A Forbidden Rumspringa (Gay Amish Romance Book 1) (6 page)

It was still dark when Isaac and his siblings woke for morning prayers and chores. Joseph, Nathan, and Katie were still in school, and would head off down the drive to the one-room schoolhouse a few miles away when the sun came up. Mother always watched from the kitchen window, one eye on the water heating on the wood-burning stove to wash the breakfast dishes.

In the barn, Ephraim grumbled as Isaac saddled Silver in the light of a kerosene lamp, petting her head and murmuring nothing words. She was more gray than silver, but her mane had a light gloss. He gave her a sugar cube, and she licked his palm.

“It’s not fair. Now I have to do all your work as well as my own.”

Isaac tried to reassure him, although he’d likely feel the same in Ephraim’s shoes. “Father will be doing some of it, and Nathan’s in grade eight now. This is his last year at school.”

“He won’t be finished until almost summertime! That’s practically a year away.” Ephraim slammed down his stool and bent to milking one of the cows. “It’s not fair that you get to go have fun.”

“Fun? I’ll be working just as hard as you are.”

“Yes, but you’re always playing around with your carvings. You love working with wood. Meanwhile, I’ll be stuck here on this stupid farm.”

Although he didn’t raise it, Father’s voice made them both jump.

“This is our home and livelihood, Ephraim.” He stood in the shadows cast by the lamp, and beyond him through the open barn door, the sky was lightening. “This is not a stupid thing.”

Ephraim shot to his feet, opening and closing his mouth before hanging his head, his straw hat hiding his red face.

Isaac jumped in. “You know he loves the cattle and working the farm. He didn’t mean it, Father. He’s just a grouch this morning. Nathan’s snoring kept us awake.” In truth Nathan had blessedly slept on his stomach most of the night and spared them.

Father stepped into the circle of lamp light, smiling softly. “Ephraim, I understand how it is at your age, but you must wait your turn. You’re sixteen—not a youngie yet. Still in your learning years. When you’re seventeen you can attend the singings and spread your wings. Isaac is our oldest son, and he must be first to find his way.”

Our oldest son.
A memory of Aaron filled Isaac’s mind. He’d raced across a golden field, almost out of sight, and Isaac’s lungs had burned as he ran, stalks of wheat smacking his face as he tried in vain to keep up, his little legs pumping. He could still hear Aaron’s voice in the wind.
“Can’t catch me!”

Wishing he could lock his treacherous thoughts away in a canning jar, the lid ever so tight, Isaac banished the memory. Yet he still reached into his pocket to slide his fingers over the familiar handle of the knife. He kicked at hay with his boot.

“Yes, Father,” Ephraim said, head still bowed.

“I should get going.” Isaac led Silver from her stall to where the old buggy waited.

Father followed and watched him, stroking his beard. “It’s high time you had your own. Brand new.”

Mary Lantz’s hopeful smile flashed in Isaac’s mind. “No, no! Not yet. We can’t afford it.” It was certainly the truth, especially with winter coming. “I don’t mind. Really.”

Father sighed. “In the spring, then.”

Isaac clambered up into the buggy and straightened his hat. It was an odd feeling to be leaving the farm instead of starting his regular work. In all his worrying about working with David he somehow hadn’t thought about the fact that he wouldn’t be home nearly as much. Exhilaration buzzed through him.

Of course he could always go back to work on the farm if carpentry wasn’t for him in the end. If there was one thing that was a guarantee in life, it was that there would always be something to do on the farm.

“Ephraim, I’ll help you with the evening chores after dinner.”

From the door of the barn, Ephraim mumbled, “Thanks.”

Father reached up suddenly to squeeze Isaac’s hand, and Isaac froze, holding his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time Father had made such a display. Ephraim stood nearby watching with wide eyes.

“Be good, Isaac, and do good work. I pray that you will find your joy in this vocation.”

Isaac swallowed thickly, his heart thumping as he grasped the unfamiliar warmth of Father’s hand. “Thank you. I think I will. Father…” He struggled for the words.

