The Shunning (22 page)

You don’t like being Amish, but you’re stuck. . . .
Mary’s commentary echoed in her ears as the People sang the sixth and seventh verses of the next hymn.

No matter what happens, remember I love you. . . .

Would that beloved voice never stop speaking to her from the grave? Would she have to settle for an obliging relationship with John Beiler when her heart craved so much more?

The congregational singing ceased, and Bishop John’s uncle stood up to give the
Anfang
, the opening, which included biblical accounts of married couples—from Adam and Eve to Ruth and Boaz. When the speaker was finished, each person turned and knelt for a period of silent prayer. While the others closed their eyes, Katie peeked at a familiar wall hanging.
One who wastes time, wastes life itself
. The old Amish saying caught her eye; the message spoke to her heart.

I’ve been wasting the People’s time
, she thought.
Dat’s, Mam’s,
Mary’s . . . Bishop John’s. And my own life—have I wasted it away?
Haven’t I tried hard enough to follow the Ordnung?

As quickly as the questions came, they were pushed away. She took a deep breath, remembering her life oath before God. She had made her baptismal vow before all the People, the same folk assembled here in her parents’ house, soon to witness her marriage vows.
What’s done
is done
, she thought. And when the silent prayer was finished, she stood with all the others.

She waited respectfully as one of the deacons read the first twelve verses of Matthew, chapter nineteen, before the People sat down again. The Old Way, das Alt Gebrauch. Church order and rules—the way things were.

All of it bore down on Katie as she waited for the inevitable moment when Preacher Zook would speak first to John and then to her. He would ask her if she promised to be loyal to him and care for him in adversity, sickness, and weakness.

Preacher Yoder stood very slowly to begin the main sermon. His shoulders were slumped, and his voice so hushed that his words were almost inaudible. With each phrase, his voice grew louder, and soon he slipped into the familiar singsong manner of exhortation. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he continued. After about an hour, he arrived at the account of Jacob and Rachel.

With eyes glistening, he reached for a German Bible and read, “For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the savior of the body. Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything.”

In everything . . .

Katie’s heart sank.
Here I am, not even married yet, and I’ve already
broken the rules of submission
. Sadly, she glanced at her father. Not even his rigid parental training had broken her will, causing her to submit to authority.

If I can’t obey my own dear Dat, how can I obey a firm, standhaft
man like the bishop?
She wondered how long before her guilt would overtake her before she would have to confess her refusal to destroy the guitar. Days? Weeks? Ultimately, she would have to confess her sin to John. What a way to start a marriage!

You’re like no girl I ever knowed. . . .
Mammi Essie’s strange words came back to Katie now like a specter, lurking in the corners of her mind.

Preacher Yoder sat down, and Preacher Zook took his place, speaking from the book of Tobit. He quoted long passages from the account of a couple named Tobit and Sara, then veered from his text and began to address the congregation: “We have before us a brother and a sister who have agreed to enter the bonds of holy matrimony, John Beiler and Katie Lapp.”

Leaning slightly against her best friend and bridesmaid, Katie was tempted to reach for Mary’s hand, but knew it would be inappropriate. She would simply have to get through this on her own. She must.

“If there is a brother or sister present today who can give cause why these two should not be joined in marriage, let him make it manifest at this time, for after this moment not one complaint shall be heard,” the preacher stated.

Katie stiffened, and she unconsciously held her breath. Dat’s words rang in her ears.
Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water
and bitter?

Preacher Zook paused, giving ample time for someone to speak up, then continued, “If there be no objections, and if our sister and brother are in agreement, you may now step forward in the Name of the Lord.”

Katie stood, but instead of taking John’s extended hand, she walked past him, toward the preacher. Then, feeling faint, she turned to face the People. “I have something to say to all of you here.” She took a deep breath, looking down at the floor for a moment.

Slowly, she allowed her gaze to drift up and out into the congregation. One by one, her family and dear friends came sharply into focus. Her parents, her brothers, Ella Mae Zook, the bishop’s children, first cousins aplenty, and Mattie the midwife, who’d held a grudge for not being allowed to help bring her into the world. And there was Lydia Miller, one of the few Mennonites in attendance. Katie searched their familiar faces, wishing for a kinder way, one that would not bring anguish to her loved ones.

“I am so sorry to have to confess this,” she began, “but I am not fit to marry your brother in Christ, Bishop John Beiler.”

Purposely, she avoided John’s eyes, knowing if she looked into them, she might break down, or worse—back away from what she knew she must do.

She made a single mistake, though. Her eyes lingered on her parents, and the pain in their faces wrenched at her heart. “I am so awful sorry,” she heard herself whisper, “so sorry to hurt you like this, Dat . . . Mamma. . . .”

Rebecca gasped and stood up, her eyes bright with tears. She started to speak, but Katie didn’t wait to hear her mother’s pleas. She turned and fled down the narrow aisle, through the crowd of relatives and friends, to the kitchen, and past the startled cooks, her brother Elam, and Annie.

Katherine, called Katie, burst out the back door and ran from her childhood home—the temporary house of worship—away from the gaping mouths. Away from Rebecca’s tear-stained face, far from the bishop she had shamed and disobeyed, from the People she had betrayed.

Far, far away.

Fifteen

S
he’s up and gone ferhoodled,” Mattie Beiler whispered to one of her married daughters. “And my, oh my, ain’t it odd? Why, I said this very thing at Katie’s quilting just last week.”

“Said what?”

“That when there’s something important to do, Rebecca Lapp’s daughter behaves poorly.” Mattie shook her head, muttering. “Katie— running out on her own wedding. Well, if that don’t beat all.”

