The Rescued (8 page)

“Well, I guess that's for you to work out.” Fred's gaze slid away from hers, as if he was embarrassed. “I think he's in here, working with Zeb Esch.”

He led the way through another door to a noisy room filled with machinery and workers. They seemed to be focused on different tasks, none of which made much sense to her.

She saw Joseph at once. He was bending over a machine, wearing protective goggles, and he had an expression of such total absorption that she almost didn't recognize him.

“Joseph.”

He jerked upright at the sound of her voice, spinning to stare at her, his blue eyes wide and distorted by the goggles.

“J . . . Judith.” He stammered her name. “What are you doing here?”

She'd never thought to see the boy look frightened at the sight of her. She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could speak, giving her an instant to think. The only thing that could make this even worse would be to embarrass him in front of the other men.

“I'm here to give you a ride home.” Judith fought to sound normal, struggled to smile. “Are you ready?”

Obviously Joseph knew the question for the command it was. He stripped off the goggles, nodded to the men, and followed her without speaking back through the building.

Wait,
she told herself.
Don't say anything where the others might hear.
But her mind was running on ahead of her, her thoughts tumbling like pebbles in a stream.

It wasn't until they'd started down the road toward home that she collected herself enough to speak. “I am disappointed in you, Joseph. Running off to the machine shop without telling me where you were going—”

“I couldn't.” The words burst out of him. “Judith, how could I tell you? You know what Isaac would say about my
going there. He doesn't want me to be thinking about anything but the dairy farm.”

Please, Lord, give me the words.
“The dairy farm is your inheritance. Isaac just wants to help you get ready to run it.”

“I don't want to run it!” The statement seemed to explode, rocking Joseph nearly as much as it did her. “I know Isaac thinks I should, but I don't want to. I never did.”

Her thoughts reeled wildly. What on earth was the boy saying? He couldn't mean it. “But your father planned—”

Joseph seemed to shake that off before she could even get the words out. “The dairy farm was his dream. And it's Isaac's dream, and maybe Levi's, too. But not mine! Don't you see?”

She stared at the familiar road ahead, trying to make sense of it all.
Careful.
She had to be careful in what she said, or Joseph might stop talking to her altogether.

“I know you've always been fascinated by how things work. You like machinery. That's a good thing. That's what I was telling Isaac just this morning. I tried to show him that it would be a fine idea for you to take that class. Every dairy farmer has to use machinery. Maybe he'll say yes, if he doesn't find out . . .”

She stopped. Was she really thinking of keeping Joseph's visits to the machine shop a secret from Isaac? She couldn't. It wouldn't be right not to be honest with her husband. But how could she tell on the boy and see his relationship with Isaac fall apart?

“I don't want the dairy farm,” Joseph repeated. “What sense does it make for Isaac to give up what he loves for me when I don't want it?”

Judith wanted to have an answer for that question. But she didn't.

After a long moment, she shook her head. “I don't know,
Joseph. You and Isaac are brothers. You should be able to talk together about this problem.”

“We can't. You know he won't understand.” Joseph drooped on the buggy seat, head averted, and Judith sensed that he was close to tears.

“If you won't talk to Isaac about it, what will you do?” She asked the sensible question, wondering if Joseph had a plan at all. She'd like to think this was just a case of teenage rebellion that he'd outgrow, but in her heart she suspected he wouldn't. Joseph just didn't have the feeling for the animals that even little Levi had.

Joseph shrugged miserably. “I don't know. Maybe . . . you said he was thinking about letting me take the class. Maybe, when he sees I do well, he'll understand that I really mean it. Maybe then he'll let me go as an apprentice to Fred.”

“That's a lot of maybes,” she said, her heart wrenched by his obvious pain.

“I know. But . . .” He looked at her, his eyes filled with tears he seemed determined not to shed. “You'll help me, won't you, Judith? You understand. You can convince Isaac.”

Could she? Somehow she doubted she had that kind of influence over her husband.

“If we don't get home before Isaac does, all the convincing in the world won't help. If only you'd told me—”

“Well, you didn't tell me you'd talked to Isaac about the class.” At her look, he flushed. “I didn't mean that you're to blame. But we're almost home. We'll be there first. And you'll help me show Isaac that my way is right.” Joseph had the quick resiliency of youth—and what she felt was unjustified confidence in her ability.

But if she didn't agree to help him, what might he do? Run
away? Jump the fence to the Englisch world where he could do what he pleased? If he did, it would be her fault.

And if she did try to help Joseph, and Isaac realized she'd kept Joseph's plans a secret, what would that do to their marriage?

