Where Love Grows (37 page)

“Why do you ask?”

“I got to thinking about how you people do things. You seem to have a plan for everything in life. A simple plan, but a plan. Seems to me your people probably also have one for this type of problem.”

“I don't look at you as a problem, Donald,” Menno said, motioning for Donald to sit on a nearby hay bale. Then he sat on one himself. “Let's be clear about that first, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you. You've never given me the impression I was.”

“Nor are you one in spite of what I'm about to tell you. It's just that our ways might seem strange to someone from the outside.”

“I'm half Amish, am I not?”

“
Yah
, and you are my son, Donald. I didn't do my part with you when you were small, and I apologize. But I am glad
Da Hah
and Carol were able to find a
gut
home for you.”

“Mom and Dad did a great job.”

Menno sat on the bale saying nothing for a long moment.

“Back to your church,” Donald prompted. “They disciplined you once I left, didn't they? Even after all these years?”

“
Yah
, but it was not just discipline for my transgression. What
gut
would that have done when what I did could not be undone? It was also done out of love for me. And for Anna. For all of us. For our way of life. Such a sin had to be commented upon. Otherwise it grows like a cancer until it fills the community.”

“Okay. But they did more than talk about it, I'm sure.”

Menno sighed. “Only the harshest of measures are
gut
enough when the sins of the body and soul threaten. What I did was a great sin. Against Carol. Against you. Against
Da Hah
. And against the community. If I had come home and confessed, perhaps they would have understood better. But I didn't. I told no one, not even Anna. Covering one's sin can be as large a thing as the original act.”

“So what did they do to you?”

“I spent six weeks cut off from the fellowship of the church. We call it the ‘
bann
.'”

“I'm sorry I caused that.” Donald hung his head.

“There's nothing for you to be sorry about. I do not wish you had stayed away.”

Donald nodded. “It seems like I've heard of such a practice somewhere. Aren't you then considered lost to God and man during that time?”

“We walk in the darkness,
yah
. But even then we have hope.”

“You said ‘we.' Who else was involved?”

“Anna walked through it with me, even though she didn't have to.”

“I'm feeling worse all the time. Maybe I shouldn't have sought you out.”

Menno shook his head. “You must not think so. I had already told Anna on the day you came, on the day of Teresa's wedding. This would eventually have become known to all, as the sin was heavy on my heart. If you hadn't come, I would have walked alone without seeing for myself how
Da Hah
had brought
gut
out of the situation. You have lightened my heart, Donald. I have a son! You don't know what joy that brings to me.”

“I'm glad I got to meet you.” Donald touched his arm. “I'm glad I found my birth father.”

“
Yah
, so am I.” Menno stood and wiped his eyes. “We must not think
Da Hah
doesn't know what He's doing. But now we had better go in for breakfast. Anna will think we got lost in the barn.”

“How are we going to eat breakfast and still leave room for the big meal I heard is coming at noon?”

Menno laughed, patting his stomach. “This is one of those days when there is always room for more. We must eat and be glad for what
Da Hah
has blessed us with.”

D
onald glanced at his watch as the first of the buggies came rolling into the driveway. It was ten o'clock, and Anna had said lunch was at twelve sharp.

“Or thereabouts,” Menno had added with a laugh.

“
This
year we will be on time,” Anna had shot back, waving her hands to send them away from the breakfast table. “Now scoot! We have a lot of cleaning up to do yet.”

Charles, sitting on the back bench against the kitchen wall, had grinned, still sleepy-eyed in the midst of this exchange. It was amazing, the change that had come over the boy. When Charles stayed at Donald's house in Missouri on weekends, it was a struggle to get the boy up before noon.

As soon as
Mamm
had banished the menfolk from the kitchen, Charles had said he was going to explore the barn.

“Be careful around the horses,” Menno had cautioned with a smile.

Donald had almost offered to go with the boy, but he'd decided not to. Perhaps this was some freedom Charles needed. “Freedom” seemed a strange concept for an Amish farm, but it was nonetheless true. There
did
seem to be more latitude here in the quiet openness of the fields, the unadorned buildings, and the minutes that ticked by without a radio, TV, computer, or electronic toy in sight.

Menno, sitting in his rocker, stood up. “Reckon I'll go out and help unhitch. That looks like Betsy's buggy. They must be coming early to help in the kitchen.”

“Mind if I tag along?” Donald asked.

“Not at all,” Menno said, holding the front door open for him.

As they walked across the lawn Donald was wishing he had a set of Amish pants to wear. Not that anyone was looking at him strangely, but just for the experience and to blend in a bit. He hadn't felt this adventurous in years.

“
Gut
morning,” Betsy greeted them as she climbed out of the buggy. She offered her hand to Donald with a smile. Her husband, John, was already unhitching on the other side as their children raced across the yard toward the barn.

“Good morning,” Donald replied, shaking her hand and nodding to John. “It's good to see you again.”

“I hope
Mamm
put you up well for the night. And your son…where is he?”

“He's exploring the barn. Enjoying himself, I think.”

