The following is Chapter One from my new book WE STILL REMAIN, which comes out at 12:01 AM on 2/27/24. Get it here: https://www.amazon.com/We-Still-Remain.../dp/B0CVZJ1G18 FATHER RETURNED FROM CASHTON AN hour before I thought he would. Trips to town for him were rare and only done when he had business to conduct, but whenever he went, he made it worth his time. Usually, he liked to stop into the feed store and catch up with some of the fellows who worked there, maybe stop into the little grocery store on the main drag and get some staples. He would often return shortly before evening chores if the gossip and politics talk was good. Instead, he came back early. This was odd because he had not been to town since mid-April, and it was already mid-May. I would have thought he would have had lots to discuss and debate with the men there. Father drove the black hack into the yard and stepped out of it before the horse even stopped. I wondered if I should ask why he was back so early, but he was my father, and it was not my place to question his actions. If he wanted me to know, he would tell me. I watched him fly into the house like Mother’s life depended on it. Father almost never hurried like that, not even at harvest time. The horse, well-trained and inordinately lazy, stopped himself and waited for someone to undo all the harness straps so he could go to the paddock for the remainder of the day. The buggy horses knew their work was over when they returned to the yard. My brother, Zeke, came out of the barn to tend to the horse. Zeke was three years older than I was. He was a man now, just past twenty. He wore no beard because he was unmarried, but if his situation with Penny Shrock kept progressing, and if the families agreed upon it, I would be willing to bet he’d greet the New Year as a married man. I turned to the clothesline in the corner of the yard farthest from the barn. My sisters, Faith and Charity, were hanging the day’s washing. The winds were cold for early May, but it was well above freezing and the clothes would dry just fine. Faith and I exchanged a puzzled look. She glanced toward the house, and then looked back at me. In the unspoken language of looks and gestures siblings share, her message was clear: What was that about? I shrugged. I turned my attention back to the pair of draught horses in front of me. They were waiting patiently for the command to begin the next row of plowing. I anchored the big tooth of the plow into the soil and slapped the reins lightly on the horses’ rumps. The pair leaned into the leather collars and strained. The big steel tooth overturned the stubborn sod in a big, wide strip, and we were off and running down another long length of field. The dirt in the field was turning over in swaths and filled the air with the rich scent of wet loam. I loved that smell. It smelled like the end of a long, cold winter. It smelled of future promise. I thought nothing else of Father’s strange return. I had the plowing to take up the majority of space in my mind. The coming spring filled the rest of it. There were still some patches of snow in the woods north of our fields, but it was rapidly receding. I was hoping for some warm weather soon. I liked the cool part of spring just fine, but when the needle climbed on the thermometer by the barn, that was when it really felt like summer was coming. Summer was always grander than winter. It meant chores intensified, what with the fields and the farming needing constant attention, but it was a long sight better than the middling tasks we were bound to in the wintertimes. I know the Amish life isn’t for everyone, and many think it’s madness to eschew modern conveniences. To be honest, I harbor a lot of those same thoughts myself, although I would never voice them to Mother or Father, or even Zeke, who returned from his rumspringa with a newly dedicated devotion to our community and a newly refurbished distrust of the English. Faith had spoken to me about her dislike of our ways, but only in low tones when she knew no one else could hear. Charity was still young enough where she had really no opinions one way or the other, or at least nothing she bothered to bring up among us. Those of us who felt as Faith and I did rarely broached the subject amongst mixed company. It was better to smile and play along with the faithful rather than make people upset or speak to the wrong person who might blab your feelings to the bishop which would mean re-dedication sessions. I spent the afternoon plowing fields. I managed to clear the spring weeds from several acres, making them ready for planting as soon as the weather was warm enough, probably in the next two weeks, although Wisconsin’s spring could often be unpredictable. Father and Zeke had been watching the thermometer carefully, and Father had been talking with the other men in the community. All