Fields of Corn Read online

  Also by Sarah Price

  The Amish of Lancaster Series

  #1 Fields of Corn

  #2 Hills of Wheat

  #3 Pastures of Faith

  #4 Valley of Hope

  COMING SOON: Plain Fame

  The Adventures of a Family Dog Series

  #1 A Small Dog Named Peek-a-boo

  #2 Peek-a-boo Runs Away

  #3 Peek-a-boo’s New Friends

  #4 Peek-a-boo and WeeWee

  Other Books

  Gypsy in Black

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  Fields of Corn:

  The Amish of Lancaster Series

  By Sarah Price

  The Pennsylvania Dutch used in this manuscript is taken from the Pennsylvania Dutch Revised Dictionary (1991).

  Copyright © 2011, 2012 by Sarah Price.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Contact the author at [email protected] or visit her weblog at http://sarahpriceauthor.wordpress.com.

  Chapter One

  The horse, a brown Morgan with a thick black mane, trotted down Musser School Lane, effortlessly pulling the black, box-like buggy. The wheels of the buggy rattled against the macadam, creating a soft metallic humming. The horse jerked its head twice as though wishing the man in the buggy would release the reins, letting the horse race down the flat road. But, for the moment, the cracked leather reins remained taut and the horse, its mane dancing in the wind with each prance, continued its even pace. The horse's hooves pounded against the road in rhythm like the soothing ticking of a grandfather's clock in a quiet house on a Sunday afternoon.

  Inside the closed buggy, the driver pulled in the reins, allowing a passing car to speed by. But, even as the car continued down the road, the driver continued his tight hold, urging the horse to the side of the road. The horse reluctantly obeyed the command, gradually slowing down until, at the top of the hill, surrounded by grassy knolls of long, waving brown hay, the buggy stopped with a final, noisy jolt. The man held the reins in one hand and leaned forward, peering out of the small window to take in the majestic scene before him.

  The sun illuminated the farm, nestled comfortably in the crescent at the bottom of the hill, in a glorious glow of warmth. Along the hillside, neat and even rows of green corn rippled in harmony like a freshly washed sheet fluttering in a gentle breeze on washing day. The leaves brushed against each other, the music a rustling whisper of a song in the man's ears. Oblivious to nature's silent symphony, a scattered herd of cows grazed in the thinning grass around the muddy river that cut through their pasture.

  "Thank you, God," the man murmured softly. Although his prayer lingered in the air, as though unfinished, he continued to pray to his God, expressing his gratitude for the beauty of setting suns, the wealth of ripening corn, and the warmth of coming home.

  ***

  Shana raised her hand to shield her eyes from the midday sun. Her dark eyes traveled down the dusty driveway leading to the large, white farmhouse as she opened her car door and, hesitantly, swung her legs to the ground. A summer breeze, carrying the strong odor of manure, rustled her long brown hair as she got out of the car. For a second, she stretched her back, reaching up with one hand to rub the back of her neck as her dark eyes looked around.

  Field equipment, most of it aged and rusty, lay scattered around the outskirts of the driveway. From the pastures, a cow bellowed. The noise broke the silence that engulfed the farm. Two cats lounged in the shade of the large white barn, which desperately needed a fresh coat of paint. The smaller of the cats stretched in the sun before it stood up lazily and began to lick its paw. The other cat lifted its head, noticed the woman standing by the car, and, jumping to its feet, raced alongside the barn before disappearing through the open doorway into the shadows within.

  Shana scanned the hillside, the rustle among the cornfield captivating her eyes and ears. The sound, its crisp whistle of tranquility, faintly came and went as the breeze waved back and forth across the field. Leaning against the open car door, she shut her eyes and breathed in the pungent odor of manure. Wrinkling her nose, she kept her eyes shut and listened to the gentle lulling of the cows as they wandered in the fenced-in field between the barn and the corn.

  "Hello," a voice called from inside the barn.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Shana squinted and peered in the direction of the voice. A short man, a battered straw hat tilted forward on his head and a mustache-less beard covering his chin, emerged from the depths of the barn's darkness. His dirty brown pants, held up by loose suspenders, had a slight tear at the knee. He walked toward her, a friendly smile lighting up his golden brown face. "What can I do you for?"

  Drawn out of her momentary lapse, Shana glanced down at the piece of white paper in her hand. "Is this 317 Musser School Lane?"

  "317, ja." The man gave her another smile as he shifted his weight and jammed his hands into his pant's pockets. "You the Englischer looking for a place to stay, then?"

  Shana glanced around the farm again. She noticed a small boy wearing similar pants and a bright purple shirt peering at her from behind the open barn door. When he saw her staring back, he dashed back into the shadows. Redirecting her attention to the man, she returned his smile. "If you have a place to offer, I'd like to see it."

