“You’ve got me all hot and bothered,” she said.
“Can you hold on to that feeling until I get back?”
“It’ll be hard,” Karin said.
“I promise you, it will be,” Jake replied with a bawdy grin.
Karin laughed out loud. “That was a statement, not a question. But go on, do what you must do. I’ll find something to watch on television while you are gone.”
Jake held up his cell phone. “I’ve got my phone,” he said. “I’ll call you when I can.”
“I’ll be fine,” Karin said. “Don’t worry about me.”
Leaving the motel, Jake drove east on Old Philadelphia Pike; then, crossing the railroad, he turned left on Beachdale Road. Just before he reached the farm of his parents, he saw a large gathering of buggies and wagons parked at the Yoder farm. At first he wondered what was going on; then he saw that they were building a barn.
Jake stopped his car, and walked over toward the barn. They had just finished assembling the frame for one end and several were in position to lift it up.
“Wir brauchen jemanden, hier heraufzukommen und eine Hand zu verleihen,” someone called from the bare eaves of the barn.
It was the language of Jake’s youth, a request that someone come up to lend a hand.
“Ich komme,” Jake answered, and he scurried up one of the ladders, then got into position. Half a dozen ropes were thrown to the men on top of the barn frame, and Jake grabbed one of them, and pulled with the others as the end frame was raised into position.
Soon the framework of the barn was all in place and now the only thing that remained was to fill in the siding and the roof. There were at least twenty men working, so the barn was erected with amazing speed. After all the siding and roofing was completed, everyone grabbed a paintbrush and bucket of paint and, within three hours after Jake arrived, the barn had been erected and painted, and all the scrap lumber around it picked up and thrown into the back of the wagons.
During the time the barn was being erected, the women were preparing a meal, and now one of the women began ringing a bell. It was still too cold to eat outside so everyone tromped into the house, where tables had been set up in the dining room, the living room, and in the big, central hall.
It had been more than fifteen years since Jake was last in this house, but it could have been yesterday. Every piece of furniture, every wall hanging, was exactly as it had been the last time Jake was here. He remembered that he had been here for the funeral of the elder Yoder.
Moses Yoder gave the blessing.
“ Unser himmlischer Vater, I ask that you bless these wonderful people today for their generous hearts, helping hands, and loving souls. And we thank you for the women who prepared the meal that will sustain us through this day of toil. Segnen Sie dieses Essen zu unserer Verwendung, und wir zu Ihrem Dienst. Amen.”
There had been very little conversation among the men during the work, except for that which was required to do the work. Nobody had called Jake by name, which meant they either didn’t recognize him, or were continuing the shunning. As Jake passed the mashed potatoes to the man on his left, he saw his father sitting across the table at the far end. He had seen his father earlier while they were working, and he was sure that his father had seen him, but his father had made no sign of recognition. Now his father was looking directly at him. Jake nodded at his father, but his father didn’t acknowledge the greeting.
After the meal, Moses Yoder stood at the front door and shook the hand of every man as he left, thanking each of them for helping him replace the barn that had been destroyed by fire.
“You have come from another order?” Yoder asked as Jake was leaving. “I thank you for your help.” Yoder did not recognize him.
“It is the way of the Christian,” Jake said, implying, though not saying, that he was from another order.
“Indeed it is, brother, indeed it is,” Yoder said, putting his other hand on top of Jake’s to add emphasis to his greeting.
When Jake stepped outside he saw his father standing under a tree, obviously waiting for him.
“Jacob,” Solomon Lantz said. “Have you returned to the Life?”
“I have not, Father,” Jake said. “Too many things have happened; I am too far removed to return to the Life now.”
“But you are wearing plain clothes, and you helped with the labor.”
“These are things you taught me, Father. I may have abandoned the Life, but I have not abandoned your teachings.”
“Das ist gut,” Solomon said.
“Father, I have been writing to Martha, and she has written me back,” Jake said, speaking of his sister. “Did she tell you that I wanted to come and visit?”
“Ja.”
“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. If you want me to leave, tell me, and I will go away now.”
“You come,” Solomon said. “Your mother will want to see you. And your sister too.”
Jake drove behind his father’s carriage, following him very slowly for the two miles that separated the Yoder farm from his ancestral home. This was where he was born and where he grew up. As a child, the big white house, the barn, and the workshop had seemed quite normal to him. Now he viewed them with the eyes of an outsider, and recognized, for the first time, how beautiful they really were.
He parked under a big oak tree and got out of the car, waiting until his father went into the barn to unhitch the horse from the closed buggy. Solomon walked quickly from the barn to the house; then, after a couple of moments, his father stepped back out onto the wide front porch.
“Come, Jacob. Your mother waits,” Solomon called.
As soon as Jake stepped in through the front door his mother greeted him with a great hug, pulling him as close to her as she could. Jake could smell cinnamon and flour during the embrace—aromas of his childhood—and it was almost as if he had never left.
“Jacob, Jacob, mein Lieblingskind, willkommene Heimat, willkommene Heimat,” she said, weeping with joy as she welcomed him home.
Looking up, Jake saw his sister, Martha, and when he finished his embrace with his mother, Martha came into his arms. There was a small boy standing in the doorway that led from the entry hall into the parlor.
“And who is this?” Jake asked.
Shyly, the boy stepped behind the wall, and peeked around the corner of the door.
“This is my son, Jacob,” Martha said.
“I did not know that you were married and had a child,” Jake said. “How wonderful for you.”
“Jacob, this is your Uncle Jacob,” Martha said.
“His name is just like mine,” young Jacob said.
Martha laughed. “That is because you are named after him.”
“Where is his father?” Jake asked. “I would like to meet him.”
Tears came to Martha’s eyes. “He took sick and died, last year,” she said.
“Oh, Martha, I am so sorry. Who was the father?”
“It was Emile Zook.”
“Emile!” Jake said. “Emile is dead?”
Emile had been Jake’s best friend as he was growing up.
“Yes.”
“But, Martha, in your letters to me you said nothing of this. You did not tell me you were married, you did not tell me that it was to Emile, or that Emile had died.”
“I did not want to trouble you with tales of your old life,” Martha said. “If you decided to come to see us, I wanted it to be because you wanted to, not because you felt that you should.”
Jake put his arms around Martha again, and pulled her to him. “I am sorry for your loss, my sister,” he said. “Emile was a very good man. I have missed him these many years, and I will miss him the more, now that I know he is gone.”