Interrupted Journey

Spring 1993

It was beautiful land, thought Alan. The gently rolling hills, green with new spring growth, held an abundance of grazing cattle and sheep. He was happy to see all the horses about, sleek and obviously well cared for. He had even thought he might have seen something that looked llama-ish in that last flock of sheep, but, he shook his head, that made no sense. This was rural America as he had rarely seen it. Now he understood why Kelly had recommended this back roads drive instead of simply hopping a flight from NASA's Lewis Research Center in Cleveland to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base outside Dayton. He had sent most of his gear on ahead on the jump flight and had only packed an overnight kit in his nylon duffle, carefully remembering to include his toothbrush. He had placed it in the small back seat along with his leather flight jacket covered with patches from his various units, including the new Alphan sigil. The back roads drive across the state of Ohio would take about six hours, but it was turning into a relaxing adventure. He approached yet another hairpin curve he had to slow to navigate and fought briefly with the stick-shift. Driving on the right side of the road still felt unnatural and the car set-up backwards. He should have stuck with an automatic transmission, as dull as that was. Only the occasional flash of black as he crested the small hills seemed out of place. Could they really be horses and buggies, but so many and all the same color?

Alan had started out later than expected thanks to a long-winded American general, and now dusk was coming and dark clouds were gathering. He started to look about for a place to stay the night.  At least he was in no hurry; he wasn't expected at Wright-Pat for another day yet.  There didn't seem to be much in the way of hostels that he could see, so he just kept driving.  He was watching cows heading into their barns, undoubtedly to be milked, when, unexpectedly, a deer bolted onto the road right in front of the car; Alan slowed down, but not enough to avoid the two other deer that swiftly followed.  Alan's reflexes were fast, pilot fast, and in this case, too fast. The small roadster swerved hard and he was unable to correct in the time and space he had on the narrow road. The car ran off the shoulder, bumping hard over downed windfall and down a steep embankment, to stop abruptly in a dense thicket of raspberry bushes. The seatbelt snapped and Alan felt his right shoulder wrench and pop just before his head struck the windshield.  He passed out.

>>>Is he alive, Datt? <<<

>>>Yah, but unconsciousness.   Reuben, unharness Jumper and bring him here.  Eli, fetch the rope and we might be able to help the English. This auto is bitty, Jumper should be able to pull it out enough for us to get the door open. <<<

Alan's thinking was very fuzzy, but it sounded like German to him.  Damn, he hoped he hadn't hit that deer. He felt the car move and eventually back out. The pain in his shoulder and head were too much and he faded out again.  After an unknown while, he again heard the voices, much closer now, but indistinct over the rain pounding on the car roof.  The door opened and a darker shadow blocked what little light there was.

>>>He's alive.  Reuben, get Jumper harnessed.  It’s pouring too hard to go to the Johnson’s.  We'll take the English back home. <<<

Alan knew that wasn't right. He couldn't understand much, but he knew he wasn't English. He felt strong, calloused hands pull him out of the car and help pull him up the hill. It was so dark he could barely make anything out. He was assisted inside another vehicle that creaked and rocked. His addled imagination told him it was a horse drawn buggy.  Smaller, child-sized hands steadied him as the buggy jerked forward accompanied by the clopping of a swiftly trotting horse. After a brief while, he was finally able see, somewhat, in the darkness but could not understand what it was he saw. He seemed to be surrounded by another era. The bearded man and three young boys were dressed in blacks and browns and wore dark straw hats. The little girl watching him closely wore a long deep-purple dress and a white bonnet which tied under her chin.

>>>Datt, the English is awake. <<<

Alan had to set that straight. "Thanks for your help, miss, but I'm Australian, not English. Other side of the world." The little girl looked startled to hear his voice and covered her face with her hands.

>>>It’s alright, Mary. <<< The man switched to English only lightly touched with a German accent. “My apologies. English is the word we use to describe all outsiders. Those who are not Plain.”

Alan could almost hear the capitalization. "Plain?"

"Amish, or Mennonite. Come, we are home. Let us go inside where my wife can tend to you."

The buggy came to a stop and strong hands again helped him out of the buggy and guided him through the thickening rain.  The two story farmhouse was a dark shadow ahead of him with firelight flickering in several of the first story windows. 

The little girl ran ahead, hopping over the puddles, and calling, >>> Mamm, come quick.  There is a hurt English. <<<

Alan winced.  He was not going to be able to get used to that.  The front door opened and the little girl darted inside.  A thin woman a little older than Alan, perhaps about thirty, walked out onto the covered porch carrying a hurricane lamp.  Her long dress was dark and covered with a long white apron.  She wore her hair up in a bun.

