Going Home Read online

  “Mama, are you thinking about what I said?”

  Melinda’s question caught Faith’s attention. “Everyone in the family has a job to do,” she said patiently. “In time you’ll get used to it.”

  Faith could see by the child’s scowl that she wasn’t happy.

  “How would you like to eat lunch down by the pond today?” Faith asked, hoping to cheer up Melinda.

  Melinda’s blue eyes seemed to light right up. “Can Aunt Susie come, too?”

  “If Grandma says it’s all right.”

  “Can we bring our dolls along?”

  “If you want to.”

  As Melinda handed Faith a pair of Grandpa Stutzman’s trousers to hang on the line, she asked, “How come only the men wear pants here?”

  “Grandpa and Grandma belong to the Amish faith, and the church believes only men and boys should wear pants.”

  Melinda’s forehead wrinkled. “Does that mean I ain’t never gonna wear jeans again?”

  “I’m not ever,” Faith corrected.

  Melinda nodded soberly. “You and me ain’t never gonna wear jeans.”

  Faith bit back a chuckle as she knelt on the grass and touched the hem of Melinda’s plain blue cotton dress. “I thought you liked wearing dresses.”

  “I do, but I also like to wear jeans.”

  “You’ll get used to wearing only dresses.” Even as the words slipped off her tongue, Faith wondered if her prediction would come true. Melinda had worn fancy dresses, blue jeans, and shorts ever since she’d been a baby, and wearing plain dresses all the time would be a difficult transition.

  “Here’s the last towel, Mama. Now can I go swing?”

  “Maybe after lunch.” Faith was relieved that Melinda had quickly changed the subject. Maybe the child would adjust after all. She seemed to enjoy many things on the farm—spending time with Aunt Susie, playing with the barn cats, helping Grandpa milk the cows, swinging on the same wooden swing Faith had used when she was a little girl. In time, she hoped Melinda would learn to be content with everything about her new life as an Amish girl. In the meantime, Faith would try to make her daughter feel as secure as possible and show her some of the good things about being Plain.

  Faith was determined to make this work for Melinda and equally determined to get back on the road as soon as possible. Mama was already pressing her about taking classes so she could be baptized and join the church. Faith didn’t know how much longer she could put it off, but for now she had convinced her mother that she needed more time to adjust to the Amish way of life. She’d been gone a long time and couldn’t be expected to change overnight. Not that she planned to change. Whenever Faith had a few moments alone, she practiced her yodeling skills and told a few jokes to whatever animal she might be feeding. Soon she would be onstage again, wearing her hillbilly costume and entertaining an approving audience. Around here, no one seemed to appreciate anything that wasn’t related to hard work.

  Faith hung the last article of clothing on the line, picked up the wicker basket, and took hold of Melinda’s hand. As much as Faith wanted to go back on the road, she had to stay awhile longer—to be sure Melinda was accepted and had adjusted well enough to her new surroundings. Besides, despite several phone calls Faith had managed to make from town, she hadn’t found an agent to represent her yet. Without an agent, her career would go nowhere. On her own, all Faith could hope for were one-night stands and programs in small theaters that didn’t pay nearly as well as the bigger ones.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen and see what we can make for our picnic lunch, shall we?” Faith suggested to Melinda, knowing she needed to get her mind on something else.

  The child nodded eagerly, and the soft ma–a–a of a nearby goat caused them both to laugh as they skipped along the path leading to the house. On the way, they tromped through a mud puddle made by the rain that had fallen during the night. Faith felt the grimy mud ooze between her bare toes. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to go barefoot every summer. It wasn’t such a bad thing, really. Especially on the grass, so soft and cushy. It was good to laugh and spend time with her daughter like this. No telling how many more weeks she would have with Melinda.

  When Faith and Melinda entered the kitchen a few minutes later, they were greeted with a look of disapproval from Faith’s mother. “Ach, my! Your feet are all muddy. Can’t you see that I just cleaned the floor?”

  Faith looked down at the grubby footprints they had created. “Sorry, Mama. We’ll go back outside and clean the dirt off our feet.” She grabbed a towel from the counter, took Melinda’s hand, and scooted her out the door.

  “Grandma Stutzman’s mean,” Melinda said tearfully. “She’s always hollering about something or other.”

  “It might seem so, but Grandma just wants to keep her kitchen clean.” Faith led her daughter over to the pump. She washed their feet and dried them.

  “Can we still take our lunch down by the pond?” Melinda questioned.

  “Sure we can.”

  “And Susie can come, too?”

  “If Grandma says it’s all right.”

  Melinda’s lower lip protruded. “She’ll probably say no ’cause she’s in a bad mood about us trackin’ in the mud on her clean floor.”

  “I don’t think she’ll make Susie pay for our transgressions.”

  “Our what?”

  “Transgressions. It means doing wrong things.”

  Melinda hung her head. “I always seem to be doing wrong things around here. I must be very bad.”

  Faith knelt on the ground and pulled her daughter into her arms. “You’re not bad. You just don’t understand all the rules yet.”

  “Will I ever understand them, Mama?”

  Faith gently stroked the child’s cheek. “Of course you will. It’s just going to take a little more time.”

