Chapter 34
Miri stood in the bucket of bleach water and used a handled scrub brush on her rubber boots.
The cattle in the sick pen seemed to be mostly better now—not that Miri was confident enough to let them out with the rest of the herd or stop disinfecting her boots whenever she came in from work.
She’d learned her lesson from the hoof trimmer’s visit, and the last thing Miri needed was to get a reputation as the farmer who’d started a cattle epidemic in the area.
She had more to learn, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
She’d need her neighbors’ support over time.
No farmer worth her salt would do anything to jeopardize another farm. And she had a reputation to build now.
Daet stood by the buggy, watching her scrub.
“Aren’t they clean yet?” he asked.
“Yah, yah . . . almost.” She stepped out of the water, then out of the boots and turned them upside down to check the treads. They’d do. “I’ll leave them to dry in the sun.”
“Your mamm and everyone are waiting,” Daet said. “We need to discuss a few things as a family.”
“What are we discussing?” she asked.
“Let’s just wait until we’re all together. You’re a woman with a home of your own now, and you’re part of the talk.”
That was nice to know—she was seen as an adult contributor now in the family.
“Where is Moses?” Daet asked.
Her heart gave a little tug at the mention of his name, and she felt a lump form in her throat.
Moses had finished his chores and gone home to help out there.
All she knew was that her feelings for him had grown past safe boundaries.
Was he part of his family’s ploy to get the land back?
Probably more than he realized, and she couldn’t marry a man who just wanted to get his hands on these precious acres.
If part of her appeal was the farm, then she’d never be happy.
Not that he was asking, of course.
“Miri?” her father prodded.
“He left for the day,” she replied quickly, suddenly embarrassed for her wandering mind. “He had to help his daet with something back at the farm. Benuel went with his wife to a doctor’s appointment.”
Maybe she was sharing too much. Moses didn’t specifically tell her that the intimate family details he shared were private, but it suddenly felt a little too much to share so casually.
“I don’t know if that’s private, though,” she added.
“It’s okay,” Daet replied. “There will only be more of that as Benuel and Sadie have more kinner. Doctor appointments, checkups . . . They’re almost never-ending when a family is growing.”
She set her boots in the sun and put on her running shoes. Then she locked up the house and put the key into her dress pocket.
“Ready?” Daet asked.
“Yah. And hungry.”
“Good. Your mamm has been cooking all afternoon.”
The thought of Mamm’s good cooking made her stomach rumble.
“I’d like to bring up the idea of Susanna coming to help me out, Daet,” Miri said as she hopped up into the buggy next to her father.
If she was adult enough to contribute to a family discussion, maybe Daet would see this differently now too.
“If she could take care of the house for me, it would make the workload easier to handle on my own.”
Daet flicked the reins and pulled them around. He didn’t answer.
“I know you have objections, but it would let her meet some of the young people out here too,” Miri went on. “Maybe she’d even find a boy to court her. She’s sixteen now.”
“You should worry about someone to court you, Miri,” Daet said. “You aren’t some mature woman who can play matchmaker. You could use a matchmaker of your own.”
“And waggle my farm under some stranger’s nose?” she asked, shaking her head. “Daet, I don’t want someone to marry me just for the land.”
Her father pursed his lips, but he didn’t argue.
What was he thinking about his youngest daughter now?
Was he giving up on finding her a husband?
Or maybe he saw her point. She wasn’t sure if she should be disappointed or not.
There was a certain amount of security that came from a woman’s family believing wholeheartedly that any good man would be blessed to marry her.
But when a woman’s family started to waver, she knew it was time to be realistic.
The ride home to her parents’ place was about a fifteen-minute trip at a brisk trot, and when they pulled into the drive, she saw more buggies than she expected.
She recognized her brother’s with the slightly off-center reflective triangle, and she saw her uncle’s with one mismatched wheel. There were another three besides.
“What exactly are we talking over?” she asked.
A few possibilities sprung to mind. Maybe a cousin was getting married soon, and it was time for the family to pull together and plan.
“It’s easier to do it inside,” Daet replied, but something in his voice sounded tight. “Come on. Help me unhitch the horse, and then we’ll head in.”
