Where Love Grows (36 page)

“Well,
Da Hah
be praised for everything!”
Mamm
declared. “That's what I thought Susan's plans were, but it's
gut
to hear this from someone else.”

“And how are you doing,
Mamm
?” Betsy asked.

“I'm doing fine. What do you mean?”

“You know what we mean,” Betsy said. “It hasn't been that long since the
bann
was taken up. We know that was very stressful.”

“Well, it was awful, as I've told you before,”
Mamm
said. “But
Daett
and I made it, and I sure wouldn't have wanted him to go through it alone.”

Ada, standing nearest
Mamm
, gave her a hug. The others reached across the table to touch her arm.

By eleven o'clock most of the food was done, and Susan went out with Teresa to set up tables in the yard. There was no church wagon filled with tables and benches today, so they used sawhorses
Daett
had set out yesterday by laying sheets of plywood across them. Boards rested on firewood logs for benches. Over them went white table covers, followed by the food.

Mamm
went out to tell
Daett
lunch was ready, and the racket in the barnyard died down. The crowd was much smaller than the day of the barn-raising, so the men were soon through washing up.
Daett
led out in prayer since neither Bishop Henry nor any of the other ministers were present. When the men had gone through the line and were sitting at the tables eating,
Mamm
motioned for the women to get their food.

Betsy and Ada went first, with Teresa following. When Teresa had filled her plate, she took her food over to the table where James was sitting. He gave her a smile and made room for her. A few of the men stared, but the teasing soon started.

“Where's my wife?” one of the men hollered. “This isn't fair in the least.”

A roar of laughter went through the small group.

Did she dare? Susan wondered. It would be a bold thing to do, but she wanted to. Seeing Steve bent over his plate, the back of his shirt soaked in sweat, slivers of cornstalks hanging in his hair drew her to him. He looked so, well, so like a farm boy. So down to earth and yet so sweet. How that was possible she didn't know. She wasn't blushing like Teresa had when she'd been dating James. Still, she wanted to sit with him. He'd be asking her to be his steady date before long, so why shouldn't she? Betsy and Ada were already joining their husbands, following Teresa's lead, so she wouldn't really stand out.

Walking across the lawn with her plate of food, she looked down at Steve's surprised face. He seemed so humble, so grateful, as she sat down beside him.

“Now this really isn't fair,” one of the men said. “I will have to speak with the bishop about this.”

In the noise of their laughter, Susan looked at Steve. “Is this okay?”

“It's okay with me,” Steve said, rather pleased with himself now.

D
onald stirred in bed and listened to the strange sounds in the predawn light. Where was he? He sat up, pushing aside the heavy quilt and breathing in the unheated air. The room smelled fresh, though it was colored with the faint scent of corn and farmland. The soft bumps and bangs below him continued. Across the hall the hinges of a door squeaked, and soft steps went past his room.

That he was in the house of his birth father raced through his head. Laying his head back on the soft pillow, he allowed a smile to spread over his face. The welcome had been fabulous last night. His return had been all that he'd hoped. His father had taken him into his arms and wept on his shoulder.

“You have to come more often, Donald,” Menno had said. “We're so glad to have you here with us for Thanksgiving.”

Susan and Anna had shaken his hand, along with that of Charles, Donald's son. They had welcomed them with broad smiles on their faces. Last night there had been pies and baked items laid out all over the kitchen counters. A raw turkey had sat on the table, and the supper dishes had been put away when they arrived.

“You should have come for supper,” Anna had protested.

Donald said he'd wanted to, but there hadn't been enough time in his visitation schedule with Charles. Anna had insisted they sit down and eat large pieces of pie.

That Charles was even along was a miracle of sorts. And there hadn't been the expected objections from him. No long stories on how unique or weird Amish life was had been necessary. Even assurances of how much Charles would be missing if he didn't come weren't needed. After only the barest of details, Charles, the rebel, the contrary one, had consented to come along for the trip. The fourteen-year-old boy who couldn't wait to get out from under the authority of either of his parents had agreed to come to the disciplined Amish community.

Last night when they arrived, it had been too dark to see much, other than what the car lights revealed of the barn and front yard. Beyond those lay the open fields Menno owned and had kept for years—likely since he'd married Anna.

Donald rolled over and got out of bed. Sleep was impossible. Too many thoughts and strange feelings were running through him. And the noise from the kitchen continued. My, these people get up early. The sun still wasn't up. He could only see a soft glow on the horizon when he looked out the window. He pushed back the curtains for a better view and watched the light grow in the east.

What would it have been like growing up Amish? Not that such a thing would have happened for him, even if Menno had known of his birth. Carol would never have come to this strange culture. But the question still begged to be asked. He was half Amish, wasn't he?

Maybe that was the missing piece of life that had always eluded him. Instead of being a lawyer, he was supposed to be a farmer. Tilling the soil and bending over to run the plowed ground through his fingers. The thought was comforting in a way, as wild and impossible as it was. After all, farmers weren't the most prosperous people in the world, especially on the small farms. But that was his non-Amish mind thinking. The Amish continued to make successes of their small farms, passing on their acres to the next generation with great anticipation. Susan and her boyfriend probably had plans to take over this place now that Menno was up in years.

