The Search (18 page)

The weather all week was sunny and mild with no sign of rain. Late one afternoon, Lainey found Caleb Zook out in his cornfield, walking among the rustling whispers of the stalks. He was a tall man, yet the green stalks nearly reached his chin. He waved when he saw her and came through the path to meet her by the fence.

“We met at church on Sunday,” she said, putting out her hand to shake his. “I’m Lainey O’Toole.”

“I remember.” He smiled. “I remember you as a girl too. Bertha brought you to church now and then.”

His warmth surprised her. She would have thought a bishop would act stern and serious and cold with an Englisher. But Caleb Zook wasn’t cold. Not cold at all. “I was hoping to have a talk with you sometime.”

“Now is as good as any,” he said kindly, though she knew she had interrupted him. “Shall we walk?” He hopped over the fence and joined her along the road. “What’s on your mind?”

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about. I’ve given it a lot of prayer, and thought, and more prayer. And more thought.” She had too. It was something she couldn’t get out of her mind. The more she tried, the more she felt God pointing her in this direction. And it was a frightening direction. She wouldn’t be in charge of her life, not anymore.

He cocked his head, listening intently.

“I want to become Amish.”

Caleb took off his hat and spun it around in his hands. “You want to become Amish?” he asked her. “Amish go English, but English don’t go Amish. At least, not very often. I can only think of a few converts.” He looked up at the sky. “Oh, lots of folks come and say they want a simpler life, but they don’t last more than a few months. It’s just too hard on them. The language, living without modern conveniences. They just didn’t understand what they’d be giving up.”

“Their independence,” she said quietly.

“Yes. Exactly that.” He looked at her, impressed. “Folks don’t realize that being Amish is much more than simple living. It’s giving up self for the good of the community. It’s giving up individual rights because you’re part of a whole. It’s called Gelassenheit. There’s not really a way to say what it means in English.”

She nodded. “I know enough about the Amish to know what you’re getting at. But that’s the very reason I want to become Amish.” Her gaze shifted past him to the corn in the fields, swaying in the wind. “For just that very reason—to be part of a whole. To belong.” She crossed her arms against her chest. “I don’t know if you can understand this, but I’ve never really belonged to anyone or anything. Until I was ten, I watched all of your families, always wishing I were part of one.”

Caleb listened, spinning his hat. “Have you thought of joining an English church? Wouldn’t that give you what you’re looking for?”

She dropped her chin to her chest. “I’ve always belonged to God. He’s been the one thing I’ve been able to count on. I’ve always gone to church, even on my own, even when I was living with different foster families.” She lifted her head. “But there’s still a part of me that wants something more. I thought finding a career would be the answer, so I saved up my money for culinary school. That’s where I was heading when I ended up in Stoney Ridge this summer. But now that I’m here, I know it’s something else that I want.” She swept her arm out in an arc and gathered her fist to her chest. “I want this.” She owed so much to the Amish. It was through them, years ago, when her sorry childhood was at its bleakest point, that she met the Lord. It was one of those mornings when Bertha let her tag along to church. Lainey couldn’t understand much of the service, but there came a moment when she knew God loved her. It was during a hymn, a long, mournful Amish hymn, and it was as real as if God spoke to her, telling her that he knew her and loved her and not to worry. He would be watching out for her. She couldn’t explain how or why, but she knew it was true, and that assurance had never left her.

Caleb looked at her with great sincerity. “Being Plain . . . it’s not easy, Lainey, even for those of us born to it.”

“I know more about being Amish than you might think,” she said. “Do you remember Simon, Bertha’s brother?”

He dropped his eyes. “Of course.”

“Simon had it all wrong, about being Amish.” Caleb was about to interrupt, but she put a hand up to stop him. She knew what he was going to say. “Oh, I know he was excommunicated. But he was raised Amish and thought he understood what it meant. He emphasized all the wrong things. He would rail against pride and then scold my mother for decorating a birthday cake for me with icing. He would say God was watching everything we did, like an angry parent, then he would go out drinking until the wee hours.”

She could see Caleb wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. She tried to make it more clear, but this was hard. She was telling him things she had never told anyone else. “Even back then, I knew he was missing the heart of it all. He didn’t understand God the way I knew him, not at all.”

Caleb raked a hand through his hair. “I have to ask. Does this have anything to do with Jonah Riehl?”

She looked at him, stunned.

“I noticed the two of you talking together after church on Sunday.”

Her eyes went wide with disbelief. Why would talking together make the bishop think she wanted to join the church? “No! For heaven’s sake, no! Nothing could be further from the truth. Jonah will be leaving for Ohio any day now. Bess said he’s planning to marry someone there. I’m staying right here, in Stoney Ridge.”

Caleb spun his straw hat around in his hands, around and around. She could see he was thinking hard. “Spend one week without using electricity.”

Lainey’s eyes went wide. “What will I tell Mrs. Stroot at The Sweet Tooth?”

