stutzman makes me work hard.”

Faith wasn’t used to manual labor either, and every muscle in her body ached. In the past few weeks, she had pulled so many weeds from the garden that her fingers felt stiff and unyielding. Heaps of clothes had been washed and ironed, and she’d helped with the cooking and cleaning and done numerous other chores she was no longer accustomed to doing. It wasn’t the hard work that bothered Faith, though. It was the suffocating feeling that she couldn’t be herself. She desperately wanted to sit on the porch in the evenings and yodel to her heart’s content. She would enjoy telling some jokes or humorous stories and have her family appreciate them, but that was impossible.

“Mama, are you thinking about what I said?”

Melinda’s question caught Faith’s attention. “Everyone in the family has a job to do,” she said patiently. “In time you’ll get used to it.”

Faith could see by the child’s scowl that she wasn’t happy.

“How would you like to eat lunch down by the pond today?” Faith asked, hoping to cheer up Melinda.

Melinda’s blue eyes seemed to light right up. “Can Aunt Susie come, too?”

“If Grandma says it’s all right.”

“Can we bring our dolls along?”

“If you want to.”

As Melinda handed Faith a pair of Grandpa Stutzman’s trousers to hang on the line, she asked, “How come only the men wear pants here?”

“Grandpa and Grandma belong to the Amish faith, and the church believes only men and boys should wear pants.”

Melinda’s forehead wrinkled. “Does that mean I ain’t never gonna wear jeans again?”

“I’m not ever,” Faith corrected.

Melinda nodded soberly. “You and me ain’t never gonna wear jeans.”

Faith bit back a chuckle as she knelt on the grass and touched the hem of Melinda’s plain blue cotton dress. “I thought you liked wearing dresses.”

“I do, but I also like to wear jeans.”

“You’ll get used to wearing only dresses.” Even as the words slipped off her tongue, Faith wondered if her prediction would come true. Melinda had worn fancy dresses, blue jeans, and shorts ever since she’d been a baby, and wearing plain dresses all the time would be a difficult transition.

“Here’s the last towel, Mama. Now can I go swing?”

“Maybe after lunch.” Faith was relieved that Melinda had
quickly changed the subject. Maybe the child would adjust after all. She seemed to enjoy many things on the farm—spending time with Aunt Susie, playing with the barn cats, helping Grandpa milk the cows, swinging on the same wooden swing Faith had used when she was a little girl. In time, she hoped Melinda would learn to be content with everything about her new life as an Amish girl. In the meantime, Faith would try to make her daughter feel as secure as possible and show her some of the good things about being Plain.

Faith was determined to make this work for Melinda and equally determined to get back on the road as soon as possible. Mama was already pressing her about taking classes so she could be baptized and join the church. Faith didn’t know how much longer she could put it off, but for now she had convinced her mother that she needed more time to adjust to the Amish way of life. She’d been gone a long time and couldn’t be expected to change overnight. Not that she planned to change. Whenever Faith had a few moments alone, she practiced her yodeling skills and told a few jokes to whatever animal she might be feeding. Soon she would be onstage again, wearing her hillbilly costume and entertaining an approving audience. Around here, no one seemed to appreciate anything that wasn’t related to hard work.

Faith hung the last article of clothing on the line, picked up the wicker basket, and took hold of Melinda’s hand. As much as Faith wanted to go back on the road, she had to stay awhile longer—to be sure Melinda was accepted and had adjusted well enough to her new surroundings. Besides, despite several phone calls Faith had managed to make from town, she hadn’t found
an agent to represent her yet. Without an agent, her career would go nowhere. On her own, all Faith could hope for were one-night stands and programs in small theaters that didn’t pay nearly as well as the bigger ones.

“Let’s go to the kitchen and see what we can make for our picnic lunch, shall we?” Faith suggested to Melinda, knowing she needed to get her mind on something else.

The child nodded eagerly, and the soft
ma–a–a
of a nearby goat caused them both to laugh as they skipped along the path leading to the house. On the way, they tromped through a mud puddle made by the rain that had fallen during the night. Faith felt the grimy mud ooze between her bare toes. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to go barefoot every summer. It wasn’t such a bad thing, really. Especially on the grass, so soft and cushy. It was good to laugh and spend time with her daughter like this. No telling how many more weeks she would have with Melinda.

When Faith and Melinda entered the kitchen a few minutes later, they were greeted with a look of disapproval from Faith’s mother. “Ach, my! Your feet are all muddy. Can’t you see that I just cleaned the floor?”

Faith looked down at the grubby footprints they had created. “Sorry, Mama. We’ll go back outside and clean the dirt off our feet.” She grabbed a towel from the counter, took Melinda’s hand, and scooted her out the door.

“Grandma Stutzman’s mean,” Melinda said tearfully. “She’s always hollering about something or other.”

“It might seem so, but Grandma just wants to keep her kitchen clean.” Faith led her daughter over to the pump. She
washed their feet and dried them.

“Can we still take our lunch down by the pond?” Melinda questioned.

“Sure we can.”

“And Susie can come, too?”

“If Grandma says it’s all right.”

Melinda’s lower lip protruded. “She’ll probably say no ’cause she’s in a bad mood about us trackin’ in the mud on her clean floor.”

“I don’t think she’ll make Susie pay for our transgressions.”

“Our what?”

“Transgressions. It means doing wrong things.”

Melinda hung her head. “I always seem to be doing wrong things around here. I must be very bad.”

Faith knelt on the ground and pulled her daughter into her arms. “You’re not bad. You just don’t understand all the rules yet.”

“Will I ever understand them, Mama?”

Faith gently stroked the child’s cheek. “Of course you will. It’s just going to take a little more time.”

“But I want to wear blue jeans and watch TV, and I can’t do either of those things here.”

Guilt found its way into Faith’s heart and put down roots so deep she thought she might choke. Had she done the right thing in taking Melinda out of the modern world she was used to and expecting her to adjust to the Amish way of doing things? Faith had never accepted all the rules when she was growing up. She had experimented with modern things whenever she’d had the chance. Had it really been all those rules that had driven her
away, or was it the simple fact that she’d never felt truly loved and acknowledged by her family?

Noah whistled in response to the call of a finch as he knelt in front of a newly planted pine tree. It was still scrawny compared to those around it, and the seedling appeared to be struggling to survive.

“A little more time and attention are what you’re needing,” he whispered, resolving to save the fledgling. He wanted to see it thrive and someday find its way to one of the local Christmas tree lots or be purchased by some Englishers who would come to the farm to choose their own holiday tree.

The sound of country-western music blared in Noah’s ear, and he figured his boss, Hank Osborn, must be nearby. Hank enjoyed listening to the radio while he worked, and Noah had discovered that he rather liked it, too. Of course, he wouldn’t let his folks or anyone from their community know that, and he sure wouldn’t buy a radio or listen to music on his own at home. But here at work, it was kind of nice. Besides, this was his boss’s radio, and Noah had no control over whether it was played.

The man singing on the radio at the moment also did a bit of yodeling. It made Noah think of Faith and how she had given up her entertaining career and moved back home. He wondered if she had enjoyed the cake he’d given her and what she thought about the verse of scripture he’d attached to it. Had it spoken to her heart, the way God’s Word was supposed to? He hoped so,
for Faith seemed to be in need of something, and Noah couldn’t think of anything more nourishing to the soul than the words found within the Bible.