Going Home (2 page)

“Faith Stutzman, what do you think you’re doing?”

Faith whirled around at the sound of her father’s deep voice. His face was a mask of anger, his dark eyebrows drawn together so they almost met in the middle
.

“I was entertaining the animals,” she said, feeling her defenses rising. “I don’t see any harm in doing that, Papa.”

He scowled at her. “Is that a fact? What about the chores you were sent out here to do? Have you finished those yet?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’m aimin’ to get them done real soon.”

Papa nudged her arm with his knuckles. “Then you’d better get up and do ’em! And no more of that silly squawkin’ and howlin’. You sound like a frog with a sore throat, trying to do that silly yodeling stuff.” He started for the barn door but turned back around. “You’ve always been a bit of a rebel, and it isn’t getting any better now that you’ve reached your teen years.” He shook his finger at Faith. “You’d better start spending more time reading the scriptures and praying and less time in town soaking up all kinds of worldly stuff on the sly. You’ll surely die in your sins if you don’t get yourself under control and prepare for baptism soon.”

When the barn door slammed shut, Faith stuck out her tongue, feeling more defiant than ever. “I should be allowed to tell jokes and yodel whenever I choose,” she grumbled to Barney, one of their driving horses. “And I shouldn’t have to put up with my
daed’s
outbursts or his mean, controlling ways, either.” She plucked a piece of hay from the bale on which she sat and snapped off the end. “I’ll show you, Papa. I’ll show everyone in this family that I don’t need a single one of you. I’ll find someone who appreciates my talents and doesn’t criticize me for everything I do.”

As Faith’s thoughts returned to the present, she tried to focus her attention on the scenery whizzing past. She couldn’t. Her mind was a jumble of confusion. Was returning to Webster County the right thing?

I’m doing what I have to do. Melinda needs a secure home, and this is the best way to make that happen
. Faith thought about Greg and how, even though he wasn’t the ideal husband, he had secured plenty of engagements for her. Never mind that he’d kept a good deal of the money she’d made to support his drinking and gambling habits. Never mind that Greg had been harsh with her at times.

It’s sad
, she mused.
Greg’s been gone six months, yet I grieved for him only a short time. Even then, it wasn’t really my husband I missed. It was my agent and the fact that he took care of our daughter while I was working. If he hadn’t lined up several shows for me, I probably would have returned to Webster County sooner
.

Faith popped a couple of her knuckles. It was a bad habit—her parents had said so often enough—but it helped relieve some of her tension.
I’ll never marry again—that’s for certain sure. It would be hard to trust another man
. She drew in a deep breath and tried to relax. She’d be home in a few hours and would know whether she had made the right decision. If her folks accepted Melinda, the grandchild they knew nothing about, Faith could be fairly certain things would work out. If they rejected her, then Faith would need to come up with another plan.

Noah Hertzler wiped his floury hands on a dish towel and smiled. He was alone in the kitchen and had created another cake he was sure would tempt even the most finicky person. Being the youngest of ten boys, with no sisters in the family, Noah had been the only son who had eagerly helped Mom in the kitchen from the time he was a small boy. In Noah’s mind, his ability to cook was a God-given talent—one he enjoyed sharing with others through the breads, cookies, cakes, and pies he often made to give away. If he heard of someone who was emotionally down or physically under the weather, he set right to work baking a scrumptious dessert for that person. He always attached a note that included one of his favorite scripture verses. “Food for the stomach and nourishment for the soul”—that’s what Mom called Noah’s gifts to others.

Noah stared out the kitchen window into the backyard where he had played as a child. Growing up, he’d been shy, unable to
express his thoughts or feelings the way most children usually did. When his friends or brothers gathered to play, Noah had spent time either alone in the barn or with his mother in the kitchen. Even now, at age twenty-four, he was somewhat reserved and spoke only when he felt something needed to be said. Noah thought that was why he hadn’t married yet. The truth was, he’d been too shy to pursue a woman, although he had never found anyone he wanted to court.

Noah figured another reason for his single status was because he wasn’t so good-looking. Not that he was ugly, for Mom had often said his thick, mahogany-colored hair was real nice and that his dark brown eyes reminded her of a box of sweet chocolates. Of course, all mothers thought their offspring were cute and sweet; it was the way of a good mother’s heart to see the best in her flesh-and-blood children.

Instinctively, Noah touched his nose. It was too big and had a small hump in the middle of it. He’d taken a lot of ribbing from his friends during childhood over that beak. He could still hear his schoolmates chanting, “Noah! Noah! Nobody knows of anything bigger than Noah’s huge nose!”

Forcing his thoughts to return to the present, Noah’s gaze came to rest on the old glider, which sat under the red-leafed maple tree in their backyard. He had seen many of his brothers share that swing with their sweethearts, but Noah had never known the pleasure. Since his teen years, he’d shown an interest in only a few girls, and those relationships didn’t involve more than a ride home in Noah’s open buggy after a young people’s singing on a Sunday night. He had never taken it any further
because the girls hadn’t shown much interest in him.