I had to do was wait for Father to tell me to start the planting. In the meantime, I just had to prepare the land for seeds. MOTHER RANG THE OLD IRON bell hanging by the back door of the house when it was time for supper. Zeke and I were in the barn doing chores. Dinner would wait until chores were done. Chores always came first. What was surprising was Father was not there. After an hour in the house alone with Mother, he went walking over the hill to where the Schrocks lived. Then later, I saw him and Augustus Schrock walking toward the Stoltzfuss house. Peter Stoltzfuss was our bishop, and he usually presided over our church services on Sundays. No one in the community made any big decisions without hearing Peter Stoltzfuss’s thoughts on the matter, first. Zeke finished milking the last cow, stripping the final drops of milk from her udder by hand. He carried the steel pail to the larger milk can and poured it in. I was finishing feeding the calves. The greedy black-and-white Holsteins always reveled in the liquid calf feed from the bottle and the attention they got during the hand feeding. I loved feeding the calves, even though I knew enough not to get too attached to them. Faith did it once when she was younger, even though Father had warned her repeatedly not to. When the poor creature’s time came, the little bull calf she’d treated like a pet was butchered as we all knew it would be. Faith cried in her room the whole day and refused to eat beef until she knew for sure none of the beef we were eating was from the little bull calf. She never let herself get attached to the calves again. Zeke waited in the doorway of the barn for me to finish. He leaned back against the frame and stuck his hands in his coat pockets. It was too cold for straw hats, so he wore a knitted cap Faith had made from wool we took off our own sheep. We had a very small herd of sheep, so there was only enough wool to make good outerwear like hats and mittens. Zeke and I both wore black boots we had gotten from the Farm & Fleet in La Crosse last fall when our neighbor, Jack Worthy, had driven us there to get the essentials. Mother made our shirts and overalls from fabric she bought at the fabric store in La Crosse, but our underwear, boots, and socks were all boughten. Our winter outerwear was boughten, too. Simple, practical coats which protected us from the cold without being ostentatious. Some Amish orders did not allow for worldly coats, and they made their own, but thankfully we were not that regressive. My black Carhartt coat kept the wind at bay during the winter far better than Mother’s modest handmade coats we wore in the late spring, summer, and early fall. Zeke was a handsome man, I guess. He had a square jaw, like Father. He had Mother’s striking blue eyes that crackled like fire when he got the devil in him about something. I was his opposite. I had Mother’s dumpy chin and Father’s brown eyes which failed to spark or show much reaction, no matter how angry I was about something. Zeke had blond hair like Mother, too. I had Father’s dark brown hair. It was no wonder I saw the teenage girls huddle whispering and giggling when Zeke walked past them during community gatherings, and it was no wonder they largely ignored me. “Did you see Father today?” Zeke shrugged and looked toward the house. “A little.” “Why did he come back so early from town?” Zeke shrugged again. “Who knows?” “Seems weird he and Augustus went to Peter’s house, doesn’t it?” If those men had been in front of us, I would have had to call them by their formal names, Mr. Shrock and Mr. Stoltzfuss, because I wasn’t eighteen, yet. “Maybe he’s talking to them about your upcoming rumspringa. You and Elden Stoltzfuss are about the same age.” I supposed it made sense, but why would he take Augustus Shrock with him, then? “Maybe Father and Augustus Shrock spoke of you and Penny. That would mean a visit to the bishop to inquire about marriage, wouldn’t it?” Zeke’s eyes flashed with a crackle of lightning, and his cheeks lit up with a red blush. “Shut up, stupid.” He gave me a shove toward the house, but it was more playful than mean. The house smelled like roast chicken, the air fragrant with thyme and rosemary. A large, browned bird was resting in the roasting pan on top of the potbellied wood cook-stove. A smaller pot held a pile of mashed potatoes, and an even smaller pot held a steaming bath of green beans and onions. My sisters bustled around preparing the long wooden table where my family took their meals. Faith was a little copy of Mother. She looked like Mother probably did when she was Faith’s age, blond and blue-eyed. Faith wore a black kapp on the back of her head to signify she was unmarried, while Mother’s kapp was gossamer white. Charity was the anomaly in the family. She had brown hair so dark it was almost black and green eyes which listed