It seemed she was in for grief no matter what she did. Judith's breath caught in her throat. What did she believe, in her own heart, was right for Joseph? That was the question, and she seemed to see the answer in the handwriting of a woman who'd been faced with difficult decisions over sixty years ago.

All we want is the freedom to choose what's right for us.

Mattie's words echoed in her heart, and Judith confronted the answer. “All right. I'll try to help you if I can.”

And she'd pray that the price of that help wouldn't be too much for her to bear.

Lancaster County, August 1953

Adam would probably be arriving soon, and Mattie's fingers fumbled on the late beans she was snapping for supper. How was she to behave normally toward him, with her mother-in-law's words still bouncing around her mind? Her hands stilled on the colander of beans in her lap, and Anna, next to her on the porch swing, grabbed a handful.

“I'll beat you, Mammi,” she declared, snapping a bean almost in half in her enthusiasm.

“No, no, just the stem, remember?” Mattie guided her small daughter's fingers to the proper place on the bean. “That's right. Gut work.”

Anna grinned, a dimple showing in her cheek. “I can help, ain't so?”

“You are a wonderful gut helper.” Mattie dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

Movement caught her eye, and she looked down the lane to see Adam coming toward her. Rachel was walking next to him, maybe having met him at the mailbox by the road. His head was bent, and he seemed to be listening intently to what she was telling him.

Mattie's heart gave a little lurch. One thing that her mother-in-law had said rang true. Adam did care for the children, and they turned to him quite naturally for help, for advice, even for the kind of gentle teasing that a father did so well.

But how could she feel for anyone else the way she had for Ben? She couldn't, that's all.

Adam and Rachel drew closer, and she waved, but his face didn't break into its usual smile. She felt her throat tighten. “Was ist letz? What's wrong?”

Adam exchanged looks with Rachel as they mounted the stairs. He tapped Anna lightly on the nose. “You run along and find your brothers. Mammi's going to take a break from doing the beans for a few minutes.”

Anna pouted a little, obviously knowing she was being gotten rid of. But Mattie gave her a look, and she scooted off.

“What is it?” she asked as soon as Anna was out of earshot.

Rachel sat down on the swing in the spot she'd vacated, while Adam leaned against the railing. Rachel's sweet oval face was drawn and serious. She held out a long white envelope to Mattie. “This was in the mail.”

Fingers suddenly awkward, Mattie turned the envelope over so she could read the return address. It was from the office of
the superintendent of schools. Her breath caught in her throat. “What . . . what is it?”

“I didn't open it, Mammi. It's addressed to the parents of Rachel Lapp.”

Rachel's voice seemed to shake a little on the words. Mattie understood the feeling. It was very rare to get something so official-looking in the mail. And Rachel had only one parent, not two, as the address indicated.

Steeling herself, Mattie ripped the envelope and pulled out the single sheet inside. It wasn't even a letter, just a sheet of directions.

“‘This is to inform you that Rachel Lapp, age fourteen, is assigned to the ninth-grade class at Valley Consolidated High School, Room 204,'” she read aloud. “‘School begins on September third. Your child's bus pickup schedule will be sent to you separately.'”

She broke off then. “Well, we knew it was coming.” She hoped she sounded calmer than she felt.

“There's more.” Rachel took the paper and read the final lines. “‘Failure to report as assigned will result in prosecution under the Pennsylvania Public School Code.'” She dropped the paper and looked from Adam to her mother, her eyes wide and suddenly frightened, so that she looked like a little girl again. “What does that mean? Will they put us in jail if I don't go?”

“Ach, no, I'm sure it doesn't mean such a thing.” Mattie wasn't sure at all, but she had to take that frightened look from her child's face. “No one could do something like that. You must not worry about it.”

“I heard from a couple of other people who'd gotten their letters today,” Adam said. “They seem to think that's maybe just a
formality, the way they phrase the letter. Or the other side of it is that the school board is trying to make us afraid, so we'll do as we're told. Anyway, it's the parents who are responsible, not the young ones.” His tone was the easy, gentle one he used with the kinder, but Mattie could see past it to the deep concern in his eyes.

Rachel turned to Mattie in a quick, impetuous movement. “No. They can't punish you. What would we do then?”

“Don't fret yourself, Rachel.” She held her daughter's hands in hers. “It won't come to that, you'll see. And if it does . . . well, we must do what is right in the eyes of God, not men.”

“Maybe . . . maybe I should just go to the school, the way they want me to.” Rachel stumbled on the words.

Mattie's grip tightened. “Do you want to go there?” Did she know her daughter as well as she thought?

