The Rescued (10 page)

“Actually, it doesn't,” the minister said, his tone mild. “Children who attend a private school or a church school aren't required to come here.”

“That doesn't affect this situation.” Graham glared at the man. “These people just want to take their kids out of school at age fourteen so they can put them to work on their farms. This country is moving forward. We can't afford to have half-educated, backward citizens. The Amish need to be like everyone else.”

The minister seemed to listen attentively to his words, but then his gaze shifted back to Bishop Thomas. From the corner of her eye, Mattie noticed that the young man with the notebook and camera had begun scribbling furiously.

“Will you explain to the board, Bishop Thomas, why the Amish community doesn't want advanced education for your young people?”

The bishop nodded, his face grave. “I'm glad to do so. We Amish choose to live separate from the world in obedience to
the Bible. We wish our children to be taught the skills that are necessary for the lives they will live. They will be farmers and craftsmen, and they will be part of the Amish community. They don't need advanced classes for that—better they should be learning how to run a farm or raise a family.”

“But what harm will going to high school do? I mean, surely it doesn't hurt anyone to be a little better educated, even if he isn't going to use the information.”

The questioner was one of the other board members, who had been silent until now. To her surprise, Mattie recognized him—it was Mr. Matthews, who ran the hardware store where the Amish shopped. He probably knew the Amish community as well as anyone. Surely he didn't think they were backward.

“We fear that if our children come here to school, they will be required to study subjects which are contrary to our beliefs, or that they will be forced to question our ways.”

Bishop Thomas spoke with authority, and Mattie realized he must have been doing a great deal of thinking and praying about this situation. She concentrated on the board members, praying that they would listen and understand. She felt Adam shift slightly next to her, and a quick glance at his face told her that he was praying, too.

“We are concerned that they will be laughed at because of their clothes and their habits. They would face such criticism willingly if necessary, but it's not necessary. We fear that the school will teach them that competition, not cooperation, is right, even though it's not an Amish value. We feel that our whole way of life is in danger if our children are forced into this school.”

The minister nodded as if he understood, but Graham rapped on the table.

“The board has already voted on this matter. It's no longer up for discussion. Besides, it's a question of fulfilling the requirements of the state. We can't do anything for you.”

Mattie watched the face of the young minister, but he was looking at Graham, who glared at him as if daring him to say another word. A silent battle seemed to ensue between the two men. Then Reverend Colby flushed slightly. He shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

Mattie felt as if a door had been slammed in their faces. For a moment she'd thought there was a chance for them. Now it seemed there wasn't.

Her thoughts reached out in a silent prayer for guidance and strength. These trials were nothing compared to those of the martyrs who had been tortured and killed for their faith back in Europe in the early days. Still, the burden felt very heavy indeed.

J
udith
glanced across the room as she finished tidying the kitchen that evening. Isaac sat at the study table, frowning earnestly at the papers in front of him, for all the world like one of the kinder absorbed in his schoolwork. This was a pleasant time of day, with the boys settled and the house quiet.

Smiling a little, she hung up the dish towel and crossed the room to put her hand on Isaac's strong, solid shoulder.

“Doing your spelling words?”

He looked up and grimaced. “I wish I were. This paperwork for the dairy gets more complicated every month, it seems like. And there's more of it, too. It wonders me that we don't all drown in a sea of paper.”

“I know what you mean. It seems kind of foolish, too. The cows supply the milk, you deliver it to the dairy, and they bottle and sell it. Why do they need all these rules and regulations?” It was in the back of her mind to offer her help, but she wasn't sure how Isaac would receive it.

“Simple to you and me, maybe, but not to the health department or the occupational services people or the tax collectors.” He rubbed the back of his neck as if tension had set in there, and her heart moved.

“Is there something I can do? Fill in some of the forms, maybe, if you showed me how?”

“No.” His response was quick and short, and in an instant she saw that he thought he'd been too brusque. “Denke, sweetheart.” He captured her hand in his. “It's gut of you to offer, but I should do it myself. You could cut me another piece of that peach pie, though.”

“That'll give you strength to get through it, ja?” Judith said the words lightly, not wanting him to know that his quick refusal had hurt.

She cut the wedge of pie, reminding herself that she'd expected nothing else. Plenty of Amish husbands and wives worked together on family businesses. There was no reason why she couldn't handle the dairy paperwork except that Isaac had such a strict view of the division between men's work and women's work in running a farm.

Carrying the plate and a fork, Judith went back to the study table, preserving her smile. “Some milk or coffee with it?”

“Milk would be gut.” He gave the papers another frown before shoving them away to make space for the pie. “You'd probably do a neater job of filling in these forms than I do. When we were in school, you always got the job of writing things on the board because you were such a neat printer.”