Miri did as he asked, and after they got the horse out into the small pasture beside the garden, they headed toward the house together.
“Now, Miri, remember that we only want what’s best for you,” Daet said, then he opened the door and gestured her inside ahead of him.
Miri shot him a look of mild alarm, and when she entered the fragrant kitchen, she spotted two of her older sisters and their husbands, two cousins and their wives, an uncle, an aunt, her mother . . .
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she realized belatedly that she was still in her split skirt. She should have changed into something more appropriate, but she’d been expecting a quiet dinner with her parents and a sibling or two—a more immediate family discussion.
“Miri, you’re here,” her mother said, and the room quieted. “You must be hungry. The food is ready.”
But Miri wasn’t hungry anymore, and the smell of roast chicken and potatoes did nothing to whet her appetite. Why had her father said they only wanted what was best for her? And why was everyone looking at her that way?
“Maybe I should head home,” Miri said, but she didn’t have her buggy here. She’d have to have a family member drive her back.
“Miri, come sit down,” Mamm said, coming around the table and hooking an arm through hers. “You’re hungry. You worked all day.”
“Why is everyone here?” Miri asked quietly.
“For . . . family support.”
“For who?”
“You.”
“Why do I need family support?” she asked cautiously.
“Because—” Mamm looked over at Daet, and they exchanged a meaningful look. Daet nodded, then he cleared his throat.
“Why don’t we talk about why we’re all here first, and then we can enjoy the meal?” Daet said, raising his voice.
Everyone seemed to agree with this, except for Miri’s brother, Jeb, who snatched a roll from the counter and shoved it into his mouth. He winked at her.
“Miri, have you heard what people are saying about your inheriting Old Tom’s farm?” Daet asked.
“Some don’t like it,” she said. “Some say I tricked him when he was weak and feeble, to steal it away from the Yoders. That’s hogwash, of course.”
“Of course,” Daet said.
“We’ve all come together today to tell you what’s happening,” her uncle Samuel said, stepping forward.
“It’s more than rumors now, Miri. People are picking sides.
Some support you and think you did no wrong.
Some think you’re taking advantage. But worse still, some are saying the bishop is lying, and that there was more to the change of Old Tom’s will, and the bishop is hiding it. ”
“I know nothing about why he changed it!” Miri protested. “But the older folks might. Apparently, Mammi Adelheide was friends with Old Tom—very good friends. Maybe more than friends before he left.”
“Left?” Daet looked at Miri questioningly.
“He left the faith for a while, and Mammi Adelheide brought him back home,” she said. “Dina told Moses about it. We can ask her. She might know what happened.”
“Dina is off visiting someone in another community,” Mamm said with a shake of her head. “We don’t know how long she’ll be or if she’ll even know anything, and there has been talk of a church split.”
Miri’s mouth went dry, and she looked around the room. All eyes were on her now, and they looked sober. Miri sank into a chair. This wasn’t family support—this was an intervention.
“What do you mean, a church split? Moses mentioned things were tense, but is it that bad?” she asked.
“The Yoders have friends and support,” her uncle confirmed. “And they are insisting that the bishop be unseated for not speaking with Old Tom’s family about his changes to the will so that they could protect him.”
“So they could strong-arm him into keeping the farm in the family, you mean,” her brother muttered.
“They can’t do that!” someone said. “If Tom wished to change his will, it would be wrong to tell his family so they could bully him into something else. Tom had every right.”
“Regardless, it’s what half the community thinks,” Daet cut in. “Should they? Could they? Who’s right? Who’s wrong? At this point, half the community are planning on splitting off and choosing a new bishop to lead them.”
“No!” Miri exclaimed. It was the worst thing that could possibly happen to a community.
“They have been going around house to house and asking people what they want,” her uncle said. “They came by our place last night.”
“No one breathed a word to me,” Miri said.
“They wouldn’t,” Uncle Samuel replied. “They see you as the problem.”
She rubbed her hands over her eyes. He was right.
This was about more than land and Moses’s inheritance.
It was about his whole family. The Yoders had lost more than a farm; they’d lost their security in their family unity.
