Beneath the Summer Sun Read online

  Right now, however, he couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t forget the look on Jennie’s face when he said he wanted to help her out. She’d looked . . . terrified. What about him frightened her? After two years of stopping by her house every few months to share his wares and eat her fried chicken or baked pork chop casserole and playing endless games of Scum and Life on the Farm, she still didn’t relax around him. She was wound tighter than a guitar string. She was unfailingly polite. She always offered to feed him, which a bachelor such as himself, always on the road eating hot dogs from convenience stores and greasy fast-food hamburgers, appreciated. But they never got beyond the polite conversation. She saw to that.

  No matter how much he tried.

  Not that he would tell the bishop any of these things. It was quite possible Freeman already knew. He seemed to know everything. Nathan studied Freeman’s face. It was lined with years of knowledge and wisdom in every wrinkle. The man was honest beyond measure, plain spoken, and he never seemed to lose his cool. However, he didn’t have much of a sense of humor, and some might call his view of the world narrow.

  “You don’t like biographies?” Freeman frowned, his pale-blue eyes made huge by his coke-bottle, black-rimmed glasses. Fanning himself with a copy of The Budget, he settled into a lawn chair in the shade of the schoolhouse, his gaze on the noisy softball game that seemed to have gone into extra innings. “I find it interesting to know the rest of the story of folks you read about in the newspaper or in history books.”

  Nathan eased into a spindly, straight-backed chair with a sunken cane bottom that looked the worse for wear. “I like biographies. Especially of American historical figures. I just read a new biography of Mary Todd Lincoln. I’m still thinking about how close Francis got to that rattlesnake. He shouldn’t be running around out there on his own.”

  “He’s four.” Borntrager waved his hand as if to sweep away Nathan’s concern. “He’s fine.”

  That was the way of the Amish. Their children were deeply loved but not coddled. They learned chores early, learned discipline early, finished school early, and usually married early. And enjoyed work as much as play. Nathan liked that about Plain folks—they dove into work with joy. He wanted joy, with work and with play. “All’s well that ends well, I guess.”

  “A trip to the woodshed might teach the boy to stop his wandering ways.”

  “It’s hard for me to imagine Jennie doing such a thing, but I suppose she has to do it, with no husband.”

  “I’ve not seen any evidence of it. Her oldest boy Matthew has had his troubles.” Freeman’s tone held a note of concern. “But that’s neither here nor there for you.”

  Everything relating to Jennie interested Nathan, but Freeman wouldn’t want to hear about it. One step at a time. “It’s coming up on the busy time of year for farmers.”

  “Yep. Been busy planting all spring.” Freeman tipped a Mason jar and took a long swig of homemade root beer. It had to be mighty warm by now with no ice and the sun pounding overhead. “Harvest time will roll around soon enough.”

  “I imagine there’s plenty of work to go around.”

  Freeman frowned. “There’s always work to be done for farmers.”

  “Especially Plain farmers who don’t use machines. I reckon it takes them a lot longer to do the same job and it’s more work.”

  “Hard work reaps many benefits.” Freeman pushed his glasses back up his long nose. “I think you’re getting to a point here, my friend, but you’re taking the long way around.”

  “I’m tired of life on the road. I’m thinking about settling down.” Nathan was tired of many things. He wanted a faith that didn’t involve traveling the world showing it to others to get them to come along the way his parents had done. God might want something different for Nathan, but He had to know it wasn’t a good fit. It simply wasn’t. Nathan didn’t want to tell people about his faith—he’d rather show them by his example. And that was exactly what Amish folks did. “For me, that means giving up selling books. I’m thinking maybe I could hire out as a farmhand, get some experience, and eventually start farming myself. What do you think folks around here would think of that idea?”

  “Folks around here like you a lot.” His face creased with an unapologetic grin, Freeman belched with gusto and slapped his chest. “They already know you. That’s half the battle when it comes to getting hired. You’re not a stranger. You have any experience?”

