The Calling (29 page)

Bethany took a pan of biscuits out of the oven. “I guess that’s the difference between the Amish and the English. Being English means you struggle to find your place. Being Amish means you belong.”

Geena found a spatula in a drawer and scooped the hot biscuits into a basket. “Don’t forget these girls are on the extreme side of your definition of being ‘English.’ Most of them have never been wanted by their families; they’ve never belonged anywhere. I remember something one of my seminary professors had said: ‘Most people are in way more pain
than anybody knows.’ That is so true.” Geena carried the dirty spatula to the sink and rinsed it off. She put the spatula away in a drawer.

Bethany started to ladle out the soup into empty bowls set on the countertop. “I guess I haven’t thought about why the girls were the way they were. I’ve only noticed how they act. Like they’re always pushing people away from them.”

Geena set the soup bowls on a tray. “What I’ve come to learn is that hurt people push others away because they want someone to come and get them, to say they haven’t forgotten about them, to show how much they’re wanted and needed.”

Bethany fit three more bowls on Geena’s tray. “Maybe if those girls made a little effort in the right direction, it might be easier for people to want and need them.” There it was again: judgment. It was gaining a foothold. “Don’t listen to me. I’m still frazzled from yesterday.”

“It’s been a big week for you, Bethany. It’s a lot to process. Give yourself time.” Geena squeezed her arm before she took the tray to the dining room.

Process.
Geena had used that term before. She made it sound like thoughts and feelings were in motion and maybe they were. Bethany felt like she was trying to sort things through and put them where they belonged. It was as if her cluttered mind was a version of the Sisters’ House and she was trying to get it organized.

Bethany ladled out more bowls of turkey rice soup and put them on a tray to take to the table of Group Home girls. They always sat in the same place—the farthest table. One clump on one side, one clump on the other, as if they didn’t like each other and, probably, they didn’t. She tried to focus on
what Geena had mentioned—that these girls, including Rusty, were hurt souls, longing to be loved and valued. Noticed.

With a sigh and a prayer, she took the tray over to the table and set it on the table. One by one, she served a bowl of soup to each girl. She forced herself to smile and make eye contact. Then she came to Rusty. The two of them locked eyes almost like clockwork.

As Bethany reached across the table to serve the bowl to Rusty, she slipped Bethany a note. She put it in her dress pocket. When she went back into the kitchen, she pulled it from her pocket and read it. A chill moved through her, tickling down her spine.

Yesterday was just a warning. Tell Tobe to leave it alone.

It was in Jake Hertzler’s handwriting.

17

S
hootfire!
When it came to Jake Hertzler, Bethany made mistake after mistake after mistake. She was the one who had introduced him to her father, years ago, on a Sunday morning at church. She mentioned to her father that Jake had accounting skills and was looking for a job. She had done it intentionally—she thought Jake was charming and handsome, and he was. But he was also crafty and cunning and shrewd . . . and now she had discovered that he could be threatening.

Her anger evaporated as she realized,
It’s all my fault.

Why had she called Jake and left that message, tipping him off to Tobe’s whereabouts? She was ashamed of her action, embarrassed by it, unsure of what to do about the note from him. What had she done? What did Jake mean—warning Tobe to “leave it alone.” Leave
what
alone?

Why did she always seem to underestimate Jake?

She knew why. She was raised to believe the best in others—it was ingrained into her. How many times had she been told that if you search for the best in people you’re bound to find it?

But what about people in whom there was no best?

Chase had been following her from room to room as she
paced through the farmhouse, never leaving her side for longer than he absolutely had to. She sat at the kitchen table and he slumped under her chair and gazed at her, a worried expression on his furry face. Then his tail began to wag. She bent down and stroked his ears. She knew she needed to start dinner soon, but her thoughts couldn’t leave that note.

She looked at it again. It was definitely Jake’s distinctive handwriting. Rusty must have some involvement with Jake—which made it all the more likely that she had played a role in trashing the garden. Bethany thought back to those three figures she had seen at the back of the garden. She didn’t think any was a man, but Jake had a slight build. Maybe one of those had been Jake, along with Rusty and one of her friends.

She wished she could talk to Rose. Or Galen. Geena? Should she call Allen Turner? Rose had left his business card on the kitchen countertop. But if Tobe heard about this, he would clam up and stop talking to Allen Turner. And then, without realizing the ramifications of clamming up, he would end up taking responsibility for the illegal things Jake had done to the business. She knew her brother’s nature. He would avoid conflict at all cost. Why else had he disappeared for nearly a year?

She folded up the note. She just didn’t know who to talk to or even how they could help. She tried to think straight and gather facts.

One fact in particular stared back at her: Jake was nearby.

