A Plain Love Song (23 page)
“I haven’t always been old.” Mudder chuckled, a rich, lovely note. “Neither has your daed. We had rumspringas too.”
“I know.”
“Nee, you don’t. It’s the folly of youth to think you’re the first to ever experience something.”
“You thought of being with someone besides Daed?”
“He did, not me.”
“But he chose you.”
“He chose me and never looked back, even when I made the worst mistake a fraa can make. He stood by me after I caused Ruthie’s death
and burned down our house. That’s true love between a man and woman. Remember that.”
Mudder rarely spoke of the accident that had taken her first baby’s life. Now she turned her back to Adah and peeked into the oven at the cookies, telling Adah no more would be said of it.
Would Matthew do for her what Daed did for Mudder? His expression last night when he took the phone and the iPod without insisting she explain them said he would, but he didn’t have all the facts. He could never know where they came from or why she gave them to him.
Matthew said he loved her, but could his love survive her betrayal?
H
eaving a last sigh, Adah slipped across the Brennamans’ yard and squeezed onto the bench next to Lizzie Shrock. She glanced first at Thomas. If he was irritated at her late arrival he gave no sign. She smoothed the papers in her hand. At least she’d remembered to bring her homework. After a fitful night of strange dreams involving runaway horses and her father angry and shouting at her, she was surprised she’d arrived at all. She sneaked a glance at the men’s benches on the other side. Matthew sat between Caleb and Richard. He’d left a big gap between himself and Richard, who looked at her, smiled, and nodded. She forced a return smile. Matthew’s gaze remained fixed on Thomas. She waited for him to look her direction. He didn’t. Not even for a second.
“We’ve been talking about Article Twelve. The State of Matrimony.” Thomas fixed her with a rather mournful gaze. Why? What did he know? Or was it her guilty conscience? He cleared his throat. “Let’s read through it first.”
Thomas wet his thumb and shuffled through a pile of papers on the picnic table. A gust of wind spun two onto the ground. Matthew lunged for them. Adah took the opportunity to do the same. Their shoulders brushed. The skin over his collar turned scarlet. The color rose in a furious wave across his face and lost itself in the roots of his hair underneath his best black hat.
“What’s the matter?” she whispered as she tried to take the paper from his hand. His grip tightened. “Why do you look like a snake coiled and about to spew venom?”
He shook his head, let go of the paper, rose, and went back to his seat without saying a word.
Thomas accepted her offering. He cleared his throat again. “I seem to have a frog in my throat this morning. Adah, why don’t you read that first paragraph?”
Her cheeks burning, Adah cleared her throat. She should’ve known. Thomas saw all, knew all, heard all. He knew or thought he knew.
“‘We confess that there is in the church of God an honorable state of matrimony, of two free, believing persons, in accordance with the manner after which God originally ordained the same in Paradise and instituted it Himself with Adam and Eve, and the Lord Christ did away and set aside all the abuses of marriage which had meanwhile crept in, and referred all to the original order and thus left it.’”
Adah’s voice quivered and broke.
“That’s good.” Thomas saved her from herself. “Matthew, you take it from here.”
He did know something. Adah sideswiped a glance at Matthew. His face darkened to the color of overripe tomatoes and a pulse beat in his clenched jaw. He sucked in air audibly.
“Matthew?”
He swallowed and began to read, his voice stiff, his jaw jutting.
“‘In this manner the apostle Paul also taught and permitted matrimony in the church and left it free for everyone to be married, according to the original order, in the Lord, to whomsoever one may get to marry among their kindred or generation so the believers of the New Testament have likewise no other liberty than to marry among the chosen generation and spiritual kindred of Christ, namely, such and another, who have previously become united with the church as one heart and soul, have received one baptism, and stand in one communion, faith, doctrine, practice, before they may unite with one another by marriage. Such are then joined by God in His church according to the original order; and this is called, marrying in the Lord.’” Matthew’s
voice didn’t waver. After he finished, he lowered the paper and looked directly at Adah. His face held a welter of emotions. She couldn’t decipher most of them, but two stood out. Anger and hurt.
What did he know? She broke the chokehold his gaze had on her and stared at her hands clasped in her lap. Her fingers hurt.
“So, what does all that mean?”
No one spoke. Lizzie wiggled on her seat. She nudged Adah. Adah shook her head. She’d done the reading. Someone else’s turn.
“Anyone? Or are you all sleeping this morning? I’d like to get in to the service before Silas starts the sermon. Wake up!”
“It means a man has to be right with God before he can be right with his fraa.” Richard offered. “Seems like common sense to me.”
“Me too,” Elizabeth chimed in. She sat on the bench in front of Adah, so she couldn’t see her face, but her tone said it all.
Everyone with a brain knows that.
“And the woman has to be right with God or she has no business getting married.” Matthew made the statement sound like an accusation.
Thomas nodded and pursed his thin lips. His beard bobbed. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Both must be believers. They must be baptized. They must take communion and be members of the body of Christ.”
“They have to believe the same thing or there will be arguments and one will end up dragging the other one down.” Matthew stared at the sun-scarred grass beneath his Sunday shoes. “Unequally yoked, that’s what Luke called it.”
“I’m glad to know you’ve been listening to Luke.” Thomas smiled like a proud daed. “It seems like a simple thing, but a tiny seed of doubt or discontent or disagreement can grow into a huge division between a man and his fraa. It can destroy the unity of the family. God must be at the center of a marriage, at the center of a family, at the center of our community.”