  “No, but I grew up in farm country. I’ve been watching people farm all my life.” He could see himself driving a hay loader drawn by a team of Percheron horses or driving a manure spreader. He could work a threshing machine or a hay baler. He knew enough about engines to work on even the gas-powered ones. He’d have time to burrow into the thoughts and faith of these folks who worked so hard to stay off the grid. “Besides, I’m a fast learner.”

  “Could be. Of course, it remains to be seen.” Freeman didn’t look convinced. He stood and stared out at the road. “How’s that van of yours doing?”

  What did the van have to do with Nathan wanting to be a farmhand? “She’s never let me down yet. She only has a hundred thousand miles on her.” Nathan had no trouble waxing eloquent over his mode of transportation. Bunny had been his closest friend for the last two and half years. “They’ll go twice that.”

  His eyebrows raised, Freeman shook his head. “She?”

  “It. It, I mean.”

  “Next you’ll be telling me you named it, like we do our horses. Those are hard miles you put on that van.” Freeman laughed a deep belly laugh. Maybe he did have a sense of humor. “The reason I ask is Bob is retiring from his taxi service. We’re already short taxis around here. I was thinking you might consider that for a new vocation. ’Course you’d have to get rid of some of those books you carry around.”

  Nathan did tend to travel with his most valued possessions—his books. They gave him a sense of well-being. He was never alone. If a lull occurred in his schedule, he could always hole up in a motel and read. If the weather turned too ugly to be on the road, he read. If he got a cold and he didn’t want to inflict his germs on his customers, he read. His books served as his friends through thick and thin—kind of like Bunny.

  Freeman cleared his throat.

  Nathan hastened to respond. “If I settle in one place, I won’t have to lug my books around in my van. But the last thing I want to do is drive some more. I’ve had my fill of driving. I’m looking to settle down around here.”

  Freeman stroked his white beard, nodding, looking like Santa Claus out of uniform. “Why Jamesport? You could settle down anywhere on your route or back home—you’re from Kansas, aren’t you?”

  “Arlington, Kansas. Originally. My family eventually moved into Hutchinson. My closest relatives are in Haven now.”

  “Why not Hutchinson?”

  Now the conversation had gone to the edge of personal and beyond. Nathan squirmed in this chair. His parents left Hutchinson years ago to work for Amish Mennonite Aid as missionaries planting churches. Nathan had been a child. His sisters and brothers had similar callings, but in the states. Distant cousins were the only ones still in Kansas. All these years later, he still felt abandoned. And guilty for feeling that way. Spreading the word of God should be more important than one kid with a selfish streak.

  God let Nathan know every day that it was. The message came in loud and clear. When are you going to do your part? “I don’t really know anyone there anymore. Folks around here seem more like family than anyone back home.”

  “It’s not any of my business, I reckon.” Freeman took off his straw hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “The important thing is whether you know enough about farming to earn your keep as a farmhand. You might be better off driving people around. You know how to drive and you have a van.”

  “So you don’t think anyone will hire me to work on a farm?”

  “I didn’t say that. Folks are kind. They’ll give a man a chance. Show up on time, wor
k hard, mind your manners, take instruction, make them glad they hired you. They’ll pass the word.”

  Nathan stood and stretched. With any luck Freeman would tell everyone Nathan was looking for a new job. “Thanks for giving me your thoughts on this.”

  He started across the yard toward the van.

  “One more thing.”

  Nathan glanced back.

  Freeman stood and lumbered toward him, leading with his potbelly. He waited until he was even with Nathan to speak again. He kept his voice low. “Being Mennischt—especially your kind—is not the same thing as being Amish like me. Or Jennie Troyer.”

  Technically his background was Beachy Amish Mennonite, but to folks like Borntrager that simply meant Nathan was not Plain. Close only counted in horseshoes. “My kind?”

  “Whatever word you want to put on it. The kind who drives a van, uses a microwave, has a phone in his house or even in his pocket, the kind who wears clothes like yours.”

