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Chapter Two

Micah’s first night with his grandparents went fairly well. It was the next morning that things took an unpleasant turn, when they laid down the law, so to speak.

His dat’s parents were in their midsixties—not too old to farm, but old enough that they should be slowing down. That wasn’t happening. His daddi, John Fisher, was built like an ox. Micah’s mother had always said that Micah inherited his size from the man, but Micah didn’t see it. He was as muscular as the next guy, but his grandfather’s forearm look like corded rope. Forearm—singular. He’d lost his right arm in a harvesting accident when he was just twenty years old. It had made him tough and intolerant of weakness of any type.

He was also a very serious man. Micah couldn’t imagine that they’d come from the same gene pool.

Abigail Fisher was stern as well, but with a soft spot for her grandchildren. Growing up in Maine, Micah had seen his mammi’s letters arrive weekly. They always contained a paragraph addressed to each of the eight children. Her Christmas presents were always mailed well before Christmas Day—practical items, lovingly made. And his mammi and daddi visited occasionally, though certainly not every year.

In truth, Micah felt as if he hardly knew his grandparents, and though he loved them as he thought grandchildren should, he didn’t think they had much in common. In fact, from the expression on his daddi’s face he wasn’t sure the man really wanted him there. So why had he agreed to this ridiculous plan? How was Micah supposed to become a different person—a more mature person in the words of his dat—by living in a different state for six months?

Daddi didn’t look up until they’d finished eating. Then he cradled his coffee mug in his left hand and waited until he was sure he had Micah’s attention. “We expect you to work every day.”

“Okay. That’s fair.” Micah brushed his hair away from his eyes and sat up straighter. “I can start looking for something today.”

“No need to do that. I have it all arranged.”

“All arranged?”

“To begin with, you’ll be expected to carry your share of the work around here—the same as any grown man. I realize that will be different from what you’re used to back home. I’m aware that your parents have coddled you.”

Micah frowned at the last biscuit on his plate and focused on not saying the response that immediately came to mind. His thoughts scrambled in a dozen different directions, trying to think of a way to forgo the lecture that was surely headed his way.

“It’s true, Micah.” His mammi peered over her reading glasses at him. “There’s no need to look hurt when your daddi is only stating the obvious. I spoke to your dat and mamm about this on several occasions.”

“This?”

“She’s referring to the way your schweschdern spoiled you—all of them did, really. It’s not a surprise, you being the last child and only son.”

Micah had seven older schweschdern, and it was true that they doted on him. He’d never washed a dish or helped prepare a meal. If he suddenly had to cook for himself, he’d probably perish from starvation. When he was young, he’d thought that was the life of every Amish boy, but as he grew older he’d learned his situation was a bit unique. The entire family had treated him as if he was a special gift left on the doorstep on Christmas morning.

Spoiled? Ya. He had been, but who in their right mind would turn that down? What was he supposed to do? Ask his siblings to be mean to him?

“You’ll work with me in the fields every morning,” his daddi continued. “There will be no more sleeping in.”

Micah nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d been in the process of swallowing. His mammi had called up the stairs at 5 a.m. sharp to wake him. That was sleeping in?

“After lunch you’ll go to the bishop’s and help in his farrier shop.”

“The Beilers are wunderbaar people.” His mammi might have winked at him, or she might have a twitch in her right eye. Micah couldn’t tell. “This way you’ll be learning two trades. Your daddi can teach you everything about farming—”

“Something your dat should have done already.”

“And the bishop can teach you about horses.”

As if he didn’t know about horses. He was Amish, in spite of the way they were speaking to him. Micah felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, like a cat that had been brushed the wrong way. Why had he ever agreed to come to Indiana? What they were describing sounded worse than boot camp, which he only knew about from his friend Jackson, who had given him a ride from Maine.

Up before the birds.

Early-morning drills.

Work all day.

Collapse into bed at night.

Rinse and repeat.

His daddi gulped down the rest of his coffee, pushed his chair back and stood. The sleeve of his right arm had been sewn into a pocket, so that his stump rested inside it. He held his left hand in front of him—palm down—and made an invisible circle that included the three of them as well as the empty chairs, which he supposed his cousins had occupied before moving to Maine. In fact, it seemed the entire family was there, so what were his grandparents still doing in Goshen?

“We are your family—your mammi and me and all of your kinfolk here in Goshen. Your family in Maine loves you, as do we, but it’s time for you to grow up, Micah. It’s time to become a man.”