Several benches away, Rebecca whispered something to her husband, and while the baffled bishop stood at the front with Preacher Zook, she dashed toward the kitchen and proceeded to rush out the back door. “Katie! Katie, come back!”

John Beiler, eyes wide and hands shoved hard into his pockets— accompanied by his friend, Preacher Zook—headed for the now vacant chairs and sat with the rest of the bridal party, who appeared to be quite befuddled. He sat there for only a few awkward seconds, then stood up again and left the room, making his way into the enclosed front porch, which would have accommodated the guests during the wedding feast if Katie hadn’t just run off.

“Well, what do ya make of it?” Preacher Zook asked.

John shook his head. “Something must be troubling her. She wasn’t herself this morning.”

“Well . . .” The Preacher paused, probably wondering how best to comfort his longtime friend. “Do you have any idea why she would have done such as this?” Before John could attempt a response, he continued, “It’s not like the
Madel’s
getting any younger. For all she knows, this might’ve been her last chance at marriage.”

John nodded in agreement, but secretly suspected that Katie’s rash act had something to do with the way he’d handled things at her confession last week. Had he failed to get over to her the seriousness of her offense? Treated the matter too lightly—seeing as how she was soon to be his bride? He scratched his beard and was mulling over the whole sorry mess when Samuel Lapp appeared in the doorway.

“What words can I offer ya?” Samuel inquired. “My daughter is gravely in the wrong.” He bowed his head.

“Do not blame yourself for Katie’s actions,” Preacher Zook spoke up.

“I’ve done my best bringin’ her up in the fear of the Lord, but this . . . this . . .”

Preacher Yoder came out of the front room to join them on the porch. “’Tis a shameful thing witnessed here today.”

“Jah, shameful,” Samuel said, still hanging his head till his beard brushed his chest. “Our gut bishop . . . spurned by his own bride.”

“Maybe she’ll come to her senses . . . realize what she’s done,” Preacher Zook offered.

Samuel shook his head. “Ya don’t know my Katie. The girl’s headstrong, she is. Has been, since the day she was born. Only her Mam could ever do anything with her.”

“Such a reproach to the church,” Preacher Yoder put in. “She must come clean of it, repent.”

John remembered Katie’s penitent attitude last Saturday—the sweet, innocent way she had approached him, coming into the room toward him, allowing him to hold her hands a bit longer than necessary. He remembered . . . and longed for her, even now.

At last he spoke. “As for confessing, let the subject be dropped. That’s all that need be said.” The men ceased their speculating and went back into the house.

Inside, John heard the low buzz of conversation. Katie Lapp, running out of her own wedding . . . well now, nothing like
this
had ever happened in Hickory Hollow.

The bridal party—what was left of it—was still seated together, shifting nervously. With no precedent for such a thing, apparently they weren’t sure what to do next. One by one and in pairs, the other guests began to move about but did not leave, waiting for a decision to be made as to what should be done.

As for John himself, all he could feel was a throbbing ache in the area of his heart—an emptiness that only Katie could fill.

“What could’ve caused her to do such a horrid thing?” Sarah Beiler asked Mary Stoltzfus.

Mary, noticing Bishop John the instant he came back into the room, colored slightly. “I can’t say, really,” she replied evasively. Feeling the bishop’s gaze on her, she dipped her head in humility. Poor man. What he must be going through!

“You must know
something
about her getting cold feet,” Mattie’s granddaughter persisted. “You’ve known her all your life!”

“No, no, I have no idea what Katie was thinking.” She couldn’t always read the older girl’s actions, although heaven knows she’d tried these many years.
What’ll happen now?
she wondered, feeling a little guilty about the urge to sneak glances at her best friend’s former beau.

Actually, truth be told, she hoped John Beiler was through with the likes of Katie Lapp. The girl had pushed her limits, after all. Hadn’t listened to a thing Mary had been trying to tell her all along. Yet, in spite of her frustration, she couldn’t help feeling compassion for her friend. “I best be looking for Katie,” Mary told Sarah, excusing herself as she sailed past Benjamin Lapp, who was scowling fiercely.

Mary proceeded to search the house for Rebecca Lapp. Surely, if she could find Katie’s mother, the two of them could talk some sense into the bishop’s bride-to-be. What on earth had Katie meant by saying she was unfit to marry their brother in Christ? Didn’t she consider John Beiler
her
Christian brother, too?

Ella Mae looked on as Katie’s best friend scurried about the house, going from room to room. The Wise Woman knew that Mary would ultimately catch up with Rebecca—but no matter. Neither Mary Stoltzfus nor Rebecca Lapp would be able to talk Katie into returning to the house. Not now . . . maybe not for hours.

Ella Mae knew things about Katie. Intimate, sorrowful things. Over the years, she’d listened as the young girl had come to her, spilling out her woes—her fickle growing-up years, her heartache over Daniel Fisher . . . and here lately, something about an English baby dress and a promise she couldn’t keep.

What the promise was, Ella Mae couldn’t tell. But one thing was for sure and for certain: The broken promise—whatever it was—had some bearing on why Katie had left her groom so disgraced and alone.

She sighed, wondering what she might have said or done differently to change the way things were turning out for the poor, lost lamb.

“She was gonna be my mamma,” little Jacob Beiler wailed to his sister Nancy, sitting near the bridal party. “She was, honest she was. . . .”

“Now, now. Try not to cry.” Putting a big-sisterly hand on his shoulder, Nancy patted him, ending with a firm shake. “You’re a big boy now.” She sure hoped her youngest brother wouldn’t cause a spectacle— the way Katie had.

Ach—embarrassing her father like that! Nancy felt her face redden.

It was a disgraceful thing. Surely God himself would rain down judgment. Maybe it was just as well that Katie Lapp was not coming home to be their mother. Besides, no one could take their own Mam’s place. . . .