The Amish Seamstress (28 page)

We turned onto a brick pathway that led us to what Zed explained was the student store and center. He held the door for me, and after I stepped through, he scurried to my side to lead the way. A group of girls, their hair long and loose, sat on couches arranged like a horseshoe just inside. They wore jeans, jackets, and boots, all very modern and fancy, but then over by a bulletin board stood two women in traditional Mennonite dresses,
kapps
, and black shoes. Despite the fact that this was a Mennonite school, they didn't seem to be the norm.

One of the girls on the couches—she had blond hair and big blue eyes—called out a hello to Zed. He waved and said hello back but didn't stop to introduce me.

“Who is that?” I whispered as we headed toward the bookstore.

“Shelly.”

Shelly
, I repeated in my mind, wondering if she was the girl who had called and taken him away from me the weekend before.

The bookstore seemed to carry everything but books. There were snacks and drinks and coffee cups and hats and T-shirts and sweatshirts.
Finally, over to one side, I spotted the bookshelves, which were divided into sections labeled Philosophy, History, Literature, and more.

I wanted to take a closer look, but as I started over, I noticed that Shelly was staring at me through the big glass window that separated the bookstore and the sitting area. She was still there on the couch, but her eyes followed my every move.

Zed didn't seem to notice, so I tried to ignore her as I scanned the various titles.
Essays on Morality
.
The Pacifist Revolution. The Scarlet Letter
. I'd read that last one, but nothing else looked familiar.

“Come on,” he said, tugging on my cape. “Let's go see the rest of the campus. The film will be shown in the library, so we'll save that for last.”

Shelly continued to watch us all the way to the door, and I was glad when we were outside and out of sight. We headed down a narrow sidewalk, and as we walked past one building, I could hear the sound of a piano, its notes going up and then back down again. As we kept walking, that sound was replaced with the mournful tune of a violin. I decided it must be a building where students learned about music.

The next stop was the lobby of Zed's dorm, a large area that was cozy and inviting—and completely empty.

“Do people spend time here?” I asked.

“When we have meetings. Study groups. Get-togethers.”

I wondered if we would get to see his room, but he didn't offer, so I didn't ask. Perhaps it wasn't allowed.

He glanced at his cell phone and said we should get going to the library because the film would be starting in ten minutes.

“
Ach
, I hope we can get a good seat.”

Zed laughed as he opened the door for us to step back outside. “I don't think that will be a problem.”

“No? Won't everyone come?”

“You mean all the students?”

“
Ya
.”

“On the whole campus?”

I nodded.

“Probably not,” he said, sweetly. “There are lots of other things to do. And they wouldn't all fit in the room anyway.”

When we reached the library, I followed him past shelves and shelves of books, far more than the library back home. “You get to work here?” I asked.

He nodded.

I had been impressed with the bookstore, but it paled in comparison to the library. Here students sat at tables at the ends of the rows, some in groups of two and three, others alone. One girl sat knitting, a book propped up before her on the desk. I smiled at her, but she remained focused on both projects.

When we reached the end of the aisle, we turned into a hallway with a row of doors. Zed opened the last one and we stepped inside.

To my surprise, almost no one was in there, just five students, plus a man at the front of the room, wearing a tie.

I was hoping to slip in unnoticed, but as soon as he saw us his face lit up.

“Welcome,” he said warmly, coming toward us, his hand extended.

Zed introduced the man as his History in Film professor, Dr. Stutzman, and then me as his friend Izzy Mueller from back home.

“Lancaster County, then?” the professor asked.

“
Ya
. I'm here in Indiana for a few weeks, staying with Zed's sister.”

“Well, Izzy, I'm pleased to have you join us today.”

“
Danke
.”

He turned to go, paused, and turned back. “There's a Q and A after the film,” he said to me, “so I hope you'll stick around and field any inquiries that are beyond my expertise.”

I had no idea what he meant, but I nodded and smiled just the same. Once Zed and I were sitting down, I asked in a whisper what I had just agreed to, and he explained that because the film was about the Amish, the professor was hoping I might answer any questions afterward he might not be able to.

“Oh,” I whispered, but Zed didn't respond. He was looking over at a small group of students who were just filing into the room.

I glanced their way and was disappointed to see that that Shelly person was one of them. She gave Zed a wave—a really friendly wave—but then as soon as he waved back and turned his attention elsewhere, she
focused her gaze on me. Her eyes narrowed, and she shot such an angry scowl my way that I practically jumped. Had I done something wrong? Or was she just jealous that the most handsome man on campus was with me and not her?

She and her friends sat in the rear, a few rows behind us, so I turned toward the front and tried to ignore her. I wished they had been here first so we could have sat behind them instead. I could feel her gaze burning a hole in my back.

A few more students trickled in, some of whom were friends of Zed. He introduced a dark-haired young woman with a beautiful complexion to me, adding that she was from Belize.

Soon it was time to start, and Dr. Stutzman quieted everyone down with his welcome. He gave a brief introduction to the film, explaining that it had been made about eight years ago by a group of seniors in his Digital Media Production class.

When he was finished speaking, he walked over to a table and pressed a few buttons on a computer, someone else got the lights, and the film began.

I drew in a deep breath at the brightness on the screen, startled by the intensity of the images, not to mention the size.

