Chapter Twelve
Adam
"Mr. Wallace, I've got breakfast on the table if you're hungry!" Mrs. Yoder called up the stairs at an hour that could only be described as unholy. The sun wasn't even up yet, why did she think I wanted to be?
"Mmm hmm," I mumbled as I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
"Mr. Wallace!" she called again. "If you're going to try and catch Bishop Miller, you're going to have to get to the factory very early!"
"Crap," I muttered as I reluctantly threw off the covers and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. I didn't want to get up, but Mrs. Yoder was right, so I got up, splashed some water on my face, and then got dressed before descending to the kitchen for breakfast.
"This is what you're wearing to meet Bishop Miller?" Mrs. Yoder asked as she put plate full of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast in front of me.
"Yes, why?" I said as I picked up my fork and prepared to dig in.
"No, no, no," she said shaking her head disapprovingly as she looked at the fork in my hand. "We have the blessing first, Mr. Wallace, then we can talk about your clothes."
Irritated, but trying to hide it, I put my fork down and bowed my head. I stared at the chipped edge of my breakfast plate and wondered how many more days I'd have to put up with this nosy interloper before I could pack up and head back to Chicago. I hadn't known this woman for twenty-four hours and she was already trying to boss me around. I'd have to nip this in the bud before it went too far.
"Amen," Mrs. Yoder said, nodding at me to let me know it was okay to eat.
"Amen," I echoed as I picked up my fork and began shoveling food into my mouth.
"So, you meet with Bishop Miller this morning," Mrs. Yoder said as she spread a thin layer of blueberry preserves onto her toast. "You should wear plain clothing, not the fancy outfit you have on."
"I'd hardly call this suit fancy," I replied as I looked down and considered the gray pinstripe pants and the white dress shirt I was wearing.
You're not married, are you, Mr. Wallace?"
"No, why?" I asked.
"Unmarried Amish men shave," she said as she bit into her toast and chewed, saying nothing more. The look on her face told me that she was holding something back, or maybe it was just that she thought she knew better. I didn't know, but the fact that this small, old woman was judging things she obviously didn't understand irked me.
"Well, I'm not Amish, am I?" I replied brusquely.
"He knows you are coming to see him?" she asked and I shook my head. She set her toast down and made a tsk tsk noise as she shook her head. "This is not very polite, Mr. Wallace."
"It's business, Mrs. Yoder," I replied before stuffing half of a slice of bacon into my mouth.
"That may be the way you do business in the city, but this is not how we do it here," she scolded. "If you want to get things done in Corner Grove, you had better learn how to do business our way, Mr. Wallace."
"Well, I haven't had trouble doing business with anyone before, Mrs. Yoder," I said, flashing her a fake smile that was intended to shut her up. "I find that the straightforward approach tends to work best with most businessmen."
"Ah, well, you big city folk know best, don't you?" she said with a smile that I recognized as one that would normally be given to small children who didn't know any better. She picked up her toast and took a bite.
We ate the rest of our meal in silence, and when we were done, I half-heartedly grabbed my plate and cup to take them out to the kitchen, but Mrs. Yoder waved me off and said, "Get over to the factory and see if Bishop Miller will see you this morning. It's still early. God bless you, Mr. Wallace."
I nodded and headed out to the car reassuring myself that this was going to be a quick meeting and an easy sale, and that God was going have nothing to do with it.
#
Ten minutes later, I pulled up to Miller's Authentic Amish Furniture factory feeling more annoyed than when I'd left the breakfast table. Mrs. Yoder had gotten under my skin. She'd tried to be helpful, but her interference in my business had done nothing but irritate me.
The front parking spaces were still empty so I eased the Mustang into the one closest to the door and sat surveying the building. It covered the equivalent of two city blocks and resembled an enormous, gray barn with a wide, sloping roof and a bay on the far end that could open wide enough to accommodate an eighteen-wheeler.
On the opposite end, I could see the show room through the floor to ceiling plate glass windows and movement inside. I got out of the car, took a deep breath, and headed inside.
"Are you here to pick up an order?" the man behind the front desk asked as he looked up from something positioned just below the chest-high counter. He had a solemn, clean-shaven face and bushy eyebrows that he raised questioningly as he waited for my response.
"No, I'm here to see Mr. Miller," I said as I scanned the counter looking for any indication of the man's first name. "The owner?"
"Ah, I see," the man nodded. "Did you have an appointment with him this morning?"
"No, I heard he operates on a first come first serve basis, so I took my chances," I said smiling nervously as I tried to create a commonality between the man and I. "My father operates the same way, so I thought I'd try my luck with Mr. Miller."
"I see," he nodded without smiling back. "I'll go back and check his office to see if he's in yet."
"You don't know if he's come through the front door?" I asked looking back at the empty parking lot.
"We park our buggies out back," the man said as he stood up to his full height and dwarfed me in the process. "I'll be right back, Mr..."
