Chapter 37
Miri leaned against the top rail of Bitsy’s stall.
The bishop had come by last night to let them know he’d delivered the papers and give her the dollar she was owed.
She had one more day alone on the farm before Moses would take over.
It was a little bit of time to say good-bye and drink in the last of her freedom.
The other cattle had been cleared and sent back out to pasture with the rest of the herd, but she’d kept Bitsy until last. Tabitha had her in the squeeze chute, checking her temperature the old-fashioned way with a thermometer up the backside.
“I heard that this place is going back to the Yoders,” Tabitha said, growing serious.
“Yah.”
“I’m sorry, Miri.”
A lump closed off Miri’s throat, and she blinked back tears. The community was happy, and no one seemed to be concerned about Miri’s feelings in this besides her parents. But even they were mostly relieved to have the ugliness behind them.
“Why did you sign it back?” Tabitha asked.
“It was that, or the community was going to split over it,” Miri said. “Even now, I don’t know what people think of me. Half of Shepherd’s Hill seems to think I swindled a whole family out of a farm.”
“Hogwash,” Tabitha muttered.
“I know it, and you know it, but . . .” Miri shrugged. “I got used to the idea of having a farm of my own, though, Tabby. I now know what that feels like.”
“And nothing will measure up again?” Tabitha asked.
Miri sighed. “I’m not like other women. The housework, the cooking, the handcrafts—I’m not good at them. I feel like a failure when I struggle along with the inside work. But on a farm, I feel like myself. I’m good at something.”
“You’re too much like me.” Tabitha pulled the thermometer out of Bitsy’s back end and held it into the light. “One hundred and . . . I’d say point five degrees,” Tabitha said, giving Miri a smile. “Bitsy is perfectly healthy. You can send her out.”
“Danke.” Miri came forward to help Tabitha lower the sides and open the front of the squeeze chute to let Bitsy back out. Bitsy shook her head and ran a few paces to get some space from the chute, then settled down to look around herself.
Miri was glad that her favorite heifer was just fine.
She’d have to find somewhere for Bitsy to stay.
Maybe Moses would let Miri’s cattle stay here for a fee.
Or she might need to work out a deal with an uncle or another local farmer, if anyone trusted her at this point.
That inheritance could have been a blessing if the community had supported it, but even having signed the farm back over to Moses, she wasn’t sure she could change people’s minds about her.
Would they see her act as a sign of a guilty conscience? She had no idea.
“At least you have a way to work with cattle,” Miri said. “You’re the veterinarian. What about a woman like me? How do I fit into our Amish community? My family doesn’t have a farm, and even if we did, most people think this”—she spread her arms—“won’t fulfill me.”
“And you disagree.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to get married and have kinner.
” An image of Moses rose in her mind, and she pushed it back.
“I just want this side of things too. I want to raise a herd of cattle that will be known for their unmatched quality and spend my days out in the field. Men have no idea how blessed they are to have that kind of freedom. But if a woman wants that, we’re considered utterly unmarriageable. ”
Tabitha was silent, dropping her gaze.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean you,” Miri added.
“Why not?” Tabitha asked. “I’m included in that too.
Michael might be gone now, and I’m technically free, but the truth of the matter is, I’m different.
Worse still, the man I love is marrying another woman who will give him a more traditional life.
She’ll be in the kitchen, she’ll be making quilts, sewing clothes for their kinner . . .”
Tears brimmed in Tabitha’s eyes, and Miri felt a familiar pang. She knew what that loneliness felt like.
“I’m sorry, Tabby,” Miri said.
“I suppose we’re both losing parts of our hearts,” Tabitha said.
“It seems that way.” Miri sighed. “I’ll figure something out. I wonder if one of my uncles will let me work on his farm.”
But even as she said it, she knew it wouldn’t happen. They’d be appalled by her split skirts, and they’d want her to be inside, learning domestic arts with her aunts. Women just didn’t run farms in an Amish community.
