Accidentally Amish (24 page)

The roast beef was juiced to perfection. The sweet potatoes were mashed and baked with a golden brown-sugar crust. Garden-picked green beans and fresh red pepper slices splashed color across the table. Annie had lifted the buttermilk whole-wheat loaf from the bread machine herself not twenty minutes ago.

Even without the vegetables, Aunt Lennie would have added all the color the table needed. At seventy-nine, she moved more slowly than Annie remembered, but her determination faltered no more than it had twenty years ago. She made Annie smile every time she blew through town. A comfortable, sprawling two-story home in Vermont was home base, but Lennie always seemed to be on the way to somewhere, and Annie couldn’t help but admire that.

After her father gave thanks for the food, Annie lifted the bowl and offered a spinach and strawberry salad to Aunt Lennie.

“Aunt Lennie,” Myra said as she moved a generous portion of sweet potatoes to her plate, “Annie is doing some family research. We thought you might fill in some of the blanks.”

Brad Friesen transferred a slice of meat to his plate. “I confess I don’t know too much about the family history, other than what I remember about my parents—and you, of course.”

“Most of what I know can’t be proven.” Lennie winked at Annie. “But I’ve stored away a tidbit or two. What would you like to know?”

“It’s about your grandmother Byler.” Annie smeared butter on still-warm bread. “Do you know anything about the Byler name further back?”

“Oh, there was an Abraham Byler and a string of Jacobs. Abraham was a sheriff, I believe. Malinda’s father. Shot in the line of duty. But the Jacobs? I can’t tell you too much.”

“If Abraham was a sheriff, then I guess he wasn’t Amish.”

“Hardly. Why would you think that?”

“I didn’t really.” Annie stabbed three green beans. “It’s just similar to the name of some people I met recently.”

“Amish?”

Annie nodded.

“In Colorado?” Lennie clanked her fork and sat up straight. “Well, I’ll be!”

“It’s a fairly new settlement. Only a few families.”

“So they’re trying again.” Lennie scratched an ear.

Annie perked up. “What do you mean?”

“Now, I told you, I can’t prove any of this. Family lore says the Amish came to Ordway around 1910. A Byler cousin fell in love with an Amish girl and joined up. He got baptized and everything. He was going to live off the land and make a bunch of babies.”

“You mean we really have an Amish relative?” Annie picked up a bite of roast on her fork but did not raise it to her mouth.

“Don’t get ahead of me.” Lennie put one finger on her chin as she thought. “Story has it that those poor folks never could get any irrigation out to their farms. After a few years, they packed up and went back to Pennsylvania. All except our cousin. Harold, I think his name was. Turns out he didn’t believe all that much, and when the babies didn’t come along, maybe he didn’t love all that much, either.”

“What happened?” Annie asked. Around the table, eating had stopped as everyone waited for the story. Lennie was the only one who systematically moved food from plate to mouth.

“Pennsylvania was the last straw,” Lennie said between two bites of sweet potatoes. “What was left of the community was giving up and going home. Except Pennsylvania wasn’t home for Harold. He disappeared the night before they were supposed to leave.”

“What happened?” Annie pulled her phone out and started making notes.

“He turned up in California a few weeks later and never did come back to Colorado.” Lennie tore a piece of bread in half. “I haven’t thought of that story for years.”

“What about the Amish girl—his wife?”

Lennie shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Annie now had names to look for in her books. She tapped them into her phone. Abraham Byler. Harold Byler.

“What do you remember about your grandmother?” Annie asked, poised to enter more information into her phone.

“Malinda Byler? Not too much. Your grandma Eliza and I were little girls when she died. I remember she told us Bible stories on Sunday afternoons, and she could twist a chicken’s neck faster than anyone I ever knew in all the years since.” Lennie paused. “Of course, I don’t see too many people twisting chicken necks these days. It’s a dying skill.” She laughed at her own pun.

Annie shook her head with a smile. Aunt Lennie was always the same.

