Meek and Mild Page 23

  Clara drew in a deep breath to offset the gasp she heard from Rhoda.

  “Hannah talks about Sadie,” Mattie said.

  “They’ve never met,” Rhoda said.

  “Still, Priscilla is curious,” Mattie said. “Whether Old Order or Amish Mennonite, we are all Amish.”

  “But the meidung,” Clara said.

  Mattie laced her fingers together and set her hands on the table. “We understand that some will feel they must shun us. That is another reason why it will be better for the children if we live in Maryland, among the people we will worship with.”

  Clara wanted to scream in objection. Instead she looked at her father and Rhoda, unsure what stance they would take. They had no family connection to the Schrocks, no intermingling business, no reason to justify continuing social contact with them.

  “The new bishop will have something to say, will he not?” Clara said.

  “Mose Beachy is a good man,” Caleb said. “I admire him a great deal. He seeks peace, and I pray it will come. But we feel we must be true to our conscience in the way we express our faith.”

  Clara could hardly try to argue the Schrocks out of the decision. They had already purchased the new farm.

  “Does Priscilla know?” Clara said.

  “She is excited about Sunday school.” Mattie’s smile was tentative.

  What about Hannah? Clara thought. Would Rhoda set aside the ban for the sake of her daughter’s friendship?

  Seventeen days since Mose became bishop. Andrew was right. No matter what Mose did or did not do, the church would change.

  Relieved, Fannie let herself in the back door. The invitation for Sadie to play on the next farm over could not have been more welcome. Elam was sorting out the fields after harvesting the corn and would not be anywhere near the house for several hours. Fannie moved through the rooms shuttering the daylight out before crawling onto the davenport and cradling a throw pillow against her waist. If only a child would grow there. If only her waist would thicken with new hope.

  Fannie closed her eyes. With enough practice over the last few months, she required fewer and fewer minutes to successfully retreat into sleep, her only escape.

  When her eyes popped open, it was at the prodding of an insistent voice standing over her.

  “You can pretend you’re not here,” Martha said, “but you’ll also have to be like the English and lock your doors.”

  “I didn’t hear you,” Fannie said truthfully, pushing herself upright. “I must have dropped off.”

  “I stood on the porch knocking for a long time,” her mother said. “I’ve never known you to sleep through the kind of ruckus I was making.”

  “I’m sorry.” Fannie stared into her mother’s midsection. How was it possible she was this large?

  “Do you feel unwell?” One hand on her belly, Martha lowered herself beside her daughter.

  Fannie scooted over a few inches, uncertain how to answer her mother’s question. She had no headache, no stomachache, no dizziness, no nausea, no fever.

  But no, she did not feel well.

  “Do you want kaffi?” Fannie stood up, her eyes fixed on her mother, who seemed to have gained more weight than she had with her last three babes put together. Perhaps she had miscalculated and was closer to her time than any of them realized.

  “No, thank you,” Martha said.

  “Something cold, then?” Fannie’s brain refused to clear. She glanced at the clock. Barely thirty minutes had passed since she fell asleep, yet her body felt like a millstone dropping in a river. Even in the presence of her mother—or especially so—sleep beckoned.

  “Fannie, I have not come to be entertained. I want to talk.”

  “I have a dozen things to do. I don’t get much time without Sadie underfoot.”

  “You were sound asleep,” Martha pointed out.

  “I didn’t mean to be.” It was a half truth.

  “It’s not like you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want kaffi? I’m going to have some.”

  Martha grabbed Fannie’s hand, pulling her back. “I had no idea things were this bad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t see you except at church. Lizzie said you didn’t look well. Then Clara came to visit without you.”

  “She was anxious to see how you were doing.”

  “And you weren’t.”

  Fannie reclaimed her hand. “I really need some kaffi.”

  “You only drink it to be polite.”

  “Lately I’ve taken it up with more enthusiasm.”

  Martha braced her arms behind her and pushed herself up, abdomen first. “Then I’ll come with you.”

  “You must have better things to do than watch me drink kaffi.”

  Martha touched her daughter’s face. “I have nothing better to do than talk to you. I didn’t know Sadie wouldn’t be here, but perhaps it is God’s will that we have this time without interruption.”

  Fannie took a step back.

  “You’re avoiding me,” Martha said. “You won’t come to me, so I’ve come to you. I want my daughter back.”

  Fannie said nothing.

  “We’ve never had anything between us,” Martha said. “Why must this baby separate us?”

  “The baby is innocent,” Fannie said.

  “Then I am to blame?” Martha said. “How can you think I would want to hurt you?”

  Fannie swallowed. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Then whose fault is it that I conceived and you did not?”

  If her mother said Gottes wille, Fannie thought she might scream. What good was prayer if God’s will made no sense?

  “This child deserves love,” Martha said.

  “Love will not be lacking,” Fannie said.

  “This child deserves your love, just as much as any of your brothers did. Sadie is excited about a baby aunti or onkel. She needs to see you excited, too.”

  “I’m Sadie’s mother. I will decide what she needs.”

  Never had Fannie spoken to her mother with stinging words, but she could not stop herself.