“What if somebody wants to put something else at the center?” Matthew’s gaze darted in Adah’s direction. “What if they make something more important than God?”
“There is nothing more important. To place something above God
is to worship an idol.” Thomas’s expression grew serious, his voice deepened. “That is a terrible sin. The Bible says we shall have no idols before Him. We have to remove from our lives anything that comes between us and God.”
“Does that mean we can’t do things we enjoy?” The words sounded more defensive than Adah intended. She tried to rearrange her features. Just a question. Just trying to learn. So she’d know, if the issue came up somewhere down the road. “Does anything fun or enjoyable have to be discarded because it might come between us and God?”
“Scripture says God wants us to enjoy life. But remember, we’re only passing through this life. What is important is eternal life. When that thing you enjoy in this life becomes more important to you than God’s plan for you, that’s when you have a problem.”
Adah dropped her gaze to the ground under Thomas’s steely perusal of her face.
“Any other thoughts, questions, discussion?”
No one spoke.
Thomas cleared his throat. “I’m feeling under the weather today. I’ll close early. You can get settled in for the sermon before it starts for a change. Think about what we read. If you have questions, bring them next time.”
Adah stood with the others and angled her way toward Matthew.
“Adah, a word.”
Thomas’s voice commanded, it didn’t ask. He crooked a long finger toward the house, away from the other scholars straggling toward the barn. Matthew turned his back on her.
She ducked her head and followed the deacon. He stopped near the hitching rail. “I saw your mudder earlier when she brought the cookies up to the house. She said she thought you wanted to talk to me about something.”
Adah kicked at the gravel in the road. A kitten stretched, trotted down the steps, and wound its long, skinny body around her shoes. She knelt and petted it, letting Thomas see the top of her prayer kapp.
“We have a service to get to.” Despite the words, his tone held an
infinite patience. She loved that about Thomas. He was like an
onkel
to every one of the men and women who went through his classes. “What did you want to talk about?”
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and straightened. “I did something.”
“Something you wished you hadn’t done.” He made it a statement. “Something you’d like to undo and can’t.”
“I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t start out to do it, but it happened.”
His gaze hardened. “Something sinful? Something you need to confess?”
“I’m not sure…I mean under these circumstances, I think so. Not under all circumstances, I guess, but as it happened, surely it was. It is.”
“The fact that guilt is written all over your face leads me to believe it was. If it felt wrong, it was.”
“Not intentionally.”
“You’ve heard the saying the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
“Jah.”
“Do you want to tell me what it was?”
“Nee.” A white hot sheet of embarrassment wrapped itself around her. She couldn’t look at Thomas. Her voice came out in a squeak. “I’d rather not.”
“Then all I can tell you is to pray. Pray for forgiveness and for the strength to avoid this temptation, whatever it is. To do something once and ask forgiveness is acceptable, but to keep doing it when you know it’s wrong, that’s truly sinful.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Jah.”
“What is it that Matthew is so concerned about?”
“What?”
“What is the idol you’re worshiping?”
“There is no idol.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
Thomas coughed. New guilt washed over her. He didn’t feel well, yet here he stood, trying to help her. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell God.” He pointed toward the sky, then let his hand drop so it rested on his chest, over his heart. “We all have holes inside us we’re trying to fill. All of us. That’s the nature of original sin. Nothing but God can fill that hole.”
“I know.”
“Get yourself to the service and don’t miss any more classes.” He coughed. “I’m right behind you. I need a glass of water and something for my throat.”
She left him standing by the steps of his house and began what seemed like a long trek to the barn. The voices of her friends and family wafted from it in low, steady tones. Music to her ears.
“Adah.”
She looked back. Thomas hadn’t moved. “Music can’t fill the hole. Neither can an Englisch boy.”
Mudder had told him about the Harts. Adah tightened her fingers around the edges of her apron, trying to breathe evenly. “I know.”
“See that you don’t forget it.”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t want to have to raise this concern to Luke.”
“You won’t have to do that.”
“Gut.”
She bowed her head and slipped through the barn door. She trusted Thomas. He was wise. So why did the hole inside her grow with each step?
M
atthew swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and pushed away from the picnic table. He hoped his parents didn’t want to linger too long visiting with folks after the service. He used to like hanging around on Sunday afternoon, eating good cookies, visiting with friends, playing volleyball, waiting to catch a glimpse of Adah, exchanging a quick, secret grin with her. Those days were over. All night, the words spoken on that tiny telephone had swirled in his head, keeping him from sleeping. Now he had wool for brains and a headache to go with it. Time to get home. If Mudder and Daed weren’t ready to go, he would walk. The walk would do him good. Maybe he could work off the anger that ate at his belly. He swiveled, threw his leg over the bench, and rose. Adah stood right behind him, a full platter of cookies in her hands, a determined look on her face. Matthew did a two-step and managed to avoid knocking both her and the platter to the ground. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
She held on to the platter with both hands. “I guess not.”
“No need to be snippy.”
They simultaneously glanced both ways. Richard, deep in conversation with Jesse Christner about the pros and cons of free range chickens, waved at Adah but kept talking. Rueben looked half asleep over his ham and Swiss on sourdough bread. The twins were telling knock-knock jokes and laughing so loud it was a wonder they didn’t wake their
brother. Adah leaned toward Matthew, or maybe that was his imagination. Why would she try to get closer to him? “What’s wrong? Last night you were—”
“Hush about last night.” Aware of Richard and Simon’s curious gazes, he ducked past Adah and strode away, not able to move quickly enough.