  All the trappings of being assimilated into the world. It was true, but being in the world did not mean being of the world. At least that’s the way his kind of Mennonite saw it. His kind wanted the whole world to know about the gospel. The Amish chose to keep themselves separate. He respected that. He admired it. He needed that kind of distance more than Freeman could imagine. “You’re right. I know the difference.”

  “Just making sure.”

  “Settling down in Jamesport isn’t about any person in particular.” More like a bunch of people—his family mostly. And then there was God Himself. Nathan liked Jamesport. He liked the people—all the people. His feelings were complicated, too complicated to explain in the middle of a school picnic. “I need a change.”

  “You’ve been selling books here for years. It’s not much of a change.”

  It could be. It could be a big change. He wanted it to be. If Nathan could be honest with anyone and get the answers he needed, it would be with Freeman. “And if I wanted to . . . find out more about becoming your kind of Amish, would you be open to that?”

  A long silence filled with a steely gaze and pursed lips followed. Freeman sniffed. “Is that a belt you’re wearing?”

  Not sure where the bishop was going with this, Nathan nodded.

  “And those are pockets and a zipper on those pants?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “I do.”

  “A computer and a TV?”

  “A laptop but no TV. My room at the motel has one, though.”

  Freeman wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Those are small things to you. You probably think they’re insignificant when it comes to faith. If you feel that way, you don’t understand us. You don’t understand how we live or why. Being a Mennischt such as yourself doesn’t mean much when it comes to converting. And that doesn’t begin to cover the faith issues themselves.”

  “I was baptized as an adult. I know the articles of faith. I believe in them.”

  “As they pertain to your world and your church.”

  “It’s a lot closer to your world and your church than most.”

  “Agreed, but still Mennischt.”

  “So, no chance?”

  “I didn’t say that. Think about what I’ve said and come see me next week. We’ll talk.”

  It was better than no even though everything about the set of Freeman’s shoulders and the frown on his thin lips said otherwise.

  Nathan settled into his van. He sat there, not moving for several minutes, watching the kids play and the women chatter among themselves. Laughter floated in the air. A fragrance like peace enveloped him. He unbuckled his belt, slid it from his pant loops, and tossed it into the passenger-side foot well.

  Small steps.

  FOUR

  Blessed silence. Enjoying his return to solitude, Leo Graber raised his face to the breeze lifted by the steady movement of the buggy. It felt good after the clammy cold that had invaded his body when Jennie slammed to a halt at the fence, her pretty face contorted in fear. All he’d wanted to do was make a quick getaway from the picnic. “Help. Snake. Rattler. Francis.” In that moment, he hadn’t had time to think about why she came to him. What made her think he could help her? He hadn’t helped his father. His heart began to pound again. Race through the field. Stop. Raise the rifle. Take aim.

  Don’t miss. Don’t miss. Don’t miss.

  The slight weight of the rifle in his hands. The heavy weight of Francis’s life on his shoulders.

  A man didn’t expect that at a school picnic.

  Jennie trusted him. God knew why. He’d let her go once before. He’d let her marry another man when she should’ve been with him.

  Breathe. It was a long time ago. Breathe. The familiar chatter of blue jays calmed him. He clung to the sound of the clip-clop of his new Standardbred’s hooves on the asphalt and the squeak of the buggy wheels. Live in this moment. Don’t think. Leo concentrated on the ripple of the horse’s massive muscles as he pulled the buggy. His previous owner called the horse Red. Red was a decent name for a horse whose coat glinted magenta in the sun.

  A pickup truck belching black smoke and smelling of diesel fumes overtook him and whizzed by. The odor mingled with the scent of horse and newly poured asphalt. The farmer waved as he passed. Leo waved back. He cranked his head side to side. It’s okay. It’s all right. Now he could go back to his furniture and the quiet that came with it.

  He had an order for an oak dresser waiting for him. He could forget about the past and lose himself in a present that involved no loss, no pain, no hurt. Mary Katherine Ropp wanted him to sell his furniture in her store. She wanted him to do what she called demonstrations in the store. She wasn’t the first. Other stores in town, more established shops, sold furniture. They wanted his furniture. Instead, he kept to himself. Some said he punished himself. The less he talked, the less he felt.

