The Greeting Center was more than a mile inside the AZ, and it was in a forested area dotted here and there with tobacco and cornfields fenced by split rails. Jed and Mr. Zook sat out on the porch of the Center, talking and watching the occasional buggy go by, and Jed experienced that peculiarly Amish feeling of peace that overwhelmed him whenever he heard the clip-clop of hooves and the rattle of buggies as they passed. Mr. Zook spoke remarkably good English, with no trace of the Pennsylvania Dutch accent or dialect.
Jed would learn later that Mr. Zook had been a backsliding Amish who’d once left the fold to join the world back in Old Pennsylvania. He’d only agreed to rejoin the Church when he learned of the opportunity to emigrate to New Pennsylvania. As the operator of the Greeting Center, he still had some contact with both worlds, and that was the way he liked it. Jed’s father had called men like Mr. Zook “political Amish” or “money Amish,” since they weren’t particularly religious men, and stayed in the Amish fold for reasons other than spiritual ones.
“Our community here is young, Jedediah. Our elders are mostly in their late twenties or early thirties. The few older folks we do have are converts who most likely came to New Pennsylvania as Englischers. Elders and bishops are still chosen by lots, so, as you can imagine, there are many more twenty-something-year-old Amishmen serving as elders than any other subset. That means we have a lot of energy but sometimes lack wisdom. I understand, though, and I know we’ll grow into things after a few more decades.”
An explosion, loud but distant, echoed through the air. Jed looked at Mr. Zook, who gave him a crooked half-grin.
“The war. It drags on and on. I follow the news more closely than many of the others. And I have the added opportunity to question a lot of travelers as they pass into the Amish Zone. It looks like the rebels have turned the tide. People are saying that the government is fleeing the city and moving their operations to the cities on the Shelf.”
“What does that mean for the Amish?” Jed asked.
“We won’t know for a while. There are some who say that the rebels are setting bombs in the roads and fields to harass Transport. Others say the rebels are honorable and would never do that. That they are careful not to kill civilians. But we have had some of our people die from the bombs. The rebels say it is because the government plants bombs so that they can blame it on the resistance. Both sides say they studiously avoid killing Amish.
“Most of our people just want the war to go away, but some whisper out of the other side of their mouths that they have to admit it: the Amish have grown wealthy selling food and supplies to both sides.”
Jed whistled. “The Amish materially assist the rebels?”
“Not out in the open, but some do. Transport avoids searching Amish wagons and buggies when they leave the AZ out of fear of being seen as tyrants. I believe some of the Amish take advantage of this to deliver goods to the rebels. And many of our food shipments heading to the City are captured by TRACE units operating outside of town. Some say that’s because our own people tip off the rebels as to when and where the shipments will be moving. Nobody cries or complains when shipments are taken. Nobody except the most mercenary among the Amish.” Zook smiled at his own ironic claim.
“You talk freely of these things here?” Jed asked.
“I do,” Zook said. “I find that it eliminates suspicion of all of the Amish if we are open about what is happening. And to be totally frank with you, most of the Amish don’t think of these things at all. They just hear the bombs and want them to stop.”
Zook’s wife had a full box of garden vegetables and other staples ready for Jed on the porch when Matthias pulled up in his buggy. Jed’s friend bounded up the walk and shook Jed’s hand vigorously with a huge smile on his face. “So good to see you, Jedediah Troyer!”
“I’m glad to finally be here, Matthias.”
“How was your journey?”
“Just as the Englischers said it would be,” Jed replied. “Scary, but safe and without any real incidents.”
“Well, you’ll fit right in here. It’s very much like home. Today we will be helping my neighbors, the Schrocks, weed a cotton patch they’ve planted. I’m helping them with the crop from start to finish, and in the winter, the Schrocks will share some fabric with us.”
Jed nodded. “That sounds great.”
“It will be a short while before you get your allotment and can start on your own land, but take my word for it: without a family, it will be difficult. Many of the single men work together, and help out with the neighbors’ farms. When we build, we’ll have a lot of help too.”
“I’m ready to get started, Matthias.”
“Then off we go.”
As they were loading the Zooks’ vegetables into the buggy, Jed put his hand on Matthias’s shoulder and smiled at his friend. “When Amos gets here in four years, we’ll already be well on our way. In fact, Amos should be asleep right now in his pod, and when he opens his eyes, he’ll be here.”
Matthias didn’t respond. He looked at Jed with sadness in his eyes. It looked to Jed like his friend’s mouth wanted to form words, but could not. Then the moment passed, and Matthias smiled. “Let’s go hoe weeds, Jedediah.”
Jed’s hoe worked expertly between the plants. Cotton here grew tall, and this crop, though still in its early stages, was already taller than most of the finished cotton Jed had seen back in the old world. But then again, most people didn’t realize that cotton is a perennial bush, not an annual. In the old world, hybrid varieties were grown shorter so that machines and equipment could work the fields. Then chemicals were applied in the late fall to defoliate and kill the plant so that the stripping combines could get the cotton off cleanly. But true heritage cotton would grow as high as four or five feet, and once the bush became established, could produce crops year after year. This was the first year of this stand, and if things went well, Jed knew he’d be pulling cotton by October.
As he worked his blade between and around the plants, careful not to harm the roots, he thought of row crops he’d worked back in Old Pennsylvania. Moving up and down the rows with Amos and his father, talking and laughing. Sometimes they would forget that they were working at all, and then they’d get to the end of a row and realize how much work they’d done while lost in conversation.
This is all real, Jed. But you need to remember what you’ve been through to get here. Don’t forget the people who died in the City to get you out.
Jed heard the voice, but knew that there’d been no sound other than in his mind. It was a woman’s voice, and it sounded very familiar. He looked around, and even checked around the adjacent rows to see if maybe one of the Amish girls was playing a joke on him.
Don’t forget, Jed. I’m here for you, but they’re in here too.
He had a flash vision of a man holding a gun and pointing it at his face. He couldn’t recall the place or the man, or anything else about the vision. It happened in the blink of an eye, but it felt like the beginnings of a memory. Then Matthias walked over with a canteen full of water. They both drank deeply, and as Jed watched Matthias drink, he tried to remember the vision, but could not.
“I’d like to go to that great wall, Matthias. The one that surrounds the AZ. I’d like to stand on it and look out over the world.”
Matthias put the cap back on the canteen and wiped his mouth and his youthful beard with his sleeve. A drop of pure water glistened on the tip of his beard, and again Jed had that feeling that he should be remembering something.