Accidentally Amish (20 page)

“I’m being stupid,” Annie announced to the empty room. “It’s clear where Barrett’s loyalty lies.”

One little phone call to Lee. Not more than fifteen seconds. Everything would change.

The phone in her hand rang, startling her. Annie looked at caller ID.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, yourself. You haven’t called for a week.”

“Sorry.”

“Where are you?”

“Back in town. Back at work.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Everything okay?”

“It will be. I just need to make a phone call.”

“Then I won’t keep you. I’ve been thinking about that genealogy book you asked about. My brain is zoning in on where it might be. I wonder if you want to come over and help me move boxes around and find it.”

“Sure, Mom. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“After three. Stay for supper.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You sound preoccupied.”

“Just trying to find my stride again now that I’m back.”

“You’ll find it. You always do. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Annie ended the call. She really did want to see the genealogy book. Though Annie had never heard of anyone in her family being Amish, she felt compelled to follow the trail of the Byler name.

She exhaled heavily, the phone still in her hand. She could almost see the scowl on Rufus’s face at what she was about to do.

She had to.

She tried the peaceable route and it didn’t work.

She had no choice.

Annie punched 9 on her phone, and an instant later Lee Solano came on.

“This is Annie Friesen,” she said. “Do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”
No!

She clicked off.

November 1737

T
he temperature took a distinct downturn by the time Jakob returned to Philadelphia ten days later. The sky looked as if a worn gray sheet containing the inevitable snow had unfurled behind the city.

Jakob was anxious to get back to his family with good news, but he was unprepared for what he found.

“
Daed
is home!” Maria squealed when Jakob opened the door. She jumped into his arms. His eyes scanned the room as he kissed the top of her head.

The bread on the table was hardened, and the fire in the hearth was dangerously close to going out. The flour bin was empty and the coal bin as well. The water bucket was depleted. Dishes on the rugged table looked as if they had not been scraped in three days. A rat feasted on food spilled in one corner.

“Maria, where is everybody?” Jakob worked to keep his voice calm.

“Bar-bar is sleeping. Anna takes care of Lisbetli now.”

“Who takes care of you?” Jakob set Maria on her feet again.

“I’m big. I take care of myself.”

Jakob tousled the girl’s hair and led her into the bedroom. Barbara was indeed in one of the beds, sound asleep. Anna sat on a pallet on the floor with Lisbetli, who was taking great delight in sweeping an area of the floor with a few pieces of straw tied together.

“
Daed
!” Anna hurtled at him.

Lisbetli stood and toddled toward him, and Jakob took her in his arms. He sat on the empty bed and motioned for Anna to join him.

“Tell me what happened, Anna. Where is
Mamm
?”

“It was time for Mrs. Habbecker’s baby,” Anna explained. “Mrs. Zimmerman said
Mamm
had to go and help because it was going to be a hard birth.”

“But your
mudder
has been sick.”

“She said that she is strong now, but I do not think she is. She sleeps too much.”

“When did she leave?”

“On Thursday. In the morning.”

Panic welled in Jakob. “But today is Saturday!” He glanced over at Barbara. “Is Bar-bar all right?”

Anna nodded. “She is sleeping. Lisbetli has been crying for
Mamm.
She does not sleep at night, and she will not let anyone hold her but Bar-bar. I try to cook, but I keep spilling things.”

“And Christian?” Jakob asked.

“He just left to look for coal, but I don’t think he remembers where you showed him to buy it.”

“We must find your brother and your mother.” Jakob stood. “Help your sisters get into something warm, please, and we’ll go out together.”

If Anna’s account was accurate, Verona had been gone for two days. What would possess her to do that? Jakob racked his brain to remember where the Habbeckers had found accommodations. All he remembered was that it had not seemed near when he first heard of the place.

Jakob moved to the bed where Barbara lay and jiggled her shoulder. He needed to see for himself that she was simply sleeping. She roused easily enough and sat up straight when she saw him. He let out his breath in relief.

“
Daed
! I’m sorry. I fell asleep.” Barbara wiped one hand across her face and glanced at the waning light coming through the window. “I did not mean to sleep so long. Lisbetli—”

“Anna told me. Thank you for taking care of the baby, but I’m worried about your mother.”

“Mrs. Habbecker—”

“She can’t still be birthing two days later. I’m going to go look for
Mamm
and take the girls. Will you wait for Christian?”

Barbara nodded.

“I will get some water before I go.”

The nearest Amish neighbors Jakob could think of were the Stutzmans, so he went there first. They sent him to Wengars, who knew how to find the Habbeckers. As he moved through the streets, his eyes scanned for Christian. Though Christian might return without coal, he had too fine a sense of direction to get lost. It was Verona Jakob was frightened for. Two days.

Verona dried her hands, unsure whether to surrender to grief or embarrassment. Either way, tears weighed in her eyes. The birth had not gone well. By the end of the first day, she was certain the child would not survive. Mrs. Habbecker was so spent she had stopped screaming with the pains, as if she also realized that her labor was in vain.