  The muscles between his shoulder blades knotted at the thought, and his mouth, already parched, went drier than Sahara sand.

  His father’s face, suffused with pain as he writhed in the snow-covered pasture where they’d been hunting because Leo had begged his dad to go, flitted across his mind, chased by his mother’s. More pain. Stop it.

  Work kept his mind occupied. He needed his work. He forced himself to whistle a tune. He’d build furniture whether people bought it or not. He’d stack it in the living room, the extra bedrooms, the kitchen if need be. He could line it up on the road with signs that said TAKE YOUR PICK and BEST OFFER. People could buy his furniture without coming to the door.

  No. He’d still have to talk to them.

  Why did it pain him so? He stopped whistling, lost in the question that buzzed around him like a vulture circling high overhead.

  The sound of his father’s voice, silenced all those years ago, echoed in his ears. “Suh, you don’t want to farm, don’t. But you must earn your keep. You’ll figure it out. Don’t let others influence the path you decide upon. It’s yours.”

  Seconds later, Daed sank to the ground. His beloved rifle slid from his grasp. His face contorted in pain. Leo stumbled forward in a deep snow that had come early that year, knelt, reaching. Daed’s face went slack. His eyes stayed open but saw nothing. His heart, overworked from tromping through miles of snow in search of a buck, had given out.

  Hunting had been Leo’s idea. An innocent way of spending time with Daed doing something they both enjoyed outdoors.

  Leo tried to talk to his father, tried to make him listen. He shook him with hands slick with sweat despite the cold. “We don’t have to hunt anymore. We can go back to the house. You can rest. Mudder will make hot cocoa.” He pulled on Daed’s jacket. “Let’s go. You’re getting cold. Forget about the deer. Forget about it.”

  Daed’s head lolled to one side.

  Leo closed his eyes for him. Something a son should do for his father.

  Red whinnied. His head bobbed. Leo’s memories receded. “What’s the matter, Red? Hungry?”

/>   The horse plowed to a stop. The buggy shuddered and halted.

  “Hey, we’re not home yet.” Leo snapped the reins with a gentle flick. “Come on, Red, there’s still daylight. I have work to do.”

  Red whinnied, but he didn’t move.

  Leo snapped the reins again, harder this time. “Let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”

  The horse didn’t budge.

  Any second a car would hurtle over the rolling hill and smash into them.

  Leo leaped from the buggy. “What’s the matter, buddy?” He slid his hand along Red’s shoulders, withers, and back. The horse sidestepped and neighed. “Okay, okay, let’s get off the road and then we’ll talk.”

  Horses were much easier to talk to than people.

  He led Red to the grassy shoulder and as far off the road as possible. Dandelions and purple prairie clover swished around him. Grasshoppers flung themselves out of reach. Clouds of gnats billowed. Leo waved them away with a gentle swoosh. The horse favored his front legs. He seemed to be shifting his weight back and then side to side, as if they hurt.

  Not a good sign. “What’s the matter, friend?” Red’s head bobbed. Leo rubbed the velvety spot between his ears. They perked up. The horse’s intelligent, sweet eyes seemed to beg for understanding. “Not feeling so hot? We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

  Leo squatted and ran his hand over the left and then the right leg. The hooves felt hot to the touch. A pulse pounded in his legs. Red sidestepped. Leo ducked his head and sighed. The horse whinnied as if in agreement. Laminitis, most likely. “Sorry, buddy, I know how much that hurts.”

  He’d been afraid this might happen. The horse was heavier than he appeared in the photos sent by his previous owner. Standardbred horses tended to be at least seventy-five pounds lighter than the average horse. Not Red. The space between his shoulders and loin was hard and firm. He looked cresty with a lot of fat making his neck arch at the top. He’d apparently eaten too much of the lush spring grass that sprouted across the pasture after nice rains that preceded good crops. He might be taller than other horses, but he was also just plain fat.