An Amish Family Reunion Read online

  His expression became a combination of disappointment and pity. “That’s the other reason I came here tonight. The first was to see you, and the second was to tell you my decision.” He plopped down on the bench, close to her yet still separate. “I’m not going to kid myself about writing children’s books for a living. My dad needs me to step into his shoes, and that’s what I need—no, I want to do. From this day forward I’m Eli Riehl, full-time swine and beef farmer of Riehl and Son Swine and Beef Farm.” He spoke with conviction as his lips pulled into a forced smile.

  “But what of our story? It’s being considered by a publishing house right now.” She stood and began to pace the dock, no longer capable of remaining immobile on the bench. This news was too unsettling to accept sitting down.

  He sighed. “They will most likely say thanks, but no thanks. And in the unlikelihood they want our story, it doesn’t change anything regarding my role at home.”

  She glared as though he’d suddenly changed into an unfamiliar creature. What happened to the happy-go-lucky man who enjoyed weaving tales guaranteed to bring a tear or a chuckle to everyone within earshot? The man who always chose the fanciest words to express himself could live contentedly turning hogs into honey-glazed hams? “But we planned to hire someone to run your daed’s farm from the sales profits, freeing up your time to write more books.”

  His face filled with compassion. “Phoebe, I researched the amount a children’s book author could hope to earn using the library’s computer. It isn’t nearly enough to pay a farm foreman. And I can’t wait to see what our books might earn, especially with a first release. My family needs my help now.”

  There wasn’t a hint of disappointment or regret in his words, but she couldn’t hold back her frustration any longer. “Well, where does your decision leave me?”

  He took her hand tenderly into his. “This changes nothing between us, Phoebe. You must know I care about you. There’s no reason we can’t continue to court properlike. I can take you home from singings and preaching and from social events. Even a farmer takes nights off now and then.” He threw his hair back from his face and set his hat back in place.

  She yanked her hand back. “You’re making every decision by your lonesome, aren’t you? I think this changes everything.”

  If words could hang in the air like twinkling stars, those five certainly were doing so tonight.

  He sat up straighter, his carefree slouch gone. “Was I mistaken about your feelings for me? Did I read your signs all wrong?” His poignant question joined the five words in the humid August air.

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just that you’ve dropped this on me all at once. I need time to think.” She stepped back when he reached for her hand again…and almost landed in Uncle Simon’s pond. “No, Eli. You’ll have to excuse me, but I need to sort things out before I say or listen to anything else.” With that she pivoted and ran like a child frightened by thunder toward Aunt Julia’s house. Past the barn she veered down the back path toward the bog, not slowing down until she reached her own home. Breathless, exhausted, and confused, Phoebe broke into childish tears of self-pity.

  Leah crawled out of bed, trying not to disturb her slumbering husband. Despite an exhausting yet satisfying day, she couldn’t sleep. But it wasn’t the heat or humidity that made her toss and turn under the damp sheet. The possibility of picking up roots and resettling in a northern state frightened her. Yes, she should turn the matter over to God. And she should abandon her will to the One whose plan for His children was perfect, but good old human nature kept getting in the way.

  She pulled a full-length apron over her nightgown, added a sweater and kapp, and crept down the steps as quietly as possible. Picking up her mother’s Bible and the battery lantern from the hook, she closed the front door behind her. The porch swing beckoned with nostalgic memories of summer nights gone by. How she enjoyed being back home during the past week. As much as she loved Jonah, there was something protective and nurturing in the place where she grew up, as though she could release the breath she’d been holding for months. But immersing herself in the protective womb of her parents’ love wasn’t helping her face a difficult decision.