And then Verona collapsed. Caring for her own family exhausted her every day. Waiting more than twenty-four hours for a baby to be born without breath ultimately was beyond her. When she came to, having been tucked into a strange bed, another Amish wife was at her vigil post, and Mrs. Habbecker was pushing in grievous silence. Moments later, someone wrapped the baby and took him away, confirming Verona’s fear.

Where?
Verona wondered. He could be buried, at least. This child did not have to be put into the sea, leaving no trace of his existence. His grave marker might be small, but it would be more than the children who died in the crossing had.

Her own heart heaved in anguish for the Habbeckers even as shame washed over her for failing them at a crucial moment. Now two days had passed since she had seen her own children, and she finally found the strength to get on her feet again and help clean up after the birth before excusing herself as gently as she could. She did not even try to form words to speak to the Habbeckers. What could anyone say that would be of comfort?

Verona was settling her shawl around her shoulders when the knock came. She opened the door.

“Jakob!”

He stood in the door frame with two little girls, his face in question pose.

This was no place for the girls. Gathering the front of her shawl in one hand, Verona said a hasty good-bye to Mr. Habbecker and stepped outside.

“I was worried, Verona. The girls said you have been gone two days. The baby—”

She shook her head, and Jakob stopped. He understood.

“Can we see the baby?” Maria asked.

Verona hesitated. “Not right now.” She reached out for Lisbetli, who let go of Jakob’s neck and latched on to her mother’s. Verona breathed in the scent of her child, her baby who was safe in her arms.

“You must be exhausted.”

“I just wish I could have done something to help.”

“You helped.”

“I mean—”

“I know,” Jakob said softly, “but that is in God’s hands. You did what you could. God’s will …”

Verona exhaled deeply. “I’m sorry for you to come home to this. But I am very glad to see you.”

In that moment, she knew she might have accounted for the last few hours—her own unconsciousness. But she did not. And she would not. She saw the relief in his face that she was all right and imagined the possible explanations that must have run through his head when he discovered her gone for two days. She was fine. Jakob was home. They would go on from there.

Jakob filed a description of the land he wanted to claim at the first opportunity, as did Hans Zimmerman, and they began the next season of waiting. Jakob got rid of the rats that had taken shelter in their rooms against the deepening cold outside, and Verona determined to keep a spotless house and not give rodents further reason to seek sustenance there. Christian learned where to buy coal and where to draw water, and Barbara and Anna became as adept as their parents at striking bargains with the local merchants. Jakob found a place to board the horse—they had no grazing land or shelter for it beside the narrow house in a row of narrow houses—and set about finding work in a tanyard. Jakob located an outfitter he trusted and began to collect supplies they would need for homesteading, beginning with a wagon.

One by one the Amish families received their land grants and surveys. Some left for Northkill, believing they still had time to erect a shelter that could withstand the winter. Some hoped to form settlements in other counties.

The Stutzmans hosted a shared meal to bid the Buerkis farewell. Verona cooked that day to contribute to the meal but declined to go with the rest of the family.

“Are you all right?” Jakob probed.

Verona put a hand on his arm. “It’s been a very busy time, and I’m tired. I don’t know the Buerkis well, and I could use a couple of hours of quiet.”

She felt the scrutiny in his eyes but remained firm, determined to give him no reason to think her choice to stay home was anything more than fatigue.

“All right,” he said. “I will take the children so you can rest.”

Jakob was amused by the way Christian hung on him all evening. After the meal, while the women cleared dishes and leftover food, the men spread their maps on the table. With candles positioned to light every corner, they took turns pointing to places where they had applied for land and calculating the distance between points. Most of them would be two miles or more from the nearest neighbor. Christian had been paying close attention to conversations over the last few weeks. He soaked up information about soil quality and tree density and water supply and wildlife and crop potential. Jakob smiled in pleasure when grown men began to ask his son, just turned nine, what he knew about the various locations where Amish families intended to settle. Christian even calculated with surprising accuracy how long each step in the land grant process took based on the experience of each of the settlers so far. Hans Zimmerman’s survey was already under way. By Christian’s estimation, his father should receive news any day now that his own application was moving to the survey step.

Jakob glanced across the room at his four daughters. Barbara soon would be fifteen. Before long he would have to entertain the thought of finding her a husband. In Europe she had gone further in school than any of his children could expect to go in this new world. In the last few weeks, he saw that Barbara was becoming competent both to keep a house and care for small children with attention and patience. Fleetingly he wondered if she would prefer to remain in Philadelphia. She was near enough to being grown that she could decide what she wanted. But he was not going to raise the question. He wanted her with him. He had not come this far to begin separating his family, and her best chance of finding a husband was among the sons of the Amish families moving to Northkill. More would come in the next few years. His daughters could marry men of their own people.