Leaving Lancaster (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“My Nathaniel offered to drive you to Samuel's parents' farm?” Esther said, hoping she'd misheard Holly.

“Your Nathaniel?” Holly yanked her hair into a ponytail, her bangs flopping forward. “You're laying claim on him? He's not yours, Mother. But if you want to tag along with us, I suppose you may.”

“No.” Esther's throat squeezed her windpipe like wet leather left out in the scorching sun. The last time she'd gone to the Fishers' farm, Samuel's parents had barred her way, admonishing her never to return. A lifetime ago, but she couldn't face them again—as if sticking her head into a combine.

“Then never mind, I rescind my invitation.” Holly's fingers combed her hair back into place. “If Nathaniel's too busy, I'll drive there myself.” She let out a huff, but didn't march into the house as Esther expected.

Her daughter hadn't shown such hostility since high school when Esther'd caught her with cigarettes in her pocket and grounded her for a month. She was a wild one in her teens, much as Esther had been.

Esther gripped the flashlight. “I think I'll stay outside a few minutes.” She considered rushing over to Nathaniel's house to put an end to her daughter's scheme to visit the Fishers. But not after he'd made his intentions of courting her known. He might already be suffering from remorse. Surely a younger woman like his housekeeper, Lizzie, would make a better wife.

Moving back to Lancaster County—with or without her mother and brothers living here—was ludicrous. An even more preposterous idea was that her heart longed for Nathaniel—like a teenage crush. He'd professed he'd admired her from afar; she took that to mean he would have courted her if she hadn't been head over heels in love with Samuel. She envisioned a weighty novel opening to a new chapter in her life, then two giant hands slamming the book closed again.

Esther shined her light on the mailbox. “Your grandma usually fetches the mail,” she told Holly.

“No way she could get it today,” Holly said stiffly.

For old times' sake, as she'd loved to do as a girl, Esther ambled out to the metal breadbox-shaped container and pulled its door open, its hinges squeaking.

Inside lay a legal-size envelope addressed to Isaac.

“
Guck emol dat!
I mean, look at that.” What was wrong with her? It seemed she had no control over what came out her mouth. The longer she remained here the more she felt the lure of this secluded world she'd once avoided. She felt like the biblical brothers Jacob and Esau, sparring within their mother's womb.

Esther reached in and extracted the letter. She thought she recognized her brother Peter's handwriting, but after all these years was unsure.

“Who's it for?” Holly asked, drawing near.

Esther shined the flashlight on the postmark and said, “It's addressed to Isaac. From Rexford, Montana.” She was tempted to open it on the spot. “I think it's from Peter.”

“One of your brothers?” Holly said.

“Yes, one-and-a-half years younger than Adam. Such a good boy he was.”

“Speaking of brothers, aren't you going to give the letter to Uncle Isaac?” Holly's tone sounded demanding, oozing with accusation.

“I will. For sure, I will.”

“I don't trust you.” Holly plucked the envelope out of Esther's hand like a bullfrog catching a fly. “I'll do it.”

“Nee!” Esther snatched the letter back and hid it behind her waist. “Enough of your bad manners, young lady.” She ascended the porch stairs, wrestled with the knob, and forced the door open. She saw Isaac on the easy chair in the sitting room reading
Family Life,
a monthly magazine.

“Have you been upstairs to see Mamm?” Esther asked him. He nodded, but kept reading. “A letter came for ya,” she said, stepping to his side.

Without glancing up, his hand released
Family Life
and took the envelope from her. He slid it among the pages of the magazine, obviously not wishing to share its contents with Esther.

She knew her four other brothers wouldn't make a move without first consulting Isaac. In part, they couldn't. Not only was he a preacher, but as the youngest brother, this house and land would be passed on to him.

Esther doubted he'd give Mamm enough money to stay in this area. No, he'd insist on keeping the family together.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Maintaining my distance by a few yards, I followed Mom into the house. She crossed the front hallway to the sitting room and stood by Isaac—the first time I'd seen him actually off his feet and relaxing. My mother appeared timid, her eyes lowered, as she handed him the letter. She paused, then turned and trod up the stairs.