>>> Abner? <<<

>>> He is hurt, Annie.  We'll send Reuben to the Johnson’s in the morning to call for his people.  It’s much too wet to make it safely across the stream in the dark. <<<

The woman paused a moment to consider this stranger on her porch, and then stepped back to hold the door open. "Come in, come in.  How are you hurt, Mr..."  Annie asked, her English sounding completely American.

'Carter, Alan Carter. Nothing much, really." There was a frank look of surprise at his accent and then the woman looked dubiously at him, seeing the darkening bruise on forehead and the awkward way he held his right arm.

"No, I do not believe that is true, Mr. Carter. Come in and sit in the kitchen.  It's warmer." She whispered something in that near-German to the children that sent the two boys and one girl up the stars in a soft shuffle. The eldest lad must be tending to the horse, thought Alan.

In the woman’s lamplight, Alan could finally see his rescuer more clearly.  The weathered man appeared in his mid-thirties and wore a long, bushy beard but no mustache.  Odd.  Following the man’s lead to stamp the mud off his shoes at the door, Alan followed inside.  It was like stepping back in time, he thought, back to pioneer days.  Through the flickering shadows, he could see a large spinning wheel in the corner next to a tall wooden pie-safe.  The large, brick fireplace held banked glowing embers. Round braided rugs were underfoot.  In the kitchen, he had to step around a butter churn to reach the indicated seat.  The man removed his hat and placed it on a crowded hatstand and then moved to stand in a corner in the background.  The woman lit a second oil lamp and turned up the wick for more light. 

“Now then, let me take a look.”  Gentle hands cleaned his forehead and pressed on his scalp.  It hurt, but not much.  She then probed the shoulder gently through the cotton shirt and Alan inhaled sharply.  Damn, that hurt!  The woman continued gently, but quite thoroughly and competently.  “Dislocated, I think.  He needs the hospital, Abner.”

>>> No way to get there tonight safely.  He’s not dying I think. <<<

“No, but I bet that hurts,” she said with a small smile for Alan.

It was awkward following only half a conversation, but Alan got the gist.  “I’ll be alright.”  But a bolt of pain just then caused him to wince.  Annie saw the quickly smothered grimace.

“Mr. Carter, I’m fairly certain it is just dislocated.  If you are willing, Abner could try and fix it for you.  It’s a common enough injury.”

Despite his bravado, the pain was severe enough that Alan was willing. “Yeah, let’s try,” he agreed with a decisive nod and then grimaced from the headache.  Annie showed him to a small guest bedroom and had him lay down on a bed covered by a geometric-patterned quilt done in rich, dark colors.  Abner knew what to do.  He placed his knee in Alan’s armpit, and without waiting for Alan to tense up, quickly and forcibly rotated the arm until he felt and heard the shoulder snap back into place. 

Alan immediately felt relief from most of the pain.  He sat up on the edge of the bed, rotating his shoulder freely.  He nodded to his host, “thanks much.”

Abner nodded curtly and turned to step back out of the room, pausing to allow Annie to precede him. 

“If I can use your telephone, I’ll call for someone to come get me and the car.”

Abner briefly turned back. “The nearest telephone is on the next farm, about five miles away.”

“But you are welcome to spend the night and we will help you in the morning.”  Annie added graciously.  “You can stay in here.  I’ll send Reuben with dry clothes and to show you the necessary.”  And with that, his most unusual hosts walked out, quietly closing the door behind them.

Alan had absolutely no idea what to make of his situation.  He was fairly certain he was still in Ohio, but other than that, he was befuddled, and not just because of his headache.  One thing was apparent; he was not going anywhere tonight unless he was willing to walk in the pitch dark, in the rain, without any map, compass or other survival gear.  He supposed he could do it if he had to, or if the war were still going on, but he felt no threat from these odd people.  Smiling to himself, he knew that his scanty knowledge of the American Midwest did not include any bands of Australian-eating cannibals, so he might as well get some rest here.  It solved the problem of finding a hostel.  He took off his shoes, pulled down the quilt, and lay back on the bed.

He awoke to the gentle tapping on the door. 

“Mr. Carter?”

“Yeah, come in.”

“Mamm sends these clothes and a sandwich.  Would you need to go to the necessary first?”  The young, twelve-year-old appearing boy seemed intent on fulfilling each of the orders he had been given.  Alan had to guess, but he believed he could deduce the meaning of ‘the necessary.’