Music began to play and then a beautiful landscape of rolling hills filled the screen. That faded into a close-up of a valley with a stream running through it.

A voice began to narrate, telling the story of the beginnings of the Anabaptists in Switzerland in the early part of the 1500s. The facts were familiar to me, of course, but I enjoyed hearing them just the same.

Soon the subject moved to the persecution of the early Anabaptists and how thousands were tortured and killed. One gruesome image after another began to appear on the screen, and I could hear several people in the audience gasp. But I recognized every one of the drawings as having come from the Martyrs Mirror, a book that was a standard in every Amish home I knew.

Looking at the screen, I remembered the sermon on Sunday about God seeing us through our suffering. The thought was comforting.

Actual video was used, probably taken in modern-day Switzerland,
and also illustrations and photos. The film continued through the history of our people as they practiced nonresistance and then dispersed throughout Europe, seeking asylum. The narrator explained the differences between the Mennonites, named after the early Anabaptist leader Menno Simons, which came first, and the other group that evolved from that, the Amish, named after Jacob Amman. The film continued, covering the next forty or so years until the Amish began immigrating to northern America.

“Thus a new chapter began in their quest for freedom,” the narrator said, winding down for the conclusion. “Leaving the old world behind, the Plain people found a country where religious tolerance existed.”

That cut to a video of what was supposed to be early Anabaptist immigrants walking off a ship and into the new world. They seemed weary but relieved, as if they had finally reached the place where they belonged.

The camera panned up to the blue sky, and over that was a quote:

“No people can be truly happy…if abridged of the Freedom of their Conscience as to their Religious Profession and Worship.”

William Penn

Pennsylvania Charter of Liberties, 1701

That faded out into black and then the credits began to roll. Once they were done and the music and video had stopped, someone turned on the lights and Dr. Stutzman asked if anyone had any questions.

Zed raised his hand. “What kind of cameras were used?”

The professor thought for a moment. “Primarily a Panasonic HD, from what I recall. Probably the DVC pro P2.”

Zed nodded as if he understood what the man was saying. “And the shots of Switzerland? Were those made specifically for this documentary?”

The teacher smiled. “Well, I'd like to say our budget allowed for filming jaunts to Zurich, but I'm afraid that's not the case. All the international scenes came from stock video footage.”

“How about the ending, at the ship?” another student asked. “That wasn't stock, was it?”

“No. We filmed that up near Chicago at a tall ships festival, using students from the drama department.”

“No offense,” someone else said, “but that particular ship wasn't historically accurate for the time period.”

The professor held up both hands, as if in surrender, and smiled. “You got me there. We did the best we could with what we had.”

“Who made the costumes?” I asked. The question flew from my mouth before I could stop it.

“That was a joint effort between the art department and a theater special projects seminar.”

I nodded but was embarrassed when no one else followed that up with another question.

“How about something less technical?” the professor urged, his expression good natured as his eyes scanned the audience. “Something about the Amish, perhaps?”

“Yeah, why don't they go home?” a female voice said from the back, just loudly enough for me to hear.

“Excuse me?” Dr. Stutzman asked, placing a hand at his ear. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” the voice said, much louder this time, and then the whole group of girls burst into giggles.

I glanced at Zed and saw that the tips of his ears were burning bright red. Looking straight ahead, he raised his hand and rattled off something quickly, just to diffuse the moment. “I find it ironic that the persecuted Anabaptists found safety in America, only to witness the persecution of the Native Americans who lived around them.”

“Nonresistant groups offered assistance to the Native Americans,” Dr. Stutzman replied. “Look at William Penn.”

“What about his sons?” Zed countered.

I remembered what I'd read thus far about that time period, how the land set aside for the Indians had dwindled significantly under the management of Penn's heirs.

“And how about the Plain people who didn't protect the peace-loving Native Americans during the Indian Wars?”

“You're right. I don't want to generalize, but that failing has been recognized,” the professor said. “In fact, a couple of years ago a group of Mennonites, Quakers, and Presbyterians in Lancaster County apologized to
Native Americans, including a descendant of one of the Conestoga Indian chiefs, for stealing Indian land and breaking official treaties.”

“Really? I hadn't heard about that.” Zed took out his phone and opened up an app. No longer was he trying to draw attention away from smarmy comments but was instead fully engrossed in the conversation. “I'll have to look into it more. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Things were quiet for a moment, and then the professor added, “So on that happy note…” He held out his arms and smiled at the audience. “Class dismissed.”

On the way back to the Home Place, Zed seemed agitated but quiet. I was so embarrassed by what had happened that I didn't even know what to say. Finally, to fill the awkward silence, I began gushing about how much I enjoyed the film.

“Give me a break, Iz,” he finally said, startling me with the vehemence of his words. “Why do people bother to make a film if they're not going to at least
try
to get it right?”

I wasn't sure how to respond. “What do you mean?”

“Please! The ship? The costumes? The twenty-first-century skyscrapers you could see off in the distance if you really looked?”

I blinked, realizing he wasn't all worked up about Shelly's comment. He was just irritated at the movie.

“I realize it was a student project, and the teacher said there wasn't much of a budget, but you know what? I had
zero
budget for
Carving of a Legacy
, and look what we managed to accomplish with that.”