“Do you think you did the right thing?” Tabitha asked.
Had she? When she’d signed those papers, she’d signed away any kind of future that fit her.
But more than that, she’d signed away those days of working shoulder to shoulder with Moses.
Maybe he’d only been there because the bishop told him to or because his family wanted the farm, but they had shared something special, all the same.
What did Moses think of what she’d done? She had no idea. He hadn’t come back or sent a note. Just silence. That should say enough.
“Was it the right thing to do?” Miri asked, then shrugged. “I had no choice, Tabby. I couldn’t be the reason our community split. Even though I might not fit into the mold of things as well as I’d like, I love our way of life, and we are only as strong as our community. I know that.”
“What about Moses?” Tabitha asked.
Miri swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”
How was she supposed to explain something that she didn’t fully understand herself? She and Moses had had a very real connection, but the farm had stood in the way.
She should have known better than to let herself feel more for him.
“You did some hard things too,” Miri said. “Do you ever regret coming back? You wouldn’t be so different if you’d stayed Englisch.”
“Actually, I would be,” Tabitha said. “I might be the oddball here at home, but I was different from the other Englischers too. And, no, I don’t regret coming back. I knew Gott wanted me to, and I wanted to stay in the center of his will.”
“I want to do that too,” Miri said, sighing. “You say that so beautifully.”
“I’ve had a long time to think it over.” Tabitha smiled sadly. “And sometimes, when you stay on the narrow path, it means walking single file.”
Without Moses. Without a husband or children . . . Yah, Miri could see the wisdom in those words. Sometimes doing the right thing and simply being the best version of herself that she could be meant that she would be alone.
“Are you lonely?” Miri asked.
Tabitha frowned thoughtfully. “Sometimes. But I was lonely more often when I was married to Michael.”
That was something that Miri hadn’t considered before, but she was glad she wasn’t the only one whose life was taking a different path. At least her cousin could understand her.
“I was hoping to talk to Aent Dina,” Miri said. “Apparently, she knew something about my grandmother Adelaide and Old Tom. If I knew why he left me the farm, it might untangle a few things in my own heart.”
“Whatever happened might be too long ago to find out now,” Tabitha said. “You know how closed-lipped the elderly can be.”
“I know,” Miri agreed. “But if I can find out, maybe it’ll show the community why Old Tom did what he did, and they’ll stop blaming me for it.”
Tabitha was silent for a moment, then she nodded. “You might be right. I’m sorry this landed on your shoulders. It wasn’t fair.”
“Life seldom is.”
“Aent Dina went to see Aent Millie in Bird-in-Hand,” Tabitha said. “But Amanda was going to pick her up from the bus depot this morning.”
“Yah?” Miri squinted at her cousin. “She’s back?”
“If she isn’t yet, she will be soon,” Tabitha replied. “I hope you can get those answers, Miri.”
“Danke.”
Miri opened up the rolling barn door that led into the main pasture, and Bitsy picked up her pace as she trotted out toward fresh air and sunlight.
As the heifer’s hooves hit the dirt outside, she skipped and jumped like a calf, and Miri couldn’t help but smile.
Bitsy would be happy enough with a lush field to graze in and her cattle friends to sleep beside. If only life were that simple for Miri.
“I’d better go clean out the bedroom I was using,” Miri said.
“I have a few minutes,” Tabitha said. “Do you want help?”
“I wouldn’t turn it down,” Miri said.
The irony was that things had changed for Miri over the past few weeks.
Even if she did find herself in possession of a farm, a herd, and all those things she’d longed for, they wouldn’t quite feel enough anymore either.
The farm had changed her, but Moses had had an impact too.
Now she knew what it felt like to have a kind, dependable man at her side, someone she already missed so much that her heart ached.
Miri had tasted paradise, and nothing was going to measure up ever again.
But at least she still had family, her community, and three head of cattle. She’d find a path and nurse her heartbreak privately.