But this Englischer with his hard eyes and unsmiling mouth was not a man he should have asked to come into his house. Not like this. But the deed was done. Zane Carson was staying, living among them, writing about what it felt like to be Amish.
Abram couldn’t understand the draw of the outside world to their little community, but the Englischers seemed to be fascinated by the ways of the Plain folk. It beat him as to why. They all acted like Plain folk did something special. More special than just follow God’s plan. Everything was right there in the Bible for everyone to see, to use. T’weren’t any more special than that.
But with Ruthie’s cancer treatments draining the funds from the district, Abram had to do something to put it back. The only thing he could do was take the fancy, fast-talking editor lady up on her plan. Invite a reporter to come into their midst, live with them, work beside them, and then write a bunch of stories about the experience. She assured Abram that the articles would bring tourists from all over to sample the wares, tastes, and simple life that was offered in Clover Ridge. More visitors meant more money for the town, and more money for the town meant more funds in the emergency coffers. More money for cancer treatments.
So he had done it for Ruthie. Everything for Ruthie.
2
Shortly after dinner, the women served pie, and Zane had to admit that the food was sure better here than it was in the Middle East. Annie’s chicken pot pie beat out military MREs any day.
After everyone had eaten their fill of dessert, the whole clan had gathered around and listened as Abram opened a well-worn Bible. His reading was stilted and slow, much slower than when he spoke, and Zane realized: he was translating the words to English so that he, too, would be able to understand. Zane felt like the belly of a snake, trying to devise ways out of sitting through a Bible reading. Nothing about the idea appealed to him.
He supposed that was a natural side effect of being raised by agnostic parents. It wasn’t that the Bible didn’t have interesting stories and a strong moral code to live by. It was the whole heaven-hell thing that bothered him. A higher power who got to determine where you spent an eternity depending on a mood? That didn’t seem quite fair. And Zane wanted no part of it.
But he acted the polite guest and sat patiently while Abram read, and everyone else sat in rapt attention. With their minds focused on the reading, Zane used that opportunity to study this family who had taken him in.
Ruth Fisher looked gaunt in her clothes. Tired and sad, but with her back ramrod straight as if to show the cancer she couldn’t be beat. Next to her sat Annie, with her dark, dark hair. It was pulled back like the other women’s, but Zane could tell that hers wasn’t nearly as long as the Fisher girls’. He remembered John Paul telling him that Annie was an Englisher who’d only recently come to live among the Amish. Maybe that was the reason she seemed so familiar to him. Whatever it was, one thing was apparent—Gideon’s Annie was a kind soul. She clasped Ruth’s hand in between her own, offering comfort and support by her mere presence.
Gabriel’s boys sat lined up in a row from tallest to smallest, with the exception of the youngest, Samuel. The redhead was perched on Katie Rose’s lap, a thumb in his mouth and his other hand playing with the untied strings of her little white cap.
John Paul and Mary Elizabeth sat side by side, each seemingly captivated, both pretending to want to be there when in fact they’d rather be any place else. Zane had been young once, and he could see the signs. He had to admire how respectful the teenagers were to their elders.
Gideon sat across from them. The next to the oldest, Zane remembered. He continually looked from his father to his intended to his mother and back. His green eyes flicked over each one in turn, lingering slightly longer on Annie’s pixie face before looking away again.