Following his trip to the primitive bathroom at the back of the house, he changed into heavy, rough farm clothes that were warm and dry.  Except for the absence of a zipper, it made him feel, just a little, as if he were back on his family’s cattle station.  The sandwich was hearty with delicious homemade bread, and what he was willing to bet was home-cured ham.  Things were definitely looking up.  As he ate the molasses cookies, he studied the young boy who had been studying him.  The lad sat patiently on the ladder-back chair, hands folded quietly on his lap, his brown hair in an old-style ‘bowl’ haircut.  He wore rough, dark-brown work pants held up by suspenders over a white, long-sleeved shirt that was buttoned right up to the neck.  The two of them were quite the culture clash, to be certain.

“Do you mind if I ask some questions?”  The young boy, probably Reuben if he recalled correctly, shook his head.  “What’s your name?”  That seemed non-threatening enough. 

“Reuben Yoder, Mr. Carter.”

That was a start.  “Hello, Reuben,”  and Alan held out a friendly hand to shake the boy’s.  Reuben, looking greatly daring, shook Alan’s hand.  “Where am I?”

“Our farm.”

Not too helpful.  “Is there a city nearby?”

“Millersburg is close.  We go there to buy what we can’t grow or make.”

That was the name of a large town on his map, not too far from where he last remembered being before that dratted deer derailed his trip. As he sat and forced his aching head to think through the logistics of getting back to where he was supposed to be, Reuben had a question of his own.

“Why do you talk so funny?”

Alan had to smile.  Trust a child to ask the obvious question first.  “I’m from Australia.  Ever hear of it?”

The boy shook his head no.

“It’s far away, almost the other side of the world from here.”

The boy nodded his head politely, not seeming too convinced.

“Do you have a map of the world?  I’ll show you.”

Reuben got up and walked out, careful to close the door behind him, but returned quickly carrying a small stack of schoolbooks.  Alan looked through the stack of very rudimentary texts, none more sophisticated than primary school, and opened one that had a world map.  “Reuben, point to where we are.”  The boy correctly located northeast Ohio.  “Well, I’m from here,” and Alan pointed to the Eastern Seaboard in New South Wales.  The boy’s eyes grew wide when he comprehended the distance.

“My turn.  Why do you dress the way you do?”

“We’re Amish.”

That was singularly unhelpful, thought Alan.  He recalled Abner Yoder saying something about English meaning anyone who wasn’t Amish.  There was probably some interesting history there. “Is that why there’s no electricity or telephones?.... or zippers?” he added as an afterthought.

“Yah,” nodded the little boy, slipping back into a stronger German accent. “We live plainly.  Too much modern takes away from family.” And with that, Reuben stood and picked up the sandwich plate and left. 

Alan blinked in surprise.  That was an unusual world view.  His fatigue finally caught up with him, and he stifled a yawn.  With a full stomach and an empty bladder, he laid back down on the bed.  His right shoulder still ached a little, as did his head, but not enough to keep him awake. Might as well get some rest.

Alan awoke with a jolt.  He tried to understand what had happened to awaken him.  It was pitch black.  He wasn’t in any barracks he recognized; the place smelled too clean and the bedding too comfortable. He wasn’t on Alpha either; the air tasted too good.  Ah, yes, it fell into place.  He was on the Amish farm in Ohio.  He reached to turn on a lamp and found only a candle and matchsticks.  Lighting the candle, he walked to the door and looked out.  He could see that the unlatched kitchen screendoor was banging open and shut.  From behind, a small child suddenly ran into him, obviously not expecting a guest to be standing still in the middle of the hallway.  It was the little girl, Mary.  Alan automatically reached out to steady the six-year-old. “What’s wrong?” he asked alarmed, seeing the tears on the little girl’s face.

“Sally’s in a bad way.  She might die!”  And the girl darted around Alan and out the open door.

Alan returned to his room and quickly put on his shoes, and when he couldn’t immediately find his flight jacket, turned to follow the little girl.  The only light outside was provided by the nearly full moon.  Out of habit, Alan looked up to site the crater that Alpha called home.  A horse’s scream abruptly jerked his attention back to the nearby barn.   There were lights flickering in the open doorway as well as the sounds of agitated livestock.  Alan headed that way, joined by a black and white sheepdog that kept careful watch on his progress.

Inside the large, well-maintained wooden barn, he found the little girl sitting on the ground in a large loose box bent over the head of a gigantic draft horse, gently stroking its cheek, her long brown braids also seeming to caress the animal’s face. The horse was lying prone on the straw covered ground.  It was the largest horse Alan had even seen, and he had seen quite a few on his family’s cattle station in New South Wales.  He could tell that the mare was in trouble.  She was hugely pregnant, but her belly looked very strange to him.  Just then, the mare suffered through an agonizing contraction, only to end up even more exhausted and defeated appearing than before.  “Is the foal in the wrong position?” he asked no one in particular.