“No.” Rachel blinked back the tears that filled her eyes. “I don't. I want to do what we planned for me, the way it's always been. I'm Amish. I want to live Amish, and I have enough school learning already. It's time for me to learn my job, from Ada, and how to be an Amish wife and mother, from you.”

“That's what I want for you, too.” Relief flooded through her. For a moment she'd half feared she'd been wrong about her daughter.

“But if it means keeping you from being hurt by the law,” Rachel added, “I would go to the school, no matter what.”

“Stop, now. We can't let being afraid keep us from following our ways.” She looked to Adam, longing for his assurance.

“That's right,” he said quickly, as if he'd recognized her wordless plea for help. “Besides, this is for the bishop and the ministers to decide. We obey God's laws, not men's laws, ain't so?”

Rachel nodded, wiping away a tear that had escaped. “What will you and Mammi do?”

Mattie's heart jolted as she heard Rachel's obvious assumption that Adam would be part of whatever they decided.

“There's a school board meeting next week.” Adam's glance at Mattie seemed wary, as if he wasn't sure how she'd react to whatever it was he intended to say. “Bishop Thomas thinks he and all the fathers of school-age children should attend. Even if they don't allow us to speak, just being there will show how we feel. And maybe they will hear us.” He seemed to make an effort to sound hopeful.

“So I must go.” Mattie forced the words out.

“No, no, that wasn't what I meant,” he said quickly. “No one expects you to attend. Others of us can represent the family for you. Onkel Jonah and I will go.”

Adam was trying to give her a way out, just as Rachel had with her offer to attend the new school. One part of Mattie longed to take it—to hide from the responsibility that was being thrust upon her. But she, no one else, was Rachel's parent.

“All we want is the freedom to choose for ourselves,” she said slowly. And if she truly believed that, she could not hide and let others do what she should be doing. Hadn't she just said to Rachel that they mustn't let fear keep them from doing what was right? If she expected her child to trust those words, then there wasn't any doubt about what she should do.

“Denke, Adam.” She looked at him steadily. “I will be glad of your support. But I must go as well.”

I
saac
wiped his hands and face on the towel that hung next to the sink by the back door. Installing that sink had been one of the best things he'd done when they'd rebuilt the house. He had to grin. It didn't matter to him where he washed, but Judith didn't like grubby hands in her kitchen sink, and on a farm there were plenty of those.

He walked through the kitchen, which was sparkling clean but with the aroma of the fried chicken they'd had for supper still in the air. By this time in the evening, Judith would be getting Noah ready for bed.

Sure enough, she sat in the living room rocker, her voice a soft murmur as she read to Noah, who was snuggled on her lap. Isaac paused for a moment, enjoying the way her head bent over the nearly asleep child. Even back when they had been in school together, it had been obvious that gentle Judith would be a wonderful gut mother one day.

When he took another step she glanced up, smiling when
she met his gaze. Noah didn't stir—too close to dreamland even to realize his daadi had come into the room. He nodded to the boy as Noah's eyelids drifted closed.

“He's asleep,” he said softly.

She craned her neck to look into the face that was turned into her apron. “Ja, I think so.” She slid the book onto the table next to her, where the slanting rays of the setting sun turned its cover bright with an image of farm animals. “He wears himself out trying to keep up with the older ones all day.”

Isaac sat in his own chair, tilted so that it faced hers, and leaned back, feeling the pleasurable ache of muscles that had been well-exerted. “Sorry I was late for supper. Onkel Simon had too many things to do for two people. He forgets he can't power through the work like he used to.”

“It was not a problem.” Judith's face was serene. “Of course you should stay and help him. You're so close—like a father and son, ain't so?”

“I guess.” The admission made him a little uncomfortable. “He's sehr gut to us, too.”

Judith nodded, a trace of a smile lingering on her face. She and Onkel Simon always got on fine—better than Onkel Simon did with his son Lige's wife, to tell the truth. But who wouldn't get along with Judith?

Isaac's gaze lit on the packet of letters that lay on the table under the storybook she'd been reading. The three-cent stamp on the envelope told him what they were. “You were looking through those old letters again, ain't so?”

She nodded. “They're so interesting—like looking right into the lives of Amish women sixty years ago. I keep trying to get through them all, but each time I start, I'm interrupted.”

“It's August. Too much to do on a farm in August for extra reading. Maybe you should save them for the long winter nights.”

Even as he said the joking words, he seemed to feel the cold floorboards under his feet and the warmth of Judith's body as she curled against him in the double bed. With her snuggled close, he didn't even notice the ice on the window.

“The cousins were so close, even though they lived far apart.” Obviously her mind was still on the letters. “They told each other all sorts of things about their daily lives.”