Shutting the front door, I inhaled the fragrant aroma of cooking apples wafting from the kitchen. I should help Greta with dinner preparations, meaning I must walk past Isaac, who sat opening the letter. Why was I reticent? Even though he'd been aloof, Isaac had treated me with respect. He seemed to be a good husband and dad. He might have a beef with my mother, but not with me.

Much as I loved Dori and Jim, calling them Auntie and Uncle, I'd always wished for genuine blood relatives. Like a banner waving out my window, my mantra growing up could have been: I want a humongous extended family!

In the past I'd kicked around the idea I might have distant cousins, but Mom had acted as if her entire family left Pennsylvania when her parents died. Address unknown. But really, I scolded myself, by using the Internet or hiring a detective, I could have pursued my relatives; their tracks would have trundled straight to this farmhouse. I'd been gullible, believing my mother's smoke-and-mirrors deception, and wasn't any closer to understanding her motivation. Unless she was a sociopathic liar or her drug use in San Francisco had erased her memory. Then Dori had convinced Mom Haight-Ashbury was no place for a pregnant woman. According to Mom, she'd moved with Jim and Dori to the Northwest and never looked back.

Once a runaway, always a runaway, I thought, hearing Mom's voice upstairs speaking to Mommy Anna. Did she even love my grandma?

I meandered across the entry's rag rugs.

Uncle Isaac stroked his beard with one hand as he perused the letter. He must know I was watching him. As far as I could tell he was ignoring me. Maybe Mom was right about my wearing the borrowed dress and apron; it was a mistake. I'd disregarded her opinion because I'd been infuriated when she bad-mouthed her father, my Daadi
Levi, whom I'd never meet. All my life I'd imagined my grandfather a mixture of Santa Claus and John Wayne, but now I wondered if Isaac was a younger version of his father, authoritarian and domineering.

Not the shy type, I goaded myself to stroll into the sitting room, coming to a halt near him. “Hi, Uncle Isaac. How's it going?”

He folded the letter, slipped it into the envelope, and placed it on the side table.

“Care to share your plans?” I said. “If you wouldn't mind.”

He tugged his earlobe. “What exactly are ya askin'?”

“For starters, why are you moving?”

“We need more land. We're stymied—nowhere to expand. This county is clogged with traffic jams, making it dangerous for horse and buggies.”

“I haven't seen many cars.”

“If you went through Bird-in-Hand or Intercourse, you'd see outsiders swarmin' like locusts.” His eyes honed in on me like a hawk catching a glimpse of a rabbit. “We need to get away from picture-taking tourists. Gawkers, like you.”

I maintained a poker face. “I'm not a gawker and I didn't bring a camera.” I wouldn't mention my cell phone took pictures. Maybe he already knew. Although I'd kept my phone out of sight in the house.

He targeted me with his index finger. “You're mockin' us by dressing Plain.”

I could hear Greta in the kitchen setting the table. I wished she'd call us for supper. “I didn't mean to insult anyone,” I said. “Mommy Anna doesn't mind my dress.”

“She's so glad to set eyes on ya, she wouldn't care what you wore.” He sat back in his chair and leveled his gaze at me. “Is this your first step toward joining the Amish church and stayin' with us for good? There ain't many Englischers I'd extend that invitation to, but seein' as you're Esther's daughter and we need someone to help look after Mamm—”

“You'd want me to live with you as your mother's caretaker?”

“Unless Esther will. She owes it to Mamm, for sure.” He ran a hand through his hair, flattened on top. “Ya can't imagine the sorrow she's caused our Mudder.”

“Yes, I can.” The conversation was galloping into dangerous territory. “I'd rather my mother speak for herself.” I sat on a chair facing him. “Please forgive me for being nosy, but is that letter from one of your brothers?”

“Yah. But 'tis none of your business.”

“But I care about my grandmother's future. She isn't well.”