toward hazel in the right light. Charity had not yet taken up wearing the bonnet indoors, although she should have by now, but as the baby, she was allowed to get away with it longer than she should have. Outdoors, Charity wore the slat bonnet most young girls wore, but she was of the age where she should transition to the kapp. Faith was hustling pots to the table and Charity was setting places with a practiced hand. Mother was standing at the counter slicing a fresh loaf of bread with the large, serrated knife. She was the only one of us who needed glasses all the time and they perched precariously on the end of her nose while she worked. “Wash up before you sit down.” Mother’s voice was sharper than normal. Something was bothering her. Faith and I exchanged another glance. In our silent language her look said plainly, She’s been like that all day. Zeke and I went into the bathroom down the hall from the kitchen and washed our hands and faces. Unlike many Amish orders, our community thankfully did not eschew indoor plumbing. Our water came from our local well, not the larger community supply, and we had a solar well pump for refilling our toilet and running the water. We did not, however, have a hot water heater, so basic washing was always done with cold water. Bathing was done with pails of hot water heated on the stove. It was the little things like this which made me really question the tenents of our religion. If we could have a solar well pump, then why not more solar power? Why couldn’t we have electricity if it came from solar panels? If one large solar panel for running water was not breaking our faith, then why would several for electric heat and light do so? It didn’t make sense to me, but I said nothing. Mother and the girls were waiting at their seats when Zeke and I emerged from the bathroom. Father sat at the head of the table, of course. Mother at the foot. Zeke and I sat on either side of Father. Faith and Charity sat on either side of Mother. Zeke was always at Father’s right side to symbolize his position as Father’s first son. Father’s plate and utensils had been set for him, even though he was not expected to join us. It was to show respect for his position as head of the household. Mother bowed her head and clasped her hands beneath her chin. We all followed her lead. Mother asked Zeke to lead the family in prayer. Zeke took a deep breath and spoke the words simply. “For the bounty laid before us, may the Lord make us thankful, and ever mindful of the needs of others. Amen.” We rose from our prayerful positions, and Mother began ladling the food onto our plates. The first serving went to Zeke, since Father was gone. The next, to me. Then she served herself, then Faith, and finally Charity was served her plate. Charity used to complain about being served last until I reminded her it meant her food was the hottest, and she seemed to like that. Zeke and I tucked large cloth napkins into our collars. The girls were wearing aprons over their dresses. We ate in silence. Usually, our dinner conversations were led by Father, mostly about what chores needed doing beyond the usual daily tasks, and sometimes he spoke about community plans like who was going to marry who and when there was a possibility work with one of our English neighbors which might get us some good money. Without Father, it was Mother’s place to begin the conversations, but she looked like she was elsewhere in her mind. She ate lightly, picking at her chicken thigh and beans. Zeke and I, both hungry from a full day of chores, ate heartily. We finished our plates, accepted a second plateful from Mother, and eventually we split the remains of Mother’s plate, too. After dinner, Mother excused herself to her bedroom. Faith and Charity began the dishes and preparing for the next morning’s breakfast. Zeke and I retired to the large living room. We had a nice boughten couch, two large recliners we’d gotten in trade for helping a neighbor, and a nice love seat Father bought at an estate sale not long ago. We had no modern amenities most people would have had like a television or a computer, of course. We had lanterns hanging from the ceiling for general light, and if one wanted to read the Bible, there were lamps on end tables. Other than that, we usually busied ourselves with tasks like sharpening knives or fixing cracked leather until it was bedtime. I was working on restoring an old harness Father had gotten for free from an English neighbor. It had been in a barn for years, but once I got the leather reconditioned, it would be useful again. Father came home shortly before the old grandfather clock in the hall struck eight. He looked grim. Mother emerged from the bedroom when he did. She was wearing her nightgown and had her hair tucked up in her sleeping bonnet. She hurried into the kitchen to fix Father a plate of food, but