“Like you and Rebecca and Barbie,” he suggested. “I think you're about as close as sisters.”

A smile curved her lips. “Ja, we are. I'm fortunate to have them.”

He nodded, though to tell the truth he'd never really understood the need women seemed to have to talk to other women about anything and everything. He was close to his cousins and his uncle, but when they talked, it was always about the job at hand. Definitely not about how they felt. Still, her cousins, as well as these letters, meant something to his wife, so he should show an interest.

“What kinds of things were happening to them back then that were so different from today?”

Judith's eyes kindled at the question, and he realized she'd been eager to talk about it. “Mattie Lapp, the woman who owned the study table, had a terrible bad time of it. The Englisch were demanding that Amish kinder go to big Englisch high schools, whether they wanted to or not. She feared that if her daughter went, it might make her long for things away from the faith.”

Isaac frowned a little, trying to remember what he'd been
told about this period. “This was before the Supreme Court said we could have our own schools, is that it?”

Judith nodded. “Twenty years before. It seems as if their neighbors thought the Amish were backward. Dumb Dutch. We don't have to face much of that kind of prejudice nowadays.”

“Not usually. We're blessed in that way.” He leaned his head against the padded back of his chair. “Still, we've got problems of our own. Being more accepted means our young people are exposed to more temptations, like cell phones and computers. And drink and drugs and greed, too, I fear.”

Faces swam in his thoughts—Joseph, Levi, Paul, even little Noah. What pressures from the world would they have to overcome in order to stay Amish?

“We can't help worrying about it for our kinder,” Judith said gently. “But it's better to pray and trust than to worry, ain't so?”

He gave a wry smile. “Better, but not easier.”

Judith seemed to be gazing at something far away. “One thing Mattie said several times in her letters is stuck in my head. ‘All we want is the freedom to choose for ourselves.'”

Isaac considered the words. “True enough. I think we still feel like that when the world gets too close. But is this your way to ease into talking about Joseph and this class you feel he wants to take?”

Judith's cheeks grew pinker. “It's the same thing, ja?”

“I—” His words were cut off by the thud of feet, and he heard the back screen door slam. Somehow those boys could never come in without letting it slam behind them. Water ran, and a moment later Levi and Paul scurried in, with Joseph looming behind them.

Isaac fixed his eyes on his second son. “Hands?” he inquired.

With a sigh, Paul presented his hands for inspection.

“Looks like you missed some spots. Go back and wash again, and this time use soap and water.”

Paul looked a little rebellious, but he obeyed. Shaking her head, probably at the fact that this exchange was repeated almost every night, Judith stood, holding Noah close against her.

Maybe he'd best say what he had to while she was still downstairs to hear it. “Joseph, Judith tells me there's a class about machinery you want to take at the technical school.”

Joseph sent a quick glance from him to Judith. What he saw must have reassured him, because he nodded.

“Do you have the information about it to show me?” Isaac asked when the boy didn't move.

“Ja, ja, for sure.” Galvanized, Joseph raced to the bureau and pulled out a paper brochure. He thrust it at his brother. “That's the one I was thinking about.” He leaned over Isaac's shoulder to point. “See, this is all about how small machinery is made and how to keep it repaired. That's a useful thing to know, and I've heard from some of the guys that this fellow is a good teacher.”

The enthusiasm in the boy's face took Isaac by surprise. Why did Joseph never look that way when they talked about the dairy farm? For an instant he rebelled, even though he'd already agreed with Judith.

He stifled the feeling. What harm could one class do? It was a small price to make the boy happy. This interest of Joseph's in machinery was just a passing fad, and the boy would get over it soon enough.

Judith, standing in the archway with Noah sleeping in her arms, met his gaze, and hers was almost pleading.

“Ach, well, if it's so important to you, I guess you should
take the class,” he said. “But mind you don't skimp on any of your farmwork because of it.”

Joseph's eyes lit up in a way he hadn't seen in a long time. And Judith—Judith came across the rug, bent over his chair, and kissed him right in front of the kinder.

A small thing to agree to, he'd have thought. But it had made two people he cared about very happy, so he supposed it was worth doing, even if he did have doubts.

•   •   •

“I
still think we should have gone to Harrisburg to one of the big malls,” Barbie said, turning around from her position in the front seat next to the driver they'd hired to take them shopping. “It would have been fun.”

“We're buying material for our dresses for my wedding. Isn't that fun without going to some big mall?” Rebecca's tone was a little sharper than normal, making Judith suspect that the stress of preparation was getting to her.

“Bessie and Ada Mae will have what we need,” Judith reminded her. “What would be our chances of finding plain blue cotton blends at a big Englisch store?”

