Chapter 24
After the second sermon was delivered and the last hymn was sung—one of the old ones in the Ausbund that started with “Lord Gott, Fader, on your throne”—Miri followed the other women as they filed out of the service.
Old Ausbund hymns were full of theology and had many verses.
They weren’t meant to be easy to sing; they were meant to teach.
This one was about asking Gott to forgive those who did them wrong and to show them truth.
It was a very basic Amish belief that the preachers revisited often, and a difficult one to live out.
Miri caught up with her mother and slid an arm through hers. The pigs were oinking comfortably from a nearby field, and she spotted Amanda with a tiny piglet in her arms and a bottle to feed it. Just because they were hosting Service Sunday didn’t mean the runts stopped needing their milk.
“Hi, Mamm,” Miri said. Back at home, she used to pine for the fields, but now that she lived on her own farm, she found herself missing her mother.
Her mother patted her hand affectionately, but Mamm stiffened as some women bushed past them and didn’t stop to say hello. Miri watched them walk past, tipping their kapps together in private conversation.
“They’re upset with us,” Mamm said softly.
“Why?” Miri whispered. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”
More women headed past them, breaking off into chatting groups, and a couple of teenaged girls Miri knew looked over their shoulders at them, then snapped forward when they realized they’d been spotted.
“I suppose forgiveness and understanding are for the old days,” Mamm murmured.
The slow melody of that hymn about forgiving those who wronged them clung in Miri’s heart as she stood next to her mother in the sunlight and hog farm–scented air.
Tabitha and some older women were setting food out on folding tables—bread and some toppings, like jam and Amish church peanut butter, and a big pot of soup.
Miri spotted some of her aunts off to one side, chatting with Amanda while she fed the piglet, but Mamm nudged Miri in the other direction.
“Miri, you could always come home,” Mamm offered as they stopped in the shade of the barn.
“I have cattle to look after.” The thrill of having cattle that depended on her and a farm to roam hadn’t diminished.
“You know I was in support of you getting the farm,” Mamm said. “But my fears seem to be coming true about the community’s hard feelings.”
Miri scanned the milling people. Daet stood over with some men, his arms crossed over his chest. They seemed to be deep in conversation. He pulled off his felt church hat and ran a hand through his hair, then replaced it.
“Mamm, Tom left me the farm,” Miri said. “And my conscience is clear. I didn’t do anything to get it. Even Moses knows that. It was a complete surprise. But Tom wanted me to have it. This is a disappointment for the Yoders, I know, but it’s also a chance for us.”
“It might not be the blessing we were hoping it would be.”
But Miri wasn’t a woman who’d have a whole lot of other options.
That was already quite clear. Unless she wanted to work as Tabitha’s assistant, which was the only option that had appealed before she was left the farm.
So maybe Gott had provided through Old Tom.
Maybe she could be successful in her farming and provide jobs to some local young people.
Maybe she and the cattle could be a blessing to others yet.
“But it might still be.” Miri looked pleadingly at her mother. “Sometimes people make surprising decisions, and maybe he had good reason for it.”
“Do you know his reason?” Mamm asked.
“Nee. I don’t.”
Mamm rubbed her hands over her face. “Miri, I know that the land is legally yours, and you are a baptized adult in the church. You can do as you will, so long as the bishop and elders support you. But pray on it, would you?”
“Of course.”
Miri had more time than most to pray, especially when she lay in the creaking little bed in the guest room of that farmhouse, still feeling a bit like a guest herself. It was then that she prayed the hardest. She looked around the farmyard at the chatting people—her community.
“Mamm, is it everyone?” Miri asked. “Are they all against me keeping the farm?”
Her mother scanned the chatting groups nearest them, then she sighed. “Nee, not everyone. But enough to cause trouble.” Then her mother squeezed her hand. “Come on. Let’s go find your aunts.”
Miri’s aunts gave Mamm a meaningful look when they joined them, but they continued chatting about a quilting project they were planning. Miri gave her cousin Amanda a smile. Her belly was gently swollen under her white apron, and Miri shot her a look of surprise.
“Amanda?” Miri asked, and her cousin seemed to notice the direction of Miri’s curious gaze because she chuckled, pulling the bottle nipple out of the piglet’s mouth as it finished the last of the milk.
“Yah, due in November,” Amanda said. She sat the piglet up, dropped the bottle in the grass next to her, and rubbed his pink back.
They chatted a little bit about pregnancy and how close in age Amanda’s child would be to Rose’s baby girl.
Miri was happy for Amanda. She’d been another hard-to-match woman in their family.
They seemed to have more than their fair share.
But Amanda had her own family now, proving it was possible, at least.
“I thought Menno and I were busy with just the hog farm,” Amanda said, lifting the piglet slightly as her example, “but adding a boppli into the mix is going to be busier still. But I think you understand the busyness of farms.”
“Yah, I do,” Miri said, and she eyed her cousin uncertainly, looking for disapproval.
“You’re working the farm alone?” Amanda asked.
“Nee, Moses Yoder is helping me right now, but soon enough it’ll be just me.”
“Have you got any family who’d come help you?” Amanda asked.
Miri lifted her chin. “I’ve got a cousin who I want to ask to come take care of the house for me.”
Amanda’s eyebrows went up, then she grinned. “You’ve got spunk. Good for you.”
“You don’t think I’m being selfish?” Miri asked. “Apparently, that’s the consensus around here.”
“Selfish?” Amanda shook her head. “Old Tom left it to you. The bishop himself said that Tom did what he wanted to do when he was of sound mind. Who can argue with that?”
Plenty could, apparently, but the subject was a stressful one. Miri yearned to head back to the farm and get away from the press of community—back to the less troublesome company of the cattle.
“Enough about me,” Miri said. “I’m excited for you.”
