The Waiting Page 2

  “No,” Cal said in a tone that meant the discussion was over. He slapped the reins on the back of the horse to get it moving.

  Ephraim elbowed her as an awkward silence covered the buggy.

  “What?” Maggie whispered to him, palms raised.

  “He’s worried M-Matthew will get s-signed up t-to g-go,” Ephraim whispered to Maggie.

  “I don’t get it,” Maggie whispered loudly.

  “Me n-neither.”

  “There’s two types of conscientious objectors,” Matthew explained in a longsuffering voice. “There’s the conscientious objector who won’t serve. And then there’s the C.O. who will serve. That’s what Ben got signed up for. He got tricked. So that’s why he was sent to Vietnam.”

  “Why didn’t Ben just tell the government he was tricked?” Maggie asked. “That he didn’t want to kill anyone?”

  “He’s not killing anyone,” Cal said sharply.

  Mary Ann turned and placed a hand over Maggie’s small hands. “What’s done is done. But we pray every day that Ben is safe and well and coming home to us.”

  “But why couldn’t he just explain – ”

  Ephraim covered Maggie’s mouth with his hand. Maggie was too young to realize that those unanswerable questions about Ben grieved everyone. But Ephraim knew.

  “That’s enough talk about war and killing,” Cal said. “It’s a beautiful Sunday morning and our thoughts should turn to the Lord.”

  They should, Ephraim thought, but thoughts were hard to control. Sometimes his thoughts bounced around like a game of ping-pong. Mostly, his ping-pongy thoughts had to do with getting his chores done as fast as he could so he could sneak off to the Deep Woods. But anytime Ben’s name was brought up, which was often, his thoughts hung there, suspended. He couldn’t stop thinking and worrying about him. Where was he? Was he in danger? Could he be captured and tortured as a prisoner of war, like stories he overheard when he went to town with Cal?

  After meeting ended that morning, the children and nonmembers went outside while the members remained in the house to choose two new ministers for the newly split district. The bishop, Isaac Stoltzfus, would oversee both districts.

  “It always gives me the chills, this lot choosing,” Jorie said to Mary Ann, as they stood in line to whisper their choice of a minister to the bishop. “All that separates one man from the other is a slip of paper and the will of God.”

  Mary Ann turned to her. “I’d forgotten that your father was a minister too. Then you understand how hard it can be – adding those duties on top of a busy farmer’s life.”

  Jorie nodded. “The day Dad drew the lot, Mom cried all afternoon.”

  “How are your folks?” Mary Ann asked.

  “It’s taken awhile, but they feel as if Canada is home now,” Jorie answered. Three years ago, her parents and siblings had moved, with four other families, to start a new settlement. She had chosen to stay behind to help her grandparents with their horse breeding farm. She never regretted her decision. She loved those Percheron horses as much as her grandfather did. And, of course, there was Ben. He had asked her to stay.

  Jorie glanced across the room at her grandfather. With his thick head of snow white hair and bushy eyebrows, he reminded her of a white polar bear, big and strong. He winked when she caught his eye. His familiar deep-lined face was dear to her heart, and she knew there were more lines etched into his face this year than last. Atlee King was doing all he could to keep the farm solvent. Their best broodmare, Penny, died while trying to deliver twin foals. Penny was an older horse, but she’d always been a sweet, gentle mother, producing strong and healthy babies. There were always problems with the horses, but that particular setback – losing Penny and her foals – was an enormous loss.

  When Caleb Zook asked if Jorie would teach, at first she said no, but he kept asking and she kept thinking about it. The extra income could help her grandfather and she wouldn’t have to go far from home. Still, the thought of what she had agreed to made Jorie’s stomach churn. It wasn’t the teaching part – it was that blasted state exam the eighth graders needed to pass in late May. Mr. Whitehall, the superintendent of public schools, was not shy in sharing his opinion that one-room schoolhouses were an antiquated system. He was only making concessions to the governor of Pennsylvania, he pointed out, to allow for them. But if those eighth graders didn’t pass that state exam in late May, she knew it could have repercussions for all of the Amish schools.

