A Heart Made New (8 page)

Josiah simply nodded. Luke didn’t really need his opinion. His brother had checked out all the available livestock the day before. He was a good judge of horseflesh. He had plenty of experience. “I—”

“What do you think?” Exasperation made the words sharp. “Or do you have an opinion on anything that matters?”

Stung, Josiah felt his face heat up. His brother might be strict, but he was rarely unfair. The two men next to him shifted away, their voices loud as they argued the pros and cons of different brands of farm implements. Josiah leaned closer to Luke, trying to make himself heard over the din.

“She’s a good-looking horse. You checked her out. The problem will be everyone will want her. The price may go too high.”

“She’s a beauty—” Mark began.

“Hush,” Luke interrupted. “I asked Josiah his opinion. Josiah, you haven’t seen her up close, and you haven’t seen any of the others. Did Daed teach you nothing about buying horses?”

Luke hadn’t asked him about the others. “What is wrong?” he asked in a low voice. “Did you hear something? Did someone say something about me to you?”

“Why? What have you done? Never mind. Not now.” Luke gripped the railing so tight his fingers turned white. He glanced around, then
moved closer. “After the auction, I want you two to go to a meeting with me.”

“A meeting?” Josiah’s plan to visit Sarah at her aunt’s house after a stop at the blacksmith shop faded away. He had to talk to her—he had to send her home before her presence did more damage. “I told Caleb I’d take a couple of jobs for him this afternoon at the shop.”

“So push the time back. The bishop wants us to talk about farming practices—all of us together as a community.” Luke’s gaze glanced off Josiah. “I figure you might know a bit about that, what with the time you spent at community college. Mark needs to hear this too. We must all work harder, work better, if we are to take care of our families.”

Mark’s expression said he was as baffled as Josiah. The boy was eleven. A hard worker, but far from ready to shoulder family responsibilities. He was barely tall enough to handle the plow. Fear stabbed Josiah in the gut. Strange as it seemed, considering the sudden, irrevocable loss of their parents, he’d never entertained the notion that something could happen to his solid-as-a-railroad-tie older brother. “Why? Are you not going to be around to do it? Are you sick?”

“No. I’m not sick.” Luke stopped, his beard bobbing up and down as he struggled for control. “It’s time for you to step up and have a voice in those decisions. You have an interest in more modern ways of farming. Or at least you did.”

Luke had never wanted to hear about those modern methods before. His back had to be against an immovable wall for him to consider them now. Josiah didn’t crow over this bittersweet victory. Too much was at stake. A way of life he’d learned to appreciate after his sojourn into the Englisch world. “I’ll do whatever I can, but you know that I never finished a course—”

“Hey, the Shirack brothers!” Timothy Plank, David’s oldest brother, wormed his way through the masses. Jonathan and David followed. The men could’ve been triplets. “You have your eye on the sorrel, do you?”

Luke’s expression told Josiah to close his mouth. Timothy was Luke’s closest friend, but he apparently didn’t want to discuss these changes in front of him. Josiah stifled his questions. It would have to wait.

Instead, he studied David. His friend’s face glistened with sweat. Knowing him, he’d left the hospital too soon. Again. As Timothy and Luke discussed the sorrel, Josiah edged his way toward David. “Did they let you out of the hospital, or did you escape? You don’t look like you feel better.”

“Not you too.” David rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“Do you know how many times a day I say I’m fine?”

“I’m guessing a lot.”

“Hundreds.”

“You exaggerate.”

“Not really.”

“Could it be people want to know? You know, like out of neighborly concern?”

David shoved his hat back on his head. It hung precariously loose, and he clamped it down with one hand. “Or they’re nosey.”

“Plain folks are never nosey.”

A small grin flitted across David’s face. Finally. Josiah grinned back. “Now that you’re feeling better, are you going to bring Annie home from the singing tomorrow night? Take her on a little buggy ride?”