“Her son Randolph was your father, right?” Annie asked, picturing the family tree she had sketched.

“Right. But she had other children. Most of them moved back to Arkansas at some point, but Daddy always liked the wide-open spaces of Colorado. I never thought I’d leave, either, until your Uncle Ted used his wiles to lure me to Vermont.”

“It’s amazing how geography brings an end to the story so fast,” Annie mused. “Especially a hundred years ago.”

“This is all fascinating,” Brad Friesen said, cutting into his meat. “I should have paid attention long ago. But, Annie, why are you so interested now?”

Annie shrugged. “I just am. I’ve been so focused on getting where I’m going that I never thought much about where I came from.”

“The Bylers are good stock.” Lennie nodded emphatically. “Except perhaps for that character Harold. When you make a promise, you ought to stick to it, not run the other direction.”

“Thank you, Aunt Lennie,” Annie said. “You’ve told me things I might never have known.”

“Yes,” Brad agreed. “I’m glad you put us on your route west.”

Annie picked up a red pepper slice and bit into its crispness. Moments divided families for generations. She had the urge to call her sister in Seattle for a long chat. And she had the urge to track down Ruth Beiler, no matter what Rufus thought. She was never going to see him again anyway, so why did it matter?

March 1738

J
akob tapped the paper twice and looked at his daughter sternly. “You must practice your letters, Maria.”

Maria twiddled the quill between her thumb and forefinger. “I don’t want to. I can’t do it without
Mamm
‘s songs.”

Jakob had barely cleaned up from his half day at the tannery before Lisbetli latched onto him as she did every day. He shifted her now from one arm to the other. The toddler’s head remained tucked under his chin during the whole maneuver. “
Mamm
would want you to do your letters, Maria. How else will you learn to read?”

“I don’t care about any stupid books!” Maria threw the quill down, spilling the inkwell in the process.

“Maria!” Jakob righted the inkwell then lurched for a rag. The sudden motion made Lisbetli clutch his neck all the tighter and add a whimper to the commotion. Ink already soaked through the sheets of paper stacked on the table and dribbled off the edge before Jakob could slap the rag in place.

Maria leaped away from the table. “It’s going to ruin my dress.”

Jakob sighed and sat in a chair to sop up the mess.

“No. No down,” Lisbetli protested, her predictable response to the possibility that he might want to put her down for a few minutes.

Christian was gone to the livery to check on the horse, and the other girls were shopping for vegetables for the evening meal. Even if Barbara was home, Lisbetli would not release her father. She had been clinging to him for weeks, as if she was afraid he would disappear the way her mother had.

Jakob reached out a hand toward Maria. “Get your capes. We will go for a walk. It’s not too cold out today. There is even a bit of sun.”

“Where will we go?”

Jakob shrugged. “It does not matter. But I am going to need some new ink.”

Maria hung her head. “I’m sorry about the ink.”

Jakob tipped Maria’s chin up and looked in her blue eyes. “I know you miss your mother. We all do.”

They walked toward Market Street. Jakob scanned the pedestrian traffic every few yards, wondering if they would see the other girls. If Barbara managed to find beets, Maria’s mood was sure to improve. Maria walked ahead of Jakob for the most part, and he let her wander at will. Occasionally Lisbetli would lift her head and point at something, but by and large she was content to mold herself to her father’s chest as she had for the last two months.

The stationer’s shop caught his eye, and he wondered why he had never noticed it before. It was in a row of narrow shops at the base of a three-story brick building close to the center square of town. He must have walked past it dozens of times. It was the laugh that caught his attention this time. The shop’s door was propped open to welcome the springlike weather—though the danger of frost was not over—and as he walked past, a woman’s lilting laughter lit the air.

“Maria,” Jakob called as he slowed his steps and angled his head to look in the shop. Maria retraced a few steps and stood beside him.