“Yah, I believe so,” grunted Abner.  He moved to stand along side the mare and attempted to manually reposition the foal by pushing on the mare’s abdomen.  Alan had seen this sort of thing before, and usually a vet would reposition the foal from the inside by reaching into the uterus.  If things didn’t happen soon, they would lose the mare.  Alan feared the foal could already be dead.  It often was in situations like this.   “Any chance of getting a vet?”  He wasn’t sure if these people would use a vet even if there was one available. 

Abner shook his head.  “It’s too dark and wet to risk a trip over to the Johnson’s to call.”

Alright then, it was back to Abner’s way.  Alan had seen that work too, but he had never actually helped before.  “What can I do?”

Abner looked up surprised.  He hadn’t expected the soft-handed English to actually offer to help.  He gestured to the mare’s other side and showed Alan where to place his hands.  After the mare’s next contraction, the men pushed and pulled to turn the sideways laying foal to a more proper position.  The men worked in tandem around the next few contractions, the mare’s screams grating horribly on Alan’s nerves, but, finally, the little body seemed to slip into a normal position. As if surprised, Sally lifted her head to look at her middle.   With the next contraction, the mare grunted and gave a concerted push, and tiny hooves finally appeared.  Abner grabbed the slippery little legs firmly and helped pull as the mare pushed with each contraction.  After an interminable ten minutes, a small, wet foal was laying on the hay.  Alan was amazed and relieved to see it was actually breathing.   Mary grabbed a handful of hay and started to rub down the little animal, a smile now shining through her tears.

The huge mare surged to her feet, and with amazing gentleness and restraint, carefully placed her massive feet as she walked over to snuffle at the new arrival.  Mary wrapped her little arms around Sally’s head and gave her a tight hug.  The mare nudged the girl and lifted her briefly off the ground.  Mary laughed with happiness.  Abner reached over to lift the girl out of Sally’s way. The Yoder’s and their guest then leaned against the stall door to witness a small miracle special to all farm folk, as the little colt followed its pre-ordained struggle to stand and, eventually, nurse.   The rapid flickering of the little bottle-brush tail signaled success at last, and the tired watchers, one and all, smiled.  As the sun rose in a clear blue sky over the wet fields, the small, brown colt nursed from his contented mum. 

Alan was lost in memories of home.  For all that the land looked different, the scents and sounds of the barn were right.  He looked down when he felt a small warm hand shyly take hold of his.  “Thank you,” said Mary, happy tears shining in her eyes.

After helping Abner for several hours with morning chores, they all sat down to a plentiful, hot breakfast.  Alan was bursting with questions, but felt constrained by the silence of the meal.  It was delicious, though.  

“Reuben, Eli, go ready Jumper and the buggy.  We will all go to town,” Abner said as he pushed back his chair and then walked over to fetch his straw hat.   The children looked surprised, first at their father and then turning to the mother as if in confirmation.  Annie nodded.   Before following his sons out the door, Abner called in the black and white sheepdog and gave it an order in German that Alan couldn’t follow.  The dog padded into the kitchen giving Alan a mistrustful eye. 

There was soft clattering in the kitchen as dishes were cleaned and put away.  Not knowing was else to do, Alan picked up his dishes and followed Mary into the kitchen.   Annie’s serene expression was lost as she saw her guest help with clean-up.  “Here, Mr. Carter, I’ll take that.”

“It’s alright, Mrs. Yoder.  I ate, I’ll help clean-up.  It’s the least I can do.”   By the third load, Alan realized that he was making Annie very flustered.   This was a very traditional society, he thought.  He allowed Annie to serve him coffee and sat quietly at the kitchen table, the suspicious sheepdog watching every move he made.  Annie relaxed and directed Mary on what was needed to be done prior to their unexpected trip to town. 

Annie jumped as Alan cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry,” Alan apologized.  He usually didn’t have this effect on people.  “I take you don’t get many visitors.”  Alan sipped his coffee and carefully did not make eye contact.  That might make him less threatening.

“Not very many English, that is true.”

Alan sighed.  His extremely patriotic father would have vehemently protested that description.  “I’ve never heard of any Amish in Australia.”