  Mamm told her to turn to prayer, but what could she say that didn’t sound immature and self-serving? Dear God, please don’t make me move to Wisconsin. I want to stay in Winesburg close to my mother for the rest of my life. Considering she’d been given a fine husband along with a baby on the way, Leah shuddered at such a pathetic plea. For several minutes she closed her eyes and cleared her mind of all thoughts—selfish or otherwise. She listened to the night sounds of frogs, crickets, and owls and breathed in the fragrance of the climbing roses from the trellis. The breeze sent a shiver up her spine as she pulled her sweat-soaked gown away from her skin. Far away a dog barked, a train whistle signaled as it approached a railroad crossing, and a rumble of thunder warned of an approaching storm. But Leah sat, limp and silent, until the pressure in her chest finally lifted. When she opened her eyes, the total darkness held no danger or mystery—it had become an extension of the Miller family cocoon.

  Switching on the lantern, she opened the Bible to the book of Ruth. She sought comfort and direction from a woman who faced a far more difficult situation than she. Don’t ask me to leave you and turn back. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Wherever you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. When Leah finished the chapter, she lowered her face into her hands. Tears dropped onto the book’s worn pages, so she set it aside. Ruth demonstrated courage despite far greater tribulations than Leah faced, and she was rewarded for her faithfulness.

  Any leftover shame from her self-absorption vanished. Instead, hope and a renewed sense of purpose filled her heart. Life was filled with detours and roadblocks. Wisconsin would simply become another bump in the road. Leah didn’t need to pray for guidance or ask for specific direction. Her prayers had already been answered. She leaned back in the swing to enjoy the nocturnal serenade before returning to bed.

  “Leah, what’s wrong? Was I snoring? Don’t you feel well?” An anxious Jonah Byler stepped onto the porch, letting the screen door slam behind him. “I awoke and found you gone. When you didn’t return soon, I became concerned.” He studied her face as though searching for clues.

  Leah patted the spot beside her on the swing. “Sit, ehemann. All is well. I couldn’t sleep. Maybe it’s the heat, maybe I’m overtired, but I came downstairs so I wouldn’t disturb you.” She folded her hands over her protruding belly.

  Jonah sat, slipping his arm around her shoulders. He tried drawing her head to his chest but she resisted.

  “I’ve been reading the book of Ruth. And it’s helped me come to a decision. If your mother sells the farm and wishes us to move to Wisconsin, I’m not going to argue. Where you go, Jonah, I will follow. We’ll start a new life for ourselves in the cheese capital of the world. Those folks probably eat as much pie as Ohio folks.”

  Even in thin lantern light she saw his incredulity. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “My mother doesn’t own the Byler dairy farm, Leah. I do. Before he died, grossdawdi left the business and land to me.”

  Darkness crowded in as she stared, blinking and confused. “Joanna doesn’t own the Burkholder farm?” The query underscored her desperation to hear his statement again.

  “She does not. At her suggestion, grossdawdi wrote a will naming me as his sole beneficiary. Mom didn’t want the headache as she looked toward her golden years.” He laughed. “Those were her exact words. So if you were troubled about her selling, you should have asked me sooner.” He pushed one foot against the floorboards to start the swing moving.

  She shook her head as though waking from a nightmare. How much stress and anxiety could she have avoided if she hadn’t sat meek and quiet, stewing in her own juices? Laying her head on his shoulder, she whispered, “Truer words were never spoken. I should embroider some
kind of reminder in the center of our quilt.” Then a stray thought crossed her mind. “And you, Jonah? What are your plans regarding the farm? I know you enjoyed your visit home very much. Would you like to start fresh in Wisconsin someday?”

  His words caressed as softly as a kiss. “If I did, I would discuss the matter with you and not let you come home from quilting to a Realtor’s sign in the front yard. But no, the Burkholder farm is now Byler Dairy. I love it here and have no desire to pull up stakes and start over. Should I ever change my mind, you would be the first to know.”

  Thank You, Lord. My prayers have been answered. “I wouldn’t like moving away from mamm, not with the boppli on the way. I’m willing to go, but I prefer not to.”

  “That’s understandable. Julia would chase me with a stick if I took you away since Matthew lives in New York and Emma is almost in the next county. Ohio is my home now.”