They chatted a little longer, then Tabitha and Rose came up to join them.
Rose’s baby was asleep on her shoulder—a chubby-cheeked little sweetheart.
Miri’s cousins were happy to see her, and they lowered their voices to ask more questions about running the farm and Old Tom’s decision, but it wasn’t asked with suspicion.
It was the honest curiosity of people who could be pleased for her, albeit careful about not speaking to be overheard.
At least family could see the best in Miri these days, and that was a comfort.
The chilliness from some of the other women was disconcerting, though.
These were the women she’d looked up to all her life, and their disapproval touched that same tender place in her heart that stung when she’d disappointed her parents in her youth.
The men got their food first, then after they ate, three teenaged girls washed bowls and spoons in tubs of water set up on a table so that the women could eat.
“Let’s get in line, yah?” Amanda said, looking longingly toward the food, and Miri realized that her cousin would be extra hungry now that she was eating for two.
The conversation broke up then as they headed in the direction of the food. Miri’s mind wasn’t on the soup, though.
“I think I’ll head back to the farm early today,” Miri said, tapping Amanda’s arm.
“Why?” Amanda asked, frowning. “If you’re feeling unwelcome on your own cousin’s farm—”
“Nee, not that.” Not only that, at least. “I wanted to check on one of my cattle.”
“Bitsy?” Tabitha asked, leaning around her sister.
“Yah, she’s a lot better, but I guess I worry. And I wanted to check on some calves that seemed listless this morning.”
“You’re leaving?” Mamm asked, coming up beside her.
Miri repeated her reasoning, and Mamm gave her a sympathetic look.
“Miri, you’re with family. I wish you’d stay. Did I upset you?”
“Nee, Mamm. It’s not that. I just—” And how to explain how the cattle called to her, and the fields sang with insects and birdsong.
It filled up a place in her heart that reminded her of the green pastures and still waters of the Twenty-third Psalm.
The farm her mamm encouraged her to give up was a healing place.
“You should stay long enough to eat, at least,” Mamm said.
But now that Miri was thinking of leaving, it was like everything inside of her wanted to escape back to the farm.
“I’m okay, Mamm,” Miri said, giving what she hoped was a convincing smile. “I’ll talk to you later. You know where to find me, right?”
Miri didn’t wait for any more convincing. She left her family in line for food and headed back in the direction of the front field where the buggies were parked.
She angled her steps toward the pasture where her horse was grazing. She’d fetch Blaze herself. She didn’t need to send a boy after him. But as she passed a line of buggies and paused at the fence, she overheard voices . . . including one that was very familiar.
She leaned forward over the fence and could see Moses’s back between two buggies, standing in that relaxed stance of his, his weight on one leg.
“I don’t know what you want me to say—”
“I want you to think about what your grandfather wanted.”
“I’m not sure what he wanted anymore. He wrote us out, Daet.” Moses’s voice sounded thick with emotion.
Miri quietly opened the gate and closed it behind her. This was a private conversation, and she shouldn’t be listening in. There were hard feelings—she knew that. Her horse was a few yards off, and when she caught him by the bridle, he followed her easily back toward the gate.
“How is Miri doing on the farm? Is she losing interest yet?”
Moses and his father had no idea she could hear them, but she froze all the same at the sound of her name.
“Nee, not at all.”
“Maybe you should let her do more of the heavy work. Maybe it’s too easy with you there to do the actual farming.”
“She’s very competent. I know you think she’ll lose interest, but that’s not Miri. She’s determined to farm on her own.”
“She’s a woman, Moses! She’s not going to be able to keep up, and while your grandfather might have found it cute to see her so interested in cattle, she’s not going to be strong enough to do the job long-term.”
Miri’s mouth went dry, and she opened the gate and led her horse through. Not strong enough? She was strong enough. She could run that farm better than any man could—she’d make sure of it! She closed the gate behind her and tried to swallow.
“Give her harder jobs,” Moses’s daet went on. “That’s what she needs. Legally that land is hers, but she can sign it back over any time she wants.”
“I don’t think that’ll work.”
There was a pause. “Look, sohn, the longer this takes, the less likely it is that she’ll give the farm back. You told your brother you were going to see where things stood. But it might be time to push the issue a bit.”
That was why Moses was helping her? He’d said it was because the bishop asked. He’d said it would help him make peace with it all, but she was hearing a very different version of things in what was supposed to be a private chat between the buggies.
Their time together—working side by side, laughing at jokes, the way he caught her around the waist that one time . . . Could her uncle have been right? Was it all just to manipulate her into giving up what Old Tom had gifted to her out of the goodness of his heart?
She led the horse to the far line of buggies where her own was parked, leaving the voices behind her. Let them plot. She wasn’t giving up!
She hitched Blaze up, and as she was going around the side to get up into the driver’s seat, she heard her name. She looked over, and Moses waved, coming in her direction from the far buggies. She shut her eyes for a moment, seeking calm.
“Where are you going?” Moses called.
“I’m heading home.” She didn’t tend to call Tom’s farm home, but it felt right today. Like it or not, it was hers.
“Do you need a hand with anything?” Moses asked, catching up to her. He tipped his hat back on his head and looked up at her. So guileless. He looked like he actually cared. And a few hours ago, she would have believed he did.
“Nee, I’m fine,” she said. “I can handle it. You should enjoy your Sunday.”
“Okay.” He took a step backward. “I’ll see you for chores tonight.”
She couldn’t very well refuse that without him guessing what she’d overheard, so she forced a smile and flicked the reins.
“See you then,” she called as brightly as she could.
As she bumped over the grass, Blaze’s hooves landing with soft thuds, she couldn’t help but wonder whether this unexpected, generous gift of a farm was going to be a blessing in the long run or a curse.