  “This is your baby sister or brother,” Martha said. “I will decide what my child needs, and my child needs you.”

  Fannie turned away, not under the guise of making coffee but only to escape her mother’s scrutiny.

  Martha lumbered around Fannie and grabbed her by both shoulders, pulling her in and wrapping arms around her. “And you are my child. I will not watch your pain and do nothing.”

  Fannie tried to lean away, but Martha did not let go. Her embrace tightened the same way it used to when Fannie was young and tempestuous, annoyed by one of her little brothers or wounded by a friend’s remark. Her mother would hold on indefinitely.

  Fannie felt the child physically between them, her mother’s womb firm and round. Martha stroked the back of Fannie’s head. A sob welled up and burst out of Fannie’s throat.

  Andrew walked up the path to his mailbox and extracted the stack. The latest issue of The Sugarcreek Budget came to him courtesy of the subscription his mother launched years ago when she lived at this address, and for which she still paid the annual fee. An advertisement for seeds and farm equipment came simply because the Rabers were farmers, not because either Andrew or his father had ever purchased from the company. Sandwiched between these two items was the envelope Andrew was genuinely interested in, a letter from his mother. Tucking the larger items under one arm, Andrew broke the seal on the flap and removed the familiar folded pages in his mother’s meticulous handwriting and began to read as he walked.

  Dear Andrew,

  We’ve heard the news about your new bishop, though we are eager to hear your perspective on what this means for the church in Somerset County. Several here in Lancaster have received letters from family and friends in Somerset. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that a coin has two sides. Some write to applaud Mose Beachy because they are certain that he will at long last set aside rules that, in their o
pinion, have done nothing but cause unclarity and division for all the years that Bishop Yoder was in office. Others, naturally, write with downcast hearts that one of the Yoder boys was not selected. But of course who can dispute the will of God? If God selected Mose Beachy, He must have a plan for the church.

  I hope that in all the fracas you will see your way clear to let your conscience guide you. In circumstances like these, your father and I have always recognized how simple it is to do what causes the least disturbance. That is, in fact, the reason we moved to Lancaster once your brothers and sisters were married and settled.

  You are old enough to remember something of 1895, or at least 1905, though perhaps you did not perceive the depth of people’s confusion. Whether he intended to or not, Bishop Yoder misled the congregation in the original vote about the meidung. When the truth came out ten years later, no one was certain how to correct the matter. Someone would have had to state before a communion service that they did not agree with the teaching regarding shunning, and of course to do so would mean that communion would not occur. Who among us wants to be responsible for withholding the body and blood of Christ from the rest of the congregation?

  To this end, your father and I decided we would rather move to Lancaster. After all, we have family here. If we could not submit to the bishop, it seemed best to remove ourselves. We had no desire to be a stumbling block to anyone else. Perhaps if someone—even we—had mustered the courage to bring the issue to a new vote, the harm could have been undone long ago and Somerset would not be in crisis now. Alas, we did not. I hope we have not contributed to any discomfort you may be experiencing now.

  Mose has never agreed with the shunning. Of this I am certain. But he believed that if the congregation endured all these years, then let it continue to do so. If the letters arriving in Lancaster are any indication, I doubt he can sustain this position much longer. Hearing the news across the miles, it seems to me that Somerset is going to split after all, and perhaps this would not be an entirely unwelcome event.

  My prayers are with you, my son. If I had spoken plainly before moving away, I doubt it would have made a difference. You were so eager to have a go at running the farm on your own! And your father had every confidence that your temperament would both bring you success and allow you a peaceable existence in the church where you grew up.

  I trust your harvest was satisfactory and will prove profitable. Do let us know the results once your crops have come in and the funds have been sorted out.

  With love,

  Your mamm

  Andrew read the letter again once he was inside the house and in a comfortable chair. When his parents moved away and left him to run the farm, he did not ask more than a few questions.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather sell the farm to someone who can pay what it’s worth?”

  The truth was, he was eager to run the farm. Now, he realized, the advantage blinded him. And now the congregation had once again been complicit in upholding the ban. Though many disagreed, no one would speak up. No one would be the dissenting voice that deprived the congregation of communion.

  Andrew moved to the desk his father had crafted twenty years ago and took a sheet of paper from the drawer.

  Dear Mamm,

  Thank you for speaking with directness about what prompted you to withdraw to Lancaster. Someday, when we have a good visit, perhaps you will tell me more.

  I think you are right about Mose Beachy’s position. It seems to me that people have gone along with the rule for these twenty years out of respect for the office Bishop Yoder held and the conviction that God chooses the bishop. But if this is true, would it not also be so for Bishop Beachy? Perhaps God has raised our brother up for such a time as this.

  I do feel that since Bishop Yoder has resigned, people may feel less obligated to defer to his opinions without discussion. If the question of officially removing the ban were put to a vote, I would be surprised if it failed, though there may be some who support it because of tradition more than conviction. Of course Noah and Joseph Yoder would argue for sustaining the ban. The Yoders are nothing if not loyal.