  Leah felt every ounce of tension fade away. “What about Joanna? She misses her sister and the rest of her family. Do you think she’ll return to Hancock?”

  “I can’t speak for her. She does sing the praises of Wisconsin often enough—everything from the taste of their goats’ milk to the taxation rate and the price of available farmland. She once asked me if I could find workers for her specialty cheese business. I assured her that with this economy, there are plenty of people looking for jobs.”

  Leah yawned. Fatigue had settled into every bone and muscle. “Time for bed. After your reassurance, I should sleep sound as a baby tonight.”

  Jonah pulled her to her feet. “No matter what my mother’s choice ends up being, you and I will raise an Ohio cheese-head and not one of the more famous varieties.”

  The mental picture of an infant with a square block of cheddar beneath a white Amish kapp threw Leah into a fit of giggles. With Jonah helping her up the stairs and under the sheets, the giggles lasted until her head hit the pillow. Then she drifted into the deep, dreamless sleep of a child herself.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Emma washed and dressed as quietly as a mouse. James was in the other twin bed, and her sons were in their sleeping bags, all still asleep…and she preferred they stay that way, at least for a little while. After last night’s cookout, with everyone piling into the kitchen at sunset for pie and coffee, she longed for some personal time with her mamm before pandemonium in the Miller household began anew.

  Blessedly, when Emma reached the kitchen, Julia sat alone, sipping coffee with The Budget unopened on the table. She looked up with a crooked smile.

  “Good morning. Is Leah still in bed?” Emma headed straight for the coffeepot.

  “Jah. And it’s a good thing too. I heard her get up during the night to go outside. Probably the heat and a kicking boppli kept her awake.”

  “I like having the kitchen to ourselves.” Emma noticed the breakfast preparations before carrying her mug to the table. Julia had placed bacon in one frying pan, sausage in another, while a bowl of pancake batter waited next to the stove’s drop-in griddle. She’d sliced a loaf of bread and filled a basket with fresh blueberry muffins. “Looks like you’re ready for the hungry masses,” said Emma. “I thought your daughters were in charge of meals, while you’d been assigned to linguistic and cultural acclimation.”

  “Listen to your fancy talk. That must be Barbara Davis’ influence. I’m not even sure what you said.” Julia grinned wryly. “Someone needs to mix up the frozen orange juice.”

  Emma jumped to her feet, but Julia grabbed her wrist. “Mix later. Sit with me a minute. I want to talk to my eldest daughter.”

  Emma blew on her coffee and added two sugars, waiting patiently for mamm to be mamm.

  “I heard James telling Jonah last night about visiting the local men’s prison.” Julia kneaded her hands like bread dough.

  “He’s part of a men’s group that conducts Bible studies on Saturday mornings for the inmates. They take turns, but usually once a month Barbara drives him to Wooster to participate.”

  Julia stared at her the way she’d done when Emma walked into the kitchen wearing lip gloss during her rumschpringe.

  “The goal is for the men to continue attending church after their release from jail.” She hoped elaboration might mitigate her mother’s confusion.

  Judging by Julia’s expression, it hadn’t. “Bible studies in English?”

  “Of course in English. That’s the language the men speak.” Emma sipped her coffee for fortification. Grogginess wouldn’t serve with this particular morning discussion.

  Julia nodded. “Has he two Bibles—one to take to do Barbara’s work and another for at home?”

  Emma drained her mug and stood to get a refill, arranging her thoughts along the way. She wanted to tread carefully over this pond of thin ice. “It’s not Barbara’s work but his own, although her evangelical church performs a similar type of Christian outreach. I’ve explained before that New Order Amish takes the commission ‘Go and make disciples of all the nations’ more literally than Old Order. Our bishop encourages us to volunteer around the community, not just to other Amish families.” She filled her lungs with air, knowing her mother wouldn’t like the next part. “And the only Bible James possesses is in English. He uses it for personal reading and evening devotions with our family.”

