Tommy Maddox lifted the last bale of hay into the feeder and leaned forward against the fence, thinking how unfair it was that he couldn't attend school with his friends this fall. He had so desperately wanted to leave the farm and the loneliness that he had known for most of his life. His father had died while Tommy was still young and was just a faint memory now. His mother had tried to keep the family farm intact, but little by little she was forced to sell off parts of it to keep the rest. She worked the farm and waited tables at the diner in town, about thirty miles away and still it was hard, and that's why she had asked Tommy to wait one more year before going off to school.
Tommy looked out over the brown fields of dormant winter grass at what had once been a large farm by Missouri standards, now just eighty acres, the rest parceled off to their neighbors, the Amish. The Amish had been happy to buy the land as they had flourished and expanded their holdings to the point that the Maddox's were the only family in the area that was not Amish. They were good neighbors, Tommy thought, just not very sociable.
Done for the day, Tommy turned with a sigh of resignation and went to clean up for dinner. In the shower he remembered the few girl friends he had had in high school, and the missed opportunities that now frustrated him sexually. Tommy was a virgin, and had never even come close to being with a girl sexually. He soaped up his groin and began to stroke his stiffening erection, harder and harder, until he ejaculated into the shower drain. "Just like my life," he mused, "down the drain!"
"Tommy, dinner's ready dear." His mother called through the door.
"Coming Mom." He yelled back, and then chuckled at the double entendre.
=//=
Ezekiel Yoder paced back and forth on the porch of his family's home, his nervous demeanor telegraphing his anxiety over the incessant crying from the upstairs living quarters where his young son lay near death's door. His father and father in-law exchanged knowing glances as they worried for the newest member of the family.
Suddenly the crying stopped and a mournful wail of a woman rose to chill the already cold winter air.
"My son! My son!" Ezekiel Yoder chanted, "What has happened to us father?" He looked through tearful eyes, pleading for an answer.
None came, both the elder men had worried that this was the beginning of the end.
"Go to your wife Ezekiel, and be her strength." His father said, his father in-law nodding his agreement.
Slowly Ezekiel climbed the stairs dreading the sight he would find there. As he neared the door to the bedroom his mother and mother in-law brushed past him their eyes averted in grief for the lost baby. Dread washed over him as he stood framed in the door. His wife kneeled at the foot of the small bed wailing for the lost baby's soul. Ezekiel knelt beside her and wrapped his large arm around his wife's shoulder. They cried together late into the night.
As the sun rose in the early morning hours Ezekiel was already about his chores, the events of the preceding night weighed heavily upon him, but his duty was to the way of life that was his people's for hundreds of years, and it was the only way he knew.
At breakfast his wife, Hannah, asked him "Ezekiel we have lost three babies now, what is wrong with us?"
"I do not know Hannah, I wish I did." He lamented.
"I do not wish for this to happen again, I could not bear another." Hannah added.
"I know, I know." He said.
Ezekiel went back about his chores, thinking about something his grand father had said years ago. The elder Yoder had been explaining that as the Amish had developed as a group insulated from the surrounding "English" -- what the Amish called outsiders -- they tended to marry within their same clan. They did not marry sisters as a rule, but even the most distant members were cousins several times over. His grand father had explained that in the early days this practice seemed to fare rather well as the offspring were robust and healthy men and women, but some day, he had warned, there will be a reckoning. But Ezekiel did not know what this reckoning could be. He resolved to travel to his grand father's home and ask his advice.
=//=
Tommy had managed to scrounge up enough money to attend a movie in town on Saturday and had finally set off on the long drive. He was glad to have this time in town; maybe there were some new girls around that he could meet. Hope was all Tommy seemed to have any more. About a mile from home he came upon an Amish man that seemed to be having trouble with his horse and carriage. Normally Tommy didn't stop for Amish but on this occasion it looked like the man really needed help. Tommy pulled to the shoulder of the road and parked his pickup truck just ahead of the man and his horse.
Tommy climbed out of the truck and waved, saying "hello, got troubles?"
Ezekiel Yoder looked up at the man that had stopped to help, surprised at the brash language. "Thee are kind to stop, the horse has come lame, and I believe he will not be able to continue."
"Well, I'm headed to town, can I drop you off?" Tommy offered.
"You are kind indeed." Ezekiel said as he turned toward the carriage and yelled, "Hannah, come this neighbor has offered a ride."
Tommy had not seen the woman huddled low in the seat of the carriage, but realized that there was room for three if they didn't mind squeezing in a little. The three climbed into the pickup and off they went down the old county road toward town.
Tommy tried to look at the woman next to him but try as he might he could not see her face. She appeared, however, to be slim and young, but he couldn't be sure. They didn't speak as he drove until they came upon a small dirt road that turned to the left, he continued for a short way and came up to a typical Amish house surrounded by the usual farm out buildings.
Mr. Yoder thanked Tommy for his kindness and walked into the house. Tommy stole one more glance at Mrs. Yoder, wondering if Amish girls ever messed around with boys like him. Probably not he decided, and he turned towards town and his movie.
=//=
Benjamin Yoder was sitting in front of the wood stove warming his aching feet. His feet never seemed to warm up anymore, he thought, the price of old age. His grand son sat humbly beside his wife on the lone bench against the wall of the meeting room.
"What brings you to our family this cold winter night young Ezekiel?" Benjamin Yoder asked.
Ezekiel, wringing his hands in anxious trepidation asked, "Grandfather we have tried three times to produce a viable son, and three times our efforts have been met with failure. Our first son was still born, the second, was deformed and lived only a few weeks. Our third died two nights ago and we are now afraid of what a fourth attempt would hold for us."
The elder Yoder nodded for a moment before he spoke, "I have long awaited the consequences of the Yoder penchant for keeping family, family."
"Keeping family, family? Grandfather, what does this mean?" Ezekiel looked dumbfounded.
"The Yoders, my -- our -- forefathers, were the original family line in this congregation. Two other families joined us many years ago, but for the most part we Yoders weren't very careful about who we chose as our wives. My uncle and aunt were brother and sister, your grand mother is their daughter." He paused for a moment, as if trying to recall a long forgotten fact, and then continued, "Hannah's father is your uncle Isaac, so you see, our family has intermarried for many years."