And with that pronouncement, he turned and strode from the room.

Micah pulled in a deep breath, pushed himself away from the table and started across the room after him, but Mammi called him back.

“Best go upstairs and change first. I put proper clothing in your dresser and on the hooks. Your daddi—well, he won’t abide the blue jeans and T-shirts.”

The day seemed intent on continuing its slide from bad to worse.

“Anything else I should know? Any other changes I need to make?” He tried to sound lighthearted, but the words came out sarcastic and gruff. Too late to bite them back, and his mammi didn’t seem to even notice.

“When you’re done with the day’s work, I’ll cut your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“And he knows about the phone. As long as it isn’t in the house—as long as he doesn’t see it—he’ll tolerate it. Just don’t push him.”

“I shouldn’t push him?”

“He’s old-fashioned, I know.”

“You think?”

“But he’s also a fair man.” She stood and walked over to where he waited. His mammi barely reached his shoulders, but she was a formidable woman, and for some reason he couldn’t identify, Micah wanted to make her proud. Reaching out, Mammi put a hand on his shoulder and waited until he met her gaze. “He’s a gut man, and he cares about you. I suspect the changes will be difficult at first, but in the end, you’ll thank him.”

Micah seriously doubted that.

A quick glance at the clock told him it wasn’t 6:30 a.m. yet.

The day was shaping up to be a long one.

He cheered himself with the thought that he only had 179 to go.

By the time they stopped for lunch, Micah was yawning and eyeing the hammock strung up in the backyard.

“Thomas expects you at one o’clock sharp, so you best hurry.” His daddi nodded toward the sandwich on Micah’s plate. “You can eat that on your walk over.”

Micah started to protest but then realized he’d probably prefer eating alone. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to his daddi’s plans for their work the next day. He was too tired to even consider more fieldwork, and the day wasn’t half-over.

Why had he never listened to the stories of how severe his daddi was?

If he had, he wouldn’t have agreed to this exile.

He tried to hold on to his bad mood, but the weather was fabulous, and he had over a dozen comments on his social media pages. He’d fetched the phone from the barn as soon as he’d left the kitchen. He paused at the fence line long enough to answer the comments and snap another picture to post.

It would probably be a bad idea to take the phone over to the bishop’s. Thomas Beiler was no doubt even more strict than Micah’s daddi.

He glanced around for a place to hide it, but all he could see was fence line and fields, so he shoved it into his back pocket. Fortunately, on his way to the bishop’s shop, he spied Susannah coming out of a small building set next to the house.

He called out to her and then jogged to where she was waiting.

“Do me a favor?”

“Like what?”

She was holding a basketful of fabric scraps. He pulled the phone from his pocket, picked up the stack of fabric and dropped the phone, then covered it back up. “Keep that for me until I’m done working.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So I won’t get in trouble on my first day in your dat’s shop.”

“If you knew you would get in trouble, why did you—”

“Thanks, Susannah. You’re a peach.”

Instead of smiling, she glared at him, which caused him to laugh.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“You are. You just don’t know it.” He turned and walked backward so that he could point at her. “You’re going to be my new best friend.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“You’ll see.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just don’t use up all my battery playing Candy Crush.”

“What is...”

But he never heard the rest because he realized it was five minutes past one and he was late. No doubt the bishop would relay that to his daddi and he’d be given extra chores, or perhaps they’d deliver yet another lecture. He absolutely hated lectures. It was difficult to sit there and act respectful and pretend to listen. He just did not understand old people. Best to avoid such a confrontation, so he broke into a run.

He was surprised when Thomas greeted him with a smile and no rebuke. “I was happy to hear you’d be here for a few months. I can use the help.”

“Don’t know as I’ll be that much help.”

“Does your mind work?”

“Excuse me?”

Thomas tapped the side of his head. He was tall for an Amish man, probably close to six feet. His beard was peppered with gray, and crow’s-feet stretched out from his eyes. He struck Micah as a man who smiled easily.

“Does your mind work? How did you do in school?”

“Oh, I did fine.”

“Then the work won’t be too hard for you to learn. It’s difficult physically... I’ll give you that. But anyone who is willing to learn the trade will always have a job.”

“Ya, always plenty of horses when Amish are around,” Micah joked.

“Exactly. Now, let’s get to work on Widower King’s buggy horse.”