Her smile became more genuine. “You were just too eager to get through the work and on to recess, that's all. You were always the first one out to the school yard, holding a ball or a bat.”

“Most likely so.” Isaac took an eager gulp of the milk she proffered, acting so like the boys for a moment. “All I wanted was to finish school and start working the farm with Daad. If I'd known all this was involved, maybe I'd have tried harder at the schoolwork.”

Mentioning his father had brought a shadow to Isaac's face, and she sought to find a means of chasing it away. “I think boys are more practical about learning than girls. Boys want to know only the things that interest them or they can use, but girls seem to enjoy finding out about all sorts of subjects. That was true for me, anyway.”

He nodded. “Could be.” His expression softened. “Know what I remember about you?”

Judith shook her head, hoping it was something nice.

“I remember how good and patient you were when you helped out with the little ones. Teacher Emma said you'd make a fine teacher, but when I saw it, I thought you'd make a fine mother, and I was right.”

Judith tried to show suitable appreciation of the rare compliment, but her heart seemed to be turning to ice. He'd looked at her even then and thought she'd make a good mother, and when he'd realized his small brother needed a mammi, he'd turned to her. She'd been the logical answer to his problem.

Something—some need to provoke another response, maybe—urged her to speak. “Frederick Yoder told me once that you'd snapped me up before any of the other boys had a chance.”

Isaac's face darkened. “He would. I think he had his eye on you all along.” He looked up at her, frowning. “When were you talking to Fred?”

She shrugged, appalled that she'd let her pain push her into
saying the one thing she shouldn't. “Ach, I don't know. I see him around, ja? His kinder are in school with Levi, after all.”

“That Fred,” he muttered. “He flirts with every female he comes across. It wonders me that his wife lets him get away with it.”

It would be nice to think Isaac was the teeniest bit jealous, but Judith couldn't convince herself of it. “It's just Fred's way. Nobody pays any attention to it. If anyone ever took him seriously, he'd run the other direction. He's a little like my cousin Barbie. She can't help flirting, it seems.”

Something seemed to tickle Isaac about comparing Fred with Barbie, because his expression eased. “I'm wonderful glad you're not like your cousin. I wouldn't want you flirting. And isn't it about time Barbie picked someone and settled down?”

“She's young yet,” Judith said, trying not to think of her own concerns about Barbie. “One day she'll fall in love, and that will end her flirting for good. But speaking of my cousins, Rebecca has asked me for some help.”

“More wedding stuff?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Sort of. After their marriage, she and Matt want to start their weekend visits to the family, but she still has some guests scheduled for the farm-stay on a few weekends. She asked if I could help Barbie run the place.” She rushed on to what she considered the best part. “And she insists on paying me my fair share, too. Won't that be nice? We can put the extra money toward the new equipment for the dairy.”

Isaac didn't respond immediately, turning his fork over in his hand. He was silent for long enough to make Judith feel chilled. “How can you find the time?” he said. “You have too
much to do as it is, with all the canning and preserving and everything else. It's all right for Barbie. She's not married.”

Judith stared at his bent head. If he looked at her, she might know what was in his mind, but he didn't.

“This wouldn't be until November, most likely,” she pointed out. “Everything will be put up by then, and the kinder will be well into their school routine. There will just be Noah home during the day.”

Isaac's fork clacked against the table as he put it down. “That's another thing. What about the boys? They won't be in school on the weekends. They still need to be watched and fed and taken care of. I can't do everything.”

“No, of course not.” Surely he didn't think she meant for him to take over the house. She hadn't expected this reaction, and she wasn't sure how to handle it. “Eli's wife will be glad to help, I know.”

Her young brother Eli had married his Miriam last wedding season, and they were eager for a family of their own. Miriam loved any opportunity to mind the young ones. It was good practice, she always said.

“Besides, Barbie and I will split the work. I won't have to be there all the time when there are visitors.”

Since Barbie didn't have a family yet, it made sense that she would take on more of the responsibility, and after all, she was the one who'd been working with Rebecca all summer. She knew far more about it than Judith did.

“I won't neglect you and the kinder,” she said softly, putting her hand on Isaac's shoulder. “Besides, the extra money will—”

“You don't have to go out and work to support us.” The words came out in a harsh tone that was so unlike Isaac it
startled her. His shoulder was a hard knot under her hand. “I can take care of the farm and my family.”

Her heart twisted at his tone. “Ach, Isaac, I know you can. You have always taken gut care of all of us.” Couldn't he understand her feelings at all? “I just thought I could help a bit, too. And Rebecca does need me.”

He was stiff and silent for another second. Then he let out his breath in a sigh and rubbed his hands down his face as if to wipe something away.

