Chapter 12
12
Lois scootered past the café and Paradise Park to the far side of town to the post office. She hadn’t had time to check her mail on Saturday. She hurried through the glass front door and to the boxes, kneeling in front of hers. She unlocked it and pulled out the Flight of Doves letter, which she put in her backpack. There was one more envelope in the box, a letter from Menno. She smiled as she slipped it into her backpack too. She’d read it once she had time to savor his words.
She kept going down the highway, past the left-hand turn to Amy’s house, and then right onto Meadow Lane. A whistle blew as the Amtrak train flew through town. Jah, Paradise was a train town.
She passed the marsh, where she’d spent hours watching birds as a child, and kept scootering. The lane crossed over the creek, which fed the marshy area, and next was the Harris farm. She slowed. Was that a For Sale sign up already? Scotty wasn’t exaggerating when he said he and Barb wanted to be in Florida by October. She slowed as she approached the driveway and stopped by the sign. There weren’t any cars in the driveway, but there was a pickup between the barn and the silos. It probably belonged to the farmer who leased the land. Perhaps Barb and Scotty were off on another trip.
The day Mamm, Dat, and she had moved into the house, seventeen years ago, Lois had skipped through each room. The builder wasn’t Amish, so the house was much fancier than she was used to with a built-in hutch, built-in closets, and a big built-in pantry. The house was new compared to her grandfather’s house in Big Valley—built in the 1990s rather than the 1890s.
Lois had been sad to leave Big Valley and her nieces and nephews. But she wouldn’t miss the arguments her father and brother used to have, nor the way her brother treated her mother.
Even as an eight-year-old, Lois understood why her parents wanted to move to Paradise.
The next day, Dat and Mamm took her to school a half mile down the road. She noticed Amy, with her bright eyes, dimples, and dark hair, immediately. Lois smiled shyly at her—Amy responded with a big, welcoming grin. They’d been best friends ever since.
When Lois returned to Big Valley after Mamm died it was Amy she missed the most. And when Randy, even though it wasn’t customary for the Amish to arrange a marriage, insisted she court his best friend, Nathan Hertzler, she missed Amy even more.
As she scootered along, she involuntarily shuddered at the thought of Nathan. He was eighteen years older than Lois and a widower with five children. He was harsh and demanding, nothing like her father, nothing like who Lois had imagined marrying.
Which made Nathan—and Randy—angry. Randy said he wouldn’t spoil her the way Mamm and Dat had, and he certainly couldn’t be expected to support her forever. Lois had always believed God intended her to have free will when it came to marriage, but Randy clearly thought differently.
After Lois wrote Amy, trying to be as positive as possible, Amy read between the lines, asked Scotty to give Lois her job back and let her live in the apartment again, and hired an Englisch driver to take her to Big Valley. Even with Amy standing beside her, ready to grab her by the hand and drag her away, Lois had a hard time telling Randy goodbye. But then she thought of Nathan and how he bullied his children and how he bullied her and how he said he wanted to marry within the next month, and she simply said, “I’m going home.”
She hurried to her room, packed a bag, and returned to the porch, where Randy and Deanna sat in silence, staring at Amy. Lois grabbed her friend’s hand and said, “Let’s go.”
As they hurried down the stairs, Randy called out, “Don’t come back!”
The one person Amy hadn’t thought to speak with before she rescued Lois was Bishop Stephen. Lois wasn’t one to draw attention to herself, so she’d never explained what had happened in Big Valley or that she was living in the apartment over Paradise Found. She had no idea Bishop Stephen assumed she’d lived with Amy and Bennie for the last two years.
Lois scootered along the fence line. Cattle grazed in the pasture—beef, not dairy. Dat had run a dairy but the profits were falling, and she’d heard the current farmer had switched to beef. The pasture was green. Alfalfa grew in the fields. She couldn’t see anyone around. Would the current tenants try to buy the property? They’d have to have a fair amount of money to do so.
