Josiah started Monday. Alone. His decision: outside work — not community work. Not a barn raising. Personal matter.
First three days — footings. Stone from the quarry behind the farm (his own, free). Hauled by cart, two hundred kilos per trip. Horse Bessie helped — ten years of knowing when to pull, when to wait.
The Oak
Beams — from oak Josiah had dried four years. Two logs, six meters each. Straight, knot-free, dark honey. He'd been saving them for Sarah's kitchen table. Sarah found out. Said: 'Bridge matters more than a table.' (Sarah always knew when to agree.)
Mr. Henderson came every day. Stood on the bank, watched. Offered help. Josiah politely declined: 'Thank you. I'll manage.' Henderson brought coffee in a thermos. Josiah didn't drink coffee (worldly habit). But accepted the thermos — not to offend.
Day Ten
On the tenth day Aaron Yoder showed up. Without a word. Set his tools next to Josiah's. Started planing railings.
Eleventh — Levi King. Young, strong. Hauled stones twice as fast as Josiah.
Twelfth — four more. The bishop didn't forbid. The bishop didn't approve. The bishop was silent. Among the Amish this means: 'Go ahead, but I didn't see it.'
Mr. Henderson stood on the bank watching seven Amish men in black hats build a bridge for his neighborhood. For free. In silence. Without a single power tool.
'Guys,' he told his wife that evening, 'in all my life I've never seen people work like that.'