Chapter 13
13
On Friday Moses sat at his office desk, wishing it were Saturday and he had Jane’s next letter in his hands. Instead he reread the email from Paradise Township asking for several revisions to the permit application he’d submitted earlier in the week.
Over the years, Dat had overseen several building projects on the farms he owned and never complained about the process. Moses had assumed he could handle the paperwork, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he needed help.
He left the email open and clicked on the application. After he read it a third time, he dialed the number for his contractor. It went straight to voicemail. “J this male relative believes birding is a waste of time, especially for women. He believes a man, while farming, might be interested in birds, but women—who hang the wash, tend to the garden and the yard, help with the farmwork, and oversee the children while they play—don’t spend enough time outside to warrant studying birds.
His opinion never made sense to me.
It didn’t make sense to Moses either, but he was thankful Jane shared her experience with him. That was brave. She’d trusted him with a painful story. He wondered who the male relative was. Her father? Grandfather? It had to be someone close. He folded Jane’s letter. He’d assure her not all men felt that way. He put both Teresa’s and Jane’s letters in his satchel.
He headed to Walter and Casey’s booth first. Only Casey was there. “Walter’s helping set up a new stall,” Casey said. “They couldn’t make it yesterday—so they don’t have it all figured out yet. It’s another woodworking business.” Casey grinned. “We have competition.”
Moses shrugged. “Sorry. They’ve been asking for the last year if I had an opening. The jam lady left, so I offered the spot to them. Competition is good, though, right?”
“That’s what they say.” Casey lowered his voice. “Which is why Walter went to help them set up.”
Moses knew that wasn’t true. Casey and Walter were two of the nicest people he knew. But it never hurt to get an idea of how similar businesses operated.
“How’s the Paradise market coming along?” Casey asked.
“Slowly.” Moses picked up a birdhouse made to look like a log cabin. “I don’t even have the permits yet.”
“Ouch.”
“Jah. At this rate summer will be half over before construction begins.” He held the birdhouse. “This is nice. I’d tell you to bring it into Paradise Found, but I think Lois has over-ordered bird stuff as it is.”
“What a shame.” Casey stood. “Maybe I can sell them at the market.”
“Good idea.” That was another reason for Lois to cut back on bird-related merchandise in the store. Some compe tition would be good between the market and the store—but not too much.
“Speaking of the Paradise market, what do you think about managing it for me?”
“Really?” Casey took a step backward and bumped into his chair. He grabbed it before it fell over.
Moses put the birdhouse back on the shelf. “Really.”
Casey grinned. “Walter could work here while I’d get to see Lois every Friday and Saturday?”
Moses suppressed a fleeting moment of jealousy, which surprised him. “If you wanted to, yes.” If Lois didn’t leave first.
“Jah, I’d love to be part of your new venture.”
As Moses checked in with each of the vendors, he puzzled over why he’d care if Casey was interested in Lois as more than a friend. He shouldn’t. Lois would be good for Casey. Clearly she adored him. Again, he felt a pang of jealousy. He’d been so happy for the short time that Lois adored him.
He spent a half hour talking with Joey and then checked the restrooms and parking lot. Everything was running smoothly. It was only eleven fifteen, so things could still take a turn, but it seemed he had some free time. He told Joey to call him if needed.
And then he headed for the Delaware shore. He needed something to write about—to both the group and Jane.
The day had turned warm but not hot. Perfect for being near the water. He pulled his rubber boots out of the back of his SUV, took off his shoes, and slipped on the boots. Then he walked from the parking lot down a trail along a marshy area. A marsh wren poked her head out between two cattails and then darted back. He took a few pictures on his phone and then kept walking until he reached a small beach. Shore birds—plovers and killdeers—scurried over the sand, stopped to peck at insects, and then hurried along again. A couple of black-necked stilts swooped down. At least that’s what he thought they were. He snapped a few pictures of them too.
Then he sat down and took his boots and socks off, digging his toes into the sand. He’d come to the Delaware shore a few times with Mamm and Dat. One time Dat had rented a cabin for a few days—it was the one vacation they’d had as a family. A family . They had been a family.
Casey and Walter lived a half mile away when they were all growing up, which gave Moses friends who were nearly as close as brothers. Looking back, he was more grateful than ever for them.
Had he been adopted? Did it matter? All he’d ever heard about his Uncle Paul was he’d died in an accident years ago. He’d always assumed it was a farming accident, but he didn’t know for sure. If he had been adopted, why wouldn’t his parents have told him? He couldn’t believe they’d keep that from him.
He lay back on the sand. Knowing whether he was adopted wouldn’t change anything. Mamm and Dat were his parents. That was what mattered. The sun was high. Cirrus clouds swept across the sky. The natural world provided wonders each and every day. He loved that Jane found hope—God’s faithfulness, really—in creation and had shared that with him.
His stomach growled. He should get something to eat and then head back to Paradise. But for the moment he’d soak up the sun, breathe deeply, and take a minute for himself.
Dat used to say one had to take time to listen to the Lord. And to talk to Him. Dat used to say he’d talk through each of his businesses in silent prayer with the Lord. And he’d talk through his relationships with Mamm, Moses, and other people too.
How long had it been since Moses had prayed?
He sat up. He had an urge to pray for Jane, but then silently scolded himself for being foolish. He pulled on his socks and then his boots. What sort of fantasy was he falling into? Just because Jane liked birds didn’t mean she was someone he could have a relationship with.
He could barely maintain relationships with people he’d known for years, let alone someone he’d never met. Still, when he reached his SUV, he dug his notebook out of his satchel and sat in the driver’s seat, propping his notebook against the steering wheel. He began his letter to Jane by assuring her not all men believed the way her relative did about birding and women. He wrote,
God gave all humans special interests for a reason and I agree with you—learning about nature brings us closer to the Creator.