  When she admitted to Cal her concerns, he insisted that if anyone could help those scholars pass that test, he knew it would be Jorie. “Our district needs you,” he told her. “It’s an unusually big eighth grade class this year, and either they are woefully behind in their studies from the school they’ve been attending, or they might – not all, mind you – be a little . . . slow to learn. Either way, you’re the only one I can think of who can bring them up to standard.”

  Oh, she hoped he was right. She was starting to wake up regularly in a panic, dreaming it was already May and the scholars all failed the test. She shook her head to clear it of that thought, and suddenly realized that she was next in line and the bishop was waiting for her.

  She quickly whispered her choice to him and found a seat next to Mary Ann. “Folks are praying the lot will fall to Cal.”

  Mary Ann smoothed out her apron as if sweeping away her concern. “There are plenty of other good candidates.”

  Sylvia, Mary Ann’s sister, seated on her other side, slipped an arm around her sister and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Caleb is far too young,” Sylvia said, giving Jorie a thin smile. “We need ministers who are old and wise.”

  Cal may be young, but Jorie knew there weren’t many men who had the effect on others like he did. When Cal spoke, others always listened. If he walked into a room, everyone in it seemed to breathe a little sigh of relief. As if all would be well.

  But Sylvia obviously disagreed. The way Sylvia was staring at Jorie right now, with those piercing dark eyes, reminded her of a Cooper’s hawk, arms out wide like wings stretched protectively around Mary Ann. She knew it wasn’t right to let her mind meander down such lanes, comparing people she knew to birds and animals. The images just popped, unbidden, into her mind. Silently, she asked the Lord to forgive her for such foolishness and managed a smile in return for Sylvia.

  The bishop announced that five men had been recommended by the members. Caleb Zook’s name was indeed on the list. Jorie felt torn between relief for the church and empathy for Mary Ann. Isaac reminded everyone that each nominated man would choose a hymnal, the Ausbund, and in two would be a slip of paper. From those lots would come God’s choices to lead his flock.

  A library hush fell over the room as the hymnbooks were placed on the tabletop. A prayer was offered, then the nominees stood, one by one, to claim a hymnal. “Please not Cal, Lord, please not Cal,” Mary Ann whispered, unaware that others could hear her.

  Samuel Riehl was the first to open the hymnal. He held up a slip of paper and his wife, Rachel, gasped. Then two more men opened empty hymnals. It had come down to Cal and Henry Glick. As Cal opened his hymnal, his shoulders slumped. He turned around, looked at his wife, raised his eyebrows, and held up the hymnal for all of the church members to see the white slip of paper.

  Henry Glick grabbed Cal’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “May God be with you, Caleb.”

  Jorie had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the look of relief on Henry’s face. She felt Mary Ann lean into her shoulder, and she shifted to look at her – as Mary Ann slumped over into Jorie’s lap in a dead faint.

  2

  When Mary Ann came to, people were standing above her like nurses puzzling over a patient. As her vision came into focus, she recognized her husband’s light blue eyes, filled with worry. Then she realized that Jorie was the one cradling her head in her lap.

  “She didn’t expect Cal would be chosen,” she heard her sister Sylvia say. “None of us did. She’s just plain over
come.”

  Marge King, Jorie’s grandmother, put a cool hand on Mary Ann’s forehead. “Any fever?” Marge demanded. She fancied herself a healer, but everyone steered clear of her remedies.

  Slowly, Mary Ann shook her head.

  Marge looked unconvinced. “Still feeling dizzy and lightheaded?”

  Mary Ann tried to wave Marge off. How could she possibly put into words all that she felt right now? She had dreaded this morning, knowing in her heart what was to come. As soon as she saw that slip in Cal’s hymnal, a deep foreboding settled over her, a portent that life would never be the same. She pulled herself up to her elbows and insisted she was fine.

  “I’ll stay close by,” Marge said, clearly disappointed.

