Part 3 (2/2)
”Well, lots of folk say it.”
He was silent for a moment, then added, ”I sure never heard my dad say anything like that.” He looked at her. ”Don't think I ever heard him pray, neither.”
His comment stopped her short. He talked only occasionally about his parents. Rose was wary, not wanting to mention something offhand when he looked so serious. ”Pardon my askin', but did your folks ever have a say about where you lived ... when ya came here?”
He reached for a dandy brush and began to groom a horse. ”I doubt it. My dad was long gone by then - left my mom and me when I was little. Might be why Mom drank so much.”
She'd a.s.sumed his birth parents had no Plain family roots. But she knew little about the private agency that had placed Nick with the bishop and had supervised him only minimally till Nick turned eighteen. The way she'd heard it, the bishop had gone clear over to Philly to handpick a boy who was considered most needy.
She wondered sometimes if Nick still thought of himself as an outsider amongst the People. He so rarely shared anything personal. At least not verbally. His eyes, well ... it was downright uncanny how he expressed his thoughts with a brooding gaze. As for her, there were plenty of occasions when she'd talked his ear off. Moments when she considered him a right good friend, or nearly like a cousin. Then, other times, he acted like the worst ever brother, ignoring her completely - or tormenting the daylights out of her.
”Do you ever hear from your mother?”
He drew a quick breath. ”Before I left, she said she'd come get me one day ... when she got herself sober.” Tugging on his gray s.h.i.+rt sleeve, he looked down at his scuffed-up work boots. ”Still waitin' for that.”
”Ach, Nick. Surely she'll come.” If she promised.
He brought up the family meeting last night, at the bishop's. ”I was there only a short time before I was asked to leave. Kinda like the meetin' last week,” he said more softly.
Rose listened, feeling sorry for him.
”As for my real dad, I doubt he even cares where I am.” Nick's voice sounded empty. ”From what Bishop tells me.”
Rose curled her toes inside her old black boots. How awful sad!
”Will you continue to stay on with the bishop's family, then?” she asked.
He fingered the dandy brush in his hand. ”Hard to know what to do, really.” He raised his head and looked her square in the face.
”Don't forget, they're your family, too.” She sighed and glanced in the direction of the farmhouse, remembering what Christian had blurted out to him yesterday. ”Actually, if ya think about it, all the People are.” She hoped and prayed Nick might sometime accept the bishop as his father.
”Time I make my own way,” he said flatly. ”My own choices, too.” Nick blew out his breath and looked away just that quick, like he'd told her too much.
”Well, Christian's a church member, though he still works at home - and sometimes over here, too,” she pointed out.
”He'll be getting his own place soon enough. Wait and see.”
”Get himself hitched, ya mean?”
”I doubt he's found his girl yet.” Nick paused, then handed her the stiff-bristled dandy brush to flick the dirt out of the horse's thick hair. ”Here,” he said, ”you'll be needin' this next.”
She stooped to put the rubber curry brush on the floor, away from the feeding trough. It was a mystery to her and everyone why Nick had stayed on at the bishop's after his eighteenth birthday. And since he hadn't yet become a church member, she wondered if he was thinking of returning to the English world from whence he'd come. There had been talk amongst some of the older folk that he was a bad seed. And there was Mamm's worry that his Plainness had been for the bishop's benefit all these years. Still, Nick hadn't caused any real trouble, as far as Rose knew.
She brushed the horse more vigorously now. If Christian hoped to keep working for his bishop father till he married, could Nick do the same? If so, he ought to start attending the Sunday Singings again, instead of riding horses with her. She'd only seen him once with a girl at the youth gatherings in the few times he'd gone.
I'm more sociable than he is, even being stuck at home with Mamm these months!
She considered Nick's willingness to share openly with her today. It made her sad to think his father had been so disinterested as to run off like that. Nick's solemn eyes and downturned mouth revealed that he'd never recovered.
Nick waved as he headed off to another part of the stable area, and she offered a smile.
”Goodness, I need to hurry 'n' finish up,” she whispered, suddenly remembering her mother, who would be awakening from her long afternoon nap about now.
There were times when she tucked Mamm in for a nap and slipped out to tend to the animals that she almost forgot her mother's plight ... and how it affected all of them.
Being the main caretaker had been more difficult than Rose antic.i.p.ated, and she'd chafed against the fear that she might miss out on getting married. The fact that Silas Good had bided his time gave her more than a single ray of hope.
Solomon and the bishop were in the woodworking shop, leaning over the workbench, talking about ordering a small load of horse manure for their vegetable gardens. The bishop suggested they go up to White Oak Road themselves and help to load it.
”How'd last night's family meeting go?” Sol asked.
Bishop Aaron shook his head. ”Not so gut.”
As familiar with Nick as he was, Sol didn't think one iota less of the bishop for voicing this.
”The whole situation really wore on me yesterday. So much so that I crept into Nick's room last night ... stood there in the dark at the foot of his bed,” Aaron said. ”A terrible temptation came over me - one I'd never experienced before.”
”Oh?”
”It was all I could do to keep from going over there, while he lay sound asleep, and cutting that scandalous ponytail off his head!”
Sol was downright startled. Bishop Aaron had always seemed to be a tolerant father. ”How'd ya keep from doin' it?” he asked.
”Gritted my teeth, that's what ... and turned away from the pull of righteous indignation.” The bishop's face was stern.
”What would cuttin' off Nick's long hair accomplish?”
The bishop nodded slowly and tugged on his suspenders. ”That's just what I asked myself in bed later. What gut would it do?”
Sol thought on that. ”You've always treated Nick as your own.”
Bishop looked at him askance. ”Well, how else would I treat a boy who's been with us all these years?” Then, with a thoughtful sigh, he added, ”Who the Lord handpicked to come here ... and who I'd always hoped to adopt.”
Solomon felt sorry he'd uttered a word.
Scuffing his feet on the woodshop floor, Aaron admitted it wasn't easy to live with such a defiant boy.
Pulling his pencil from behind his ear, Sol asked, ”You ever ask Nick to cut his hair, in accordance with the Ordnung?”
”Oh, more times than I can count.”
”Well, what's he say?”
”Nothin' ... just shrugs and keeps on working.”
”What if Barbara asked him?”
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