"Wallace," I said quickly reaching for my business card, but the man turned and walked away before I could add, “I'm Adam Wallace."
When it became obvious that the man wasn't quickly coming back, I walked around the showroom and read the descriptions of the various types of furniture. There were rough-hewn pieces that looked like they belonged in log cabins in the wilderness mixed in with items that were so smoothly finished that it was nearly impossible to tell how all the pieces had been connected. At the bottom of each card attached to the furniture was the phrase, "Ask about our custom made pieces," and it made me wonder who the hell would come all the way to Corner Grove and order custom-made Amish furniture.
"Mr. Wallace?" the young man said as he returned from the back of the store. "Mr. Miller will meet with you in the conference room now."
"Oh, so he's in, is he?" I said wondering what had taken them so long to discuss.
"Yes, he's been in since before sunup," the man replied as he led me to the conference room. "He was working in the shop."
"I see," I nodded as he gestured to the open door. I walked in and found myself standing in front of a large, oak table surrounded by twelve, sturdy chairs. The room was made up of white walls, but resembled more of a farmhouse kitchen than a corporate conference room. There was a scuffed chalkboard hanging on the far wall that looked like it had been recently cleaned. Underneath it was a long oak sideboard in the same style as the table that held a pitcher of water and some simple drinking glasses. I wasn't sure if I should take a seat or remain standing, so I stood waiting for Miller to make his entrance thinking about how different this room was from the one in my father's office.
My father had all the latest technology installed so that his minions could present their ideas in Technicolor on large video screens using laser pointers and tablets. Everything in his world was shiny and new, and when it no longer suited his purposes, he promptly disposed of it. Bishop Miller's conference room gave me hope that my message might have a chance.
"Mr. Wallace, you wished to see me?" Bishop Miller said as he walked toward me with his hand outstretched. I took it and shook firmly as I nodded. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his traditional, Amish beard reached the middle of his chest. He wore the somber, black pants, white shirt, and suspenders that I'd seen the men around Corner Grove wearing, but he had removed the wide-brimmed, black hat and the dark jacket that I'd already grown accustomed to seeing. He motioned to a chair, "Please have a seat."
I pulled out a heavy oak chair and sat down as the Bishop slowly walked around the table, never once taking his eyes off me. There was something unnerving about his silence, but I shook it off and prepared myself to pitch the proposal.
"Mr. Wallace, what is it that you want?" Bishop Miller asked once he'd sat down across the table from me.
"I want to give you a chance to invest in a dynamic new technology that will offer you freedom from the generators and wood-burning energy that you've been accustomed to," I began.
"No Mr. Wallace," he interrupted. "Don't try to sell me anything. Just tell me why you came to Corner Grove and what you want from our community."
"I don't understand," I said as I looked down at the turbine specs in front of me and then back up at Miller.
"I don't have a lot of time, nor do I care to pick through the carefully constructed sales pitch you're about to give me," he said as he held my gaze. His bushy eyebrows twitched slightly as he stopped speaking and stared at me. "Tell me what you can do for me and why I should entertain the idea of doing whatever it is you want me to do."
"Look, I know that you don't hook up to the electrical supply because you don't want to be part of the system or dependent on the English," I said, hoping that what I was about to do would be what he wanted. "At Agape Resources, we've got a wind turbine that will ensure that you don't have to be on the grid. It's cost efficient and will supply enough power to your community to keep you independently operating all year round."
"I see," he said. I waited for him to follow up with more questions, and when none came, I continued speaking.
"We can set up the turbines in the fields where you grow crops," I said leaning forward on my elbows as I spoke. "Each set of turbines will generate enough energy to run the ten households closest to them, and it is possible that we could install enough turbines to run the entire city of Corner Grove—businesses included."
"I see," the Bishop replied, but said nothing more.
"The initial cost is steep, but this would be offset by the savings you will reap on the elimination of the need to buy gasoline for generators and wood for furnaces,” I said as I tried to gauge Miller's response. So far, he'd given me nothing to work with. "Turbines can also help pump water and operate machinery that grinds grain, so for your farm endeavors, this would be extremely useful."
Bishop Miller sat staring at me with an impassive expression and did not say a word.
"Mr. Miller, I'm not sure what it is you want me to say, but I am more than happy to answer any questions you have or address any reservations," I offered as I tried to get a read on what he was thinking or what he wanted. This was not my strong suit since my father had always let me know exactly what he was thinking, whether I wanted to know or not.
"Mr. Wallace," the bishop began after a long silence. "Do you know anything about the Amish culture?"
The question caught me off-guard, but since I'd spent time researching their community and thinking about how to best formulate a sales pitch, I felt confident when I answered. "Your community prides itself on being independent and self-reliant. You avoid government interference as much as possible, and you maintain a community based on tradition and religious devotion."