A loud bang came from downstairs, followed by a faint gasp. Another smile crossed his face. Apparently Amish people weren't above making mistakes. But he'd noticed they were the first to admit such a thing. They even made the big mistakes, such as fathering children out of wedlock. Yet they also seemed to have a system in place that took care of whatever problems—big or small—arose.

What did Menno have to go through for correction when it became known he'd fathered a child before he was married? He would have to ask if the question didn't seem too uncomfortable. There had to have been something.

Donald dressed by the faint light from the window and carefully made his way downstairs, feeling his way along the walls with his hands. The small shaft of light coming from under the door below helped, and he made his way safely to the bottom without tumbling head-over-heels.

The living room was empty, but a gas lantern was hanging from the ceiling. Its soft hiss filled the room. Donald peeked into the kitchen and saw Susan and Anna fixing breakfast. He cleared his throat.

“
Gut
morning, Donald,” Anna greeted him. Neither of the two women slowed down or turned around. They must have heard him coming, he figured. The silence of the country house was something he wasn't used to.

“Where's Menno?” Donald asked.

“Out in the barn doing the chores,” Susan said. “Do you want to tag along?”

Like a little boy would
, Donald thought with a smile. He felt like a little boy. Susan had captured the feeling exactly.

“I think I will,” he said. “Do I go out the front door?”

“Either that way or through the washroom,” Anna said, motioning with her head.

Donald imagined hats and coats hanging in his way with boots scattered by his feet in the darkness. “I think I'll use the front door. If Charles wakes up, tell him where I am.”

“Do you think he's settled in and sleeping well?” Anna asked.

“He's okay,” Donald assured her. “He liked the place before he even got here.”

“That's kind of you to say,” Anna said. “How is your mother doing while you're gone? You said last night she had moved in with you.”

“You know how those things go. Mom thinks she can live by herself even when I'm there. So a few days of me gone will pass quickly. She might even enjoy having some time to herself.”

“It's hard to let go,” Anna said, a sad smile on her face.

Donald turned to leave, thinking that Anna also knew what she was talking about. Doubtless a life of this kind required a lot of letting go. More than he could possibly imagine. When he went outside, he noticed the barn windows were lit with a soft glow. He took his time crossing the lawn, stopping to look at the sweep of stars overhead. They twinkled with a brilliance undimmed by city lights. A person felt closer to God here, as if a connection was ready-made between the Creator and His created. Why did men move so quickly to places where the feeling was diluted?

Donald shook his head as dawn broke. Pretty soon he'd be packing up and moving here himself. Like that would ever happen. He was too old for such a move and too much a creature of his own world. But that wouldn't keep him from coming here once in a while. He would take advantage of this contact with his birth father. It was a precious gift he would value all his life.

As he pushed open the barn door, Donald peered around, catching sight of Menno throwing hay into wire racks hanging inside the stalls. Menno saw him approach and turned to meet him, a smile covering his face.

“My son!” Menno said. “You've decided to get up with the birds, I see.”

“I couldn't sleep. The air is too fresh.”

Menno laughed. “Keeps a man healthy, it does. I wouldn't live anywhere else unless
Da Hah
asked me Himself.”

“I hope to come here often,” Donald said. “Not to live, but to visit. Is that okay?”

“You're welcome as long as I own a roof over my head,” Menno said as he split a bale of hay, throwing half of it into each manger for the Belgians.

“Your own hay crop?”

“
Yah
,” Menno said. “The pastures are thinning out a little early this year with the cold snap, but thank
Da Hah
we have plenty of hay stored in the barn.”

“So was it a good year this year—for farming?”

“One of the best. It seems
Da Hah
blesses where and when He pleases. But we are glad when the crops turn out well. Did anyone tell you my daughter Ada's husband down the road lost his barn? Burned to the ground! Thankfully we have a good crop so we can replenish his supply and have enough for this year. We had a barn-raising, so he has a place to put the hay again.”

“No, I didn't hear that. What happened?”

“Reuben must have gotten in a rush on the last hay cutting and put it up still damp.”

“Lit on its own, then?”

“
Yah
, the fire was already well on its way by the time anyone noticed. The fire department saved all the other buildings and even the tree by the house. We had much to be thankful for.”

“Don't let me keep you away from your chores.” Donald stepped back and leaned against a wooden stall. “In fact, I'd be glad to help.”

“You're a city boy,” Menno said.

“I know, but I am half Amish. Doesn't that count for something?”

Menno smiled. “I was just teasing. I'm through with what has to be done this morning. We don't milk anymore, and there won't be any work in the fields today. The man who helps me, Steve, doesn't come up on mornings we aren't working. There's nothing an old man can't take care of.”

Donald took a deep breath. “Tell me something, Menno. Did you have trouble with your church after I came for the wedding?”