“Ya think I can't see that for myself?”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to insinuate anything.” The last thing I wanted was an argument. I heard a jet's engine rumble in the distance, then recede.

“Sounds like a storm's rolling in,” Uncle Isaac said. “Thank the good Lord, we got most of the corn in the crib today.”

“What did the weatherman predict?”

He shrugged. “No idea.”

“Can't you listen to battery-run radios?”

“Yah, but I choose not to. A bunch of
unsinnich
jabber. Senseless.”

As the wind picked up, branches scratched the side of the house like untrimmed fingernails. The gusts multiplied, thrashing through the trees. I heard a cracking sound, like a limb breaking off. Rain pattered on the front porch, then gathered momentum—a river of water against the windows. The droplets crystallized into pellets, sounding like pebbles. I glanced outside and saw layers of hail hammering the lawn.

A beautiful sight until a blinding flash whitened the world like a strobe light. An ear-piercing crash louder than a shotgun's blast sent me bolting to my feet. Isaac remained in his easy chair as another lightning strike blasted down the road in Nathaniel's direction. I guessed the deafening sound was a tree splintering.

My ears rang. “We don't have many electrical storms in the Northwest.” I crept to the window and saw Beth's lights in the distance flicker, then go out. A shroud enclosed her and another neighbor's house, but our kerosene and gas lamps burned steadily.

“Guess you never lose your power,” I said, trying to sound fearless, when in fact I was trembling. “What about your cows?”

“They're safe, under shelter, and the horses are in their stalls. 'Tis unlikely the barn will be hit. The Almighty protects us.”

“But the rain falls upon the just and the unjust.”

“Ya know the Bible?”

“A little,” I said. “Less than I should.”

“Are you willing to submit to God's will?”

Good question. I was stubborn and always had been. According to Mom, even as a one-year-old I'd refused her help when learning to walk.

Where was God right now? I wondered. In the volleying thunder and lightning? Speaking to me through Isaac?

My uncle shifted his weight forward, his face nearing mine. “I believe the Almighty wants you ta be one of us. Your wearing the dress and apron tells me you're returnin' to your heritage.”

“Give up my car keys and cell phone?” I recalled sitting in Starbucks sipping mocha lattes and my life in Seattle, an area I couldn't get enough of. But at a distance I saw my favorite city bulging with houses, condominiums, office buildings, and the air smoggy with exhaust fumes when the Metro bus chugged past the shop.

Isaac's hands gripped his suspenders. “Holly, you should consider moving with us to Montana.”

“Exactly where are you planning to go?” I was stalling until Greta fetched us for supper. I had no intention of relocating with him anywhere.

“Near the Canadian border, close by other Amish districts.”

“I went to Montana once. It was beautiful and untamed. But your mother's sick. You've got to find out what's wrong with her before you take her into the wilderness.”

“She's old. Ain't much we can do about that.”

I didn't buy his glib reply. “I want to take her to a doctor,” I said, hearing the trees outside swishing like hula dancers. “Does she have health insurance?”

He shook his head. “None of us do. We pay out of pocket or the community will help us if we run dry of money.”

The sky lit up, followed by a roaring sound like colossal waves on the Oregon Coast. I hoped the worst part of the storm had passed, but on the other side of the house, forked lightning pierced the ground and thunder rattled the windowpanes.

I wrapped my arms around myself. “Not even fire insurance on your home?”

“If God allows the house to burn, we'll build another.”

“I guess you don't need car insurance,” I said, attempting levity. But the corners of his mouth veered down.

“But your mother,” I said. Now might be my only time alone with Uncle Isaac. I had to convince him. “I want to find her a specialist.”

“The only way I'd let you take her to a doctor is if you were one of us,” he said. “I mean truly one of us.”

No way would I let him run my life. Yet he called all the shots in this household.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Esther was
naerfich
—so nervous she wanted to bury her head under the goose-down pillow. With no central heating, the room felt tomblike, a good excuse to remain in bed. But she was determined to creep out of the house prior to sunup before anyone noticed her.