Most everyone in the community thought Noah was a confirmed bachelor; some had said so right to his face. But he didn’t care what others thought. Noah was content to work five days a week for Hank Osborn, a local English man who raised Christmas trees. In the evenings and on weekends, Noah helped his mother at home. Mom was sixty-two years old and had been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes several years ago. As careful as she was about her diet, her health was beginning to fail so she needed Noah’s help more than ever—especially since he was the only son still living at home. All nine of Noah’s brothers were married with families of their own. Pop, at age sixty-four, still kept busy with farm chores and raising his fat hogs. He surely didn’t have time to help his wife with household chores or cooking. Not that he would have anyway. Noah’s father disliked indoor chores, even hauling firewood into the kitchen, which had been Noah’s job since he was old enough to hold a chunk of wood in his chubby little hands.

Bringing his reflections to a halt, Noah began to mix up the batter for two tasty lemon sponge cakes in separate bowls. He would make one of the cakes using a sugar substitute, for him and his folks. The other cake would be given away as soon as he found someone who had a need. Noah had already decided to use Hebrews 11:6 with the cake: “But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.”

“Is someone in the community struggling with a lack of faith?” Noah murmured. “Do they need a reminder that will
encourage their heart and help strengthen their trust in God?” He felt confident that the Lord would direct him to the right person. He could hardly wait to see who it might be.

When Faith and Melinda got off the bus at Lazy Lee’s Gas Station in Seymour, Faith picked up their two suitcases and herded Melinda toward the building. The unmistakable aroma of cow manure from a nearby farm assaulted her. She was almost home, and there was no turning back. She had come this far and would go the rest of the way as soon as she found them a ride.

Faith didn’t recognize the balding, middle-aged man working inside the gas station, but she introduced herself and asked him about hiring someone to drive them to her folks’ place. He said his name was Ed Moore and mentioned that he’d only been living in Seymour a couple of years.

“My wife, Doris, is coming in for some gas soon, and since we live just off Highway C, she plans to stop by an Amish farm out that way and buy some fresh eggs,” Ed said. “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to give you a lift.”

Faith wondered which Amish family from her community was selling eggs. Could it be Mama or one of her sisters? “If your wife is willing to give us a ride, it would be most appreciated,” she said.

“Don’t think it’ll be a problem. Nope, not a problem at all.” Ed grinned at her, revealing a set of badly stained, crooked teeth. “You can wait here inside the store if you want to.”

“It might be best if we waited outside,” Faith replied. “I wouldn’t want to miss your wife.”

“Suit yourself.”

Faith led Melinda outside, and they took a seat on the bench near the front door. “You’ll be meeting your Grandpa and Grandma Stutzman soon,” she said, smiling at Melinda, whose eyes darted back and forth as she sat stiffly on the bench.

Melinda’s nose twitched. “Somethin’ smells funny. I don’t know if I’m gonna like it here.”

“That’s the way farms smell, Melinda. We’re in the country now.”

Melinda folded her arms but said nothing more.

A short time later, a red station wagon pulled up to the pumps, and Ed came out of the building and proceeded to fill the tank with gas. When he was done, he said something to the dark-haired, middle-aged woman sitting in the vehicle. After a few minutes, he motioned for Faith and Melinda to come over. “This here’s my wife, Doris, and she’s agreed to give you a ride.” Before Faith could respond, Ed opened the back of the station wagon and deposited their suitcases inside.

“I appreciate this, and I’ll be happy to pay you,” Faith said to Doris as she and Melinda climbed into the backseat of the vehicle.

“No need for that,” Doris said with a wave of her hand. “Ed and I live out that way anyhow.”

“Thank you.” Faith tucked her daughter’s white cotton blouse under the band of her blue jeans; then she buckled the child’s seatbelt just as Doris pulled her vehicle out of the parking lot.

Melinda pressed her nose to the window as the station wagon headed down Highway C. “Look at all the farms. There’s so many animals!”

“Yep, lots of critters around here,” Doris chimed in.

Faith reached over and patted Melinda’s knee. “Your grandma and grandpa have all kinds of animals you’ll soon get to know.”

Melinda made no comment, and Faith wondered what her little girl was thinking. Would her daughter find joy in the things on the farm, or would she become restless and bored, the way Faith had? She hoped Melinda would adjust to the new surroundings and respond well to her grandparents and other family members.

Closing her eyes, Faith leaned into the seat and tried to relax. She would deal first with seeing her folks and then worry about how well Melinda would adjust. She only had the strength to work through one problem at a time.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the gravel driveway of her parents’ farm. Faith opened the car door and stepped out. Letting her gaze travel around the yard, she was amazed at how little it had changed. Everything looked nearly the same as the day she’d left home. The house was still painted white. The front porch sagged on one end, the way it had for as long as Faith could remember. Dark shades hung at each of the windows.