1. Eli is an Amish farmer who has just finished his work for the day when his estranged son Samuel arrives with news. 2. Samuel tells Eli that most of the other Amish families in the area have agreed to sell their land and start a new community farther west, as increasing modernization is threatening their traditional way of life. 3. Eli refuses to leave his land, saying this land is God's will for them, but Samuel argues that God has given them a chance at a new beginning in an untouched land. Eli remains resolute in staying.

1. 1
Will Be Done
Eli straightened up and leaned backwards, popping his back. Sweat trickled down his
forehead, slid down his nose, and dropped into the thick, chocolate-brown earth. Another good
day’s work. God be praised. He leaned back down and gave a few last strokes to the soil with
the rake, then picked up the wooden bucket and gently poured the water into the garden. The
bailing of hay had finished earlier than expected, and he had moseyed on over to the tomatoes
and squash, realized a few weren’t quite ready to be picked, and got in some more work before
the sun set.
Jacob Christner rode on by in his carriage, waving, the setting sun glistening against the
back of the acorn-brown horse. Eli waved back at the father-in-law of his son, Isaiah, who had
just been married to Jacob’s fourth daughter, Rebecca, the Tuesday prior. They would make Eli
a grandfather for the ninth time, barring any unforeseen medical complications. Regardless, the
will of God will be done. Yes, it will be done. But God works in mysterious ways, does he not?
And it is not our right as humans upon this earth to know that will, no it is not.
Eli had to swallow that fact like the lump in his throat when he saw the plume of dust
rising into the evening sky just over the hill, the increasing drone of an automobile’s motor
meshing with the constant rhythmic screeching of the cicadas in the forest that bordered his
property. The car was silver, glistening like a bullet, glistening like the city of Indianapolis that
lay far to the north. He looked over to his wife, Miriam, who stood up from her crouching
position over the washboard to share his concerned gaze. The car pulled over to the side of the
road, just on the other side of Eli’s wooden fence. He set the rake down next to the tomato

2. 2
plants and began walking across the field of recently harvested corn, the dried husks crunching
beneath his feet. God’s will be done. God’s will be done.
The man that emerged from the sedan wore a white tucked-in dress shirt and black
slacks, a black tie that fluttered in the breeze and dark sunglasses to match. He hopped over the
fence, approaching Eli, and stumbled in a particularly soggy spot, winced, wiped his muddied
shoes on a husk. He offered a hand to Eli. “Mr. Plank,” Eli said, not returning the gesture, “good
evening.”
“Hello, Eli.” Plank took in the scenery. “Nice evening, eh? A good harvest this year?”
“Decent. It will last us the winter, with some to spare.” They stood silent for a moment.
A rooster cackled from the barn. “What can I do for-”
“You know why I’m here,” Plank said. He set a hand on Eli’s shoulder, took in a breath as
if about to speak. Eli cut him off before a word escaped.
“The answer hasn’t changed.”
The smell of baking apple pie came across the field from the house, carried by the
gentle breeze. Plank snorted, set his hands at his hips, looked at the ground, shook his head
once.
“I said the answer hasn’t changed.”
“Yeah, but the world has. Your world has. What about the Ordnung?”
“The Ordnung is dead. Our way of life is dying. I will keep it alive in the world God has
given us, regardless of the weakness of lesser men. We need no Bishop to interpret the word of
God.” He stamped his foot on the ground. “This is the word of God. We have kept it for nearly
two hundred years. I will not lose it to heathens.”

3. 3
“Eli,” Plank said, removing his sunglasses. “It’s already lost. It’s over. And God has given
you another land.”
“An abomination, to think that–.”
“Your own world, Eli. Free from the development and pestilence of this area that lesser
men have squandered. Unfarmed, but fertile. Pristine.” Plank waved a hand dismissively. “As
God intended it before His people rebelled, if that’s what you want to call it.” Eli stood resolute
against the whelp’s words, shook his head once. Plank sighed took out a small tablet from his
back pocket, held it up in front of Eli’s face. How dare he. How dare he shed heathen
technology here.
“You see this? You see this signature, right here?” Eli’s fingertips went numb, his
throated collapsed into his innards. Jacob Christner’s signature glared across the technological
gulf like a wound. “Jacob has already forfeited his land, traded it away for a new chance.” Plank
slid a thumb across the screen, showing a new signature. “Hershberger.” Another slide.
“Fisher.” Slide. “Lapp. Zook. They’re getting prepped tomorrow morning for their first journey,
to set up their homes where the Bishop and Deacon and a few other families from other
communities around the country have already set up shop. Nearing harvest time, over there.”
Plank reached a hand into his pocket, presenting some kernels. “Just as good. If not better.” A
jet roared overhead, soaring through the clouds at a height Eli couldn’t see.
“They have no right to give away communal –”
“Eli, your family is all that’s left. Your world doesn’t have to die.”
Eli welled up, clinched his fist. “Bastard,” he whispered. “I should’ve known you’d
always come back. You were always trouble, from the moment you were born.”

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“Careful, Dad,” Plank said, crossing his arms, dropping the foreign kernels onto the
earth, polluting it like salt on Carthage. “You-know-who can hear you.”
“How dare you mention Him when you do not believe.”
“Oh, I believe. I believe we are in the process of building a community just over that
grove of trees yonder and He has given you the ability to make a new home free of all
this...technological pollution. You have that option.” Plank’s phone vibrated and Eli looked at
his pocket as it lit up. Plank smiled wryly. “It would appear I do not.” Eli stroked his beard, heard
the dinner triangle ring. His dogs barked and howled, and his boys in the field led the donkeys
back to the stables. The sky’s brilliant colors were fading into the end of twilight. “Nothin’ like
home cookin’,” Plank said.
“Get off my land, Samuel,” Eli said in a shaky voice. “You have been shunned for plenty
of time, and I have been more than hospitable.” Eli pointed down the road from whence his
excommunicated son had come. “Go. Go back to your heathen ways.”
“Hey,” Samuel said as he backed up, hands in the air, “I’m giving you the opportunity to
remove your family from outside influence in any way.”
“Go!”
“Alright, Dad. Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Samuel shook his head and hopped back over
the fence, slid into his car, and drove off into the night on the wings of another plume. Eli
watched as the vehicle climbed a hill and disappeared with the engine noise. Crickets sang
harmony to the cicadas, and Eli’s stomach groaned. But he was not hungry. He walked back to
the house, over the dried husks on the sacred earth. Miriam would already know, having talked
to Mary Christner and Hannah Zook at the market earlier in the day. She would be supportive,

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talk about how God works in mysterious ways, how His will is for Him alone to know until the
day we step into His paradise, and how perhaps it will be better off for a fresh start, similar to
the Pilgrims heading over from England. Eli will nod assent, but it will be a lie.