  The formalities over, he wasted no more time with idle chatter. "I'll get my daughter to show the room to you then." The man disappeared into the barn, leaving Shana standing by her car. As she stared after him, her eyes noticed another cat, this one striped and fat, as it scurried out of the barn and across part of the driveway. It leapt into the air as it reached the edge of the grass and tumbled onto its back. Shana smiled at she watched it playing.

  A moment later, a young girl, wearing a plain olive green dress with a long black apron covering the front, ran around the side of the barn toward Shana. She was barefoot and her feet were dirty. Her hair was parted in the middle, pulled back, and twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Yet, her expression was softened against the smoothness of her skin and the glow in her dark brown eyes. She held a single, rusty key in her hand. "You want to look at the room?" she asked, her voice hidden beneath her downcast eyes and thick German accent. The girl led Shana behind the barn and toward a smaller building. "It's a nice apartment. How long you want to stay?"

  Shana waited for the girl to unlock the door. Behind the building was a large cow pen. Beside that was another paddock. Both were empty. "A month or two." She stepped into the apartment and immediately held her breath. The air was stale, thick of manure. The young girl hurried over to the two windows and, pushing back the simple lace curtains, threw them open.

  A small metal table stood in the center of the room and a faded orange sofa sat against the far wall. The walls, painted a dark peach with sporadic red clusters of flowers, added to the emptiness emanating from the rest of the room. Along the walls were several hooks, each painted a clumsy imitation of the dark peach. A small gas stove and refrigerator stood next to the stained sink with two separate faucets, one for cold water and one for hot. A neatly handwritten sign hung over the sink: "No Alcoholic Beverages. No Indoor Smoking. No Pets. Thank you. Katie and Jonas."

  The girl walked quietly across the floor and opened a door. "Upstairs," she murmured, her eyes darting away from Shana's.

  Holding onto the railing, Shana followed the girl up the tall, narrow staircase, most of the wooden steps creaking under their feet. F
rom the landing, Shana noticed that there were two bedrooms. The one bedroom had carpet but both had the same dark peach painted walls. The bathroom was small and cramped but livable. While there were no closets, each bedroom had a large armoire. And, if each room had one thing in common, they were remarkably clean.

  "Who lived here before?" Shana asked as they descended down the staircase.

  "Another Amish family. Had so many children they were forced to move."

  Shana stood in the middle of the kitchen and, for a split second, while the girl's words sank in, she stared at her. Amish. That explained the plain decor and thick German accents, she thought. Then, when the girl looked back, Shana moved toward the windows, pushed back the curtains, and stared at the green land that stared back. The countryside was untainted by telephone poles or electric wires. The roads lacked racing automobiles or noisy motorcycles. On top of the hill, she could barely make out the outline of a stopped black buggy, so characteristic of the Amish. Letting the curtain fall back, her fingertips lingering on the light fabric before she turned around and followed the girl out of the house. They returned to the barn, Shana walking a pace behind the slender Amish girl. Neither spoke. Nearby, a dog barked until someone called out for it to quiet. Obediently, the dog's bark dwindled to a low whine until Shana no longer heard it.

  The man stood just inside the barn, shoveling manure out of the open cow stalls, the metal from the blade scraping systematically against the damp cement. He set the shovel against the wheelbarrow and wiped his hands on his pants when he heard them approaching. "Sylvia show you the house?"

  Shana nodded as she looked out the barn doors toward the road. "How far is Lancaster from here?"

  "Driving? Vell, let's see." He pondered her question for a moment, his thumbs hooked around the bottom of his suspenders, before answering slowly, "Guess fifteen miles or so. Depends on what part you looking to travel. How long you planning on staying?"

  "No more than two months," she answered as she met his gaze.

  "That long?"

  "Is that a problem?"

  The man leaned against the railing by the cow paddock. The tranquil cheerfulness of his expression struck Shana. "Most Englische come and go. You work in the area?"

  Shana glanced around the barn as she answered. "I work in a restaurant." She looked back at the man, who, curiously, seemed genuinely interested. "They just promoted me to a managerial position in the Lancaster branch for a couple months," she added softly.

  The man scratched his beard, as if contemplating what she had just told him before he said, "Ach vell, rate's usually fifteen dollars a night. But folks mostly come and go, staying for only a night here and there. Since you staying for so long, how's $250 a month?"

  "$250 a month?"

  The man held up his hand, as if stopping her from continuing. "If it's too expensive, let me know and we'll lower it."

  "That's just fine," she heard herself say. For a two bedroom house so close to Lancaster, she had expected the rent to be at least twice that. She found herself taking the key from Sylvia as Jonas returned to his work. No handshake, no papers to sign. Just a verbal "ok" after a quick character analysis.

  Shana smiled to herself as she left the barn. Tucking the house key in her back pocket, she opened the trunk to her car and began unloading her two large suitcases. Living on a farm after leaving the hustle and bustle of the noisy, polluted New York suburbs with their quick tempered people and congested roads would be a welcome, if not interesting, change, even if for only a couple months.

