Growing Up Amish - Ira Wagler [56]
So the job of tilling the home farm fell to me, and I unwillingly took up the yoke. I had turned twenty-one on my last birthday, which is the coming-of-age year for most Amish youth. After twenty-one, the money you earn is your own. I had planned on working construction with a local carpenter crew, but now those plans were dashed. And besides, one other thing bothered me.
I had left home three times as a teenager. Had been gone for well over a year and a half, thereby depriving Dad of the labor that was rightfully his. So I offered to work for an extra year at home for no pay. No one suggested that I should. I just offered on my own. That seemed like the least I could do, the right thing, the manly thing, what with all the other stuff Dad had going on right then. Dad was surprised, befuddled even, but he accepted my offer with the understanding that during slow times on the farm, I would still do some construction work and pocket that pay myself.
And that’s what I did. Labored an extra year on the farm at home for free. And to be honest, things about the farm rapidly deteriorated that year. I detested farming and everything associated with it—horses, cows, plowing, planting, milking, and all the attention to detail that is required for a successful operation. Still, I struggled on, trapped by circumstances beyond my control. Trapped as a member of the Old Order Amish church. Just trapped in general. Maybe God was punishing me for my wild and wicked past.
Meanwhile, my social life in the Bloomfield community continued. Marvin and I continued to hang out. Our close friendship had endured. We had journeyed together now for years. To distant lands and back again. And we had stuck together through it all. Not that we talked about it much. But we were quietly comfortable around each other, as old friends are.
One Sunday evening at the singing, Marvin and I loafed around, talking about nothing important, just inane chatter. Suddenly he turned somber and gulped a few times.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked, his voice flat and serious.
“Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”
He paused. Then, “Would you ask your sister Rhoda if she would have a date with me?”
I wasn’t too surprised. Over the years, Marvin and I had hung out in each other’s homes countless times. We were practically members of each other’s families. I was instantly and instinctively pleased. He would make a fine brother-in-law.
“Sure,” I answered. “I’ll ask her this week. You want to bring her home next Sunday?”
He nodded nervously. And we switched back to normal settings. To be truthful, I didn’t know how Rhoda would react. She was now a beautiful girl of eighteen. The hounds bayed close and distant. Undeterred, she had already sent more than one would-be suitor packing.
The following week, I asked her if she would date my friend. I was about as nervous as Marvin had been when he asked me to ask her for him. This could be a touchy thing. Amazingly, or maybe not, Rhoda didn’t seem too surprised. After only a moment of reflection, she agreed. The following Sunday night after the singing, Marvin proudly escorted her home in his new top buggy. My best friend and my little sister.
Within months, they were going steady. I watched them with a tinge of sorrow. As their relationship grew, my friendship with Marvin took a backseat. It was still as strong as ever, but now my friend had more important things on his mind, things that demanded his immediate attention. Now both of my best friends, Marvin and Rudy, were dating. Maybe it was time for me to make a move as well. Start dating. Settle down for good.
I already knew exactly which girl I would ask.
22
Nathan was the silent son. The youngest child, he never really connected with the rest of us, except on a surface level. Even when Nathan was a little boy, my father, perhaps exhausted from life’s heavy and incessant demands, pretty much ignored him.
Whether or not he meant it that way, Dad didn’t seem to know or much care that Nathan even existed. No one noticed, at least not