A shadow passed over her. Lois tipped her face upward, swerving as she did so. She stumbled and then hopped off the scooter, bringing it to a stop. She didn’t want another case of road rash. She turned her eyes up to the sky. A red-tailed hawk, with its cinnamon-colored tail feathers, flew toward the covered bridge.
She shaded her eyes. Based on its large size, she guessed it was a female. The bird soared higher. Perhaps the pair that had lived in the loblolly pine had relocated.
The hawk made her think of Moses, which made her wince. She’d overheard Sara ask him if he was adopted on her way out of the storeroom but hadn’t heard his answer.
It made sense. She’d seen the clues as a child, although she had no idea he might be adopted. He was nothing like his parents, not in size, coloring, or behavior. Well, she couldn’t be sure about behavior. She’d only known his parents as old people. And she didn’t know Moses, not even now, as an adult. She’d known him as a busy boy and then as an appealing young man, or so she’d thought at the time. But she’d been wrong. Perhaps she’d never really known him at all.
If he had been adopted, who were his biological parents? Some Amish families took in foster children. Perhaps that had been Moses’s case.
Lois winced again. Her bluntness about Moses’s size when they were young now seemed horribly insensitive. In fact, she felt downright mortified about it if he was adopted.
She exhaled. She was beginning to feel mortified by her behavior even if he hadn’t been adopted. She knew what it was like to be teased about her small size. And yet she’d done the same to him, except she hadn’t teased him. She’d been mean to him about it.
She watched the hawk until it disappeared, and then scootered on toward the covered bridge. Ahead, a horse and buggy clopped and rolled over the wooden planks, creating a drum-like rhythm. Lois rolled onto the bridge, and the pushing of her foot and the wheels of her scooter on the planks made their own rhythm. She stopped in the middle. A mother duck with five ducklings trailing her quacked at the sixth baby duck, who stood on the bank of the creek. It toddled into the murky water. A blue heron stood on one leg in the middle of the creek. Then a bittern, with its short neck bobbing up and down, poked out of the reeds.
Her heart ached. She’d spent hours by herself in the marsh, but it was here that she’d often walked with her parents and then taken the path on the other side down to the creek. She’d already lost so much—and what she still had might soon be gone for good too.
But she hadn’t lost Amy. She was meeting her at the café at eleven thirty. It had been Bennie’s idea. He said Amy needed a break. Lunch would be Lois’s late Mother’s Day gift to her friend.
At least Moses was at the shop and not the café.
She kept going on the scooter, looping back to the highway and the café.
Amy was waiting on a bench inside the entrance when Lois arrived. “There you are!” Amy stood and gave her a hug. Lois returned the hug and then pulled away, took off her safety vest, rolled it, and put it in her backpack.
Sara approached, holding two menus. Her face went slack and then she smiled. “Amy. Lois. How nice to see the two of you. Anyone else joining you?”
“Hallo, Sara,” Amy said. “It’s just us.”
As they followed Sara to their table, she asked Lois how the window display turned out. Lois knew she should be humble about it, better yet self-deprecating. But she remembered Teresa’s advice about God making each bird—and each person—to be exactly who they were. Why not show it? Lois said, “The display turned out great! Moses really likes it.” Sara gave her a sideways glance. Lois responded with a sweet smile.
Jah, Lois knew she was on her way out of Paradise Found. It was inevitable. But she wouldn’t go quietly, without showing Moses and Sara her true self.
She glanced around the café as she walked behind Amy. Twenty tables. Nearly full. Booths on three sides with tables in the middle. Half of the front was a garage door that was open to let in fresh air and sunshine.
Sara directed them to a booth near the door to a hallway, which most likely led to the kitchen. As she handed them their menus, Amy asked, “How do you like working at the café?”
Sara folded her hands. “It’s been a lot of fun. Moses is a good man to work for.” She gave Lois a pointed glance.
Amy held the menu up a little. “What do you recommend?”
“Our special today is tomato-basil soup and a tuna melt. Both are good. And our arugula, walnut, and cranberry salad is excellent. You can add chicken to it. Or we have country fare too. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. That sort of thing.” She smiled again. “Have a nice lunch.”
