Mrs. Glick jabbed a finger in Ella’s direction. “And Jed Hilty! Did the two of you decide together to do this?”
“We talked about it,” Gideon said, “but I don’t make another man’s decision.”
“I know Mrs. Mast didn’t want those boys to go on the bus. What are you going to say to her about keeping your boy home?”
“I do not imagine we will discuss it,” Gideon said. “The matter is between Mrs. Mast and her husband.”
“But the law!”
“There are new laws about education,” Gideon said, “but there are also laws about religious freedom. Isn’t that what brought our ancestors to America two hundred years ago?”
Mrs. Glick huffed and tied her bonnet in a firm knot before pivoting and stomping toward her home.
“Maybe she’s right,
Daed.
”
Tobias’s voice surprised Ella, and she riffled through her memories of the last few weeks for any sentence she’d heard him speak on the subject of school or a remark Gideon might have passed on about something his son had said. She came up with nothing.
“It’s all right,” Gideon said.
“But
Daed
…”
Gideon put an arm around his son’s shoulders, as Ella had seen him do countless times in the last few years.
“Are you saying you want to go to school?” Gideon asked.
Tobias hesitated. Ella could not tell whether he was considering disagreeing with his father or simply wanted Gideon to be safe.
“We’ll talk more at home,” Gideon said. “Why don’t you drive the buggy home? I’ll see you there. I feel like a walk.”
Tobias looked from Gideon to Ella before shuffling toward the horse and finding the reins. Ella watched him put the buggy into motion and drive past them before reaching for Gideon’s hand.
He squeezed her fingers. “It’s all right.”
“You keep saying that,” Ella said.
“It’s true.”
“But it’s risky.” Slowly they began to walk toward the Hilty farm. “You’re breaking the law.”
“So is your father.”
“I know.” Her voice caught. “I’m worried about both of you.”
“We are in God’s hands.”
“What if there are consequences?”
“The authorities are blustering,” Gideon said.
“How can you be certain?”
He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Perhaps I’m not. But why will they concern themselves with Amish young people? We pay our taxes, and they leave us alone. That’s the way it has always been. They are blustering for the sake of their own people, not for us.”
Ella pressed her lips together. Gideon made a good point. The Amish population in Geauga County was fairly significant, but no one had ever disturbed their way of life. They lived on their own farms, took care of each other, and asked little of the
English.
Why should the
English
care now?
But the deputy had been to see Gideon with the superintendent. Official correspondence reminding everyone of the laws had arrived in the mailboxes of all the Amish families.
“What if they press the issue?” Ella said. “What if you’re wrong and they do care?”
“Then I will be wrong about that,” Gideon said, “but I will not be wrong about our right to express our religious beliefs. Even the
English
laws protect that.”
“I’m nervous, Gideon.”
“I know.”
“I wish I could be as calm as you are.” Ella sighed. “I should get home. Rachel and
Daed
and David—I don’t know what to think.”
“Seth will be all right.”
“It’s David I’m worried about.”
At the sound of the bell, students who had attended Seabury Consolidated Grade School the previous year responded by jostling out of their social groups and into grade-level lines. Margaret’s job in this annual first-day ritual was to assist and redirect any students who seemed uncertain what to do. She ambled through the recess play area while students scrambled into formation and spoke quietly to children who looked confused about the procedure, pointing toward the lines they should join. These children were in three
“We talked about it,” Gideon said, “but I don’t make another man’s decision.”
“I know Mrs. Mast didn’t want those boys to go on the bus. What are you going to say to her about keeping your boy home?”
“I do not imagine we will discuss it,” Gideon said. “The matter is between Mrs. Mast and her husband.”
“But the law!”
“There are new laws about education,” Gideon said, “but there are also laws about religious freedom. Isn’t that what brought our ancestors to America two hundred years ago?”
Mrs. Glick huffed and tied her bonnet in a firm knot before pivoting and stomping toward her home.
“Maybe she’s right,
Daed.
”
Tobias’s voice surprised Ella, and she riffled through her memories of the last few weeks for any sentence she’d heard him speak on the subject of school or a remark Gideon might have passed on about something his son had said. She came up with nothing.
“It’s all right,” Gideon said.
“But
Daed
…”
Gideon put an arm around his son’s shoulders, as Ella had seen him do countless times in the last few years.
“Are you saying you want to go to school?” Gideon asked.
Tobias hesitated. Ella could not tell whether he was considering disagreeing with his father or simply wanted Gideon to be safe.
“We’ll talk more at home,” Gideon said. “Why don’t you drive the buggy home? I’ll see you there. I feel like a walk.”
Tobias looked from Gideon to Ella before shuffling toward the horse and finding the reins. Ella watched him put the buggy into motion and drive past them before reaching for Gideon’s hand.
He squeezed her fingers. “It’s all right.”
“You keep saying that,” Ella said.
“It’s true.”
“But it’s risky.” Slowly they began to walk toward the Hilty farm. “You’re breaking the law.”
“So is your father.”
“I know.” Her voice caught. “I’m worried about both of you.”
“We are in God’s hands.”
“What if there are consequences?”
“The authorities are blustering,” Gideon said.
“How can you be certain?”
He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Perhaps I’m not. But why will they concern themselves with Amish young people? We pay our taxes, and they leave us alone. That’s the way it has always been. They are blustering for the sake of their own people, not for us.”
Ella pressed her lips together. Gideon made a good point. The Amish population in Geauga County was fairly significant, but no one had ever disturbed their way of life. They lived on their own farms, took care of each other, and asked little of the
English.
Why should the
English
care now?
But the deputy had been to see Gideon with the superintendent. Official correspondence reminding everyone of the laws had arrived in the mailboxes of all the Amish families.
“What if they press the issue?” Ella said. “What if you’re wrong and they do care?”
“Then I will be wrong about that,” Gideon said, “but I will not be wrong about our right to express our religious beliefs. Even the
English
laws protect that.”
“I’m nervous, Gideon.”
“I know.”
“I wish I could be as calm as you are.” Ella sighed. “I should get home. Rachel and
Daed
and David—I don’t know what to think.”
“Seth will be all right.”
“It’s David I’m worried about.”
At the sound of the bell, students who had attended Seabury Consolidated Grade School the previous year responded by jostling out of their social groups and into grade-level lines. Margaret’s job in this annual first-day ritual was to assist and redirect any students who seemed uncertain what to do. She ambled through the recess play area while students scrambled into formation and spoke quietly to children who looked confused about the procedure, pointing toward the lines they should join. These children were in three
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