The Amish Nanny (13 page)

“I thought you two had a guest,” I said, glancing around the otherwise empty room.

“He'll be right back,”
Mammi
replied, and from the sudden, rhythmic thud of the water pump, I realized that their guest was just up the hall, washing his hands in the bathroom.

Before I could get any advance information from either
Mammi
or Alice about who this person might be, a young man came walking back into the room, carefully drying his hands on a towel.

“That should be good enough, I think,” he was saying as he did, but then he spotted me and stopped short.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hello,” I replied, surprised to see that the guest in question was just a young man—about my same age, in fact—with a friendly face and light blond hair. Dressed casually in jeans and a button-down shirt, he was lanky, medium height, with cute, boyish features.

“Daniel Hart,” he said, introducing himself.

“Ada Rupp,” I replied, reaching out to shake his hand. He reached for mine as well but then jerked his hand back before we'd even touched.

“Sorry,” he told me, setting down the towel and then holding both arms up, bent at the elbow, palms toward himself, looking like a veterinarian who had just scrubbed in to do a procedure on an animal.

“Daniel forgot his gloves,” Alice said from behind me, as if that explained everything.

Turning, I looked from her to
Mammi
and then back to him again. All three were smiling widely, an excited gleam in their eyes.

“I don't know what's going on here,” I said, shaking my head. “But I sure hope somebody let's me know soon.”

Ten minutes later I was sitting on the couch, a glass of tea in my hand, still trying to make sense of the story that had essentially been coming at me from three different directions. Daniel had begun by explaining his odd reaction to my handshake, saying that he usually wore what were known as “archivist gloves” when he handled important documents, but that because he'd forgotten them today he'd had to settle for thoroughly scrubbing and washing instead. I was curious as to what sort of important documents he'd been planning to handle here, but before he could tell me Alice interrupted to share with me about Daniel's credentials as a scholar, which included a degree in Anabaptist history from Goshen College and another from the University of Zurich in Switzerland. He'd corrected her about that second one, saying that he hoped to get a master's at Zurich in the future but that he hadn't even officially enrolled yet.

At least
Mammi
seemed to recognize my desire for some concrete information, and she'd launched into an interesting tale, but then she ended up going down some long, confusing tangent, one that involved a power plant, an important waterfall, and a one-hundred-and-thirty-four-year-old property deed.

Daniel must have seen my confusion because he came and sat directly across from me, his gaze locked onto mine.

“Here's the bottom line,” he said. “We need your help to save an important historic Anabaptist site from being destroyed.”

I looked back at him, my eyes wide.

“The site is in Switzerland,” Daniel continued, “a place where the Anabaptists used to worship in secret. It's been left alone for centuries, but now its fate is in question. Thanks to the Swiss courts, a title dispute on the property, and a secret agreement made by your great-great-great grandfather more than a hundred years ago, this important site is about to be destroyed forever.”

My mind swirled.

“The site is too important to be lost,” Alice added. “But because of our ancestral ties, Ada, you and I can stop that from happening.”

I looked from Alice to Daniel and back again.

“It's hard to explain. Why don't we begin where we were when you first came in,” Daniel said, moving toward a pile of books and some cardboard tubes on a chair. “With a map. A very old map.”

Alice and
Mammi
seemed content to remain settled on the couch, but I moved over to the dining table and sat as Daniel chose one of the tubes, pulled out a large, rolled-up map from inside, and spread it out onto the flat surface in front of me.

“This, as you may know, is the country of Switzerland, which is in Europe. Switzerland is divided into sections called ‘cantons,' which I guess you could say are sort of like states. Of interest to us here today is the canton of Bern.” Pointing to the cities of Bern and Zurich and the areas around it, he added, “Basically, this region is where the Anabaptist movement first started, back in the sixteenth century.” Pausing for a moment, lost in thought, he said softly, “Of course, among scholars I might debate the stance of monogenesis versus polygenesis…” His voice trailed off, as if he were trying to decide how much detail he should go into. Finally, he shook his head and zeroed in on the map again.

“But I digress. Anyway, this is generally where the Anabaptists began, back in the fifteen hundreds. The early believers were persecuted, of course, and so starting in about 1526 a number of them left the cities to move into more rural areas.”

As he traced their routes on the map with his finger, I couldn't help but feel a little irritated. Did he think I was ignorant, that I wouldn't already know this and much more? Somehow I had the feeling he wasn't even sure if I was aware that Switzerland was a country in Europe. Holding my tongue for now, I waited for him to continue.

“Many of them went to this region here, near the center of the country, which is known as the Emmental,” he said, moving his finger in a loop from Bern to Lucern. “The Emmental has hills and valleys and forests and farms, so the Anabaptists were able to blend in a little better there. And the people of the Emmental were generally supportive, which helped too.”

I nodded. So far, he still hadn't told me anything I didn't already know.

“Okay, I want to talk specifically about this spot right here,” he said, pointing to the center of the Emmental region. “This is the municipality of Langnau, and not far from that is the village of Wasserdorf.”

Leaning forward, he carefully rolled the map back up and put it away. Then he chose a different one and rolled it out.

“This shows both towns in a closer view.” He pointed to various spots on the map where Mennonite congregations had been established. “They were able to live peaceably for a short while, but by 1536 persecution was happening here too. Some were sent to prison at Thun, brought to Bern and executed, and so on. Because of this the Anabaptists were forced to go underground, so to speak, gathering under bridges and in caves and ravines and such, where they could worship in secret. Now let's move in even closer to the village of Wasserdorf.”