Each afternoon, around five-ish, Mim waited at the phone shanty, hoping for a call from Danny Riehl to go stargazing. If he did happen to call, which wasn’t often, it would be around that time of day. He would have finished his evening
chores and be checking phone messages for his father before he’d be expected back at the house. She didn’t really think he would call because there was a full moon tonight, round and creamy. Beautiful for the soft light it shed on the fields but too bright for stargazing. Those were the thoughts that were running through Mim’s mind as the phone rang. She took a startled step backward, then lunged for it, sure it was Danny.

Instead, it was Rose, Mim’s mother. “How’s everything going, Mim?”

“Everything’s fine. Well, at Eagle Hill, anyway. Bethany moved into my room so Geena Spencer could stay in her room. There’s a new couple staying in the guest flat. They seem nice, but they’re not around much. Turns out the lady is allergic to horses so she runs from the guest flat to her car with a pink handkerchief over her mouth.”

“I wonder why she came to an Amish farm if she’s allergic to horses.”

Mim had the same thought. “And she needs her food to be gluten free. We’ve been giving her scrambled eggs and applesauce for breakfast and told her they’re gluten free.”

“Mim—those things have always been gluten free.”

“We know. But the lady seemed impressed so we decided not to say anything more.”

“Do you think Geena will stay on for the rest of the week?”

“I hope so. She helped clean up the mess at the community garden.”

“Wait. What? Why was there a mess?”

“Someone trashed the gardens on Tuesday afternoon.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nobody knows.”

Silence. “I’m sorry about that. You’ve all worked so hard on those gardens.”

“No kidding. But everybody has. And the same people helped clean it all up. It almost looks as good as it did on Saturday afternoon. Almost.”

“What else have you been doing?”

“Me? Um . . . I . . .” She’d been sifting through letters for Mrs. Miracle and hoping to go stargazing with Danny Riehl, but she couldn’t tell her mom any of that. “The usual. Chickens, horses, goat.”

“Are the boys behaving?”

“Same as usual. Galen keeps them so busy that they fall asleep early.”

Her mom laughed. “Good for him. That’s pretty smart.”

“How’s Mammi Vera holding up?”

“She’s sticking close to Tobe whenever we’re at Allen Turner’s office.”

“Mom, is everything going to turn out all right for Tobe?”

“I . . . don’t know yet. I hope so. He’s spending a lot of time in depositions.”

Mim knew all about those. She read up on depositions after a letter to Mrs. Miracle mentioned them. “But he’ll be coming home soon, won’t he? Won’t all of you be home soon?”

There was a long pause. “I’ll know more in a day or two. Are you managing by yourselves? Do you think Geena might stay until we return?”

“I can ask her. She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get home.”

“You can ask Galen for help too.”

“I know. He stops by each day.”

“Is Bethany doing all right?”

“She’s been awful quiet.” Mim wasn’t sure where Bethany had gone on Tuesday, but she had come home a different person. Quiet, defeated. Another reason she was glad Geena was staying.

“I guess we’re all shaken up by Tobe’s return. Give her time, Mim.” Mammi Vera’s voice was calling in the background. “Your grandmother needs some help. I’ll call again when there’s news. And feel free to call Delia’s house. The number is on the kitchen countertop. Bye, Mim.”

Mim hung up the receiver and walked to the house, up to her bedroom, and back to her secret role as Mrs. Miracle. She wished she could talk to her mom about a problem that was brewing for Mrs. Miracle. Bethany had brought over the mail from the
Stoney Ridge Times
office and the envelope was bursting at the seams. Nearly every letter was about Mrs. Miracle’s advice to “Wringing My Hands.” Readers had all kinds of opinions about whether it was right to meddle in marriages. Four to one ran against Wringing My Hands telling the truth to her friend, Nancy. But what distressed Mim was the actual response from Wringing My Hands. She had absolutely no idea how to respond back to her:

Dear Mrs. Miracle,

I took your advice and thought about whether I would want Nancy to tell me if my husband were having an affair. I would be grateful to my friend for the courage to tell me the truth and not let me remain a fool. So I told Nancy that her dentist husband was having an affair with his hygienist.

Nancy didn’t believe me and said she will never speak to me again.

Really
Wringing My Hands

Mrs. Miracle’s sterling advice might not have been quite as wonderful as Mim had thought. Then another letter completely baffled Mim:

Dear Mrs. Miracle,

Have you ever noticed that you often answer a question with a question? Why is that? Are you trying to avoid giving an answer?

Cordially,
Wants an Answer

Oh, boy. What could she say to that? Then she realized she had just done the very thing Wants an Answer accused her of doing.

She pulled out the next letter.

Dear Mrs. Miracle,

I messed things up. And now I don’t know how to fix them.

Sincerely,
Stuck

Mim chewed on the inside of her cheek. Now
this
, she thought she knew how to answer. For years, her mom had disciplined her two little brothers in just this way and it always worked:

Dear Stuck,

You can do two things:

1) Apologize (sincerely).

2) Do something that helps someone else.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Miracle