"What history book did you pull that out of?" Miller dryly asked as he folded his hands and rested them on the worn, oak surface.
"I read it online," I said.
"I see," he nodded before looking down at his hands. For me, it was an agonizingly long time before he spoke again. "Mr. Wallace, we are simple people who do our best to uphold the values set forth by God. Part of those values involves maintaining a certain distance from the outside world. That is true. My concern about your project is that it invites the outside world into our fields and farms."
"No, it would give you the freedom from the outsiders," I said wondering if he'd listened to anything I'd said.
"It would not," he replied. "It would open up our community to a wide range of interference as you'd be required to get permits to install such technology and then would bring machines and crews into actually do the installation. And what about when the machinery breaks down, Mr. Wallace?"
"Those are short periods of time for the installation, and the maintenance is minimal," I replied as I felt my frustration building. This man didn't want to see how much his community could be helped by the turbines. "The licenses would be obtained through Agape Resources, and you wouldn't have to have anything to do with those."
"I see. Then what happens if there is a problem with the turbines, Mr. Wallace?" he asked as he raised his eyes up to meet mine. "Whose responsibility is it then?"
"Well, we'd deal with the problems," I said. "We'd be responsible for resolving the issues and dealing with the outsiders."
"So, you're going to move someone down here to be onsite at all times?" he asked.
"Well, no," I admitted. "But you can always call us in Chicago and we'll send someone down immediately."
"Outsiders running things in our community from the outside," he murmured.
"Mr. Miller, we are trying to help your community," I sighed as I frantically tried to think of a line of reasoning that would convince him we were the best option for Corner Grove. "We are not trying to interfere with your way of life."
"Oh, but you are," he said shaking his head. "You most definitely are. And as far as I can see, Mr. Wallace, this partnership will most likely benefit you more than it will benefit us."
"Why are you being so stubborn?" I blurted as I pushed my chair back from the table and shot up out of it. "My God, it's not like you people have trade secrets to protect or something! You're farmers! You need energy and we have a means of supplying you with it that won't interfere with your primitive lifestyle."
I could feel the anger rising and I wanted to shout at the man, but I knew that I'd probably already gone too far. He said nothing as he sat looking up at me. His expression gave nothing away. How could he not see that technology would make their lives easier and less stressful? Could he really be as blind as my father?
"Mr. Wallace," he said breaking the silence and pulling me back to the conference room. "Thank you for coming all this way, but we are not interested in installing your turbines in Corner Grove."
"That's it?" I said incredulously. "That's the end of it? You listen to part of my pitch and then just say no? You aren't going to ask the community what they want?"
"Mr. Wallace, as I'm sure you're aware, I am the bishop of this community," he said calmly rising out of his chair. "I am endowed by God the Creator and the members of this community to make the decisions for Corner Grove. I do not need to consult with anyone, so long as I abide by the word of God."
"Well, God is being pretty damn short sighted," I retorted as I quickly grabbed the presentation materials off the table and headed for the door. Before I exited, I turned and said, "You will regret this, Bishop Miller. I guarantee it."
"If it is God's will," he replied, "Then so be it."
I turned, yanked open the door and stormed down the hallway past the front desk where the young man who'd first greeted me sat. As I headed for the front door, he called out, "Have a blessed day, sir!"
"Go to hell!" I yelled as I slammed the palms of my hands against the heavy glass door forcing it open. I marched to the Mustang muttering under my breath, "Blessed my ass."
I yanked open the door and threw the handful of papers toward the opposite side of the car and watched them fly in all different directions. I slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut, and jammed the key into the ignition. The car roared to life and without looking behind me I put the car in reverse and backed up, narrowly missing a buggy full of Amish teenagers pulling out of the parking lot.
"Watch where you're going!" the boy holding the reins yelled.
"Fuck you!" I yelled flipping him the bird as I stepped on the gas. I knew my anger was over the top, but I'd had enough of old men telling me that my ideas weren't good enough. Much like my father, Bishop Miller was behind the times and refused to see that it was essential that he employ new technology to improve things.
At the edge of the parking lot, I waited for another buggy to cross the factory entrance. "Goddamn it!" I shouted as I slammed my fists against the steering wheel. "Will you people please join the twenty-first century?"
As soon as they'd moved away, I swung the car left and hit the gas. There was nothing but open road in front of me and I knew that a little speed would help burn off the anger that threatened to consume me. I punched my foot to the floor and felt the car take off. Flying down the road the speedometer climbed: sixty, seventy, eighty. Soon, I hit ninety and watched the factory disappear in my rearview mirror.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement and the next thing I knew, I hit the brakes and was sliding sideways along the sand covered asphalt. I pulled my foot off the brake and wrenched the wheel to the other side as the car continued to slide.
"Oh shit!" I hollered as the Mustang went sliding over the edge of a grassy bank, and then everything went dark.