“Farms have a way of doing that,” Betsy said, waving a hand at the disappearing backs of her children. “They have a barn at home, but they love to come here to
Dawdy
's place.” With that, Betsy headed inside to help with the food.

After Menno and John unhitched, Donald followed the men into the barn, the two Amish men's low voices rising and falling as they spoke German. People from the community seemed to do that, Donald remembered from the wedding. It didn't strike him as a sign of disrespect toward him. It just happened. When they'd moved three feet from him, they'd changed from English to Pennsylvania Dutch. It was like throwing an electric switch to another circuit.

Charles was coming down the ladder from the haymow when they walked in. His hair was messed up and hay covered. A huge smile was on his face.

“You can really do it, Dad!” he hollered. “You really can.”

“You can do what?” Donald asked.

“Jump from way up top down to the bottom of the haystack. It's just like in the movies.”

“But you shouldn't! You could break your leg or something.”

Menno laughed from where he stood near the horse stalls. “The children all do that. Don't worry, Donald. It's part of growing up around here.”

“See!” Charles said, as a thump came from overhead. “The other kids are the ones who told me it was safe. I just took one jump. Come up and watch me take another one.”

Donald looked up at the ladder. Strings of hay were hanging on each step. The end stretched out of sight in the dim light above him.

“Go on,” Menno encouraged him. “I'd come join you myself if I weren't so old and brittle.”

“Come, Dad!” Charles tugged on his arm. Donald couldn't remember when he'd seen such excitement shining in his son's eyes. He allowed himself to be led to the ladder, and they both climbed up. Above them the children's excited exclamations grew louder.

Strings of hay tickled his nose and his eyes. Donald almost sneezed as he pulled in air. At last he was through the chute. He filled his lungs with the sweet smell of seasoned hay. His eyes watered, but the sneeze tickling left. He craned his neck to look at the rafters towering above him. Spiderwebs and bird nests were plentiful around the wooden beams. Bales of hay were stacked all the way to the top like stairs stepping skyward. On the loft floor, a mound of loose hay billowed up for a dozen feet or so.

“Yee haw!” a small voice hollered from the heights above. A small body of a young boy suddenly appeared. It seemed to hang suspended in midair before tumbling into the loose hay.

“Are we ready?” The hollered question from a girl came from the same place the boy had just left.

The boy in the hay rolled sideways until he ended up on the haymow floor, kicking his legs in high glee. “Ready!” he yelled.

“Coming!” the girl cried. Her body appeared in the dusty air. Her dress flying with her skinny legs extended. She landed softly with a rolling fall on the mound of hay.

“Isn't that fun!” Charles exclaimed, running up the stacked bales. “Come on and try this, Dad.”

“I'll watch you go first,” Donald said, watching his son climb up the rickety hay bales. The two youngsters approached him after climbing the ladder, pulling hay out of their hair and staring at him.

“I'm Donald,” he said, extending his hand.

Their exuberance from moments earlier had vanished like fog in the bright sunlight. They both nodded, not offering to shake his hand.

“Coming down!” Charles yelled from high above them. Donald saw their smiling faces turn upward before his did. His son's body appeared, his arms flaying, sweeping through the air as he landed smack center on the mound of hay, disappearing up to his armpits. Charles came up laughing with delight.

“He likes our haymow,” the young boy said.

“
Yah
,” the girl agreed. “He's having fun.”

How unaware they were of the great privilege of their birthright, Donald thought. They had done this a hundred times in the few short years of their lives. The wonder of it was probably even now growing dim. It must seem strange to them to see a teenager experience such a sensation for the first time.

“You've got to try this, Dad!” Charles called from the top of the mound.

“I'll break a leg,” Donald said, envisioning being rushed off to the hospital by ambulance, lights flashing and siren blaring. What a way to end Thanksgiving Day—and the meal not even eaten yet.

“No you won't,” the two beside him said together, shaking their heads.

“Really?” Donald glanced sideways at them.

They looked innocent enough, but who knew? Underneath the calm demeanor might dwell twisted minds who would take delight in seeing a middle-aged man wrestled down the haystack and screaming in pain from smashed body organs.

“Dad, come on! It's safe.” Charles had arrived at the bottom of the mound. Hope glowed in his face.

He couldn't turn that down, Donald thought. There hadn't been anything like hope written on his son's face for over a year now.

“Then the old man will jump!” Donald called. He turned and began climbing. There was silence below him, which didn't help. Cheers might have been more in order. Arriving halfway from the top, Donald stopped and looked down at the faint outline of the mound of hay below. This was high enough and then some.

“Higher!” Charles yelled.

Donald shook his head. At least he might live to recover from his injuries at this height. Then, with a whispered prayer, he launched himself, feeling the sinking feeling of nothing beneath his feet and air moving past his ears without a sound. His arms went out by themselves, his feet churned under him. This was clearly not a graceful way to pass from this world to the next. The impact came like landing on a featherbed, only the bed didn't stop him. His body kept going and going. Hay filled his eyes, his ears, and his mouth as he hollered in fright…or was it delight? The following bounce put him on his backside, sprawled across the hay mound, the sound of three voices in high mirth all around him.