The grin faded. David edged closer to Josiah. His gaze traveled to Luke and Timothy, the scowls on their faces too intense for a horse auction. “You should mind your own business. What’s this I hear about Sarah Kauffman being in town?”

For closed-mouthed people with no phones and no fast transportation, the Plain sure knew how to make news travel. Josiah glared at David and shook his head.
Not in front of Luke and Mark.

His eyebrows raised, David frowned. He started to say something, then stopped. “There’re the Yonkers brothers.”

Josiah swallowed against the roiling of his stomach. He hadn’t done anything to anybody. Made no promises. He watched as Miriam’s brothers passed by. Paul’s gaze met his, and both men nodded carefully.

“Friendly.” David inched closer. “What do you suppose they’ve heard?”

“I can’t believe Miriam told them.”

“Why should she protect you?”

“Because I didn’t do anything. It isn’t my fault—”

“All right, folks, let’s get this show on the road.” The auctioneer’s booming voice filled the arena. “We’ve got some outstanding horseflesh on the auction block today. Get your numbers ready. Who wants to take home this gorgeous Morgan? He’s a beaut, folks, stands sixteen hands high, comes from an owner who’s retiring. He’s road and ride ready. Not a thing wrong with him. Who’ll give me twenty-five hundred? Come on, anybody?”

Jonathan’s number went up. So did half a dozen other white placards with black numbers on them. The bidding contest heated up. Relieved, Josiah concentrated on the auction and tried to forget the accusing look on David’s face. For this moment, at least, he could lose himself in the business at hand. Horses were a critical factor in the success of a farm, and even more so for Plain businesses. Horses were their mode of transportation. They were a substitute for the motor-driven equipment that gave
Englischers
an advantage when it came to planting and harvesting. Of course, horses were much less expensive to buy than farm equipment and feed was cheaper than diesel.

Josiah wondered how far the bishop would be willing to go—how far the community would be willing to go to make sure their farming operations continued to support their families. Once he’d dreamed of attending junior college and learning about agriculture so he could produce crops in a more efficient, cost-effective way. That plan had been dismantled when he’d chosen to return to his community. It sat on a shelf in the corner of his mind, gathering dust. Maybe now he would be allowed to call upon some of that knowledge to help his family and his friends. Leave the heat of the forge behind and return to the land.

His happiness at what price? The community forced to change practices that went back generations?

Determined, he focused on the sale.

Two hours later Josiah trudged from the barn, trying to keep up
with Luke’s long, determined stride. Mark followed at a run. “Well, there’s always next time.”

“Yes, next time. If we’d had more cash on hand…” Luke’s distracted response trailed away. “Let’s go.”

“Go where? Where’s the meeting?”

Timothy, David right behind him, surged through the huge double doors, pushed forward by a sea of people still chattering about who’d bought what. “See you at Bishop Kelp’s house,” Timothy called. “As soon as we pay up and load the horse. Sorry you didn’t get the sorrell.”

Luke shrugged. “See you at the bishop’s.”

“The bishop?” They were going to the bishop’s house? Josiah’s stomach heaved. What if someone had seen Sarah in town? What if it came up at the meeting? “Luke, couldn’t you just tell us what the bishop says?”

“Get in. It’s time you stepped into a man’s shoes.”

J
osiah stood in the back of the room, Mark next to him. His brother’s mouth hung open in a wide yawn. Josiah elbowed him and Mark grunted, then slapped his hand over his mouth. Josiah sneaked a quick look around to see if anyone had noticed. All gazes were on the bench where Bishop Kelp sat, arms crossed over his paunch. His sober expression did nothing to calm Josiah’s nerves. Nor did the faces of Deacon Altman and Deacon Pierce, who sat tall on either side of him.

Bishop Kelp’s house looked exactly like the Shirack house. As did every other home in the community. No better. No worse. All the other benches were full. At least one representative from every family in the district had come. As one of the youngest men in attendance, Josiah would be expected to leave the discussion to his elders. He wasn’t sure why Luke had wanted him and Mark there at all.