Though Esther's feelings were initially hurt last night, she was glad Holly had switched to Mamm's bedroom. Why had Mamm continued sleeping in the main house instead of moving into the Daadi Haus? Had she moved
when Isaac married Greta, but returned to the main house because she was afraid to live alone, or did Isaac think she'd become disoriented or fall?

Right now, Holly was no doubt bathed in slumber, purring when she exhaled. Oblivious, while Esther tossed fitfully, worrying all night.

Holly had barely spoken to Esther over supper, but rather chatted with Isaac about the turbulent weather—by then, the storm had volleyed to the east—and asked Greta about their children, who would never display insolent behavior. They were submissive and obedient, as Esther was in her childhood

After the family had finished eating last night, Isaac, Greta, Holly, and Esther transferred Mamm's clothes and few belongings to the first floor of the Daadi Haus, attached to the main house, where Esther's maternal grandparents once resided, so Mamm wouldn't have to navigate the stairs to the second floor. “We should have done this years ago,” Isaac had said, placing the water pitcher on the bureau, both family heirlooms for two centuries.

“Anna, we'll be close by should ya need us,” Greta told her. “Leave the door open.” She set a bell on the nightstand. “Ring this and I'll be right over.”

Esther felt the burden of guilt weighing upon her shoulders for not predicting Mamm's needs, but her sister-in-law Greta knew Mamm better than Esther did.

“Since Mommy Anna's room is vacant, may I sleep in it?” Holly had asked, and Isaac nodded. Holly had sought his approval, apparently seeing him as alpha male, head of the household. Esther didn't trust him to make Holly's needs his priority. Who knew how he might influence her?

She tugged the bedcovers up around her throat. Her goal since Holly's birth was to protect her, to spare her pain, but the plan had gone awry. She'd been wrong; she saw that now.

Holly's remark about visiting Samuel's parents festered in Esther's mind. Holly and Nathaniel had evidently discussed the Fishers, yet he hadn't brought up their names to Esther.

Juicy news flocked across Lancaster County like starlings; Samuel's parents might know Esther was here. If Holly were determined to approach them, Esther must speak to them first, to dip her toes into the frigid waters.

She heard footsteps on the first floor, then moments later the back door opened and closed. Isaac, she thought, slogging out to milk the cows. Greta was in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

Esther rolled on her side and stretched her legs. She knew the route to the Fisher's farm, not far away, south and west, five minutes in a buggy, but fifteen on foot. When she was young, anyway.

Samuel had been the Fishers' only child, the previous three miscarried or stillborn. Esther felt a visceral round of pity for Samuel's mother, who was devoted to him but had mentioned to Esther she'd selected his future wife, the daughter of a close friend. If Samuel had lived, the Fishers might have grandchildren. A house thriving with activity.

Esther felt compelled to ask God's forgiveness again for stealing away their only child. She'd been
grossfiehlich
—bigheaded—when she'd left home. She knew she should accept the Lord's mercy. To refuse his forgiveness was ungrateful. A sin, Isaac's bishop might label it.

She wondered if Samuel's father, Jeremiah now an old man, still got up at dawn to milk their herd of black-and-white Holsteins. Unlikely, without neighbors helping him or hired hands. Esther doubted Samuel's narrow-minded father would employ Englischers to work for him.

She pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet hit the icy wooden floor. She hurried to the closet and chose a cream-colored blouse in need of ironing. Leaving her nightgown draped across the end of the bed, she shoved her hands into the blouse's arms then tugged a V-neck sweater over her head. She stepped into slacks—too cold for a skirt this morning. She didn't care what she looked like, but out of habit secured her waist-length brown hair into a bun.

She opened the window shade halfway. In the darkness, she could see that Beth and their Englisch neighbors across the field were still without power. Esther felt satisfaction for not depending on electricity and wondered if Beth had kept her fireplace burning all night for heat. But then Esther admonished herself for finding pleasure that Beth's electric coffeemaker was at this moment useless. Yes, Esther still held a grudge she should have released decades ago.