“Thank you,” Lois said.
When Sara had returned to the hostess station, Amy whispered, “She’s intimidated by you.”
Lois shook her head. “She doesn’t like me. Probably because Moses doesn’t like me.” Lois leaned over the table a little. “Speaking of, have you ever thought Moses might be adopted?”
Amy’s face contorted a little as if she were trying to process the question. “No. I’ve never thought that....”
Lois interjected, “But...”
Amy wrinkled her nose. “Why do you ask?”
“I overheard Sara ask Moses if he was this morning.”
“What was his answer?”
“I didn’t hear it.” Lois leaned back but still whispered. “Could you ask your parents and see if they ever heard that?”
“I don’t know that I could without gossiping.”
Lois put her hand to her chest. “Ouch.”
Amy laughed. “You know what I mean. It’s not gossip between us—but it would be out of the blue to bring it up with my parents. I never talk with them about Moses.”
“I understand,” Lois said.
“Does it matter if he is?” Amy asked.
“Of course not. I just want to know how badly I should feel about pointing out, so many times, how little he looked like his parents when we were young.”
Amy grimaced. “Jah.”
“You’re not making me feel any better.”
Amy wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.”
A couple of minutes later a young Englisch woman approached with two glasses of water. “Ready to order?”
They both ordered the soup and tuna melt. After the waitress left, Amy asked if Lois had another letter from Menno.
“Jah.” She smiled. “But I haven’t read it yet....”
“Read it now.”
Lois laughed. “Sorry. I’m going to read it in private. Later.”
“And deprive me?”
“Absolutely,” Lois answered.
Amy rolled her eyes in a playful manner. “I haven’t seen you this taken with someone, well, at least not since Moses.”
“I’m not taken with Menno. And, as I already told you, I was not taken with Moses.” Lois spotted Sara across the room, relieved she was out of hearing distance.
Amy sighed. “I thought you two were perfect for each other. I thought you’d get married, and we could have babies at the same time. And Moses would take care of you and your Mamm and you wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore.”
Unexpected tears stung Lois’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Lois blinked rapidly. “I miss Mamm. I’m not teary about Moses, believe me.”
Amy nodded. “I know.”
Lois could declare she wasn’t teary about Moses, but the truth was she was teary about all of it. The abrupt end to her relationship with Moses. Her mother dying. Her trying time in Big Valley. It had all left her numb and fearful to trust anyone again—except for Amy.
Sara led an older couple to the booth behind them. Then the waitress arrived with their food. Once the waitress left, they each said a silent prayer and began to eat. Lois figured the conversation about Moses was over.
They ate in silence for a long moment and then Amy said, “Change of subject.”
Relieved, Lois said, “What do you want to talk about?”
Amy glanced around the room until she saw Sara seating two men at a table near the hostess station. “Moses.”
Lois suppressed a groan. “We were just talking about him.”
“This has to do with his Paradise Amish Market,” Amy said. “I’m going to make soap and candles after the kinner are in bed and sell them in a booth at the market. Mamm said she’d watch the children on Fridays and Bennie said he’d make do on Saturdays, although I’ll need to take the baby.”
Lois slouched a little. She wanted Moses to fail enough to have to sell the business, but the market would help Amy and her family. Lois took a bite of her sandwich.
“I’m excited about it,” Amy said. “I hope he can open it soon.”
Lois swallowed and said, “Sounds like a good opportunity.”
“I hope you’ll figure things out with him and keep working at Paradise Found. It would be so fun to have you in the shop while I’m selling things at the market.”
Lois gave her friend a nod. “That would be fun. I could come hang out with you during my lunch break.”
“Moses is doing a lot of good for our community,” Amy said. “I know you think he’s an ogre.”
They’d watched the movie Shrek , which she’d loved, on Amy’s phone when they were seventeen, during their Rumspringa. And jah, Shrek had made Lois think of Moses.