“Yes?” He waited patiently.

“I must have seemed ungrateful when you told me about this new job. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, Isaac.” Father smiled. “It is natural to feel some hesitation when we begin a new chapter in life. I confess I would keep you here with me for many more years if I could.” He cast a glance at Ephraim nearby. “But do not worry, boys. I will help you find your own way to adulthood. And to the church, of course. My heart’s greatest desire is to see all my children happy and healthy in life.”

Even Aaron?
“I know, Father. We’re grateful to you. God blessed us when He chose you and Mother for our parents.” It was the truth—one Isaac realized with shame he’d never said aloud. They didn’t speak of such things.

“It’s not a stupid farm,” Ephraim added.

Father was silent before taking a deep breath. “Thank you, my sons. We are all blessed by the Lord.”

They murmured their agreement, and Isaac gave Silver a gentle flick. He was past the house when Ephraim’s voice rang out.

“Isaac!”

He reigned in Silver and leaned out to see Ephraim still standing in the barn door.

“I’ll miss you.”

Isaac swallowed hard over a swell of affection. “Me too,” he called. “I’ll be home before you know it.” He urged Silver on, determined not to look back.

It was three miles down the paved county road to the Lantz farm. Silver clopped along the shoulder, and Isaac listened for approaching vehicles, glad the sun was up. He was nervous in the dark with only a lantern and some gray reflective tape on the rear of the buggy to alert cars to his presence on the road.

The bright orange safety triangles they’d put on their buggies in Red Hills were too of the world for Swartzentruber Amish, and Isaac knew he should trust in God to keep him safe from harm. Yet in the darkness of Minnesota nights, more than once he’d wished they could give God a helping hand.

Fortunately few cars passed through Zebulon. Bishop Yoder had searched through different states and up into Ontario for the perfect spot to build their new community. In northern Minnesota he’d finally found a place sufficiently removed from the rest of the world.

As he drove along, for some reason Isaac thought of the last time he’d been to McDonald’s before everything changed. He could still remember the tang of the Big Mac sauce on his tongue. It had been a treat for Ephraim’s birthday, and they’d parked behind the restaurant in a special spot for buggies. They hadn’t been the only Amish family munching salty fries that day.

But in Zebulon, they were discouraged from going to restaurants. The Ordnung didn’t forbid it, but they tried their best to live off the land and from the animals they kept. Mother still drove three miles in the buggy to the nearest grocery store each Tuesday morning since they’d never survive otherwise. But Isaac hadn’t stepped foot in a restaurant since he was a boy back in Ohio.

Little birds flapped their wings in Isaac’s stomach as he drove up the Lantz’s dirt driveway. Come winter it would be a muddy, icy mess, and Isaac wished they had the gravel drives they’d taken for granted in Red Hills. No money for that in Zebulon. As he approached the house, he saw a figure in the barn door, and his heart beat double time.

“Stop it. There’s nothing to be nervous about,” he hissed to himself.

There was no sign of Mary or Anna, but Mrs. Lantz appeared by the house and waved. The Lantz house was very similar to the Bylers’, with the same tin roof, and dark paint and curtains.

“Hello, Isaac!” She called in German, wiping her hands on her black apron. Her dark dress brushed her bare feet, and her white cap was bright. She had David’s dark features, while her late husband had given the girls their blonde hair. “Welcome.”

Isaac pulled the brake handle by the seat, and it pushed against the right front wheel as he reined in Silver. “Thank you, ma’am,” he answered in German.

Like most people in Zebulon, he slipped back and forth between English and German with ease, although the kids and youngies almost always spoke English to each other. It wasn’t an official system—speaking German with the adults and in church, and English the rest of the time—but it worked well.

David’s three youngest sisters waved as they skipped past their mother and down the lane to school in their long dark dresses and black caps, metal lunch buckets swinging. It was a couple miles to the schoolhouse, which was in the corner of Eli Miller’s land.