He continued,
I can’t stop thinking about the bevy of swans you saw and described in a previous letter. Such hope. Such beauty. Tell me more about the swans. Please tell me every detail you can recall. Tell me about other birds you’ve seen. Tell me about anything you want to tell me. I want to listen.
In the next paragraph he wrote,
Would you be willing to meet in person at some point?
He stared at the last line. Was it too early to ask to meet Jane? Would his request alarm her?
He was willing to take the risk.
Jeremy from J&R Contractors left a voicemail for Moses on Tuesday morning, saying his father-in-law had passed away. He was back at work and ready to take over the permit process. “Email me what you have,” he said.
An hour later, Moses sat in his office at the shop. There was no way the Paradise Amish Market would be ready by the first of June. Most likely not even by the first of July. He’d been contacting vendors and had nearly enough interested, but he would need to call them and let them know about the delay. No doubt he would lose many to other markets.
He heard Lois in the shop, getting ready for the day. It sounded as if she were opening a box. Had a shipment of merchandise arrived? What had she ordered? He opened his office door and stepped into the hallway. She stood by the birch tree—the one he needed to get rid of—pulling another birdhouse out of a box.
Without even saying “Good morning,” he said, “Do not buy any more birdhouses. Start pushing the ones we already have. We should change the front window display to birdhouses. Let’s see if we can move the majority of these out. They take up too much room.”
Lois gave him a blank stare and then turned her attention back to the box.
Feeling flustered, he reentered his office, closed the door, and returned to his desk. She was getting on his nerves. He began making calls to vendors, beginning with Casey.
An hour later, there was a knock on his office door. Expecting Lois, he barked, “Come in.”
The door swung open, and Sara came in. “Feeling grumpy?”
He forced a smile. “A little. How are you?”
“Good. But feeling neglected. You hardly come by the café now that you have this office.”
“I’m coming over in a half hour or so. I need to do inventory and place an order.”
“Good. We can have lunch.” She sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. “Mind if I ask you something?”
She sounded serious. He turned his chair toward her. “Sure.”
“How could you not know you’re adopted?”
“What do you mean? I don’t know I am adopted. The only indication I have is the ramblings of my mother, who has Alzheimer’s.”
“And that you look nothing like your parents.”
He shrugged. “Genetics are weird.”
Sara gripped the arms of the chair. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”
“What difference would it make?”
“Don’t you want to know your medical history? If your birth parents are alive? If not, what happened to them? Especially if your birth parents were your maternal uncle and his wife.”
If that was the case, he still shared part of his DNA with Mamm.
“Moses?” Sara stared at him, her hazel eyes intense.
“Who would I ask?” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter much to me. Mamm and Dat were my parents. Mamm is still my mother.”
Sara leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. “I would like to know.”
“Why?”
“Your medical history matters.”
He wrinkled his nose. “It matters to you?”
“Jah.” Her face reddened. “Don’t you think I have a right to know your background before...” Her voice trailed off.
Oh. He was beginning to understand. Before they got married. Before they had children. “So, like, you want to know if there’s heart disease.”
She nodded.
“Or perhaps mental illness. That sort of thing.”
“It might sound a little harsh, but yes. And I also would like to know why a married couple would give up a child.”
Moses shook his head. “That’s a lot of speculating.”
“That’s why you need to find out the truth.”
“Who could I...” Maybe he should ask Bishop Stephen. He was Mamm and Dat’s age. He’d known them the entire time they’d been in Paradise Township.
The office phone rang and Moses answered it.
“This is Jennifer at the café. Is Sara there?”
“Yes. She’s right here.” Moses handed her the phone.
After a moment Sara said, “I’ll head back right now.” She handed Moses the receiver and said, “I’d better get going. See you soon.”
A few minutes later Lois knocked on the door. “I need to run an errand. Would you watch the counter?”
“Has it been busy?”
“No,” she answered. “I won’t be long.”
Zero customers came into the shop while Lois was gone. When she returned, her face was red, she was winded, and a strand of hair had fallen out of her bun. Obviously she’d scootered to wherever she needed to go. She opened up her backpack and pulled out a stack of envelopes. “I got the mail,” she said.
He kept intending to get a PO box for the shop instead of the mailbox at the end of the lane. Maybe he’d wait until Lois quit since she received mail at the shop too. Although she didn’t very often.
She handed him several envelopes and kept a few—two or maybe even three in her hand.
“You got some too?” he asked.
“Jah,” she answered. “From my brother.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
She nodded. “He’s a lot older and lives in Big Valley.”
He remembered she moved to Big Valley after her mother died. It made sense that she had a brother there. He wondered what else he’d been oblivious to when he was younger.
She slipped the letters into her apron pocket.
He shuffled through his bills as he walked back to the office and then put them on the desk. He needed to get to the café—but first he’d go by Bishop Stephen’s buggy-making business.
He crossed over the covered bridge, turned right, parked his SUV to the side of three buggies, and then approached the open garage door. Inside, several men were working. He didn’t see Bishop Stephen and entered the office through the side door.
“Hallo.” Stephen stood behind the counter. “What can I help you with?” He laughed. “Not a buggy, I presume.”
Moses forced a smile.
“Seriously, I’ll always be sad you didn’t join the Amish. Your father expected it.”
“Which father?” Moses asked.
Stephen took off his hat, opened his mouth, and then shut it.
Moses crossed his arms. “Tell me about my birth parents.”
“It’s not my place,” Stephen said.
Moses had his answer. His heart lurched. He was adopted.