Hidden Mercies (38 page)

They moved on to the furniture. Tom bid and won on everything that was not nailed down. Eventually, people caught on to the fact that no matter what anyone else bid, Tom would doggedly stay in the bidding until it was won. Several dropped out of bidding against him altogether.

Claire kept quiet. She didn’t want to distract him. What Tom was trying to do here was admirable, even valiant. But it didn’t make sense. What did he think he was going to do with all of his father’s things once the auction was over? She
hoped he didn’t think he was going to store them in Levi’s apartment. There wasn’t room, for one thing. And she’d have to evict Elizabeth for another.

Two hours into the auction, it was time for the big event—the auctioning of the home and land. Several men who had not yet bid worked their way to the front. Most were Old Order Amish who owned businesses and who she knew were well-to-do. Two were
Englisch
. Everyone knew that serious money would have to be laid out to get Jeremiah’s acres. Tom might have been able to snatch up every piece of kitchenware, tools, and quilts on the place, but he could not possibly hold out in a bidding war that could easily go beyond half a million.

“You’re done now, right?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “I’m just getting started.”

“Tom, you can’t possibly outbid everyone on the farm itself. I don’t know what a soldier makes, but farms like these—it will go for a half million or more. Land in Holmes County is expensive.”

“I know exactly what land in Holmes County costs. I asked you to trust me, Claire.”

And then the bidding for the land started. It was intense and the numbers began to get so high, they practically made her dizzy.

One by one, men dropped out of the bidding until it was just Tom and one
Englisch
man battling it out.

•   •   •

Tom folded his card and stuck it in his pocket. It had taken him a little more to buy back his birthright than he had expected, but he now had the legal right to do whatever he wanted with his father’s property.

As he walked toward his father, a few
Englisch
people
tried to congratulate him on his win, but his goal was to get to his
daed
. His father’s Amish friends, apparently sensing that something important was about to happen, quietly moved aside as he put one hand on his father’s shoulder and announced to the crowd. “My name is Tobias Troyer. I am Jeremiah’s son, and I’ve come home.”

There was a quick intake of breath from the Amish men who had been standing around his father. Apparently they were Jeremiah’s closest friends, so Tom knew that they were aware of the story. Everyone was. They all knew how long Jeremiah had waited and prayed for his prodigal to come home.

“You are Tobias?” Faye was standing only a few feet away. She resembled his mother so much, it made him ache. “My brother?”

“I am.”

He watched as her face crumpled. He was reminded of the little girl she had once been. In two strides, he was holding his baby sister in his arms. He felt her shoulders shaking with sobs as her tears moistened his shirt.

She pulled away just long enough to look up at his face. “I don’t understand. You have as much legal right to this as I. You were here just last night. Why did you not make us call the auction off?”

“The money will never make up for a little girl who stood at a window crying for her big brother who never came home—but it will make your family’s life a little easier. You can go home now and finish raising your children. I will care for our father, here where he belongs.”

She glanced at her father, a worried expression on her face. “Is this what you want,
Daed
?”

Jeremiah nodded.
“Gut!”

“But you aren’t Swartzentruber,” Faye protested. You
aren’t allowed to.
Daed
should be our responsibility. We’ve already built a room onto our home for him.”

“Actually, I
am
allowed to,” Tom said. “I have spoken to Bishop Weaver. He has given me special permission to stay and care for our father so that he can remain upon the land where he was born. The only home he has ever known.”

“How did you get so much money?” Ephraim looked puzzled.

“If the check’s good, does it really matter?”

“I guess not.”

“Go home, Ephraim. I’ll take care of my father. You take care of my sister and your children. You and Faye and your family are welcome to visit anytime you want. Next time, bring the children. I would like to meet my other nephews and nieces. If
Daed
starts feeling better, I’ll bring him down for a short visit from time to time and he can make use of that room you were kind enough to build for him.”

As the truth of who Tom was got repeated back through the crowd, the Amish began to do an interesting thing. All the items that Tom had bid on and won melted off the tables and into the crowd. One after another, the Amish made quiet, surreptitious trips into the house. By the time he got his father back into the home that yesterday Jeremiah had thought he was giving up forever, their neighbors and friends, Swartzentruber along with Old Order Amish, had quietly put everything back.

Everything was finally exactly where it belonged—including Tom.

Out the kitchen window, he saw the midwife who held his heart in her hands. She was walking home. That was as it should be. Today belonged to his father. He would talk to Claire tomorrow.

W
ith help from Grace, Elizabeth, Maddy, Rose, and Levi, Claire had made her home presentable for church Sunday. Since the weather was so warm, the men were able to set out the benches in Claire’s newly swept barn. This was easier than moving the partitions that sectioned off the main floor of her house.

The dinner would be on two long tables made of sawhorses and plywood. They were already covered with every tablecloth Claire owned, all bleached a snowy white.

The children would be playing all over the place after services, which would include her upstairs—and there would be mothers going up to check on them. It was a great relief to her that every square inch of her house was clean—even if someone happened to peek inside a dresser drawer!

Sometimes she wondered if the Old Order Amish reputation for sparkling clean houses and lovely yards didn’t come from the women’s concern over hosting
Gmay
. Every woman she had ever known became slightly panicked as that date for church drew near.

This was going to be an especially good church day for her. Maddy had agreed to stay home from her New Order church for once, since the services were going to be held here. Amy
was in her element with all the people around to talk to. And even Grace, Levi, and Elizabeth had agreed to come, but only because it was at her home. Levi had made a point of making certain she realized that there was no hope that he and Grace would ever turn away from being
Englisch
.

Everything was in readiness, and it felt so good.

Her thought was cut off by a sight that pushed all other thoughts from her mind. Tom was walking toward her house, and when he got there, he joined the other men for church.