  As Cal helped her to her feet, Mary Ann was glad Maggie was outside with Ephraim and Matthew and hadn’t seen her faint. Deeply embarrassed, she wondered if her sister was right. Maybe she had been overcome by the news of Cal drawing the lot. Being a servant of God was a burden and a responsibility, she knew that to be true. It was an unpaid position without any training, and a man was appointed for his lifetime. On top of an already heavy workload, Cal would be called upon to drop everything for the needs of the church members. The duties would follow Cal like a shadow. He would be a fine minister for the new district, she had no doubt. But at what cost?

  “That’s twice you’ve fainted in one week,” Cal said quietly as he helped her stand. “Two days ago, in the kitchen, when you were canning tomatoes, and now today. Maybe you should see the doctor.”

  She shook her head. “Drawing the lot just . . . shook me up, is all.”

  “I can’t blame you,” Cal said. “I wanted to faint dead away, too, when I saw that slip. Sure you’re feeling all right? You still look a little pale.”

  “I might be fighting a virus,” she answered, slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow. “I’ve been a little tired lately.”

  After a time of lunch and fellowship, Cal pulled Maggie and Ephraim out of a softball game to return to Beacon Hollow for the afternoon milking.

  “Dad?” Maggie asked, as she climbed up into the buggy. “Will you be marrying and burying folks now?”

  Mary Ann turned in the buggy to look at Maggie, seated next to Matthew. Once Maggie got started with her questions, there was no end in sight. And the comments she could make! Mary Ann never knew what would come out of her daughter’s mouth.

  “So maybe you can marry off Matthew to Fat Lizzie before he leaves!” Maggie puckered her mouth and made kissing sounds. “I caught her making googly eyes at Matthew during meetin’.”

  “Maggie Zook!” Mary Ann waved a finger at her daughter. “Lizzie Glick is a fine girl. She’s . . . she’s just big boned.” She turned to face forward. “Besides, only a bishop does the marrying.”

  “M-Matthew’s s-sweet on Wall-Eyed Wanda,” Ephraim said quietly to Maggie.

  Whipping her head around to glare at Ephraim, Mary Ann said firmly, “Wanda Graber can’t help having a lazy eye.”

  “I’m not ready to be tied to any woman’s capstrings quite yet, little brother.” Matthew doffed Ephraim’s straw hat and sent it spinning into the back of the buggy.

  As Ephraim scrambled over the back of the bench to retrieve his hat, Mary Ann noticed how much he had grown this summer. He was slight and gangling, with a freckled complexion and straight, blond hair – nothing like Cal, who was tall and broad shouldered, with thick dark hair and skin that was tanned by the sun. Ephraim wasn’t a boy any longer, nor was he a man. He was at that difficult in-between stage.

  Cal, uncharacteristically solemn, hardly noticed the teasing. Mary Ann knew he was thoroughly preoccupied with the changes being a minister would bring for the family. And he was losing Matthew’s help on the farm just as he would be so busy with new duties. They would all grieve over losing Matthew – and it wasn’t just the help he gave. Matthew was the heart of their family. She had raised him like her own since he was ten years old – he had been a beautiful, golden-haired boy, and now he was a handsome young man, sturdy and bold, with laughing eyes. What would their home be like without his rascal’s smile and teasing ways? She didn’t even want to imagine it.

  Cal went to bed early that night, worn out by the day’s events. Mary Ann tiptoed into the bedroom to get ready for bed. The moon was coming up full over the sloped roof of the barn, casting its light through the window. She listened to her husband’s steady breathing and stood by the bed for a moment, watching him. Even though it was vain to think it, she loved his looks. He had such a remarkable face, a truly breath-catching face: strong-boned but refined, with a hint of a Roman nose. It still caught her by surprise, to be Cal’s wife, even after eight years of marriage.

  She had wanted to marry Cal from the first time he had taken her home from youth group. There were plenty of other girls who had a hope pinned on Caleb Zook. He was handsome, intelligent, kind, all of those things, but what set Cal apart – what had always set him apart – was that he had been given more than his share of wisdom. Even when he first took over Beacon Hollow, after his folks’ accident, neighbors would watch for the day when Caleb Zook bought his seed and then they would start planting. They knew Cal could call the weather like no one else. It ran in the family with those Zooks, her father used to say. They were just known for having more than their share of common sense. Except for that Ben, her father would add. It might have skipped a generation with Benjamin Zook.

