5. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
E lijah scraped the last bits of mashed potatoes and gravy off his plate and sucked on the fork—only then realizing, as he looked up at the face of the serious blond man—that his table manners were lacking. And here he was in the house of strangers.
He put his fork down, his cheeks flushing hot. " Tut mir Leid. Es ist schon eine Weile her, dass ich so gut gegessen habe ."
The blond man smiled. "Just glad you're up to eatin'."
"What'd he say?" asked the dark-haired man sitting beside him.
Now Elijah felt doubly stupid. "Sorry. I can speak English."
"He said he was hungry," replied the blond man. Samuel? Yes. Elijah remembered that because he had two cousins with that name. The man's name was Samuel, and he looked to be about the age of his oldest brother, Ruben.
"I still say we should take him to the ER," the dark-haired man said.
"No, please! I'm fine." Elijah looked at Samuel. " Bitte keine ?rzte ."
Samuel pressed his lips tight, his eyes worried. But he said to his friend, "He has a gut appetite. And he's makin' more sense now, Eddie. I don't want to force him to go to the hospital. He's been through enough."
The man named Eddie frowned. "We should at least check his fingers and toes for frostbite."
Elijah lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers to show they were fine.
In truth, they were still red, and—an hour ago? Two?—he hadn't been able to move them. An hour ago, he'd sincerely thought he might die. Even burrowing himself between garbage bags had been so terribly, terribly cold, as if the world were made of ice and there would never be a spark of warmth again, anywhere.
And he had cried out to his angels, and they hadn't answered. Except they had.
And except he'd known they would. The boy in the vision did not die discarded with the garbage. The boy in the vision survived. Elijah closed his eyes and sent out a prayer of deep gratitude.
"Where you from?" Samuel asked. "I was in the Schoenberg community outta Bird-in-Hand. I don' recognize you."
Boy, Elijah's brain really was in a fog, because he should've realized Samuel was Amish. Ex-Amish by the look of it. He spoke Deutsch and he had an Amish look to his wide, open face. But he wore jeans and a green shirt made out of some thick fuzzy material. He didn't have a beard, and his haircut was not Amish. And this room….
Elijah looked around, sensible enough now to take it in for the first time.
He was in an old farmhouse, the walls half stone. The kitchen was large and modern and the three of them were seated at an island with a well-oiled wooden top. Bright lights shone overhead—glaringly bright, to Elijah's eyes. He was accustomed to the softness of oil lanterns. Various electric appliances lined one counter. To the side was a nook with a small kitchen table, chairs, and wood stove. An old black dog with a gray muzzle lay by the wood stove, its eyes slightly parted to watch him. Its tail thumped weakly when he met its gaze. Large windows looked out onto darkness. These people were well-off. Or, at least, not poor. And clearly not Amish.
Except Samuel had been.
"You left?" Elijah tried to say it casually, though his throat was suddenly dry.
Samuel shrugged. "Left. Shunned. Few years ago now. You?"
See, Samuel left, and he's doing okay. Better than, by the looks of him.
"I’m from Ronks," Elijah said. "The Miller congregation. My dawdi is Ruben Schultz." Elijah held his breath and waited for a reaction. Maybe he shouldn't have said it, but he was still a little fuzzy.
Samuel's face showed no sign of recognition. "A far walk from Ronks to Kitchen Kettle Village. How long ago did you leave?"
Elijah thought about it. "Early September. Thought I might find work in the tourist areas, but tis the end of the season so…"
"You guys never met?" Eddie asked.
Samuel gave him an amused look. "We don't travel far by buggy. There are over a hundred Amish groups around here. I only saw mine, mostly. Except at livestock auctions and annual get-togethers and such like."
A far walk from Ronks. It occurred to Elijah that he had no idea where he was. "Where is this place?"
"Mount Joy," Eddie supplied.
"Northwest of Lancaster," added Samuel.
"Oh." Elijah had heard of the town, but it had seemed far away. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. Despite the hot bath, the long johns, and flannel pajamas his hosts had thrust upon him, and now the hot meal, the cold was seeping in again, as if it had staked a claim on him and refused to leave.
He glanced at the wood stove burning in the corner. Even that warmth didn't reach him. "How did I get here?"