  “But I want to wear blue jeans and watch TV, and I can’t do either of those things here.”

  Guilt found its way into Faith’s heart and put down roots so deep she thought she might choke. Had she done the right thing in taking Melinda out of the modern world she was used to and expecting her to adjust to the Amish way of doing things? Faith had never accepted all the rules when she was growing up. She had experimented with modern things whenever she’d had the chance. Had it really been all those rules that had driven her away, or was it the simple fact that she’d never felt truly loved and acknowledged by her family?

  Noah whistled in response to the call of a finch as he knelt in front of a newly planted pine tree. It was still scrawny compared to those around it, and the seedling appeared to be struggling to survive.

  “A little more time and attention are what you’re needing,” he whispered, resolving to save the fledgling. He wanted to see it thrive and someday find its way to one of the local Christmas tree lots or be purchased by some Englishers who would come to the farm to choose their own holiday tree.

  The sound of country-western music blared in Noah’s ear, and he figured his boss, Hank Osborn, must be nearby. Hank enjoyed listening to the radio while he worked, and Noah had discovered that he rather liked it, too. Of course, he wouldn’t let his folks or anyone from their community know that, and he sure wouldn’t buy a radio or listen to music on his own at home. But here at work, it was kind of nice. Besides, this was his boss’s radio, and Noah had no control over whether it was played.

  The man singing on the radio at the moment also did a bit of yodeling. It made Noah think of Faith and how she had given up her entertaining career and moved back home. He wondered if she had enjoyed the cake he’d given her and what she thought about the verse of scripture he’d attached to it. Had it spoken to her heart, the way God’s Word was supposed to? He hoped so, for Faith seemed to be in need of something, and Noah couldn’t think of anything more nourishing to the soul than the words found within the Bible.

  “Did you bring any of your baked goods in your lunch today?”

  Noah turned his head at the sound of
his boss’s voice. He hadn’t realized Hank had moved over to his row of trees. “I made some oatmeal bread last night,” Noah said. “Brought you and your wife a loaf of it.”

  Hank lowered the volume, set his portable radio on the ground, and hunkered down beside Noah. “You’re the best! Sure hope your mama knows how lucky she is to have you still living at home.”

  Noah snickered. “I think she appreciates my help in the kitchen, but I’m not sure how lucky she is.”

  “A fellow like you ought to be married and raising babies, like those nine brothers of yours have done. Between your cooking and baking skills and the concern you show over a weak little tree, I’d say you would make one fine husband and daddy.” Hank nodded toward the struggling pine Noah had been studying before he let his thoughts carry him away.

  Noah felt a flush of heat climb up the back of his neck and spread to his cheeks. He hated how easily he blushed.

  “Didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m glad to have someone as caring as you working here at Osborns’ Christmas Tree Farm.” Hank clasped Noah’s shoulder. “Besides that, you’re easy to talk to.”

  “Sure hope so.” It was then that Noah noticed his boss’s wrinkled forehead. “Is there something wrong, Hank? You look so thoughtful.”

  Hank ran his fingers through his thick, auburn-colored hair. “To tell you the truth, something’s bothering me.”

  Noah got to his feet, and Hank did the same. “Is there a problem with your business? Are you concerned that you won’t sell as many trees this year as you have before?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with business. It’s about me and Sandy.”

  “What’s the problem?” Noah kicked a clump of grass with the toe of his boot. “Or would you rather not talk about it?”

  Hank shook his head. “I don’t mind telling you. In fact, it might do me some good to get this off my chest.”

  Concern for his boss welled in Noah’s soul, and he clasped Hank’s shoulder. “Whatever you say will remain between the two of us; you can be sure of that.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Hank drew in a breath and let it out with a huff. “The thing is. . .Sandy and I have been trying to have a baby for the last couple of years, and yesterday afternoon we went to see a specialist in Springfield and found out that Sandy’s unable to conceive.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure you would both make good parents.”

  “We’ve wanted children ever since we got married ten years ago, but we were waiting to start our family until I got my business going good.” Hank sighed. “Now that we can finally afford to have a baby, we get hit with the news that Sandy is barren.”

  Noah wasn’t sure how to respond. Among his people, folks didn’t wait until they were financially ready to have a baby. Children came in God’s time, whether a couple felt ready or not.

  “After we left the doctor’s office, Sandy acted real depressed and would barely speak to me. I have to admit, I was pretty upset when I heard the news, too.” Hank grunted. “Then last night when we were getting ready for bed, she said, ‘I think you don’t love me anymore because I can’t give you children.’”

  “What’d you say to that?”

  “I tried to convince her that I do love her, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

  Noah rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated his reply. “She probably needs time to adjust to things, and if you let her know through your kind words and actions, she’ll soon realize that your love isn’t conditional.”

  “You’re right. It’s not. I would love Sandy no matter what. Even though it would be nice to have a baby of our own, it’s not nearly as important to me as having Sandy as my wife.”

  “Maybe if you keep telling her that, she’ll begin to realize it’s true.”

  “Yeah, I hope so.”

  Noah didn’t know why he was telling Hank all this; he was sure no expert on the subject of marriage. Even so, he felt he had to say something that might help his boss feel better about things.

