He shook his head and hiked up his too-short pants. Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight he’d take a sleeping pill and go to bed early.
Sunday morning dawned bright and beautiful, another crisp day that Zane had learned would quickly turn into a warm afternoon. He caught Ruth in the hall of the ambling house reaching a hand up to her bonnet, ensuring it was in place.
“Guder mariye, Zane Carson,” she said with a wan smile.
Zane had gotten used to everyone calling him by his first and last name, but the sound still brought a smile to his lips. “And to you too, Ruth Fisher.”
“There is somethin’ I need to speak to you about.”
He nodded. “All right.” He waited for her to begin, but she just smiled.
“Let’s go to the kitchen, we will talk this out over a piece of pie.”
If pie was involved, surely the topic couldn’t be too serious. Zane nodded and followed her down the stairs.
He got out plates and cups for coffee as she cut and served the pie. Together they carried their early morning after-breakfast snack to the table.
Amish pie was wonderful if not a little odd, the flaky crust as thick as cardboard. John Paul had told him it was for convenience, to allow them to eat the pie without plates and forks as they carried out certain chores.
“Today is a church day, Zane Carson.”
It was the first he had thought about attending church since his arrival. They read from the Bible every night, prayed before and after every meal, and stopped to pray silently several times during the day. Zane had even caught John Paul praying in the middle of the afternoon before milking the cows. Church seemed . . . redundant.
“We invited you here to learn our ways, but there are some things the Amish like to reserve for themselves. Church is at the top of that list.”
“I understand.” He couldn’t tell her that Jo didn’t pay him enough to get him into the church building. He didn’t want to offend her, or even worse, have her kick the heretic out of the house. So he just nodded.
“Today’s service is at the bishop’s haus. Afterwards, we’ll eat and have fellowship, but we’ll be home in time to milk the cows.”
“Did you say the bishop’s house?”
“Jah.” She laughed a little, and Zane liked the sound. She needed to laugh more, though her eyes looked tired and worn. “We have church in the homes of our members. Week after next it will be our turn. Lots of work will have to be done to ‘redd-up’ the house for worship.”
Zane made a mental promise to help in any way he could. Not because he cared about the Amish means of worship, but he did care about the well-being of the woman seated across from him. “Where’s the service next week?”
“Next week isn’t a church Sunday for our district. We’ll be travelin’ to Bishop Stoltzfus’s service to worship with them.”
“So you have church every other Sunday.”
“Sort of. We have church on every one of the Lord’s Days. One Sunday in our district and the next we go a-vistin’. After each service we eat and talk. Then that evenin’ the host family holds a singin’ for the teenagers.”