he waved her off. “I’m fine; Laura Stoltzfuss insisted on feeding us.” “Well, that was nice of her.” Mother started putting things back in the icebox. “How was it?” Zeke and I got up from our chairs and wandered down the hall to the kitchen. We waited in the dark of the hall near the doorway, knowing it was not really our place to intrude on our parents’ conversation. Charity had already gone to bed, and Faith was knitting in the living room, but I could see her leaning toward the kitchen, her ear cocked to listen. “It went well enough, I suppose.” Father sat at the table and rubbed his face with his hands. He looked exhausted. Father saw Zeke in the door and beckoned him to sit at the table, too. Zeke did as he was bid. I lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Zeke, do you wish to be married to Penny Shrock?” Father was never one to beat around the bush. Zeke blushed again. “I guess so. If it is Penny’s wish as well, that is. I am not twenty-one, yet. I thought we might have to wait until my birthday.” “Augustus and I spoke amongst ourselves today, and we spoke to Peter about it. We will have a wedding this summer, maybe sooner than later.” “Goodness, why the rush?” Zeke was dumbfounded. Mother went back to the bedroom for her robe, but she emerged tying the sash around her waist. Father looked down at the table, trying to form his thoughts cohesively. “There is something bad happening to the English.” “Bad, how?” I was confused. I was also confused about the division Father put between our community and the English, like we were somehow absolved from all evils of the English world with a magical Amish shield. If something was bad for the English, why wouldn’t it be bad for us, as well? Father waved his hand. “They have some sort of sickness going around. I just learned about it today in town. Apparently, scores of the men and women in Cashton have had it, and they died from it. Dozens upon dozens more also have it, and I’m told it does not look good for them.” “Oh, my.” Faith had crept up behind me. She held a hand to her mouth in shock. “That’s terrible.” Cashton was a town of barely 1200 people. The loss of even a dozen people would be a terrible devastation, let alone several dozen. Father continued. “The men in town say it’s really bad. They say tens of millions of people around the world have already died from this new virus, whatever it is, possibly hundreds of millions. Reports coming in are grim and unreliable. People just call it The Flu. They say it’s terrible. I rushed home as fast as I could to tell Augustus and Peter. We convened a council with several other men at Peter’s home tonight. We have decided, as of now, our community is no longer to associate with any of the English. We will turn them away at the bottom of the driveway if they come to trade or look for help with work. We are isolated to ourselves, and ourselves alone. No one from outside the community is allowed in until we know more about this sickness that is reaping the English.” Mother’s face was dark and worried. “If you feel it’s for the best, then so be it.” Father’s face matched Mother’s. “We think it is. Hopefully, this is just one of those things they are blowing out of proportion, and all will be well in a few weeks. Until then, we are a closed community. We went around to all the homes tonight and told them so. We will not even engage with other of our extended Amish communities at this time. If they are not part of our immediate community, they are verboten. Understood?” “Understood, Father.” Zeke spoke for all us children. We would not willingly disobey Father’s orders, especially for something with this sort of magnitude. There was a grave seriousness in his eyes which meant he was not joking. I had never seen my father this worried before. Not when there were storms or cold, not when the cows were sick with mastitis. Not when lambs were stillborn. His mouth was pressed into a thin line above his graying beard. “We will persevere.” Father stood. “We will pray, and we will persevere. Now, let’s all go to bed. Without the English, we will have to rely on ourselves and our farm even more than usual. This may be a long and difficult summer before us.” We went to our beds somberly. Zeke and I shared a room, as did Faith and Charity. Zeke and I climbed into our beds without speaking. It was not until Zeke turned down the wick on our bedside lantern and plunged the room into the ambient moonlight did he say anything. “The English are always ginning up some silly crisis or another. This won’t be any different.” I did not answer him, but I hoped Zeke was correct. Sadly, he was not. |
About the AuthorSean Patrick Little is a writer, speaker, editor, educator, and general literary dude from Sun Prairie, Wisconsin. Click the pictures below to purchase books!
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