It’s only a matter of time:
The clip-clop! clip-clop! of a passing black horse-drawn buggy was so familiar that Jacob didn’t even think to turn his gaze away from pruning a cluster of unacceptably colorful wildflowers from along the fence bordering his tobacco field. It wasn’t until the wagon ground to an abrupt halt a few feet away that Jacob turned to look – and by then it was too late.
“Visitors?” he’d wondered. “On a Thursday, when everyone knows I have butchering to do to get ready for market tomorrow?”
But when he finally saw the buggy, he knew right away that something was wrong. Its windows were dark-tinted glass, the spokes of its over-sized wheels chromed, and an elaborate stained-glass-and-candles apparatus cast an eerie blue-violet light from its underside.
The doors popped open, and three bearded men in dark glasses sprung out and charged at Jacob; before he could overcome the initial shock, he found himself pinned against the fence by two of the men while the other stood before him brandishing an ominous-looking pair of shears.
“Hold him steady, Jacob and Jacob!” ordered the scissor-wielder.
“Sure thing, Jacob,” replied Jacob.
(Fun fact: All Amish people are named Jacob, even the women. This is a constant source of frustration for police investigating Amish crime scenes, and is also the reason so few people are brave enough to write stories about them.)
“Now, Jacob, you learn what happens to people who mess with the Bergholz Clan!” said Jacob to Jacob.
Snip! Snip! Snip!
The strangers rushed back aboard their vehicle and trotted away, leaving the still-stunned Jacob gazing down in shock at the scatted locks of his new-shorn beard, some already drafting away on the breeze.
To all my Amish readers who might view this cautionary tale and think, “that could never happen here”, I can only say: don’t be so sure.