Jakob watched a young woman behind the oak counter use a large sheet of plain brown paper to wrap a purchase for a well-dressed gentleman. The laughter drifted off, but a broad grin still cracked her face. Her chatter bore the familiar accent of Jakob’s own birthplace in Bern, Switzerland. The customer seemed pleased with whatever he had said to elicit her convivial response as he tucked his package under his arm. Outside the shop, Jakob stepped clear of the doorway to allow him to pass.

“Are we going in?” Maria asked.

“Yes we are,” Jakob answered, though he had not known until that moment.

Inside, the shop carried an assortment of writing papers, envelopes, inks, quills, and a few books.

“May I help you?” the young woman asked.

“I require a small packet of black ink powder, please.” Jakob shifted Lisbetli in his arms.

“Your daughters are beautiful.” The young woman pulled a jar of ink powder from a low shelf and laid out a sheet of paper to fold into a packet.

“This one is a little worn out these days.” Jakob stroked Lisbetli’s head.

The woman reached toward Lisbetli with curled fingers. To Jakob’s shock, the little girl reached back, gripping the woman’s hand.

“This is Lisbetli,” Jakob said.

“So her given name must be Elizabeth.” The woman smiled at the toddler. “My name is Elizabeth, too. Elizabeth Kallen.”

“She is Elisabetha,” Jakob said.

“Very similar.” She reached across the counter and touched Lisbetli’s cheek. “Hello, Lisbetli.”

“I am Jakob Byler.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Byler.”

Lisbetli twisted in Jakob’s arms and reached toward Elizabeth Kallen with both arms.

“Would you mind?” Elizabeth reached now with both of her own arms.

Jakob gladly surrendered the child across the counter. Elizabeth Kallen propped Lisbetli on one hip and tickled her with a finger under the chin.

“Do you have any books for children?” Jakob was not at all sure that the coins in his pocket would cover both the ink and a book—not to mention replacing the ruined paper still on the table beside the fireplace. Christian would not be happy to discover what his sister had done. Perhaps some of the sheets could be salvaged.

“I believe we have some illustrated folktales and a primer or two.”

“Perhaps we’ll look at a primer. Would you like that, Maria?” Jakob glanced up at Miss Kallen. “She is just learning her letters.”

“Our books are all used,” Miss Kallen explained, “so I believe you will find the prices reasonable.”

She carried Lisbetli around the end of the counter and led Maria to the bottom shelf of a rack on the back wall of the shop. Jakob stayed where he was, watching his daughters. Maria apparently had forgotten that she did not want to learn her letters and held a slim German primer as if it were gold. Lisbetli had a thumb in her mouth and looked thoroughly comfortable in Miss Kallen’s arms. Other than when Barbara twisted her baby sister from their father’s arms so he could go to work, this was the furthest Lisbetli had been from Jakob since Verona’s passing. Jakob used the moment to count his coins.

When he heard the baby’s laughter, his eyes misted. Lisbetli hadn’t giggled in so long. She popped her thumb from her mouth and grinned at Miss Kallen.

“We are moving to Irish Creek,” he heard Maria announce. “There is no school there, and my mother died.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Miss Kallen said softly.

Maria’s thin shoulders lifted and fell a few times before she continued, “I have to learn my lessons from my brother and sisters.”

“I think you’re probably a very good student.”

“My brother especially likes maps. Do you have maps?”

“We get one every now and then.”

“Try to find one with colors on it,” Maria said. “Christian loves the ones with colors.”

“Perhaps I will set aside the next one I see for your brother. You can remind your father to stop in again.” Elizabeth Kallen glanced in Jakob’s direction, and he couldn’t subdue the upturn in his lips. Her tenderness with his children moved him more than he would have imagined.

And then he took back the smile. He had no business smiling at a young woman in a shop.

“We should go, Maria,” he said. “Your sisters will be wondering where we are. We will take the primer home with us.” He stepped toward Miss Kallen and reached for Lisbetli, freeing the woman’s hands to seal the packet of ink.