  “Have you thought about taking in a foster child or adopting a baby?” Noah asked.

  Hank shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know. . . . I don’t think Sandy would go for that idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she wants her own child. She said so many times during the two years we tried to have a baby.”

  “She might change her mind now that she knows she’s unable to have children of her own.”

  “I—I suppose she could, but she’s so upset right now. I don’t think it’s a good time to talk about adoption.” Hank stared at the ground.

  “Maybe not, but it’s something to consider.” Noah paused and reflected on his next words, knowing that Hank wasn’t a particularly religious man. “I want you to know that I’ll be praying for you.”

  “Thanks.” Hank looked up and clasped Noah’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, and I count it a privilege to have you as my employee and my friend.”

  “Same goes for me.” Noah smiled. “And I really enjoy working with all these,” he added, motioning to the trees surrounding them.

  “You might not say that come fall when things get really busy.”

  “I made it through last year and lived to tell about it,” Noah said with a laugh. The month or so before Christmas was always hectic at the tree farm. In early November, trees were cut, netted, and bundled for pickup by various lots. Many people in the area came to the Osborns’ to choose and cut their own trees, as well. Some folks dropped by as early as the first of October to reserve their pine.

  Hank’s wife ran the gift shop, located in one section of the barn. She took in a lot of items on consignment from the local people, including several who were Amish. Everything from homemade peanut brittle to pinecone-decorated wreaths was sold at the gift store, and Sandy always served her customers a treat before they left the rustic-looking building Hank had built for her a few years ago. Last year Noah had contributed some baked goods, and his desserts had been well received. He hoped things would work out for Sandy and Hank, because they were both nice people.

  “I appreciate you listening to my tale of woe, but now I guess I’d better move on to the next row and see how Fred and Bob are doing,” Hank said, breaking into Noah’s thoughts. “Want me to leave the radio with you?”

  Noah shook his head. “No, thanks. The melody the birds are making is all the music I need.”

  Hank thumped Noah lightly on the back. “All right, then. See you up at the barn at lunchtime.”

  “Sure thing.” Noah moved on down the row of pines to check several more seedlings. As a father would tend his child, he took special care with each struggling tree. He figured, like everything else the good Lord created, these future Christmas trees needed tender, loving care.

  As Noah thought about Hank’s comment concerning him making a good husband and father, an uninvited image of Faith Andrews popped into his mind. He could see her look of confusion when he’d given her the cake.

  “Now why am I thinking about her again?” he muttered. No question about it—Faith was a fine-looking woman. From what he remembered of the way Faith used to be, she could be a lot of fun. But Noah was sure there was no hope of her ever being interested in someone like him.

  I’m shy; she’s outgoing. I’m plain; she’s beautiful. I’m twenty-four; she’s twenty-eight. I’m firmly committed to the Amish faith, and she’s—what exactly is Faith committed to? Noah determined to find that out as soon as he got to know her better.

  Chapter 8

  Noah stood on the front porch of his folks’ rambling, two-story farmhouse, leaning against the railing and gazing into the yard. Pop had built this place shortly after he and Mom moved to Missouri from the state of Indiana. Twenty-three other families had joined them in establishing the first Amish community on the outskirts of the small town of Seymour. Now, nearly two hundred Plain families lived in the area. Some had moved here from other parts of the country, while others came about from marria
ges and children being born to those who had chosen to stay and make their home in the area.

  Noah and his brothers were some of those born and raised in Webster County, and Noah had never traveled any farther than the town of Springfield. He had no desire to see the world like some folks did. He loved it here and was content to stay near those he cared about so deeply.

  His brothers Chester, Jonas, and Harvey had moved to northern Missouri with their wives and children. Lloyd, Lyle, Rube, and Henry now lived in Illinois. Only William, Peter, and Noah had chosen to stay in the area. Each had his own farm, although some had opened businesses to supplement their income.

  Noah’s thoughts darted ahead to his plans for the next day. Church was held every other Sunday, and since tomorrow was a preaching Sunday, Noah planned to speak with Faith. He wanted to find out if she had enjoyed his lemon sponge cake and see what she thought of the verse he’d attached. He contemplated the idea of taking her another one of his baked goods but decided she might think he was being pushy. From the few minutes they’d spent together, Noah guessed Faith felt uncomfortable and probably needed a friend. Maybe he could be her friend, if she would let him.

  He gulped in a deep breath of the evening air and flopped into Pop’s wooden rocking chair. It smelled as if rain was coming, and with the oppressing heat they’d been having lately, the land could surely use a good dousing.

  A short time later, a streak of lightning shot across the sky, followed by a thunderous roar that shook the whole house.

  “Jah, a summer storm’s definitely coming,” he murmured. “Guess I’d best be getting to bed, or I’ll be tempted to sit out here and watch it all night.” Noah had enjoyed watching thunderstorms ever since he was a boy. Something fascinated him about the way lightning zigzagged across the sky as the rain pelted the earth. It made Noah realize the awesomeness of God’s power. Everything on earth was under the Master’s hand, and Noah never ceased to marvel at the majesty of it all.