  Julia pursed her lips into a pout. “But he agreed to learn Deutsch and to teach his sons by example.”

  “That’s true. And he’s made every effort to converse with the boys in the Deutsch spoken language. However, the Amish Bible is in High German—that’s another thing altogether. He has no time to learn to read written German, besides master Deutsch, with all his responsibilities on the farm.”

  “But the Bible for New Order is the same as for Old. How does he understand the Scriptures during preaching service?”

  “He gets the gist of it.” Emma heaped three teaspoons of sugar into her cup and stirred.

  “The gist of it?” repeated Julia with disdain. “As though the Savior’s words were vague ideas instead of specific instructions?”

  Emma bit the inside of her cheek, trying to tamp down her pique. “He takes his English Bible to service and follows along as the minister reads High German. The sermons are usually in Deutsch with some English words thrown in. He and the boys won’t miss out on anything. Little Jamie already owns a picture book of Bible stories given to him by Barbara.” Emma could have kicked herself the moment those words left her mouth.

  “An English picture book?” Julia clucked her tongue like a hen at an empty grain trough.

  “It’s important that Jamie knows about Jesus, no matter what the language.” She kept her voice soft and nonconfrontational. “The boys are learning the Amish language, thanks to your help, so they’ll have no trouble during church service when they’re older. And as for James? Considering how much he gave up when he left his former lifestyle and turned Amish, I believe he can be forgiven a Bible written in English.”

  Julia stopped clucking. “I suppose you’re right, providing your bishop sees nothing wrong with English Scripture.”

  “He does not.” Emma exhaled as the kitchen clouds began to clear. She topped off their mugs and lit burners beneath the pans of bacon and sausage. The sounds of human movement overhead drifted down the stairs. “Oh, before I forget, if you have any cast-off clothes or housewares, please set them aside for me. And if you have quilts I can sell to raise money, I would much appreciate those too. I’ve been spinning my poor fingers to the bone, weaving as many woolen sofa throws and lap robes as possible.”

  “Have the Davises fallen on hard times?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that. I’ve organized a fund-raiser for the first weekend of September. I must return home right after the reunion to finish preparations. I’m doing my part to raise money for a mission trip to Haiti. James’ mom invited me to go—”

  “Where on earth is Haiti?” interrupted Julia.

  “It’s half an island in the Caribbean Sea. I think it’s close to Cuba. The
other half is called the Dominican Republic.” That explanation provided no additional clarification.

  “Why is Barbara Davis going there?”

  “Haiti was hit by a terrible earthquake. You probably read about it in the paper. After almost two years, the living conditions are still appalling. She’ll join other workers rebuilding homes, schools, churches, and hospitals. The people still need water wells to be drilled, medical supplies, school materials—you name it. They suffered widespread poverty before the disaster hit. Christians will also have a chance to teach about a loving, merciful God while they’re there.” Emma smiled patiently.

  “And Barbara wants you to go along—a little Amish gal from Holmes County? That’s no place for you. It doesn’t sound safe.” Julia shook her head like one of Henry’s balky horses.

  Emma thought back on the sage advice from her beloved husband: “We are our own family. We’ll serve the Lord in our own way.” She breathed in and released the air slowly before replying. “First of all, mamm, I am not a little Amish gal. I’m a grown woman with children of my own. That’s why I intend to tell Barbara that I won’t be joining her in Haiti. My contribution to the cause will be the money I can raise between now and then. Thank you for your concern, but I’m fully capable of thinking for myself.” She smiled with as much love as she could muster.

  Julia stared only for a moment. Then she rose to her feet and walked to the stove. “Good. That sets my mind at ease. And I have some quilts you could sell. I think I’ll get the ladies to throw one more together. And Leah can bake pies. Folks at a fund-raiser pay plenty for homemade pies. What about birdhouses? Would Henry’s handiwork bring in any money?” She began flipping sausage links while mentally tallying other goods and services she could donate.