“A Goliath,” Amy corrected herself.
“I regret calling him that, truly—but, like I said before, he used to call me Baby Bunting.”
“Like I said before, it’s not the same.” Amy widened her eyes as if exasperated. “Goliath was the villain. A baby bunting, in the way he was referring to it, is a fledgling bird. Not the same at all.”
Amy was right. “You’re...” Lois coughed into her elbow. “You’re correct.”
Amy leaned in a little. “We wouldn’t have our farm if it wasn’t for Moses. Please don’t tell anyone this—it’s not anyone’s business but ours. But Moses financed the farm so we could make payments directly to him. Our parents couldn’t help us—Moses made it so we didn’t have to get a bank loan, which we wouldn’t have qualified for. We never could have afforded it without Moses’s kindness. And generosity.”
Lois’s eyebrows shot upward. She had no idea.
“I wish you’d give him a chance.” Amy gave Lois a pleading look. “At least as a friend.”
After Amy left, Lois stayed in the booth, ordered a cup of coffee, and took out Teresa’s letter, saving Menno’s for last.
Teresa wrote about birds letting their colors, whether bold or muted, shine in modest ways, and that even as Plain people all of them should do the same.
Lois squared her shoulders and sat straighter. Birds, no matter their size, were confident and colorful. Even the brown ones had beautiful patterns and markings. She liked Teresa more every time she read one of the Flight of Doves letters.
Finally, as she inhaled, she opened Moses’s letter. He wrote,
Thank you so much for your letter. I’m relieved you are, indeed, single, and thrilled you want to correspond. I hope you won’t grow tired of me soon. Or worse, bored.
He went on to write about the birds he’d seen recently near Dover, Delaware. She read,
I saw a male downy woodpecker on a telephone pole. They are distinct with their black-and-white bodies and red patch on the back of their heads. This one was very persistent, determined to peck a hole into the creosote-treated pole. I’m fascinated by the decisions birds make based on the information they have. They intrinsically know how to migrate, build a nest, and raise their young, and yet they can’t seem to determine what “tree” to drill a hole into. When I walked by the pole a few hours later, he was still at it.
He added that he’d been going through a challenging time in his life and the bird reminded him of himself, relentlessly trying to make progress but changing nothing. He wrote that he laughed when he saw the woodpecker the second time.
No doubt Gott is trying to teach me something, probably to find hope in the midst of uncertainty.
He closed the letter with,
I look forward to your next letter and to learning more about you and what is currently bringing you hope in your life.
Lois held the letter to her chest for a moment. Menno had been vulnerable with her. He had challenges too. She wasn’t alone. She slipped his letter under Teresa’s, which she decided she’d answer first. She wrote in her best penmanship about seeing the blue heron in Pequea Creek. As she finished, her thoughts shifted to what Amy said about the Amish market Moses planned to develop and operate. She’d been tempted to shirk her duties when it came to her job. Moses was a pain. Sara was arrogant. There was no way she’d be able to keep the job for long. Why should she put her heart into it? But not doing her best could hurt Amy and Bennie. And their little family.
She sighed. Besides, it went against her values.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Lois jumped. Sara stood beside the table, looking down at her. In a panic, Lois glanced down at her notebook.
“Oh, I’m just thinking about, you know, life.”
“What in particular?”
Lois panicked again and then laughed nervously. “I don’t want to bore you.”
Sara hugged a stack of menus to her chest. She was so tall. And so gorgeous. And so poised. But she had a concerned look on her face.
Lois quickly looked around. The café was almost full. “Do you need this table?”
“Not yet,” Sara answered. “I’ll let you know when I do.” She continued on to her hostess station.
Lois felt more unsettled. She had been mean to Moses when they were young. And she’d justified it because of the way he’d treated her. She’d never taken responsibility for her behavior. She twirled her pen again and then tapped it on the table. Perhaps if she’d apologized when they were twenty he wouldn’t have disappeared the way he had.
