I want to share this part of my past with Tomasetti. I want him to stand in the shade of the maple tree while I tell him about the day Datt and I planted it. How proud I’d been when the buds came that first spring. I want to walk the fields with him and show him where the fallen log was that I took our old plow horse over when I was thirteen years old. I want to show him the pond where I caught my first bass. The same pond that saw Jacob and I duke it out over a hockey game. He might have been older and bigger, but he didn’t fight dirty; not when it came to me, anyway. I, on the other hand, was born with the killer instinct he lacked, and he was usually the one who walked away with a black eye or busted lip. He never ratted on me, but I’ll never forget the way he looked at me all those times when he lied to our parents to protect me and was then punished for it. And I never said a word.
Tomasetti parks in the gravel area behind the house and shuts down the engine. The buggy that belongs to my sister, Sarah, and my brother-in-law, William, is parked outside the barn. As I get out of the Tahoe, I see my sister-in-law, Irene, come through the back door with a bread basket in one hand, a plastic pitcher in the other.
She spots me and smiles. “Nau is awwer bsil zert, Katie Burkholder!” Now it’s about time!
I greet her in Pennsylvania Dutch. “Guder nammidaag.” Good afternoon.
“Mir hen Englischer bsuch ghadde!” she calls out. We have non-Amish visitors!
The screen door slams. I glance toward the house to see my sister, Sarah, coming down the porch steps juggling a platter of fried chicken and a heaping bowl of green beans. She wears a blue dress with an apron, a kapp with the ties hanging down her back, and nondescript black sneakers. “Hi, Katie!” she says with a little too much enthusiasm. “The men are inside. Sie scheie sich vun haddi arewat.” They shrink from hard work.
Irene sets the pitcher and basket on the picnic table, then spreads her hands at the small of her back and stretches. She’s wearing clothes much like my sister’s. A blue dress that’s slightly darker. Apron and kapp. A pair of battered sneakers. “Alle daag rumhersitze mach tem faul,” she says, referring to the men. Sitting all day makes one lazy.
“Sell is nix as baeffzes.” That’s nothing but trifling talk.
At the sound of my brother’s voice, I glance toward the house to see him and my brother-in-law, William, standing on the porch. Both men are wearing dark trousers with white shirts, suspenders and straw summer hats. Jacob’s beard reaches midway to his waist and is shot with more gray than brown. William’s beard is red and sparse. Both men’s eyes flick from me to Tomasetti and then back to me, as if waiting for some explanation for his presence. It doesn’t elude me that neither man offers to help with the food.
“Katie.” Jacob nods at me as he takes the steps from the porch. “Wie geth’s alleweil?” How goes it now?
“This is John Tomasetti,” I blurt to no one in particular.
Next to me, Tomasetti strides forward and extends his hand to my brother. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Jacob,” he says easily.
While the Amish excel at letting you know you are an outsider—which is usually done for some redemptive purpose, not cruelty—they can also be kind and welcoming and warm. I’m pleased to see all of those things in my brother’s eyes when he takes Tomasetti’s hand. “It’s good to meet you, too, John Tomasetti.”
“Kate’s told me a lot about you,” Tomasetti says.
William chuckles as he extends his hand. “Es waarken maulvoll gat.” There’s nothing good about that.
A giggle escapes Sarah. “Welcome, John. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I am.”
I make eye contact with Tomasetti. He winks, and some of the tension between my shoulder blades unravels.
Neither woman offers her hand for a shake. Instead they exchange nods when I make the introductions.
When the silence goes on for a beat too long, I turn my attention to my sister. “Can I help with something?”
“Setz der disch.” Set the table. Sarah glances at Tomasetti and motions toward the picnic table. “Sitz dich anna un bleib e weil.” Sit yourself there and stay awhile. “There’s lemonade, and I’m about to bring out some iced tea.”
Tomasetti strolls to the table and looks appreciatively at the banquet spread out before him. “You sure you trust me with all this food?”
Jacob chortles.
“There’s more than enough for everyone,” Irene says.
William pats his belly. “Even me?”
A gust of wind snaps the tablecloths, and Jacob glances toward the western horizon. “If we’re going to beat the storm, we’d best eat soon.”
Irene shivers at the sight of the lightning and dark clouds. “Wann der Hund dich off der buckle legt, gebt’s rene.” When the dog lies on his back, there will be rain.