Patricia Davids - Plain Admirer

The better question might have been: What was right? He had the answer to that one: not much in his life at the moment. The gnawing pain he endured from his injury was constant proof of that.

Otis indicated a chair. “Have a seat.”

Roman did so, holding his injured arm against his chest, more from habit than a need to protect it. “I’ve often wondered what it is that you do here.”

He glanced around the room filled with filing cabinets, books and stacks of papers. The smell of solvents and ink gave the air a harsh, sharp quality that stung his nostrils. Roman preferred the clean scent of fresh-cut wood.

His uncle was the owner of a small publishing business whose target audience was Old Order Plain People, Amish, Mennonites and Hutterites. A small bookstore next door housed a number of books he published as well as a small library. Although Roman occasionally read the magazine his uncle put out each month, he’d only visited the office and bookstore a few times. He wasn’t a reader.

“How’s the arm?” Otis asked.

“It’s getting better.” Much too slowly for Roman’s liking.

“Are you in pain?”

“Some.” He didn’t elaborate. It was his burden to bear.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here. Your parents came to see me last Sunday,” Otis said, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“Did they?” This was the first Roman had heard of it.

“Your father asked me for a business loan. Of course, I was happy to help. I know things have been difficult for all of you.”

Roman’s medical bills had already cost his family nearly all their savings. His inability to do his job in the sawmill was cutting their productivity, making his father and his brother work even harder. If his father had come to Otis for a loan, things must be dire.

“You have my gratitude and my thanks. We will repay you as soon as we can.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that. Before they left, your mother spoke privately with me. My sister is very dear to me, but I will admit to being surprised when she asked if I would offer you a job here at my office.”

The muscles in Roman’s jaw clenched. “I work at my father’s side in the sawmill. I don’t need a job. I have one,” he said.

Sympathy flashed in his uncle’s eyes. “You have one that you can’t continue.”

“My arm is better. I’m making progress.” He concentrated on his fingers protruding from the sling. He was able to move his index and middle finger ever so slightly.

He could tell from the look on his uncle’s face that he wasn’t impressed. If only he knew how much effort it took to move any part of his hand.

“I give thanks to God for His mercy and pray for your recovery daily,” Otis said. “As do your parents, but your father needs a man with two strong arms to work in the mill if he is to earn a profit and meet his obligations.”

“He hasn’t said this to me.”

“I don’t imagine he would. I’m asking you to consider what is best for your family. I have work, worthy work, for you to do that requires a good mind but not two strong arms. Besides, your mother will rest easier knowing you aren’t trying to do too much.”

A sick sensation settled in Roman’s stomach. “She told you about the incident last week?”

“Ja.”

“It was a freak accident. My sling got snagged on a log going into the saw. The strap broke and freed me.” He tried to make it sound less dire than it had been. He would relive the memory of those horrible, helpless moments in his nightmares for a long time. His confidence in his ability to do the job he’d always considered his birthright had suffered a harsh blow.

“I understand you were jerked off your feet and dragged toward the saw,” Otis said.

“I was never in danger of being pulled into the blade.” He was sure he could have freed himself.

Maybe.

“That’s not how your mother saw it.”

No, it wasn’t. Roman’s humiliation had been made all the worse by his mother’s fright. She had come into the mill to deliver his lunch and witnessed the entire thing. Her screams had alerted his father and younger brother, but no one had been close enough to help. God had answered her frantic plea and freed him in time.

“I’m sorry Mamm was frightened, but sawmill work is all I know. I don’t see how I can be of use to you in this business,” Roman said.

“I fully expect you to give me a fair day’s work for your wage. Joann Yoder will teach you all you need to know about being a manager and an editor.”

Roman barely heard his uncle’s words. He stared at his useless arm resting in the sling. It was dead weight around his neck. He didn’t want to be dead weight around his family’s neck. Could he accept the humiliation of being unable to do a man’s job? He wasn’t sure. All his life he’d been certain of his future. Now, he had no idea what God wanted from him.

“Say you will at least think about it, nephew. Who knows, you may find the work suits you. It would please me to think my sister’s son might carry on the business my brother and I built after I’m gone.”

Roman glanced at his uncle’s hopeful face. He and his wife were childless, and his recently deceased older brother had never married, but Roman had no intention of giving up his eventual ownership of the sawmill. If he did accept his uncle’s offer, it would only be a temporary job. “Who did you say would train me?”

“The woman you saw leaving just as you came in.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Is she someone I know?”

“Joann Yoder. The sister of Hebron, Ezekiel and William Yoder. I’m sure you know her.”

Roman’s eyebrows shot up. “The bookworm?”

Otis laughed. “I had no idea that was her nickname, but it fits.”

“It was something we used to call her when we were kids in school.” She was a plain, shy woman who always stayed in the background.

“Joann can teach you what you need to know about this work.”

Roman clamped his lips shut and stared down at his paralyzed arm. He had trouble dressing himself. He couldn’t tie his own shoes without help. He couldn’t do a man’s job, a job that he’d done since he was ten years old. Now, he was going to have a woman telling him how to do this job, if he took it. How much more humiliation would God ask him to bear?

He looked at his uncle. “Why can’t you show me how the business is run?”

“I’ll be around to answer your questions, but Joann knows the day-to-day running of the business almost as well as I do.”

So, he would be stuck with Joann Yoder as a mentor if he accepted. Was she still the quiet, studious loner who chose books over games and sports?

Otis hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and rocked back on his heels. “What do you say, Roman? Will you come work for me?”

Chapter Two

Joann trudged along the quiet, tree-lined streets of Hope Springs with her head down and her carefully laid plans in shambles. Early May sunshine streamed through the branches overhead, making lace patterns on the sidewalk that danced as the wind stirred the leaves. The smell of freshly mowed grass and lilacs scented the late afternoon air.

At any other time, she would have delighted in the glorious weather, the cool breeze and the fragrant flowers blooming in profusion beside the neatly tended houses of the village. At the moment, all she could see was more years of shuffling from one house to another stretching in front of her.

If only I hadn’t dared dream that I could change my life.

A small brown-and-white dog raced past her, yipping furiously. His quarry, a yellow tabby, had crossed the street just ahead of him. The cat shot up the nearest tree. From the safety of a thick branch, it growled at the dog barking and leaping below. The mutt circled the tree several times and then sat down to keep an eye on his intended victim.