Micah had never considered that he’d be straddling the leg of a thousand-pound beast. He’d lived around horses all of his life, but feeding a horse or harnessing it to a buggy was one thing. Getting that horse to raise its foot so you could trim away its hoof was another.

“A horse’s hooves are like our fingernails. They must be trimmed and exfoliated.” Thomas proceeded to show him how to cut off the excess growth, then clean and check the hoof for overall health. “It’s important that the horse trusts you. If you appear confident and act like you know what you’re doing, the horse will relax.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You will. Soon enough you will. See this triangle-shaped thing at the bottom of the hoof?”

“Sure.”

“That’s the frog. It acts as a shock absorber of sorts. We need to clean it up. Don’t want any ragged ends.”

“Why?”

“Gut question. We clean it so the dirt and muck is able to get out of the foot easier. Next we trim the hoof wall. Hand me the curved blade there on the shelf.”

Micah quickly did as asked. When Thomas was finished, he used a hoof nipper to trim the outside of the hoof wall, and then a rasp to even out everything.

“I never realized there was so much detail to shoeing a horse.”

“Few people do—they count on their farrier. Think of it as job security.” Thomas looked up and smiled. “Now let’s see what sized shoes we need.”

Susannah was tempted to find an excuse to visit her dat’s shop. How was Micah doing? And did he know anything about trimming hooves or shoeing horses? She knew firsthand that what her dat did was hard work. She’d sat in his workshop often enough and even helped him occasionally. She loved being around the animals whether they were buggy horses or workhorses.

It took her an hour to separate her fabric scraps by size and color. It was amazing what could be salvaged from one project to use in another. The process soothed her until she picked up the last piece of fabric and spied Micah’s phone in the basket. Why did he have such a thing? How much did he pay for it? And who did he stay in touch with?

Other Amish rebels?

Someone in his family who had left the faith?

Or maybe an Englisch girlfriend?

She dropped the phone into her apron pocket. It didn’t matter to her what Micah did with his phone, and she would set him straight that it wasn’t her place to keep him out of trouble. She didn’t think he was going to fit into their community very well. She didn’t think he even wanted to.

There’s a real possibility that what Micah needs most is not a girlfriend but simply a friend...

Remembering her mamm’s words caused her to feel a twinge of guilt. Perhaps he had a good reason for having the phone, though she couldn’t imagine what that might be.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

She was pulling laundry off the line while Shiloh and Sharon played on the trampoline when Micah came walking around the corner of the house.

He headed straight to the water hose and preceded to roll up his sleeves and wash his hands and arms. He even swiped some of the water on his neck, wetting the hair that curled there, and then he doused his face.

“We have indoor bathrooms.”

“I like washing up with a water hose.”

Susannah handed him a clean hand towel.

“Danki.”

“Gem gschehne.”

He rubbed his face dry, then his arms, and finally remembered that water was dripping down his neck. When he was finished, he held up the towel and asked, “Where should I—”

“I’ll take it.”

“Do you need help with the laundry?”

She inclined her head toward the empty clothesline.

“I could help fold.”

“Do you know how to fold clothes?”

“How hard can it be?” He peeked into her basket. “Oh. Looks like you’ve already folded everything.”

“It’s easier to do while you pull the items off the line.”

“I knew that.”

“Sure you did.” She moved closer to the trampoline so she could keep an eye on the girls.

Micah followed and plopped down on the grass. For reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, she did the same. It wasn’t that she was interested in Micah, but she was curious as to what made him tick. How did he become so unorthodox? And why? What was the point of rebelling against their conventions?

“Actually, I know nothing about housework.” He picked up their conversation as if there hadn’t been a long, awkward silence. “I’m the baby of the family.”

“Is that so?”

“Seven older schweschdern.”

“What was that like?”

“I loved it, but apparently...according to my daddi, I was spoiled and it’s time for me to grow up and become a man.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Hence my exile here in Goshen for six months.”

“When you say it that way, it sounds like a long time.”

“It is a long time—a lifetime practically.” Micah leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Not sure I’m going to make it if every day is like today.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s all so...grim.”

The sun was setting in a beautiful splash of color, the horses were pastured in the field, Sharon and Shiloh played happily a few feet from her, and dinner was nearly done. “I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“Grim. How can you call this...” She took an exaggerated gaze around them. “How can you call it grim?”

“The work is endless.”

“You didn’t enjoy helping Dat?”

“Actually, that part was rather interesting.”

“But...”

“But I’d already spent five hours in the field. I’ve done nothing but work all day. And tomorrow will be the same. It’s just so...boring.”