•   •   •

The men sat on one side of the barn, the women on the other. Teenaged boys sat in the back, shredding pieces of straw, studiously ignoring the speaker or the singing. Old women sat in the back on the women’s sides, where aching backs could obtain some support against the wall of the barn. Both groups faced each other. It felt so familiar. When he sang the old songs, he closed his eyes and sang some of them from memory, from his heart, hungry to join his voice with his people. There was one public confession that morning. Henry—broken and remorseful, asked the church to pray for him and the pride that had led him into a gambling addiction. He asked the church to forgive him for what he’d done to his family, and he asked for prayers for healing.

Tom was content to sit and listen and be among his people. It felt good to be back. Someday soon, he had every intention of becoming part of this—but not yet. Returning to the Amish was not a step to be taken lightly. There was a cost involved. A great cost.

It wasn’t just a matter of wearing these clothes he had purchased yesterday at the Save & Serve thrift store. It wasn’t just a matter of driving a horse and buggy. Or living without electricity or the other entrapments of modern society. That
was the easy part. It wasn’t even the sacrifice of never flying or being allowed to fly in a plane of any kind again.

It went deeper than that. To become Amish meant becoming a servant to God, to one’s family, and to the church community. A man who became Amish was pledging himself, if chosen for leadership, to become a minister, or bishop, or deacon. Not for a season but for life. There was no training. No seminary. No certification one could take. It carried with it a responsibility for other people’s souls—and that mantle could fall on anyone. There was no manipulating which one God might choose. No one really wanted this responsibility, but refusal was not an option.

He was no longer a sixteen-year-old boy trying to impress a girl. Once he made this commitment and accepted baptism, that commitment would be there for life.

For those I love, I will sacrifice. How little he’d realized, the night he had that sentence tattooed on his chest, what kind of sacrifices he would have to make. He had been twenty-seven and envisioning going down in a blaze of glory.

Now it meant committing himself to serve his people, his family, his church, and his Christ—day in and day out—for life.

Before he made that final commitment, he wanted to spend some time with Bishop Schrock. From the things Claire had said about him, he believed the man might have some wisdom to share about how to go the distance in this new, and old, life he was beginning.

•   •   •

Once church was over, he searched for Claire. She was busy helping get the meal laid out. As the hostess of this meal, she had heavy responsibilities.

“I’m not going to stay for the meal, Claire,” he said.
“Ephraim and Faye are leaving this morning. She wants to get home to the children as soon as possible. I need to get home and take care of
Daed
so she can go.”

“How did things go last night after everyone left?”

“It was wonderful, Claire. I owe God a great debt.”

She smiled. “And it looks like you are on your way to paying Him back.”

•   •   •

As he drove home, he mulled over the fact that he needed someone to help him care for his father, preferably some kind Amish woman. After this morning, he knew exactly whom to ask.

T
om called Levi Monday around lunchtime to see if he could come sit with his father for a while. He doubted that Bishop Weaver was going to insist that a stroke victim could not be watched after from time to time by a grandson, even if that grandson was Levi.

The house Tom pulled up to a few minutes later was not large. Nor did it have a large yard. When he knocked, a young Amish woman came to the door with a baby on her hip. Over her shoulder, he saw a small front room cluttered with toys, children, and what appeared to be pallets made of blankets and pillows on the floor.

“My name is Tobias Troyer,” he said. “Is your mother home?”

“Tom!” Rose had heard his voice, and came rushing in from the kitchen. “Won’t you come in? Claire has told me everything. It is so good that you have come back.”

He saw her glance around as though wondering if there would be a place clear enough for him to sit. He solved the dilemma for her.

“Could I talk to you out here for a few minutes, Rose?”

“Of course.” She hurriedly put on her head covering before stepping outside the door.

“How are things going living here at your daughter’s house?” he asked.

“Oh, we are all doing just fine.” Her voice was unnaturally bright.

“Do you ever wish you could have your own home again, and not have to work at the restaurant anymore?”

“Of course, but I cannot see being able to get ahead enough to buy a home again, and we need the income from my job. Henry has only been able to find part-time work.”

“What’s he been doing?”

“Helping put new roofs on houses. He goes with a crew and sometimes they drive a very long way to find jobs.”

“Does he enjoy it?”

“He is grateful to have employment, but does he enjoy his work? No. I am certain he does not.”

“Do you think he’d like to farm again?”

“That will never happen,” Rose’s voice was bitter. “The farm that his father gave him is gone. We can never save enough to replace it. Not in our lifetime.”

“Is Henry a good farmer?”

“Of course he is. You know that.”

“How long have we known each other, Rose?”

“You used to push Claire and me on the swings at the schoolhouse when we were small scholars together.”

“I’ve known you my whole life, Rose, and I trust you.”

“Thank you, Tobias, but why do you feel the need to say this to me?”

“Here’s the deal, Rose. You are one of the kindest women I’ve ever met, and one of the most competent,” he said. “I’m planning to ask Claire to marry me. If she says yes, I know she and her children will want to be able to continue to live in their own home. So I need someone to watch after my dad when I’m not there, and I need someone to take care of my
dad’s farm—someone who would have the skill to do it well so that it will be a delight to his eyes as he watches. I know that Henry is that sort of farmer.”

Her eyes widened as she began to understand what he was saying.

“I will make a deal with you and Henry. You quit your job at the restaurant, move into my father’s home, and care for my dad when I’m gone. I’ll try to be there every morning to help get him up. I’ll come every evening to help him to bed. In return, Henry can do what he does best—till the land.
Daed
will love being able to watch and give advice, and who knows? Maybe he’ll be able to recuperate enough to be of some help.”