Another Homecoming (10 page)

8
 

Summer gave way to autumn,
and autumn had begun to drift into winter’s cold embrace, yet Joel still had not gone to Simon’s house for the promised dinner.

Not that he hadn’t spent a lot of time at the Millers’ home. His reluctance about the meal was not due to the strangeness of some of their ways, although the Miller household was certainly different from anything Joel had ever known. Even so, he felt comfortable with them. But though they had often invited him to share a Sunday dinner, Joel held back.

The Miller household held many mysteries. Everyone was busy all the time, and yet a sense of calm overlay all the activities. Mr. Miller was so sick they had been forced to leave their farm in Pennsylvania and come to live in this strange town near Baltimore, and yet they all seemed happy. He had lost his leg, and sometimes his stump was so sore he could not even strap on the prosthetic limb, and yet he moved about all the time. Even when he was sitting still, he was talking or reading or balancing the baby, or all those things at once.

Mr. Miller did not even seem to realize he was handicapped. He kept up a successful business as a custom cabinet and furniture maker. He moved about the back shed where he kept his tools and wood, deftly carving and shaping and hammering and sawing, supporting himself on one leg and a crutch or a wall or a table, whistling and happy. Yes,
happy
. Not some artificial smile pasted over his sorrows. The man was genuinely happy. The whole family was. And Joel simply could not understand it.

Yet the biggest reason why Joel had not accepted their invitation was that he was afraid to ask his parents. The littlest things could set his father off. The issue of pets, for instance. The second time Joel had dared to ask for a puppy, his father had stayed angry for days, as though the asking itself had been a very bad thing. Joel never could tell what would ignite another bout of anger and shouting. So he chose to remain silent and ask for nothing at all.

But more than Joel’s naturally reserved nature was at work here, he knew. Joel felt as though the visit could hold some special significance. Without working out exactly why, Joel sensed that joining them for the meal and the promised talk with Mr. Miller would catapult him into something new. Something alien. And Joel was not sure he was ready for that, or if he ever would be.

A month after his fourteenth birthday, Joel waited as usual for Simon after school. But when his friend appeared, his normally spirited expression was downcast. Joel fidgeted nervously, avoiding Simon’s eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Simon replied glumly.

“Is it your father?” Mr. Miller had gone through a bad time earlier that summer, something about the doctors not being able to adjust his insulin correctly.

“No, Papa is fine.” Simon scuffed along the road, kicking at stones. Finally he said miserably, “A letter from home this morning came. Missy has foaled. And Daisy has another litter. Six this time.”

Joel had to think a moment. Daisy was the dog, he knew that much. Simon’s sister Sarah talked about little else. That was another amazing thing about this family. They had over two hundred animals, counting the dairy herd. But all of them had names. And the children talked about them as if they were all family. “I forget. Which one is Missy?”

“Papa’s horse. He promised me the foal would be mine for raising up myself.”

Joel felt a stab of envy. His father would not allow him one small puppy, and the Millers had everything. Four dogs, three cats, cows, four horses, two mules, thirty hens, a bad-tempered rooster, and seven nanny goats. There was even a squirrel that had fallen out of the nest as a baby and Mrs. Miller had bottle fed; she now lived in the tree back of their farmhouse and would come and bring her own family whenever Mrs. Miller called to her. “So, that’s great. What’s the matter?”

“So now somebody else sees after my foal. Somebody else curries him. Somebody else watches him learn to stand and walk and run.” Simon seemed ready to cry. “I want to see him. To do for him myself. I miss home. I miss our farm.”

Joel did not know what to say. He had never known another town except Riverdale. His parents had taken him to Washington one afternoon to see the White House and the memorials. But he had never even been to Baltimore. He could not even begin to picture the Millers’ Mennonite community outside Lansdale, Pennsylvania. From everything Simon had said, it was an utterly different world from anything Joel had ever known.

They walked the rest of the way to Simon’s house in silence. Before they had even climbed the front steps, Joel heard the wails from inside. “Sarah, she makes tears,” Simon said forlornly. Sarah was Simon’s younger sister. “She wants the puppies. All of them, here with us now. Mama says no, there is not the room. And we could not get them down here to us. So Sarah, she wants to go home. We all want to go home.”

Mrs. Miller pushed open the door and tried for a smile, but she could not raise one today. She was dressed, as always, in a dark blouse and printed skirt, with a kerchief tied over her hair. “I am sorry, Choel. Today is not so good.”

“Sure, I understand.” Mrs. Miller’s accent was a little stronger than Simon’s, but nothing compared to her husband’s. According to Simon, his mother’s family was progressive, whatever that meant. “I’ll see you later, Simon.”

“Perhaps you will come and choin us for worship on Sunday, yah?” The words had been spoken by Mrs. Miller every week since she had met Joel. And every time he had come up with another excuse. The woman did not press. And Joel had never delved into his reasons for delaying.

Today Simon did not even wait for Joel’s response. He trudged up the front steps, his shoulders slumped in misery. Joel felt a sudden yearning to do something for his friend, something that would make him happy again. “Sure, Mrs. Miller. I’d love to come.”

His unexpected assent astonished them both. Mrs. Miller’s anxious expression gave way to a beaming smile. Simon whirled about. “You will? Really?”