Eddie said, "Oh, no! We don't need a hospital." He was being sarcastic.
Samuel grimaced. "You don't remember, Elijah? We got a call tonight from a lady who works at the Country Life store who was worried about you. So we drove over and found you in a bin. We wanted to take you to the hospital, but you kept sayin' no, no, no. But if you truly don't remember, you oughta see a doctor."
"Oh, that," Elijah said quickly. "Ja, I remember that."
Samuel chewed his lip, clearly not believing it. Elijah gave him an innocent smile while he frantically tried to think back. He remembered the bath, because the warm water had been agonizing at first. He had no memory of the drive here, or of these men finding him, but he wasn't about to admit it. The hospital—that was expensive and scary. He didn't need it.
He changed the subject. "Is this your home? It's nice."
"This is Pig Bottom Farm," said Eddie. "We own it."
" You own it," Samuel told him with a shy little shove.
" We . And I've got a marriage license to prove it." Eddie gave Samuel a warm smile and nudging back.
Elijah looked down at his plate. Maybe his head wasn't all right after all, because these two reminded him of the men he'd once seen in the bakery at Kitchen Kettle Village, men that were a couple. That such things were openly allowed among the English both amazed and frightened him, as if lightning might strike them down at any moment. Or, more likely, others might attack them. Dawdi would say it was only further proof of how far the English had strayed from God, if Elijah had dared mention it, which he hadn't. But these two? No, it couldn't be.
"You raise pigs?" he asked, trying to find his footing. "Pork's a gut business."
Eddie barked a laugh. "Yeah, no. Not exactly. But we can discuss that tomorrow. Which is almost here. You need sleep, Elijah, and so do we."
As if to confirm this, Samuel yawned.
Elijah had disturbed their sleep. Guilt whelmed up. "Sorry to trouble yous. I'll be outta your hair come mornin'. But if you've got a spare couch, or a chair, even, I'd be grateful."
"Guest room," Eddie said. "With a bed and everything. And you're staying. At least until it warms up. It's supposed to be below zero for the next few days. You can't be sleeping outside in that."
"But I can't—I can't pay yous."
Eddie waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. It's the least we can do."
Shame burned Elijah's cheeks. He didn't take charity and was about to say so, but Samuel spoke up gently. "Do you think you could help with chores? There's lots to do on the farm. We could use the help."
It looked like he elbowed Eddie, and Eddie spoke up, "Yes. Yes. We could use the help. It's, um, October. Lots to do to prepare for winter, you know?"
Elijah studied their faces. Were they making up busy work? But, God knew, there always was work to be done on a farm. He didn't intend to be a burden on anyone, and he didn't know these folks—or the situation. How many lived here? Seemed like a big place. What if the others weren't so happy to have a stranger around?
"How about this," Samuel said. "Tomorrow, you can check out the farm. See if you want to stay a few days and help us out. Sound gut?"
Elijah's strength was slowly returning, and he used it now to look at Samuel with that other eye, the one Dawdi had trained him to use. Samuel's light was softer and more expanded than the Amish men Elijah knew. Was that due to his leaving the folk? There were wounded places, gray spots like bruises. They were around his head and chest—maybe lower, too, but Elijah couldn't see that due to the table. Those bruises said Samuel had been through some things, bad things, things that might never heal. But there was also golden light, and there was contentment, and sparks of joy. And love. Samuel's heart was alive and large and pulsing in a way Elijah hadn't seen in many grown-up folks, only in little ones.
Samuel loved. And was loved.
It hurt Elijah's chest to see it, made his throat ache. He looked down at his plate. "A day or two. If it's not a burden, and if you need the help for true."
Samuel leaned forward and touched Elijah's arm, just briefly, as if getting his attention, then he pulled back. "I know it's hard now, but you're gonna be okay, Elijah. And you're welcome here."
Elijah nodded, but he didn't trust himself to meet Samuel's eyes. Suddenly he was tired. So very, very tired. He wanted to slide to the floor and go to sleep and not think about the cold, or what happened next, or Samuel's heart, or the two men at the bakery, or anything else.
"Come on," Samuel said. "I'll show you your room."