Castillo Linda - Outsider

As he led Big Jimmy from his stall, Adam Lengacher tried not to think about how much his life had changed in the last two years. Nothing had been the same since his wife, Leah, died. All of their lives had changed—and not for the better. It was as if the heart of the house had been sucked out and they were left grappling, trying to fill some infinite space with something that had never been theirs to begin with.

His Amish brethren had rallied in the days and weeks afterward, as they always did in times of tragedy. Some of the women still brought covered dishes and, in summer, vegetables from their gardens for him and the children. Bishop Troyer always made time to spend a few extra minutes with him after worship. Some of the older women had even begun their matchmaking shenanigans.

The thought made him shake his head—and smile. Life went on, he thought, as it should. The children had adjusted. Adam was comforted by the knowledge that when the time came, he would be with Leah again for all of eternity. Still, he missed her. He spent too much time thinking of her, too much time remembering, and wishing his children still had a mamm. He never talked about it, but he still hurt, too.

In the aisle, he lined up the old draft horse, lifted the shafts, and backed the animal up to the sleigh. He was in the process of buckling the leather straps when his son Samuel ran into the barn.

“Datt! I can help!”

Adam tried not to smile as he rose to his full height, walked around to the horse’s head, and fastened the throat latch. His oldest child was the picture of his mamm, with her exuberant personality and her gift of chatter.

“Did you finish eating your pancakes?” he asked.

“ Ja. ”

“You take all the eggs to the house?”

“The brown ones, too. Annie broke one.”

A whinny from the stall told them their other draft horse, a mare they’d named Jenny, was already missing her partner.

“We won’t keep him too long, Jenny!” Sammy called out to the horse.

“ Vo sinn die shveshtahs? ” Adam asked. Where are your sisters?

“Putting on their coats. Lizzie says her shoes are too tight.”

Adam nodded. What did he know about girls or their shoes? Nothing, he realized, a list that seemed to grow with every passing day. “Why don’t you lead Big Jimmy out of the barn?”

The boy squealed in delight as he took the leather line in his small hand and addressed the horse. “ Kumma autseid, ald boo. ” Come outside, old boy.

Adam watched boy and horse for a moment. Sammy was just eight years old and already trying hard to be a man. It was the one thing Adam could do, the one thing he was good at, teaching his son what it meant to be Amish, to live a humble life and submit to God. His two daughters—Lizzie, who was barely seven, and Annie, who was five—were another story altogether; Adam didn’t have a clue how to raise girls.

He had a lot to be thankful for. His children were healthy and happy; they kept his heart filled. The farm kept his hands busy and earned him a decent living. As Bishop Troyer had told him that first terrible week: The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Adam had just closed the barn door when his daughters ran down the sidewalk, their dresses swishing about their legs. They were bundled up with scarves and gloves, black winter bonnets covering their heads. This morning, they would surely need the afghan Leah had knitted to cover up with if they got cold.

“Samuel, help your sisters into the shlay, ” Adam said.

As the children boarded, Adam looked around, assessing the weather. It had snowed most of the night, and it was still falling at a good clip. The wind had formed an enormous drift on the south side of the barn. Not too bad yet, but he knew there was another round of snow coming. By tonight, the temperature was supposed to drop into the single digits. The wind was going to pick up, too. According to his neighbor, Mr. Yoder, there was a blizzard on the way.

When the children were loaded—the girls in the backseat and Sammy next to him—Adam climbed in and picked up the lines. “ Kumma druff! ” he said to the horse. Come on there!

Big Jimmy might be a tad overweight and a smidgen past his prime, but he loved the cold and snow and this morning he came to life. Raising his head and tail, the animal pranced through snow that reached nearly to his knees, and within minutes the sled zoomed along the fence line on the north side of the property.

“Look at Jimmy go!” cried Annie, motioning toward the horse.

The sight of the old gelding warmed Adam’s heart. “I think he’s showing off.”

“We’re going to have to give him extra oats when we get home!” declared Lizzie.

“If Jimmy eats any more oats, we’re going to have to pull him in the sleigh,” Adam told her.

At the sound of the children’s laughter and the jangle of the harness, the bracing air against his face, Adam felt some of the weight on his shoulders lift. He took the sleigh north through the cornfield, the tops of the cut stalks nearly obscured by a foot or so of snow. The trees and branches sparkled white. As they passed by the woods, he pointed out the ten-point buck standing at the edge of the field. He showed them the flock of geese huddled on the icy pond where the water had long since frozen over. The beauty of the Ohio countryside never ceased to boost his spirits, especially this morning with the falling snow and the sound of his children’s laughter in his ears.

On the north side of the property, he turned right at the fence line and headed east toward Painters Creek. It was too cold for them to stay out long. Everyone had dressed warmly, but the wind cut right through the layers. Already his fingers and face burned with cold. Now that they’d moved past the tree line, he noticed the dark clouds moving in from the northwest. He’d take the sleigh to the county road and then cut south and go back toward the house. Maybe have some hot chocolate before afternoon chores, feeding the cows and hogs.

They’d only traveled another hundred yards when Adam noticed the hump of a vehicle in the ditch. The paint glinting through the layer of snow. It was an unusual sight on this stretch of back road. There weren’t many farms out this way and almost all of his neighbors were Amish. As they neared the vehicle, he slowed the horse to a walk.

“What’s that?” came Annie’s voice from the back of the sleigh.

“Looks like an Englischer car,” said Sammy.

“Maybe they got stuck in the snow,” Lizzie suggested.

“Whoa.” Adam stopped the sleigh and looked around.

For a moment the only sounds came from the puff of Jimmy’s breaths, the caw of a crow in the woods to the east, and the clack of tree branches blowing in the wind.

“You think there’s someone inside, Datt?” asked Sammy.

“Only one way to find out.” Securing the lines, Adam climbed down from the sleigh and started toward the vehicle.

“ Ich will’s sana! ” Sammy started to climb down. I want to see it.

“Stay with your sisters,” Adam told his son.

From thirty feet away, he discerned that the vehicle was actually a pickup truck, covered with snow, nose-down in the ditch, the bumper against a big hedge-apple tree. The impact had buckled the hood, causing it to become unlatched. Evidently, the driver hadn’t been able to see due to the heavy snow last night and must have run off the road. From his vantage point, Adam couldn’t tell if there was anyone inside. He waded through deep snow in the ditch and made his way around to the driver’s side. Surprise rippled through him when he saw that the door stood open a few inches. Snow had blown onto the seat and floor. Bending, he looked inside.