She noticed Isaac's lamp burning in the barn and a shimmering of frost on the ground, illuminated by the lights from the kitchen. Autumn was plunging into winter early this year.

Esther knew Isaac wouldn't eat breakfast until he'd finished milking. Were his older children and Nathaniel helping him? No, Nathaniel would attend to his own herd first. She must slink past his home to reach Samuel's parents' farm, if they still lived there. What age would they be? A few years her mother's senior? Childless.

She worked her feet into woolen socks and fished her fleece vest and her walking shoes out of her suitcase, then padded down the staircase. An enticing bouquet of coffee, rising bread dough, and baking biscuits floated from the kitchen, but she would wait to sample Greta's cuisine until after her excursion.

Crouching on the bottom step, Esther tied her shoes. She spotted Nathaniel's flashlight and opted to bring it along, planning to leave it on his back stoop on the way home.

After buttoning her coat, she stepped into the predawn gloom. No one would see her, Esther assured herself as she proceeded down the steps. She must hurry by Nathaniel's house—she hoped unobserved. To play it safe, she crossed to the far side of the two-lane road.

Skulking past Nathaniel's farm, their conversation dominated her thoughts, edging out fears of speaking to Samuel's parents. This morning, Nathaniel's marriage proposal seemed like a figment of her imagination. Not that she didn't find him good-looking and masculine. She did. And his eyes—

For a scant second, she imagined waking up and warming her legs against his. But always Samuel's youthful face, still age nineteen, smoldered in the back of her mind, a sign she wasn't ready to move on. Nathaniel had suggested she join the church and marry him, but she wasn't about to make either commitment. Later, Esther would march over to his house and put a stop to his silliness before he mentioned his intentions to Isaac or Mamm.

She couldn't imagine Nathaniel's reasoning, unless Mamm had coerced him into an arranged union of convenience. Esther's joining the Amish church would be Mamm's ultimate desire, and Nathaniel would gain a free housekeeper all in one. He couldn't love her or even be attracted.

Although she remembered his gazing across the kitchen table at lunch. Had she felt a tingle of electricity pass between them? Maybe Nathaniel was losing both his eyesight and perspective, not so hard to do around here, living apart from the contemporary world.

A sedan motored toward her, its headlamps on bright. Probably a factory worker on his way to a job, she thought, but she turned away and kept her head down to hide her face as it sped by. Other than the one automobile, the road stretched quietly, broken only by the sound of a sheep bleating and mourning doves cooing in a stand of maples.

With no streetlamps, she passed several Amish farms, their lights glowing, and an Englisch house cloaked in darkness. She took a left and continued alongside a plowed field. She recalled the storm last night, as erratic as her inner thoughts.

Her foot hit a dip in the road. She tripped forward, but righted herself before her knees smacked the asphalt. Her memories floundered back in time to her days living in San Francisco with Samuel. When they'd first arrived, they lived with other homeless youths in a commune. She'd been a babe in the woods, wandering from her parents' fold to a society that encouraged radical thinking. “Don't trust anyone over thirty,” they'd warned her. One of those young men died of an overdose and two sisters disappeared, simply not returning. Esther wanted to believe they went home, wherever that was. Daisy and Violet never mentioned where they were from or if they'd assumed new names. Back then, it was practically impossible to track someone down without going to the police, whom the sisters called pigs. Police intervention was not considered an option.

On the San Francisco streets, Esther let her hair cascade across her shoulders in public for all to see. But when Samuel was drafted, Esther lost all desire to expose her hair and serenade on corners for change. Needing money, she landed a job in a restaurant that fed her lunch on her break. Esther found the drudgery of kitchen chores her mother had forced upon her came in handy; she could accomplish any task the restaurant manager asked, and do it well. The Purple Café was where she met Dori, a member of the Jesus Movement. Esther had mentioned to Dori how exhausted and nauseous she felt, attributing her fatigue to worrying about Samuel. “Could you be pregnant?” Dori had asked. “You'd better come live with me and my husband.” They had an extra bedroom in their apartment and insisted she move in. That evening, Esther had stared at herself in the mirror wondering if Samuel would find her attractive when he returned and saw her belly swollen with child. She'd imagined his look of total joy as the two of them pondered baby names. Seven months later, Samuel missing in action, she'd been grateful to deliver a daughter, whom she'd named Holly Samantha.