Tom had rocked them to their core, and not in a good way that spurred thought and introspection.
Whatever Tom had thought his family would do, she doubted he thought they’d go this far.
“I haven’t lied,” Miri said, looking around the room again.
“I had no idea I’d inherit that farm. Tom never once mentioned it to me.
I never once mentioned it to him. I never imagined he would leave it to anyone but Moses or Benuel.
Everyone thought that was certain. I don’t know why he left it to me, but I didn’t do anything wrong. ”
“We know,” her mother said, patting her arm.
“So what do we do?” Miri asked. “The district can’t split over this. How do I convince them?”
The room fell silent, and Jeb shoved another roll into his mouth, his jaw clicking with each chew.
Uncle Samuel pulled out a manila envelope and slid it across the table toward her.
“What is this?” she asked.
“The legal papers to sign the land back over to the Yoders,” Daet said. “To Moses Yoder specifically.”
Her heart hammered to a stop. The farm, the land, the cattle she adored . . . it would all be gone? Her chance at running a farm would be this short-lived?
“It’s either this or the church splits,” Daet said. “What good is a farm when it’s the source of this much trouble?”
“You all know I’m not a very good traditional woman,” Miri said. “This is my chance at a life I can be good at.”
“You’d always be seen as the one who split the church,” Mamm said, tears in her voice. “Even if that isn’t fair. We can see no other way out that doesn’t leave the church in shambles. And our community has to be of higher priority than one person—or one family.”
“Of course our community is of higher importance than just me,” Miri agreed. “But isn’t there room in our community for someone who is different? What about Tabitha? She was different, and she found her place. People had to adjust.”
“It isn’t about you, personally,” Daet replied. “It’s about trusting the leadership of the community and honoring the tradition of inheritance. It’s about how things have always been.”
“Maybe the community can’t bend anymore right now,” her uncle suggested. “Maybe Tabitha’s return was as much as they could handle for the time being. Our strong traditions carry us in turbulent times.”
“And Tom went against tradition,” Miri said. She understood.
“If you do this for yourself, for your own ability to live a different sort of life,” Mamm said, “you may very well be the cause of a church split, and that would be tragic for everyone, but especially for you because you’ll need the community’s support to run that farm.
You’ll need the community for every stage of your life as you get older.
Our faith and our tight communities are of higher value than land or money. ”
What was an Amish family without their neighbors, who pulled them into something bigger than themselves? It was the center of their beliefs. And what would Miri have if she had land but lost the close community at the center of her life?
She’d need help eventually. She’d get the flu, or she’d have a big loss on the farm or lose a barn, and what would an Amish farmer do without a community to pull together and help build a new one?
If she’d learned anything the last few weeks, it was that she could not run a farm alone.
She needed help. And she needed the wisdom from other farmers to teach her how to run a farm well. A person was not an island.
Mamm sat down in the chair next to Miri and slid an arm around her shoulders. “It’s the right thing to do,” Mamm said gently. “I’m so sorry, Miri. But it’s the right thing to do.”
Miri hadn’t had plans for her future that involved running her own farm before this either. She’d had humbler plans—working as Tabitha’s assistant or maybe as a farmhand wherever she was able to board her few cattle.
Miri slid the papers out of the envelope and looked down at them. It was a simple enough form. There was a space for her name, the date, and Moses’s name too. There was a spot for her signature and that of two witnesses.
Gott, is it over?
Her family watched her solemnly as she clicked the pen open and started to fill out the form. She signed the bottom, then her father and Uncle Samuel both signed, too, as witnesses, and her father put the form back into the envelope.
“Danke, Miri,” Daet said, and tears welled in his eyes.
She nodded, unable to speak. Mamm stood up, and the women went to start bringing food to the table. Miri didn’t bother standing up to help. She didn’t trust her legs to hold her.
It was done. Her beautiful chance at running her very own farm had slipped through her fingers. A plate of food appeared in front of her—steaming chicken, potatoes, veggies, gravy pooling over all of it—and there was no way she could take a bite.
Their community would be salvaged, but Miri’s dreams had died today.