“Two years ago many of you lost your crops to the tornado.” Bishop Kelp’s sonorous voice carried to every corner. He didn’t beat around the bush. “And this year we’ve had almost no rain. Many of you are struggling to make ends meet. There’s been talk about using newer… more modern methods of farming in order to have a greater margin of profit.”

Surprised, Josiah peered to his left, then his right. No one moved. They barely seemed to be breathing. Was Micah Kelp saying he would
agree to this? If that were the case, Josiah would have to help Luke. Although he’d never completed the courses he started at the junior college in Wichita, he’d learned a lot. He’d read about the use of chemical pesticides and fertilizers to increase yields. He could use that knowledge.

“Such talk is not to be tolerated.” Deacon Altman chimed in, his gaze somber. “Each one of you has the responsibility to hold your neighbors, as well as your family, to the Ordnung.”

So much for that question. Josiah sank back against the wall. Things did not change. He shouldn’t chafe against that. This was his lot. To be a blacksmith and to yield to the Ordnung. When would that become natural to him? Others took to it like breathing. For him it was like trying to breathe underwater. Always a struggle. Always gasping for air in order to live for one more moment, one more day.

“No motorized tractors. No rubber tires. No engine-driven combines or threshing machines. No computers for tracking expenses or researching new pesticides or ways to increase yield.” Bishop Kelp joined in the chorus started by Deacon Altman. “We have used manure for three hundred years and it costs us nothing. It’s been proven over and over that our ways work.”

Then why were they teetering on the edge? Things might change in other communities, but not here in southern Kansas. Josiah willed himself to keep his face passive and his mouth shut. This conversation belonged to his elders. They were wiser. They understood the long-term impact of change on their way of living better than he.

“What we can do is talk amongst ourselves about other, more traditional means of maintaining our way of life through hard work and careful use of our resources,” Deacon Pierce said. “Who has ideas?”

The room remained quiet for several minutes. Bishop Kelp leaned back in his chair, his face passive. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the silence.

Peter Blount stood, his chair scraping against the wooden floor in a startling screech. His bony face turned red. He took off his hat and smashed it between his two weathered hands. “There’s been talk that
maybe we should concentrate more on livestock, less on crops. Pigs, cattle, sheep, chickens.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not much of a talker in front of everyone, but I thought it was worth bringing it up.”

“That’s fine, Peter.” Deacon Altman’s voice was gentle, just as it had been at all of Josiah’s counseling sessions. He was the only man Josiah knew who could make a person feel like he’d been to the woodshed for a whipping without raising a hand or his voice. “I’ve heard that too. Switching to cattle, raising them for beef.”

“I’ve talked to some of the Englischers about that.” Luke spoke up, surprising Josiah—both that he had spoken and that he had talked to Englischers about farming. “They say the start-up for raising cattle for beef is steep, but they’re doing much better than they were with the wheat. They quit farming wheat a good fifteen, twenty years ago when wheat prices hit rock bottom.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s risky to invest our small reserves in cattle right now.” Solomon Yonkers shook his massive, white-haired head. “We’re barely holding on as it is. Plus there are a lot of regulations involved in raising and selling livestock. Regulations that make it more expensive and bring us closer to the Englischers who must inspect and review and tell us how we must keep our buildings and our animals. It will affect us in ways we cannot see right now.”

“If we don’t do it now, those reserves will be gone and we’ll have nothing to start over with if we lose our wheat again next year,” Paul Yonkers countered, disagreeing with his daed. Again, a surprise. These meetings were full of them. “The younger folks need to have some way of supporting our new families when we start them. Farms have been divided among sons for so many generations now that they’ve become too small to support us. It’s the big farms that are making money in this day and age.”

“That’s true,” Luke said. “Maybe we split up. Some stay with wheat. Others experiment with starting new herds.”