“No, I imagine not.  We are tied to our land and our families.  A few families have immigrated to South America in search of land over the years, but most have stayed in North America.  We do not look to the outside, much.  We have what we need and we know what is expected of us.  Curiosity about modern life does no one any good.   Come, I see the buggy out front.  It is time to go.”  Annie took Alan’s coffee cup with a smile to let him know that she meant no harm by her words.

But that, concluded Alan, was probably why no one had asked him any personal questions, at all.

Back in his now dry jeans and short-sleeved colorful cotton shirt, Alan was again boarding a black buggy for a trip to places unknown.  It took about an hour to travel the seven miles to Millersburg.  Sitting in the back of the buggy, surrounded by children on each side, Alan completely enjoyed the company and the pace. All four Yoder children chattered at him in a mixture of German and English.  He only understood a fraction of what they were saying, but even so, he learned much about the Amish way of life. 

They finally reached the dry goods store that catered to the Amish community.  Alan used a pay phone to call back to Cleveland to report events of the past day and to request aid.  He was assured that ‘rescue’ would arrive within three hours.  Duty done, he and the children spent a wonderful time exploring the store, which itself was like stepping into a time warp, but here there were just enough tourists to let Alan know he was still in the twentieth century.   From the whispered conversations of the Amish adults, Alan realized that he was the focus of much interest, but it didn’t bother him all that much; he was used to being high profile as a fighter pilot and astronaut.  He enjoyed the thorough tour, Reuben and Mary explaining all the interesting farm and home tools to a fascinated Alan.  After an all too brief two hours, he was surprised at how few items the Yoder’s planned to buy.  Annie saw the question politeness would not allow him to ask.  “Mr. Carter, we either make do, or we do without.  We are content.” 

And that, thought Alan, was a good way to live. 

He would have offered to help pay for the purchases, but instinct told him the Yoder’s would find that deeply insulting.  He helped carry the packages out to the buggy and unhitched the horse from the parking post, patting the beautiful bay gelding on its neck as he passed.  He walked to Abner’s side of the buggy and held out his hand for a farewell shake.  “Thanks for helping me, Mr. Yoder, and for bringing me into town.”   Abner returned the firm handshake.

“It was the proper thing to do, Mr. Carter.   We are grateful for your help with Sally.  She’s a good mare.”  During a long pause, Abner regarded Alan shrewdly and, after a quick glance at the sky, added, “You would have made a good farmer.  Good day.” 

Coming from a man of the land, thought Alan, that was high praise indeed.

With a kind smile, Annie passed over what appeared to be another of her wonderful sandwiches carefully wrapped in wax paper.  Alan greedily hoped some of the molasses cookies had been included, too.   He nodded his thanks to Annie as Abner bent over to pick up the reins.  He watched curiously as Abner continued to bend over and reach under the seat to pull out a neatly folded jacket.  It was his leather flight jacket wrapped around the duffle, the Moonbase Alpha patch lying on top.  He handed the bundle to a surprised Alan.  With a small smile, only the second Alan had seen, Abner clucked to the buggy horse and slapped the reins gently on its back and off the family went.

Despite the brevity of the parting, Alan felt a warmth for the family.  He watched the black buggy move out at a trot, two small faces looking solemnly backwards.  Reuben gave a very small wave which Alan returned with a wide smile.  After donning his jacket, he turned and went back into the store to purchase a book that had caught his eye earlier.

Taking almost all of the three hours allotted, a car finally pulled into the parking lot outside the dry goods store.  A familiar face got out and scanned the small crowd.   Finally finding the wayward Australian sitting in the warm sunshine eating a cookie and reading a book entitled Amish Ways, A Pictorial Essay, Alan’s fellow pilot walked over.

“And they trust you with Eagles?”

“Yeah, well, deer aren’t much of a problem in space, Kelly.”

“Good thing.  Come on, Wright-Pat is waiting for us to pick up that load and shift it to Alpha.  After we get you cleared by Medical, that is,” he added noting the bruise on Alan’s forehead.

Alan marked his page with a scrap of paper that had fallen out of the pocket of his flight jacket, and tucked the large, hard-covered book under his arm.  Kelly climbed back behind the wheel as Alan took one last look about.  Yes, it was beautiful land, he thought.  Alan climbed in the front passenger seat of the car and resumed his interrupted journey.

A few weeks later, back in one of the few pressure tight buildings on the growing Alpha, Alan remembered his book while resting after a long shift.  He pulled it out and thumbed through the pages to find the last one he had read.  The bookmark fluttered to the floor.  He picked it up and noticed for the first time writing in a childlike hand across one side: We will name the colt ‘Carter.’  

Alan smiled.                                                                  

MGK

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