  During the course of the early afternoon, as she unpacked her few belongings, the rattle of a buggy driving along the road whispered in through the open windows. The first time she heard it, Shana hurried to the nearest window and, pushing the curtains back, looked out, too late to catch anything more than a glimpse of the black boxed buggy and the majestic horse pulling it over the hill. The second time, having missed the buggy, she noticed a lone man walking behind a mule-operated machine in the fields.

  The machine moved across the field of corn, a narrow path dropping behind as the corn stalks collapsed to the power of the plow. While she watched, the young man's straw hat, worn and tattered, blew off his head, revealing a tousled set of brunette curls, and fluttered to the ground. Quickly, the man pulled back on the mule's reins. When the mule stopped, the man walked over to pick up his hat. For a second, he held the hat in his hand, glancing over the field of waving corn. Then, his hesitation over, he slid the hat back onto his head, returned to the mule, slapped the reins to its back, and continued harvesting the corn.

  Shana spent the rest of the afternoon driving along the winding roads, acquainting herself with her new surroundings, more from relaxed boredom than from pure interest. The massive farms impressed her. Each was very similar: large white buildings with pastures of Holstein cows. Yet, at the same time, very individualistic. From the pretty flowers that surrounded the mailboxes and the dogs lounging on the front porches to the clotheslines flapping in the wind, most adorned with brightly colored clothing, all spoke of the different personalities living within each dwelling.

  In town, Shana parked her car along the main street. Horses pulling the black Amish buggies trudged along the streets amidst the hundreds of tourists, bending their necks to get a quick glance at the people inside. Shana fought her way across the street and into a small bookstore. She nosed through several books and, after much deliberation, she stood in line to purchase the latest edition of a book about Amish society.

  She wandered through the small town, pausing at an antique furniture restoration store to admire the tall, cherry oak armoire in the window. A loud car horn blasted behind her and, startled, she turned in time to see a battered, green pick-up speed past a buggy. The driver in the pick-up shook his clenched fist out the window and his passenger tossed a burning cigarette at the horse. Then, the truck was gone and the frightened horse, quickly steadied under the calm hand of its driver, continued patiently down the road.

  Her last stop before returning to the Lapp's farm was the local grocery store. Although she would spend most of her time in the restaurant, she knew she'd want a small supply of food in the house for her days off. The store reminded her of an old general store. Everything from hats and shoes to flour and sugar lined the aisles. In the back, dried herbs hung over the glass cases filled with fresh smoked Pennsylvania Dutch ham and sausages. And, at the register, as she waited in line behind an older woman in a floral polyester dress, she noticed that the cashier greeted most of the people with a personal hello and a warm smile.

  When she returned to the farm, the cows stood noisily in the barn and in the outside paddock near her new home. Shana stood by her car, staring across the paddock at the luscious corn fields, rich and green in color. The air, while ripe from the manure, was not necessarily unpleasant. She shifted the grocery bag in her arms, glancing around at the now quiet barn. She could see a bright light burning in what she imagined was the kitchen window of the farm. But she saw no activity from within.

  Behind her small house in a shed-like barn, a muffled neigh caught her attention. Squinting, she could vaguely see several large mules eating out of the troughs. In the background, two mules nipped at each other and jumped in a semi-playful manner. Curious, Shana walked toward them. The closest mule lifted his massive head and stared at her, his rabbit-like ears twitching nervously. Shana smiled as she dared to reach out and scratch the mule's forehead. "You're a big fella, aren't you?" she murmured.

  "You like the animals then?" a low voice said from the shadows behind her.

  Startled, Shana whirled around, dropping the grocery bag. The carton of eggs fell out, spilling onto the dirt floor, several of them breaking. Shana knelt to examine the damage. The young man set his pitch fork aside and quickly bent down to assist in the assessment. Shana glanced at him and smiled. "Only three."

  He tilted back the straw hat perched atop his forehead as he met her gaze. "Sorry about frightening you like tha
t."

  They both stood, each quickly surveying the other. Shana wondered if the man before her, with thick curly brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, had been the same man she had watched briefly in the field. His face reminded her of a child, soft and innocent, although the twinkle in his eyes whispered otherwise. His voice, soft and even-toned, had a slight German accent, spoken in the same dialectical slang as Jonas Lapp. She knew at once that he was certainly Jonas' son.

  "I hadn't seen you standing there," she said apologetically. While he was short like Jonas, he still towered over her. She couldn't tell how old he was, possibly eighteen, maybe older.

  He plucked a piece of hay from a nearby hay bale and stuck it in his mouth. "You the Englischer that's moving in?"

  The Englischer, she repeated to herself. Then, with a smile, she replied, "My name's Shana." She held out her hand.