“Rebecca needs you. Of course you must help her if you can.” He planted his hands on the table in front of him—the good, strong hands of a man who worked hard every day. “I just . . . sometimes I wonder if my daad would be pleased with the job I'm doing if he saw the place today.”

Shocked, Judith seized his shoulders and pulled him around to look at his face. “What are you saying? You have done everything anyone could possibly do to make the dairy farm a success. And you said yourself it's a lot more complicated than it used to be. Your daad would be wonderful happy with all you've done. As I am.”

Isaac didn't respond for a moment. Then his hands went around her waist, and he drew her close, turning his face against her breast. “Denke, Judith. I couldn't do it without you.”

She held him close, her heart overflowing with her love for him. And with sorrow, too, because he was working so hard to give Joseph something that Joseph didn't want at all.

•   •   •

Two
weeks later, Judith began to think life was actually returning to an even keel. The boys were both in school, so that she and
little Noah spent much of the day alone together. Joseph seemed to be approaching his normal cheerfulness now that his vocational class would start soon, and she was too grateful for his changed attitude to worry unduly about future decisions. After all, he might become disenchanted with his class once he got into it and decide that the dairy farm was best for him after all.

“Mammi, I want to do homework, too.” Noah tugged at her skirt, knowing his brothers would soon be seated at the study table. “Please, can I do homework?”

“That's silly.” Paul, who was having an after-school snack, spoke from the lofty heights of a brand-new first-grader. “You're not in school, so you can't have homework. Homework is schoolwork you do at home.”

Judith put a warning hand on Paul's shoulder. “We don't talk that way to each other, Paul Wegler. Your little bruder can have homework if he wants. Finish your snack now, both of you.”

Chastened, he nodded, stuffing a large bite of snickerdoodle into his mouth and then attempting to talk around it. “I know what, Noah. You should practice printing your name. Teacher Sally was happy I could print my name so well.”

Judith wiped up crumbs. Teaching manners to small boys was no easy task, but she'd rather her sons be kind than be neat.

“Levi, will you empty the paper trash in the burn barrel before you start your homework? Joseph will burn it later.” There was no point in calling for him to do it now, since the early September day had turned a bit breezy.

Levi, following his brother's example and stuffing most of a cookie in his mouth, nodded and slid off his chair. He grabbed the wastebasket and ran out the back door. The screen door slammed, and she heard Levi's feet pound the steps as he
jumped down them. She'd always thought the boys would be tired when they came home from a full day of schoolwork, but she'd been wrong. The kinder always came home from school both ravenous and bursting with energy, it seemed.

“Komm.” She took Noah's hand. “You sit right up at the study table. You and Paul can start your homework.”

In a few minutes the three boys were seated at the old table, three fair heads bent over the papers in front of them with varying degrees of concentration.

Levi was as conscientious about school as he was about everything he did, but she saw him glance toward the back window now and then, as if wondering what his daadi was doing. Paul, still in the early ages of excitement at being grown up enough to go to school, frowned at his paper, the tip of his tongue showing at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. Noah seemed to have given up writing his name and become engrossed in drawing a picture of a horse.

How many other young Amish scholars had sat at this table over the years? Judith knew about Mattie's kinder, feeling close enough to her to be able to envision her bending over her young ones' work. There had probably been others, both before and after.

It gave her such a strong sense of continuity to think of those other mothers and kinder going about their lives in much the same way she and her family did. One day she must show her boys the old exercise notebooks she'd found—

A shout from outside had her head jerking around. What . . . ?

“Fire! Fire!”

The hoarse cry struck her like a lightning bolt, paralyzing
her for an instant. Then she was running, praying, her breath catching . . .

Judith bolted out the back door, hearing the children scrambling behind her, their voices frightened. She stumbled and nearly fell down the porch steps in her haste. Flames shot from the top of the burn barrel, and scraps of fiery paper floated on the breeze, a danger to everything in their path.

The grass had already caught. Isaac was beating at the flames with the flat of a shovel. A bit of flaming trash landed on the shed roof, just feet from the burn barrel, and the shingles began to smolder.

Judith started to run, then wheeled around as she realized the boys were hurrying after her. She grabbed Levi by the shoulders, shocked at his white face and frightened eyes. “Run to the phone shanty. Dial nine one one, just like Daadi showed you. Tell them there's a fire, and give the address. Can you do that?”

“I will.” His voice shook a little, but he seemed to straighten under her hands. He darted toward the phone shanty. Thank goodness they had practiced this very emergency. She caught Paul when he would have followed.

“Paul, go to Onkel Simon's. Tell him what's happened. Hurry now. Run!” He raced off, and she turned to her youngest. “Noah, you stand on the porch chair and ring the bell. Loud as you can, and keep ringing it.”