  I know that Mose Beachy’s father was in favor of the ban, but Mose has a mind of his own. I suppose we will see if he has the strength to express it. You may be right about a split. I pray that it would be as amicable as the decision in 1877 was meant to be when this journey began.

  Yours,

  Andrew

  If Joseph or Noah had become bishop, Yonnie would have known what to do. Even if the Ordnung by which church members lived their daily lives did not mention automobiles, everyone knew how the Yoders felt about the English contraptions. If Andrew’s owning the Model T was not already against the rules, the Yoders would have made an example of Andrew and the resulting rule would be clear. Joseph and Noah were still ministers. They were not without influence, and the two of them would stand together.

  But Mose Beachy? Who could say how he would respond?

  Yonnie chewed on this conundrum as he made his dairy rounds on Thursday.

  Passing Mose’s farm—not one of his stops because as a family of sixteen the Beachys consumed everything their cows produced—Yonnie recognized the distinctive white stripe in a horse’s tail waving like a flag. It was Noah’s horse.

  If Noah was at Mose’s home, Joseph likely was as well. The three of them would have many subjects to discuss. Ministers had meetings all the time.

  Yonnie slowed the wagon, stopped for a moment, and then pulled to the side of the road where he could tie his own horse to a tree. He scanned the farmstead, with the house and barn dominating the assortment of outbuildings. Would the ministers meet in the new bishop’s home, with his wife and children within earshot, or would they look for a more private spot? Yonnie decided to aim for Noah’s rig.

  As he moved alongside the house with its covered front porch, Yonnie heard voices, a blend of children too young to attend Crossroads School vying for their mother’s attention. A young man, probably fourteen and in his first year out of school, intoned caution, and the rumpus subsided. Lucy Beachy’s calm assurance was muffled, but the children seemed satisfied. Yonnie saw no one outside and paced toward the enormous barn.

  Noah’s horse turned his head and swished his flag of a tail in acknowledgment of Yonnie’s presence, but he made no sound. To one side, a half-dozen hogs snorted and rummaged, oblivious to the impending fall slaughter. A hen fluttered her wings and brushed past Yonnie, whose ears focused on the drifting sound of male voices. Glancing over his shoulder again, Yonnie approached the equipment shed.

  “Would you not agree,” Noah Yoder said, “that it is important for all the ministers to be of one mind?”

  Yonnie paused outside the open door, out of sight.

  “I have been bishop less than three weeks,” Mose said. “I pray each day for God’s will to be clear to me.”

  “We cannot continue preaching our message but turning our heads from the violations we are certain of.” Joseph’s pitch raised in emphasis.

  No one spoke for a few moments. Yonnie heard the clink of metal against metal. Mose must have been adjusting the thresher so many of the Amish farms depended on.

  “Perhaps,” Mose finally said, “we should agree to a period of time during which we will open our hearts to the Lord for this new season in the church.”

  “A church does not have a new season,” Noah said. “Our responsibility is to preserve the faith as it was given to us.”

  Joseph spoke. “Your own father was in agreement with ours. They both signed a letter objecting to the lax enforcement of shunning.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Mose said. “We were all boys. Now we need to examine our own consciences. The original separation of the Marylanders was peaceful. Why do we continue to fight against peace?”

  “Would you have all our people join the Marylanders?”

  “I would have them follow their consciences.”

  “The
y have vowed to be obedient to the church.”

  “And Christ is the head of the church,” Mose said.

  “We have Ordnung for our own good,” Noah said. “We protect the salvation of the church members when we hold them accountable.”

  “Jesus said the Sabbath was made for man,” Mose retorted, “and not man for the Sabbath.”

  “I suppose you would claim freedom to drive cars or use telephones like the English in the name of conscience.”

  Yonnie stilled his breath for the response.

  “It seems to me,” Mose said, “that it has always been our way for the congregation to consider such questions together. All the members may vote. Perhaps we should also vote on the meidung again.”

  Joseph’s sigh could have filled a milk jug. “I see that we will need many conversations.”

  “That may be so. Right now, I have promised to take my thresher out to the Troyer farm so he will have it first thing in the morning.”

  Yonnie moved around the side of the shed and watched as the Yoders, reluctantly, climbed into Noah’s buggy and turned the horse toward the road.

  “Yonnie, you can come out now,” Mose said.

  Yonnie pressed himself against the structure.

  “I know you’re there. I can still see your shadow.”

  Yonnie exhaled and stepped into view.

  “Did you get the answer you were seeking?” Mose asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Yonnie said.

  “Do not cultivate dishonesty.”

  Yonnie licked his lips but said nothing.

  “I did not ask to become bishop,” Mose said. “God chose me, and I will serve faithfully as God gives me strength. I know people are watching me and wondering if there will be change. But you have come to my farm and hidden yourself for your own purposes. That is deceit, is it not?”

  Embarrassment flowed in Yonnie’s blood.

  “Did you want to speak openly to me about a matter?” Mose said.

  After what he’d overheard, Yonnie would say nothing to Mose about Andrew’s car or Dale and Clara’s interaction with the Marylanders.