Joel was so surprised at the effect of his words that he could only nod.

“That is good.” The word off Mrs. Miller’s tongue sounded like
goot
to Joel’s ears. “Welcome you, we will. Come at ten, and stay you must for the Sunday meal.”

“This is very good, Choel,” Simon said, and his grin upheld the words.

“Sunday next,” Mrs. Miller said and reached forward to pat Joel’s head. “It is good to have reason yet to smile today.”

Joel walked down the block, turned, and waved back to where Mrs. Miller and Simon stood on the porch watching him. Sunlight and shadow played over the street as a brisk autumn wind sent clouds scuttling overhead. For some reason, he felt lighter than air, able to skip forward, as if just barely tracing his way along the earth.

But the closer Joel got to home, the heavier he became. He tried to sort out in his mind the best way to approach his parents. His first urge was to not talk about it to them at all. Rather he would just do his paper route, then slip over to the Millers’. But much as he hated the thought of conflict, he decided he had to meet this head on. To do otherwise would taint the way this day felt.

As he headed up his street, he concluded that the direct approach would be best. He would simply lay his request before them and hope they would understand.

The next big question was which parent to tackle first. His mother would probably be the most likely to give permission, but his father detested what he considered playing one parent against another. Harry interpreted it as an act of deceit and reacted with denial of the request, no matter how reasonable it might be.

No, Joel decided, it was best to face them both at once and take the consequences. But when? They were so seldom together. Family fellowship was unknown in Joel’s household. He had never experienced an atmosphere like that of Simon’s home. There the father read near the room’s big lamp while the mother tucked up close on the other side of the small table, knitting needles clacking in rapid succession, keeping time with her chattering tongue. And all about the room, children of various sizes hovered over homework while the smaller ones amused themselves with homemade toys. The baby cooed from the cradle, near enough to one parent or the other so that an outstretched foot could continue the steady rocking.

No, Joel’s home could not be more different. His father either hid behind his newspaper or
Argosy
magazine or just sat in his corner chair, staring out at the black night. His mother often retired early, giving Joel a quick brush of a kiss and telling him to be sure to finish his homework. Sometimes she would read in bed her dime novels from the corner drugstore. His father called them “your mother’s trash” and always tossed them out if he came across them.

No, Joel decided, heading up the front walk, it would have to be at mealtime. Certainly there would be little competition for their attention if he were to voice his request then. Mealtimes were silent at the Grimes home. But the very thought of the coming ordeal made Joel’s stomach knot.

Joel did his evening chores and tried to formulate the right words. But every idea he had was met with images of frowns and headshaking. As he trudged into dinner, he resigned himself to the fact that there was no good way to say it. He would just have to blurt it out.

They were halfway through another silent meal before he cleared his throat, swallowed, and dove in. “Simon has invited me to his house for Sunday morning.”

Heads did not even lift.

“His folks have a sort of worship every Sunday.”

His mother looked up.

“He’s invited me to join them,” Joel pressed on. His mother’s eyes were on him now. He wanted to speak directly to her but feared it would not please his father.

“What do you mean, worship?” Martha asked.

Joel wasn’t sure himself but repeated what little he knew from Simon. “They read stories from the Bible and stuff. They sing, too. Together.”

His father’s head lifted now. “You mean, at home?”

“In their house,” Joel confirmed.

“Why? That’s what churches are for.”

Joel could not recall his folks ever setting foot in a church, but now was not the time to be pointing that out. “They don’t have a church here.”

“There are churches all over Riverdale.”

Joel was skating toward the edge of his knowledge. “Not their kind.”

The frown on his father’s face deepened. Joel could see he wasn’t pleased. “What are they, some kind of weird sect? I don’t want any son of mine getting hooked up with a bunch of crazy fanatics.”

He sounded so angry. So final. Joel felt his heart sink. He lowered his head.

“I’m sure Simon’s family aren’t fanatics,” he heard his mother saying. “It just doesn’t fit.”

“They sure dress funny,” his father shot back.

“They are Mennonites. That’s the way they’re supposed to dress.”

“It looks goofy.”

“You might not like it,” Martha replied in her quiet, flat voice, “but it doesn’t mean they are strange.”

“So what does it mean?”

“It’s a sort of uniform. Like the army.”

His father’s tone sharpened further. “It’s not like the army at all. That’s a stupid comparison. The army has a perfect reason—”

“So do they,” Martha cut in. “They choose to be identified in such a manner.”

Joel listened as the angry words swirled about the small room. He wished he could just take it all back. He had not wanted to cause another argument. He hated these quarrels worse than anything. He should have just stayed silent, as always.

But his father was not finished. “So where did
you
get all this information?”

“I read about them,” his mother replied.

“In one of those trashy books of yours, I guess. Well, if that’s the kind of folks they are, then it’s settled—”

“For your information, I found out about Mennonites in the public library. I looked them up when Joel started keeping company with that young boy.” She flung the words like a well-aimed lance at her husband. Joel looked up in surprise. It was a rarity that his mother would stand up to her husband over anything. But Martha was not finished. She tilted her head, a defiant look in her eyes, and said, “At least I am interested in what goes on in Joel’s life.”