Surely Moses had long forgotten her saying he’d been adopted. Surely he’d forgotten she used to call him Goliath. He hadn’t thought of her in years. He’d pretended he didn’t even know her when Scotty introduced them to each other in the shop. Besides, what he’d done was far worse. He’d asked to drive her home after the party on the river and then dumped her for Sara Fisher.
What she couldn’t understand was why the two hadn’t married already. Wasn’t that why Moses dumped her? Why he never came after her when she was forced back to Big Valley? She assumed he’d joined the Mennonites because Sara already had.
Yet if Moses hadn’t forgiven Lois for the things she’d said when they were young, he wouldn’t have pursued her five years ago. He wouldn’t have asked to drive her home that night.
The tension now between them was his fault—not hers. He was the one who’d treated her badly.
She addressed the letter to Teresa and the birding group and tore the piece of paper from her notebook, folded it, and slid it into the envelope. Then she stared down at the blank piece of paper. What should she write to Menno? Something about birding, but also something with a deeper meaning, that she faced challenges too and also sought to find hope in the world around her. Using the same meticulous handwriting she used for the Flight of Doves report, she wrote an introduction that acknowledged his challenges, whatever they were. She was definitely empathetic. Then she wrote about the bevy —she loved the word—of swans she’d seen at the Middle Creek Wildlife Management Area when she was fifteen. It had been in early March. Her parents had hired a driver, and they’d made an outing of the day, all bundled up against the late winter cold. They’d seen many birds that day—many that had just arrived from warmer climates and others, like the swans, that had wintered somewhere close by and were heading back to their northern home.
The sight of them taking off to continue their journey had thrilled Lois. She’d never seen such majesty. She closed the letter by writing,
The day was amazing because my family was sharing the experience of seeing grace in flight—God’s grace at gifting us images of His imagination, the grace of the pairs of swans taking off together two-by-two, and the graceful harmony of their flight as they gained altitude and disappeared into the late-winter sky. It’s the most majestic thing I’ve ever seen—it seemed they could have been a flock of angels disguised as swans. It took my breath away. And it still does every time I recall the memory. I’d loved birding before, but I became hooked that day. It’s a sight I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.
To answer your question, God’s creation is what gives me hope. There’s so much beauty and joy, tragedy and trauma, harmony and hope. No matter how difficult life is, I feel at peace when I’m birding.
She took a stamped envelope, which she’d already addressed to Menno, from the back of her notebook and slipped the letter inside. She’d mail both letters on her way home.
“Hallo.” A deeper voice said her name. It was Bishop Stephen.
She placed her notebook over the envelopes.
“Are you here by yourself?” He glanced around.
He really did think she was an odd duck. No doubt he was right. “Amy just left.”
“I’m looking for Moses. Have you seen him?”
“I haven’t, but check with Sara,” Lois answered. “He was at the shop earlier today.”
“All right,” Bishop Stephen said. “I need to speak with him about a different matter, but do you mind if I speak with him about your work?”
Lois inhaled and leaned back in the booth. Jah, she did. She didn’t want Bishop Stephen talking about her with anyone, especially not Moses Lantz. But could she say that to a bishop without making things worse? “I’d rather you not,” she managed to say.
“I might anyway.”
“No doubt.” She gathered her things and slipped them into her backpack. Why had he asked her? She took a last drink of coffee as he waited.
When he didn’t move, she said, “Excuse me,” scooted out of the booth, and headed for the exit. She didn’t like the person she was around Moses when they were young. She didn’t like the person she was around him now. She didn’t like that she’d considered sabotaging the shop when it would have hurt Amy and her family and others too. She didn’t like the person she was around Bishop Stephen either. She knew he was simply doing his job as expected by the community. A very hard job. She had no right to resent him for it.
Lately, the only time she’d felt like herself had been, including just now, when she wrote to Menno. Was she that desperate for affirmation that someone she didn’t know made her feel better, simply by paying attention to her?