Isaac waved back, wondering what it was like for David to live with his mother and five girls, and no other boys at all. As he realized David must have his own room, a wave of jealousy rolled through him. To even have his own bed would be such a luxury.

The thought of a wide bed and David in his nightshirt danced through Isaac’s mind, accompanied by a bolt of excitement. Yes, he was jealous indeed, and it was sinful. Isaac gave his head a mental shake. David was his employer now, and it would do no good to be envious.

Familiar moos, whinnies, clucks and crows filled the empty spaces in the early morning air as he approached the barn. David ushered him inside with a smile after Isaac unhitched Silver. Isaac gaped as he took in the interior. There were stalls for the horses, but the rest of the barn had been transformed. Hand tools hung from nails on one of the walls, and a huge worktable dominated the space. Rolls of paper plans and several rulers rested on the wide surface. Piles of rough wood sat stacked against the other walls.

“Make yourself at home, Isaac.” David pointed to a side table holding a water jug and cups, along with a loaf of sliced sweet bread so fresh the hint of apples lingered in the air amid the sawdust. “If you’re thirsty or hungry, there’s no need to ask. Help yourself.”

“Thank you.” Isaac glanced out at the fields. “Do you not farm at all anymore?”

David unrolled one of the thick pieces of paper. “Not since my father died. I’m afraid I don’t have the touch. I can make a much better living as a carpenter. We sold off most of the acres to the Ottos. What’s left is a garden, really, and some land for the animals. My mother and sisters tend it well.”

“Oh yes. I remember now.” He shifted uncomfortably. It had been more than four years since Mr. Lantz had collapsed behind the plow.

Isaac remembered Mervin running breathlessly up the drive with the news, saying that by the time David had made it to the closest English house to call for help, it had been far too late. An emergency was the only instance when they were permitted in Zebulon to ask the English for anything, or to ride in a car.

“You’re handy with an ax?” David asked.

“Of course.”
Did that sound vain?
“Only because I’ve helped with the firewood for the stove these past years. I think I’m okay at it. Maybe. I don’t know.”

David glanced up from the design. “Isaac, it’s all right. You don’t need to be nervous.” He smiled. “I won’t bite, remember? Just be yourself. I’m told you’re a hard worker, and as long as that’s true, we’ll get along just fine.”

“Right. Okay.” Isaac nodded. “I am. A hard worker, I mean. I won’t disappoint you.”

David picked up a ruler. “I’m sure you won’t. There’s a felled tree outside. Chop it into big pieces like those others.” He nodded toward the stacks of wood against the walls.

Isaac scurried off to do what he was told, eager to prove himself and officially start his life as a carpenter, even if he was only chopping wood. Although he was used to going barefoot in the barn at home, he noticed David wore his boots, and Isaac kept his on as well. The last thing he wanted to do was drop one of the tools on his toes.

By eleven-thirty, his excitement had faded. The tree seemed never ending, and Isaac lifted his hat to swipe his sleeve over his forehead, blinking into the bright sunshine. David had brought him a cup of water midmorning and reminded him to help himself, but Isaac hadn’t wanted to seem weak or lazy on his first day. Yet now as Mrs. Lantz called them for lunch, he felt unsteady.

By the kitchen table, he swayed a little as he bowed his head for quiet grace, and felt David’s strong hand on his waist. As Isaac recited the Lord’s Prayer in his mind, he didn’t dare breathe. They all raised their heads in unison and took their seats, David beside him, and the women across the table.

Isaac gulped down three cups of water, Mary refilling his tin cup each time. He smiled apologetically. “I got a little warm out there.”

David ribbed him kindly. “Now will you help yourself to the water in the barn like I suggested?”

“Yes,” Isaac mumbled sheepishly.

“Maybe you should have a drink of vinegar if you’re still feeling faint. It works every time,” Mrs. Lantz said, starting to get up.

“No!” Isaac cleared his throat. “Really, I feel much better now. Thank you.” He cringed inside at the thought of choking down the vinegar. It was one of his mother’s favorite remedies.