There was definitely a condescending tone to his voice, and as he switched to yet another map, I wondered how many we would have to go through until we had narrowed things down enough. Glancing over toward Alice and
Mammi
, I could see that they were both watching and listening, though
Mammi
had a bemused look on her face.

“All right. So you understand where we are. Wasserdorf is in the Emmental, which is in the canton of Bern, which is in Switzerland, which is in Europe. You with me so far?”

I was trying not to say something sarcastic when
Mammi
spoke from the couch.

“Daniel, I believe you'll find that Ada is a very intelligent young woman with a thorough knowledge of geography. She should be able to follow just about anything you need to explain to her with or without visual aids.”

Daniel hesitated for a moment, as if trying to understand the meaning of her words. Then he must have caught on because he looked at me and blushed.

“I'm sorry, was I talking down to you? My friends say I do that to them all the time.”

Hands still clasped in my lap, I simply smiled and accepted his apology, glad at least to know that he hadn't meant it as anything personal.

“Really, I am sorry. Let's fast-forward to the present, shall we?” Flashing me a boyish grin, he traded the map in his hand for what I hoped was the last one. After he spread it on the table, he sat, leaning forward on his elbows, and continued.

“This is a municipal map that shows part of Wasserdorf. Each area that's been outlined here indicates a separate piece of property. Thus, these little squares here average, oh, about half an acre a piece, give or take, most with single family homes on them.”

Growing curious now, I wondered what that had to do with anything, but then he pointed to a different section of the map and I realized he was just trying to give me an idea of its scale.

“See this property here?” he asked, pointing to a far bigger shape near the upper right-hand corner. Wanting to make extra sure he still didn't think I was stupid, I quickly did the math in my head and decided that if the tiny lots near the bottom averaged half an acre each, this big section had to be about forty or fifty acres.

“Judging by your scale, then, I'm guessing this one's about…oh, let's see, point five times a hundred or so…um, around fifty acres?”

“Forty-nine, actually,” he said. “But wow, good estimate.”

Victorious, I glanced over at
Mammi
, expecting her to be smiling, but instead she gave me a stern look of warning. Immediately, I realized I had pushed it too far and now was acting in a way that was prideful.

Chagrined, I decided to stop posturing and just listen to what he had to say.

Pulling a pen from his pocket, Daniel surprised me by writing directly on this map, labeling the largest lot, the forty-nine-acre one, with the letter
S
. Along that lot's northern border sat a smaller lot, about five acres in size, which he marked with a
K
. He was about to return the pen to his pocket when, as an afterthought, he drew within the
K
section a strange little scribble that looked kind of like a waterfall.

“All across the Emmental,” he told me, “are places where our Anabaptist ancestors lived and worshipped. Many of the sites have been preserved, including some of the spots where they gathered to worship in secret.”

I nodded, looking again at the little drawing.

“Right here, on this five-acre lot, is a lovely waterfall with two natural caves that have been sort of carved out behind it. People in this region have always known that these caves were used by the Anabaptists for worship, starting back in the fifteen hundreds and possibly even as late as the early seventeen hundreds.”

“Got it,” I said, trying not to sound impatient.

“Recently I was contacted by the Wasserdorf Historical Society. They knew I was already doing research about Anabaptist historical sites in the Emmental, and they wanted to engage my services.”

“Engage your services?”

“As a researcher, a scholar. They needed me to help them prove the historical significance of the caves here at this waterfall. This I could do, using old documents, letters, deeds, et cetera, whatever I could drum up that would help them substantiate the validity of the site.”

“Why?” I asked, glancing again at Alice and
Mammi
. “Did they want to erect a monument or something?”

Daniel shook his head gravely and said, “No. They're trying to stop the township of Wasserdorf from installing a hydro power plant right here at the waterfall.”

I sat back in my chair and looked at him.

“And that would be a bad thing?” I wanted to understand.

“Well, yes and no. Hydro power in and of itself is great. As I told Alice and Frannie, a hydro plant produces electricity by the use of falling water, so as far as pollution and by-products and all of that, it's an incredibly clean power source. Efficient too. Even a little plant like the one the village wants to put in here would supply energy for all three hundred homes in Wasserdorf.”

“So what's the problem?”

“The problem is that they have chosen this specific waterfall. See, if a hydro plant really does go in here, then the historical value of the site will be completely destroyed. To put it in more local terms, it would be like tearing down the log cabins at Valley Forge and putting a power plant in their place.” He hesitated and then corrected himself, saying, “Well, not exactly, because they're not planning to tear out these caves. I guess it would be more accurate to say it's like plopping down a power plant right in the middle of the battlefield at Gettysburg. The site would still be there, but for all intents and purposes it would be completely ruined. This waterfall and these caves in Wasserdorf are important, historically speaking, and should be preserved at all costs.”

I nodded thoughtfully. I'd never been to Valley Forge or Gettysburg, but I had certainly read about them and seen photos, so I understood what he meant.

“We're not trying to get the township to scrap their plans altogether,” he added. “The Swiss are very ‘green,' you know, so the plant's been getting a lot of local support. All we're asking is that they relocate it to an optional site up the river that would work almost as well as this one.”

“Sounds like a good compromise to me,” I said.