He smiled. “No. Not at the bakery. But at home. You might find yourself heavy-hearted in your soul for machine-washed clothes and flipping on a light switch and other things in life that you have taken for granted.”

Lainey was sure she wouldn’t be so heavy-hearted. She had grown up poor, accustomed to going without luxuries. “Before I came to Stoney Ridge, I worked at a department store, listening to people’s complaints about the products they bought.” She shook her head. “All day long, I listened to complaints. It struck me one day that people were hoping these products—these things—would bring them happiness and satisfaction. But they never did.” She looked up at him. “Because they can’t.”

Caleb listened carefully to her. “One week without electricity. Then we’ll talk again.” He put his hat back on his head and laid his hand on the fence post. Before turning to go back to work, he added, “For now, Lainey, I’d like you to keep this to yourself. Just something between you and the Lord God to work out. I’ll be praying too.”

She did write weekly to her two friends, Robin and Ally, but she would never dare tell them about this new plan. They would think she was certifiably crazy. “Bess knows.”

Caleb tilted his head and smiled approvingly. “Then we’ll keep this between the three of us.” He jumped back over the fence.

Lainey watched the top of his straw hat until he disappeared among the cornstalks before she started back down the road. The funny thing was, going Amish was Bess’s idea in the first place, a week or so before Lainey went to church with her. Bess and Lainey were baking muffins one afternoon at the bakery and talking about what they imagined a perfect life to be. Lainey described growing up Amish, and Bess looked at her, surprised. “Well, why don’t you become Amish, then?” Lainey laughed, but Bess persisted. “I mean it. Why not?”

Lainey hadn’t taken her seriously, but she hadn’t stopped thinking about it ever since. And then when she went to church last week, she felt an even stronger pull. So then she started to pray about it, long and hard, asking God to tell her all the reasons why she
shouldn’t
become Amish. But all she sensed from God was the same question Bess had posed, “Why not?”

She ran through all the logical things: she didn’t know their customs or language, she didn’t dress Plain, she would have to give up modern conveniences. Many things that she took for granted would be forbidden, like listening to the radio or watching television for entertainment. Then there were the deeper aspects to being Amish: humility and obedience to authority and denying self. Those weren’t exactly popular concepts in the world she lived in.

It didn’t make any sense, yet she couldn’t deny what was stirring in her heart: a deep-down longing to join the Amish church and community. She wanted a place amongst them.

For the rest of the week, Bess avoided Billy as best she could, but he was so sulky, he didn’t even notice.

“That boy looks like he’s been poked in a private place,” Mammi noted, watching him walk to the barn one morning. She finished drying the last dish at the kitchen sink and hung the dish towel to dry. “Anything to do with Betsy Mast running off?”

How did Mammi know everything that went on in this town? “It’s not fair! It’s just not fair,” Bess cried, dropping her head on her arms at the kitchen table. “How could he be so sweet on a girl who would leave her church and family?”

Mammi shot her a warning glance. They should be worried that Betsy’s soul was in peril, not throw stones at her. Bess knew that, but it was hard not to feel despair over the situation.

“The only fair I know hands out ribbons for canned pickles and prize tomatoes,” Mammi said calmly. She eased her big self down onto a kitchen chair. “Things happen for a reason. Best to leave it in the Lord’s hands.”

“Do you think Billy will pine after her
forever
?” Bess glanced out the window as he came out of the barn and went over to the greenhouse.

“Forever is a big word for a fifteen-year-old. No sense tearing through life like you plan on living out the whole thing before you hit twenty.” She leaned back. Bess was sure she heard the chair groan. “But he’s no fool, that Billy Lapp.”

Bess had no desire to listen to Billy’s woes about Betsy Mast, but the situation at Blue Lake Pond was another matter entirely. Last night, lying in bed, she gave the matter serious thought and had a brainstorm. In the morning, she took out a sheet of white paper and started to write. She described the vanishing wildlife, the sawdust on the shoreline, the truck seen coming in and out dropping a load of paper pulp. She even included the license plate of the truck. She signed the letter, A Friend of the Lake. She addressed the letter to the
Stoney Ridge Times
, attention: Letter to the Editor, put a stamp on it, and tucked it in the mailbox so the postman would pick it up. She hoped the good Lord would understand that she wasn’t just doing this to help Billy Lapp. She really did care about that lake.

Then she waited. And waited. But there was no sign of any activity at Blue Lake Pond other than the truck dropping paper pulp into it on a regular basis.

After lunch one day, Bess and Mammi washed the dishes and swept the room, and now Mammi was mending a torn dress hem while Bess was cutting scrap material into quilt pieces. They sat close to the window for better light—it was raining again. Jonah was in the greenhouse fixing a broken window.

“Mammi, I’ve been thinking,” Bess said.

“Mebbe you should have tried that in math class,” Mammi said.