impossible; I can see that already. The only way any of this is going to work is if some of the Mennonites can act as watchmen, who—if they see anything amiss—can notify the Englischers to defend the land.
But if a Mennonite is aiding in the callous taking of another man’s life, even if he does not pull the trigger himself, does that mean he has still adhered to his nonresistant ideals? I think not. So that only leaves us with the option of taking in more Englischers —more refugees who are going to need housing and food, despite our not knowing how we are going to feed ourselves once our storehouse of canned goods and dried goods runs out. And how are we supposed to trust these outsiders around our families and our homes? We have no idea of their life history, and yet we are placing in their hands the means—albeit cheap hunting rifles—totake us over instead of offering us protection. Are we going to have to protect ourselves from the ones in the alliance who are supposed to protect us ?
I must not be the only one mulling over these questions. Neither side rejoices nor protests, but it’s obvious that both feel trapped by this arrangement that might change not only our future, but our daily lives. The children seem subdued as well, standing beside their schoolhouse yard, which for once cannot provide amusement. They quietly play with floral chains made from entwined red clover and tussocks of orchard grass, and do not bicker among themselves when Anna, my sister, takes Jane Stoner’s chain from her lap and drapes it over her own braided hair like a crown. My brother, Seth, turns and studies me with perturbed brown eyes, as if asking, Why aren’t you watching her? Adolescence has made him concerned with what other people think of him and of our family. So I am comforted that he’s been oblivious to the community’s opinion of us until now. We are the only orphaned home in Mt. Hebron, and we were the only broken home before our mamm died. Therefore, whatever attention we have garnered has been sympathy at best.
Acknowledging Seth with a nod, I move from beneath the pines and clasp the back of my sister’s elbow. She wrenches away and gasps, “No!”
The sound stuns the group from silence.
The Englischer Charlie says, “Let me get this straight:we’re supposed to protect the property, but you’re telling me that we can only walk around here like robot rent-a-cops while we got people with sawed-off shotguns wanting to kill us and take everything we got?”
He exchanges glances with the older man in the floppy hat—whose name I still don’t know—and Sean. I’m startled to recall that, just this morning, like so many other mornings, Jabil was cutting timber beneath the pavilion, and I was standing at the sink, spooning fruit from a jar of last year’s peaches, the juice running down my hand. And now here we are, compromising our ideals because our lives may be in danger.
I look over at Jabil and see the pigment has all but drained from his face, drawing attention to the small pink scar dividing the cleft of his chin. I am proud of him for maintaining his composure, even if I know it is a front. “Now, listen—” Rifling in his pocket, Jabil extracts the edict again and reads: “Though firearms may be used for intimidation and control of outsiders who wish us or our assets harm, Englischers will agree not to fire the weapons unless fired upon first.”
He holds the paper at the top and taps the crease with the fingers of his opposite hand. “All I’m saying, Charlie, is I don’t want innocent people, who are only trying to find help, killed because they happen upon your perimeter. There will simply be no firing unless fired upon.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”
The man in the floppy hat grunts in agreement with Charlie, flicking his cigarette to the ground. With his shoe, he scuffs the lit end in the dirt. I look over at the pilot, Moses, who is still sitting on the
But if a Mennonite is aiding in the callous taking of another man’s life, even if he does not pull the trigger himself, does that mean he has still adhered to his nonresistant ideals? I think not. So that only leaves us with the option of taking in more Englischers —more refugees who are going to need housing and food, despite our not knowing how we are going to feed ourselves once our storehouse of canned goods and dried goods runs out. And how are we supposed to trust these outsiders around our families and our homes? We have no idea of their life history, and yet we are placing in their hands the means—albeit cheap hunting rifles—totake us over instead of offering us protection. Are we going to have to protect ourselves from the ones in the alliance who are supposed to protect us ?
I must not be the only one mulling over these questions. Neither side rejoices nor protests, but it’s obvious that both feel trapped by this arrangement that might change not only our future, but our daily lives. The children seem subdued as well, standing beside their schoolhouse yard, which for once cannot provide amusement. They quietly play with floral chains made from entwined red clover and tussocks of orchard grass, and do not bicker among themselves when Anna, my sister, takes Jane Stoner’s chain from her lap and drapes it over her own braided hair like a crown. My brother, Seth, turns and studies me with perturbed brown eyes, as if asking, Why aren’t you watching her? Adolescence has made him concerned with what other people think of him and of our family. So I am comforted that he’s been oblivious to the community’s opinion of us until now. We are the only orphaned home in Mt. Hebron, and we were the only broken home before our mamm died. Therefore, whatever attention we have garnered has been sympathy at best.
Acknowledging Seth with a nod, I move from beneath the pines and clasp the back of my sister’s elbow. She wrenches away and gasps, “No!”
The sound stuns the group from silence.
The Englischer Charlie says, “Let me get this straight:we’re supposed to protect the property, but you’re telling me that we can only walk around here like robot rent-a-cops while we got people with sawed-off shotguns wanting to kill us and take everything we got?”
He exchanges glances with the older man in the floppy hat—whose name I still don’t know—and Sean. I’m startled to recall that, just this morning, like so many other mornings, Jabil was cutting timber beneath the pavilion, and I was standing at the sink, spooning fruit from a jar of last year’s peaches, the juice running down my hand. And now here we are, compromising our ideals because our lives may be in danger.
I look over at Jabil and see the pigment has all but drained from his face, drawing attention to the small pink scar dividing the cleft of his chin. I am proud of him for maintaining his composure, even if I know it is a front. “Now, listen—” Rifling in his pocket, Jabil extracts the edict again and reads: “Though firearms may be used for intimidation and control of outsiders who wish us or our assets harm, Englischers will agree not to fire the weapons unless fired upon first.”
He holds the paper at the top and taps the crease with the fingers of his opposite hand. “All I’m saying, Charlie, is I don’t want innocent people, who are only trying to find help, killed because they happen upon your perimeter. There will simply be no firing unless fired upon.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”
The man in the floppy hat grunts in agreement with Charlie, flicking his cigarette to the ground. With his shoe, he scuffs the lit end in the dirt. I look over at the pilot, Moses, who is still sitting on the
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