Ach, now was not the time to dwell on the past. The rising sun cast lavender fingers swirling across the cloud-covered sky. A rooster crowed.

Esther was plenty warm from her brisk hike. Up ahead stood the Fishers' farm: their spacious three-story white house with its wrap-around porch, the semi-gambrel–roofed barn, numerous outbuildings, three silos, and a windmill.

She stopped short when she spotted wires running from a street pole to the barn. Was Samuel's father, Jeremiah, using electricity to milk like the Englisch or had a non-Amish family bought the place? As far as Esther knew, Old Order Amish still didn't own telephones, unless they partnered with a non-Amishman and set up a business in a separate shop next to the house or barn. Esther couldn't imagine anyone wishing to go into business with Samuel's father. Yet, old man Fisher couldn't run a huge farm by himself.

In the past, with the help of Samuel and his cousins and neighbors, Jeremiah Fisher tended fields of tobacco, corn, alfalfa, and other crops, not to mention raising hogs, sheep, goats, and milking his herd. And horses, she reminded herself, recalling Samuel's pinto his father purchased for him. How Samuel loved Splashy.

Esther heard a guttural growl cutting the air like a serrated knife, then saw a German shepherd mix standing in her path. She stood for a moment, her heart pounding, and tried to breathe steadily. What if someone caught her prowling around at this hour? Should she turn tail and flee? No, she'd played the coward too long. She would at least determine if a new family had purchased the farm. Even if Samuel's parents still lived there, she presumed they wouldn't recognize her.

She extended her hand, palm up. “Good boy?” Its hackles raised and its head lowered, the dog stalked over to her and finally wagged its tail, thank the Lord.

Lights burned in the kitchen but Esther couldn't knock on the door at this time of day. She stealthed around the side of the house toward the barn to peer in a window and noticed a sliding door open a few feet. Her nostrils caught the hint of a woodstove fire.

Sunlight cast burnished gold on the barn's white surface, seeming to enlarge the majestic structure. Esther's opportunity to peer inside the barn without being seen was waning quickly.

With the dog sniffing her ankles—she still didn't trust the animal—she peeked in the door and saw an elderly bearded gent and three men, aged around twenty. All four wore straw hats, black pants, and heavy jackets. The young men were busy milking two dozen or so Holsteins in stanchions using modern equipment, powered by a gas-run generator—like Isaac's operation.

The cows swished their tails. The air smelled of warm milk and hay. A cat followed by five kittens circled the men, begging for a squirt.

The youngest man turned his face to speak to the bearded gentleman sitting on a chair. Esther noticed the young man was of Asian descent, but dressed Plain—cleanly shaven, his straight black hair cut like the others: long bangs skimming his eyebrows—which made not a whit of sense. Had the world turned on its head? Had the Fishers adopted an Asian even though their son died in Vietnam? Growing up, she'd heard of Amish families adopting children—a baby from Indiana birthed by an unwed mother and an infant from Iowa. In Seattle, Esther knew a couple who'd adopted two darling girls from China, but she couldn't imagine an Amish couple submitting to the governmental red tape involved, let alone traveling to Asia to pick up a child.

The dog woofed and all four men looked toward the barn door at Esther.

Certainly the Fishers had moved away, she told herself, giving her the courage to enter. Unanticipated disappointment flooded her as she realized strangers inhabited Samuel's childhood home. Although, on closer inspection, two of the younger men resembled Samuel: the same wavy auburn hair.

“I can't believe my eyes.” The elderly man got to his feet and shuffled over to her. “Can that be you, Esther?” The man's voice sounded crusty but enthusiastic. “Don't stand out in the cold.
Kumm rei
.”

She assessed his chalky-white beard and his heavily lidded brown eyes. Perhaps if Samuel had lived, he might have eventually looked like this man.