She felt unsettled the next day, avoiding Moses as much as she could in the morning and answering his questions with as few words as possible. He disappeared before noon. On Wednesday, when he hadn’t shown up by one, she put a Be Back at 1:30 sign in the window and scootered to the post office. When she arrived, Amy was climbing down from her buggy.
Lois waved as she stopped her scooter. “Guder Nummidag!”
Amy hitched her horse to the post. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking my mail.”
Amy blinked several times. “You have a PO box?”
“Jah. What are you doing here? Where are the kids?”
“The good news is, all four kids are napping. Even Ernie. And Bennie’s in the house doing paperwork.” She pulled a few envelopes from the pocket of her apron. “The bad news is, I didn’t get these bills out to the mailbox in time this morning, so I brought them now.”
They walked up the steps together and into the building. Lois checked her box while Amy put her letters through the slot. Relief swept through her. She had another letter from Menno. She quickly slipped it into her apron. As they met at the exit, Amy asked, “Who’s your letter from?”
Lois smiled. “Menno.”
“Ooh, will you read this one to me?”
Lois laughed. “Jah.”
Amy pointed toward her buggy. “I can hang out for a few minutes. Can you?”
“Maybe five,” Lois answered.
Once they were both seated on the bench, Lois opened the letter and read through it, pleased. “Do you really want me to read it to you?”
“Of course, silly,” Amy said.
“It starts out with, ‘Dear Jane—’”
“Wait. What? Jane?”
Lois’s face grew warm. “I decided to use my middle name for the circle letter.” She explained she didn’t want anyone coming into the shop looking for her.
“But what if you and Menno meet? Won’t that be awkward that you deceived him?”
Lois shrugged. “I’ll explain things then.” But the truth was, Amy had a point, and Lois didn’t feel as at ease about it as she pretended. It would be awkward.
Amy sighed and said, “Keep reading.”
“I felt as if I was with you and your family as I read about the bevy of swans taking flight. I loved that you compared the swans to a flock of angels and the sight of them is what hooked you on birding. I could imagine the scene because you described it so vividly. So perfectly.
Your description rang true—what an image of grace. Your words about what brings you hope also resonated with me—and gave me hope. I’m more determined than before to spend time in nature, reveling in God’s glory.”
He then wrote a follow-up to his account about the woodpecker.
“Proving himself to be a resourceful sort, he finally gave up on the telephone pole and moved on to a sycamore tree. Still hard but at least a better choice.”
Lois glanced up at Amy.
“Get on to the part that’s not about birds.”
“That’s it.”
“Oh,” Amy said.
“Well, at the bottom he did write, ‘Thank you again for agreeing to correspond. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone to share bird sightings with—I’m enjoying the circle letter, but a one-on-one interaction with you is even better. Sincerely, Menno.’”
“I thought he’d write something significant.” Amy was clearly disappointed.
“You don’t think this is?”
Amy gave Lois a playful scowl. “Am I missing something? Is there some hidden meaning in his words?”
Lois smiled a little. “I may be reading into what Menno wrote, but I believe he found my account of the swans romantic. They mate for life. He would know that.”
“Oh...” Amy smiled sheepishly. “Did you write about the swans because of that?”
Lois laughed. “Not on purpose.”
Amy lifted her eyebrows as she said, “I hope something works out with Menno. I think you might be two peas in a pod. Or two birds in a hedge.”
Lois put the letter back in the envelope. “Isn’t one bird in hand better than two in the bush?” The saying was reportedly how the village of Bird-in-Hand got its name.
“Something like that,” Amy said. “From a human point of view.”
“Right.” Lois gave Amy a wave and slid toward the door. “I’m definitely taking the bird’s point of view of being in the bush, or hedge.”
Amy nodded. “You deserve to. Seriously, I hope this thing with Menno works out—unless he’s like an internet stalker or something.”
Lois laughed at the thought as she climbed down from the buggy. She would write Menno back and mail the letter before she returned to the shop. She trusted Menno was legitimate—especially after receiving another letter. “You’ll be the first to know,” she called out to Amy as she closed the door.