  Once or twice, Cal stopped by her farm on a summer evening for a long walk. She had assumed she wasn’t really his kind of girl. She was attractive enough, but there were prettier girls. She was flat where she should have been flounced out, thick where she should be thin. And she was two years older than him.

  Then the Armed Forces started conscripting men for the Korean War and Cal was called to serve two years in a hospital in Philadelphia. She never heard from him, not a single letter, the entire time he was away. He came home every so often for a weekend, but he never stopped by her farm. She started to think he wasn’t planning to return after his duty was served. But then his folks were in a terrible accident. A truck sailed through a stop sign and crashed into his parents’ buggy, killing them instantly. The government released Cal from duty and he was suddenly back again, stepping into the gaping hole of his parents’ absence. He cared for his younger brothers and managed every aspect of Beacon Hollow.

  Cal was far more serious than when he left, far more grown up. He asked to take Mary Ann home from a Singing one evening, and five months later, asked if she would marry him. She was so surprised that eager words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them: “Oh yes! Oh yes, yes, yes!” And then, to her great embarrassment came the words, “But . . . why?”

  Then it was his turn to look surprised. It was her heart, he told her. That was what made a woman beautiful.

  Cal was a kind and good husband to her. He never expressed disappointment that their family was so small, though she was sure he must have felt it. Most of her friends had four or five children by now. She had given him Maggie. And a beautiful little boy, Sammy, who never took a breath.

  She said her evening prayers in silence while she changed. As she unpinned her dress to change into her nightgown, something caught her eye in the moonlight. She went over to the window and held out her arm. A large bruise ran from her shoulder to her elbow. She couldn’t remember banging herself to cause such a mark, but life on a farm was filled with heavy work. It probably happened when she was helping the boys pour a milk can into the bulk tank.

  She promptly put the bruise out of her mind and slipped into bed next to her husband.

  In late August, on the first day of school, Jorie arrived before 7:00 a.m., though school took up at nine. Cal was already there, opening up windows to air out the heavy smell of linseed oil he had used to seal the wooden floors and keep down dust. The schoolhouse sat on a corner of Beacon Hollow’s farmland, donated to the new district. Cal had organized a work frolic in late J
uly to build the schoolhouse in one day. The aromas of raw wood and fresh paint mingled with the linseed oil, permeating the room.

  Cal smiled when he saw her. “I missed all of this. We didn’t have parochial schools when I was young.” He turned in a slow circle, admiring the building. “I was bused to a public high school about an hour away. We spent so much time on that bus my father used to call it a dormitory on wheels.”

  “I’d forgotten that you finished high school,” Jorie said. “You have a diploma, don’t you?” She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe you should be teaching.”

  He was grandly dismissive of that notion. “Oh no. A public school education only gave me a headful of useless information about the kings and queens of England, and how the human being evolved from a one-celled organism.” He lifted open another window. “This little room, all that goes on within these four walls – this is where our scholars will be prepared for our way of life.” He spun around and pointed to her. “And you’re just the one who can do that.”

  He laughed when he saw the look of panic on her face. “You’ll do fine, Jorie King. The Lord will not fail you.”

  “It’s not the Lord I’m worried about. It’s those eighth grade boys.” At the front of the classroom, she crossed her arms across her chest and walked a tight little turn, back and forth. “It’s such a large amount of eighth graders. And all boys! Out of a classroom of twenty-five scholars, I only have six girls. I noticed those eighth grade boys in church yesterday.” She stopped to look at him. “Some of them must be fifteen!”

  “Two are sixteen. They still haven’t passed the test. This will be the year, though, that we will clear that logjam of boys. They’ve spent the better part of ten years on a long journey through eight grades.”

  She clapped her hands against her cheeks. “Cal, you are expecting me to be a miracle worker. Seven scholars have to pass that test come May or the superintendent is threatening to close our school. I don’t know what I’ve let you talk me into.”