The three of them had hired Sam Whitney to take them on this trip to Bessie and Ada Mae's store, since the distance was too far to travel easily by buggy. Sam, a retired mail carrier, seemed to enjoy the diversion. Even now, he met her gaze in the rearview mirror and smiled. She suspected he found Barbie amusing.

“My wife always comes to Bessie and Ada Mae's for her quilting material,” he said. “According to her, the mall fabric shops are full of wild animal prints and silver glittery net. Not sure what you'd use that for.”

Barbie grinned, never seeming to take offense when her ideas were dismissed.

“Oh, I don't know,” she said now. “I could make a tiger-print apron, and Judith would look good in silver glitter, ain't so?”

Rebecca chuckled, her usual good humor restored. “I don't think I'll see Judith in glitter any time soon. As for you—well, you might get more than you bargained for if you went around with a tiger-print apron on.”

Sam slowed the car as they approached the turn into the lane. Obviously he'd been here before, probably many times. No one who hadn't would drive so easily to the store, hidden as it was in the country. The lane wound past a cornfield and a stand of trees and then emerged into a cleared space around a barn that had been converted into a fabric shop years earlier.

Bessie and Ada Mae were twin sisters, inseparable, so they claimed, who had married a pair of brothers. As soon as their kinder were grown, they'd embarked on a business that had expanded so much it supplied most of the Amish families in the county with fabric, along with a fair share of Englisch sewers as well, mainly quilters.

Sam pulled the car into the shade of a massive oak tree. “You ladies take all the time you need. I know what the wife is like when she's shopping for material. She must look at every single bolt two or three times before she decides. I brought my newspaper and a cold soda, and I'll just relax.” He grinned, his heavy face lightening. “Maybe even take a nap.”

“Denke, Sam.” Now that they were here at last, Rebecca looked excited. “I hope we won't be that long.”

Judith and Barbie followed Rebecca as she hurried to the
front entrance. “I wouldn't take bets on it,” Barbie murmured. “Once she starts looking, she'll want to compare every bolt of fabric in the shop.”

“You wouldn't take bets on anything,” Judith reminded her. “But it's only natural, ain't so? You'll be just as bad when you're planning your wedding dress.”

“What's the point of looking at everything?” Barbie said. “Rebecca's so traditional that she'll pick blue, you know she will.”

“There's nothing wrong with that.” Judith's dress had been blue, as well, a lovely deep blue that Isaac had said reminded him of the heart of a violet. “What would you pick?”

Barbie shrugged. “Pink, or purple, or even light green. But my mamm would have a fit.”

“So blue, then,” Judith said, trying to hide a smile. They stepped inside, to be confronted with a vast space completely filled with row after row of racks of fabric bolts. The colors shone in the light from the long windows the sisters had added when they'd renovated the barn.

Aside from the fabric, there were racks of sewing notions and a long cutting table. Nothing extraneous. The shop was as neat and organized as an Amish kitchen.

Bessie came forward to meet them as soon as they entered the shop, greeting them as if she hadn't seen them in a year. “So gut to see you again.” She beamed, her round cheeks the color of ripe apples. “Ach, and for something special, so I guess.”

She gave Rebecca a look that said news of her wedding plans had percolated all the way over here, in the mysterious way everyone in the Amish community seemed to know everything.

Rebecca nodded, blushing a little. “How are you, Bessie? And your family?” She glanced around. “Isn't Ada Mae with you?”

“Ach, she's helping an Englisch lady match prints for a quilt. They've been at it a half hour already and nowhere near done yet. I'll tell her you're here. Now, what can we show you? Some solid blue cotton blends, ja?”

“That's right,” Rebecca said, and Barbie gave an exaggerated sigh and raised her eyebrows at Judith. Judith ignored her as best she could as they trailed along behind Bessie to the proper aisle.

“Bessie and Ada Mae must do a lot of wedding dress business this time of year,” Judith said, once the three of them were alone in a long aisle with fabric on either side. There were rows of cotton blends and more shades of blue than she'd imagined possible.

“For sure.” Barbie reached up, her fingertips just touching the top rack. “This is like being in between two rows of field corn in August.”

“A little more colorful than corn, ain't so?” Rebecca moved down the aisle, pulling out a bolt here or there that caught her fancy. “There will be so many weddings this year that you'll probably end up going to a couple a day sometimes.”

It was often that way as their settlement had grown. With tradition dictating that weddings were usually on a Thursday after Fall Communion and before the weather turned, a lot of weddings were crammed into a short space of time. At least the harvesting and canning were finished before the wedding season started.