She fought the urge to defend their lifestyle, even their farm. So what if he didn’t like it? Why should she care what Micah Fisher did and didn’t like?

“If excitement is what you want, then ya, I agree that Goshen isn’t the place for you.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“And the work is endless because it’s a farm. That’s pretty much the definition of farmwork.”

“I do not see the point.”

Susannah didn’t know what to say to that, so she asked, “How did it go working with the horses?”

“Better than I thought it would be. I only got kicked once.”

“Once usually does the trick.”

“You’ve helped your dat shoe horses?”

“Of course.”

“Not exactly girl’s work.”

“So now you’re a traditionalist?” She reached into her apron pocket, retrieved his phone and dropped it into his hand. “Except for that...”

“Have you ever owned a phone?”

“Nein.”

“Did you play around on mine?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not going to burn your fingers, you know.”

“And yet it’s forbidden.”

“It’s discouraged. There’s a difference.” He winked at her.

She refused to let his charm muddle her thoughts. “Does that usually work?”

“What?”

“Winking at girls.”

“Not sure I wanted it to work. I was just being...friendly.”

“Ah.”

He stuffed the phone in his pocket and said, “Ah, what?”

“That’s what people who flirt say...that they were just being friendly.”

“So you think I was flirting with you?”

Susannah almost laughed, but she didn’t want to encourage his silliness. The twins continued to jump on the trampoline, giggling and calling out to one another.

“Watch me, Susannah. I can flip.” Sharon jumped and then fell onto her back. “Did I do it?”

“You didn’t do it,” Shiloh said.

“I did, too. Tell her, Susannah. Tell her I did.”

“Almost. Keep practicing.”

Micah flopped onto his back, staring up at the sky. “Your dat isn’t what I expected.”

“How so?”

“Well, he’s a bishop.”

“Ya.”

“I thought he’d be more conservative.”

“Don’t tell me he was watching TV again while shoeing the horses.”

Micah propped himself up on his elbows, then smiled at the twins, who were trying to get his attention. “I mean he seems rather open-minded. He asked all about our community in Maine, which many of the old folks don’t even want to know about. They think it’s much too progressive.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t think so. Plus, look at this place.” He waved at the backyard. “Trampoline for the kids.”

“They need somewhere to play.”

“A new little modular house.”

“That’s my sewing shop, where I quilt.”

“I wondered what all those pieces of material were for.”

“They’re scraps and they’re for sewing.”

“Do you have an electric sewing machine in there?”

“I do not.” Her cheeks warmed, not because he was teasing her but because of the way he was looking at her. She stood and picked up her laundry basket. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. I assume you’re staying.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Sharon jumped closer to the edge of the trampoline and held onto the netting, which prevented her from falling out. “Come and jump with us, Susannah.”

“Yeah, come and jump.” Shiloh was actually sitting on the trampoline, not jumping. She was careful even there, as if the thing might throw her onto the ground.

“It’s time to help with dinner. Come on inside.”

“Just five more minutes...please.”

It always made her smile how their voices could become one when they wanted something. Usually Sharon and Shiloh seemed like complete opposites, but when they joined together, they reminded her of two halves of the same whole.

“I have to go in, and you know Mamm doesn’t like you out here alone.”

“I’ll stay with them,” Micah said. “Unless you need me to help cook.”

“Have you ever cooked before?”

“Nein.”

“Then no—we don’t need your help.”

“I’ll just stay here, then. I promise to keep an eye on them.”

Actually, he did better than that. By the time she’d climbed the porch steps and looked back, Micah had removed his shoes and was pulling himself up onto the trampoline.

Not that he could ingratiate himself to her by playing with the girls. His comments had bordered on rude—first calling them progressive and then boring. Or, had it been the other way around? Regardless, he obviously didn’t like it here and she didn’t think he’d last even a week.

Which was absolutely fine with her.

The longer he stayed, the higher the risk he would be a bad influence on someone in their community. The last thing her friends needed was an Amish bad boy complete with long hair, Englisch phone, ball cap and blue jeans. Though he had been wearing more traditional clothes today. Where had those come from? Were they stuffed in his backpack?

Not her business.

She guessed he’d probably grow up eventually, but she didn’t think it would be today or tomorrow or anytime in the near future.

That boy was trouble with a crooked smile.

The sooner Micah Fisher was out of their lives, the better. If he needed a friend, he could find one back home in Maine.