Sewn with Joy (36 page)

Abraham nodded and listened, but his face held humor, as if he wasn't buying Matthew's argument at all.

“What's so funny?”

“It's funny that you're not admitting what the real issue is, and I wonder if you even see it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you're concerned more about what everyone thinks about you than you are about the woman you claim to love. Last time I looked, the Bible said something about being selfless. And
you say you want to marry her? I have no doubt that if anyone tried to hurt my
mem
, my
dat
would stand up for her. He would die for her if he had to. But instead of being there for Joy, you've turned against her too. That's not love.”

Matthew balled his hands into fists and held them at his sides. “How dare you say who I do or don't love!”

Abraham stood straight and shrugged, and his nonchalant attitude caused Matthew's heart to pound.

“Sure, you have warm feelings inside, but that's not love. I'm going to stand by what I just said.”

“Oh, so what am I supposed to do, just be okay with her working for that show and being filmed? Should I be okay that she's shaming herself in the community's eyes?”

Abraham ran his finger around his collar and narrowed his gaze. “And shaming
you
? You forgot to mention that…and I think that's what this is really about. Her actions are shaming you.”

Matthew had not been an angry man in his past. But the anger that ignited the first time he saw Joy talking to that
Englisch
man—with everyone at the bus stop watching—hadn't died out. It had simmered inside him, casting dark shadows on everything in his world.

“You don't know what you're talking about.” Matthew spoke through clenched teeth. “I'm only thinking of her. What will it do to her to be around all those
Englischers
? How will people think of her from now on?”

“And how will they think of you? You don't have to admit that's what's driving you.” Abraham pointed his finger into the air. “I can see it in your eyes. And I recognize it. For a while I saw it in my own reflection. The community…their opinions…it's a powerful thing, especially when you've been raised to conform, to obey, and to stand out only for the
gut
things, for right actions.”

“You know what?” Matthew tossed his hammer onto the rough wood of the subfloor. I don't need your help anymore. And I don't need your opinions. Get your things, and I'll drop off money for your work later today. I don't need this right now.”

Abraham pushed his hat back on his head. “You remind me of my old dog Gus. He had a crooked back leg. Sometimes I bumped it—not on purpose, of course. But when I did, he snarled at me something fierce. Few times he even bit me. I know he didn't mean to. That dog used to follow me wherever I went. It's just that it hurt.”

He picked up his tool belt and slung it over his shoulder. “I just hope you get it checked out. Took my dog to the vet and there was nothing he could do, but I still felt bad for him.”

Matthew refused to respond, especially to someone who didn't even act Amish half the time. He didn't need Abraham around, not if he was going to talk to him that way.

He watched his former coworker leave and noticed a sadness on the man's face. The sadness wasn't over losing his job—Matthew could tell that. Maybe it was a look of pity more than sadness.

He feels sorry for me.
And somehow even knowing that made him angry. Abraham was one of the most noncommittal Amish men he knew, and yet he dared to pity
him
.

Abraham walked out onto the road, but then he paused and turned. “I just have one question to ask you. One question that won't let go. You don't have to answer me—I don't need to know—but maybe it's something you need to think about.”

“
Ja
, and what's that?” The words shot from Matthew's mouth.

“I was just wondering when everyone's opinion started mattering so much. And when you started thinking you had to be perfect—to make the perfect choice for a bride. It seems to me
that you put a lot of pressure on yourself. Pressure that God never intended.”

Abraham didn't wait for a response. Instead, he simply slunk away in his casual manner.

“And when did you decide it didn't matter?” Matthew whispered under his breath. Yet even as Abraham strode away, his words settled on Matthew like a heavy burden. A weight he couldn't shake away. Or maybe it was a weight that had been there a long time and was just coming to the surface.

Matthew turned over in bed. Bright moonlight filtered through the white curtains, but he knew it wasn't the moonlight that kept him awake. It was Abraham's words. The answer to Abraham's question didn't come immediately, yet as he stayed at work, sliding a new window into its casing, the answer came.

He'd been only five or six years old the day his
dat
had been appointed bishop. He didn't think much of it at the time. Only years later did he understand how God's call had affected everything in their lives.

What he did remember was his grandfather's stern talk. They had just barely left the church service when his grandfather had sat out on the porch and put Matthew on his knee. “Do you understand that your
dat
is an important man now?”

Matthew had nodded.

“That means everyone will be watching him, and they will be guided by him. Everyone will be watching you too.”

“Why?”

“You represent your
dat
and your family. When you look bad,
it makes him look bad. And when he looks bad, God looks bad. Understand?”

Matthew had nodded. He'd understood, maybe too well.
Be good and reflect my father well. Be good and reflect God well.
He'd done that the best he could, but still he failed.

What will happen if I don't reflect Him well?
It was a thought Matthew didn't want to answer. Just as God called his father to be bishop, he'd been called to be the perfect bishop's son. Isn't that what his grandfather meant? And if he did, was he right? For the first time in his life, Matthew wasn't sure.

 

Chocolate Whoopie Pies

1½ cups shortening

3 cups sugar

3 egg yolks, beaten

3 teaspoons vanilla

1½ cups buttermilk (or sour milk)

3 teaspoons baking soda

2 teaspoons salt

1½ cups hot water

1½ cups cocoa

6 cups flour

Filling

1½ cups white shortening (not butter flavored)

5 tablespoons milk

3 cups powdered sugar

3 teaspoons vanilla

3 egg whites, beaten stiff

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream together shortening and sugar. Add egg yolks and vanilla. Stir in buttermilk. Add baking soda, salt, hot water, cocoa, and flour. Beat well. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto greased cookie sheet and bake 12 minutes.

For the filling, cream shortening and milk. Add powdered sugar and vanilla; mix well. Beat in egg whites until filling is fluffy.

To assemble pies, spread a heaping spoonful of filling on flat side of half the cookies. Top with remaining cookies. Makes approximately 40 whoopie pies.
*

*
Sherry Gore,
Simply Delicious Amish Cooking
(Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2013), 174–75.

Thirty-Two

Many light things make a heavy bundle.

A
MISH PROVERB

A
licia was just getting ready to head home after work when she entered the wardrobe room and paused. Someone was in the chair by the sewing machine. Not just someone—Joy. Joy was blinking fast and her lips were compressed, as if there was a tidal wave of emotion building up inside that she was trying to hold in.

Alicia flipped on a switch, flooding the room with light. Joy covered her face and pulled back as if the white light from the overhead bulb burned her skin. Her fingers shook, and Alicia expected a sound, a cry, to emerge. But none did.

“Joy, are you okay?” She rushed to her friend and kneeled at her side. When Alicia placed a hand on Joy's knee, it was moist.
Tears.
Alicia's heart cinched down as if the woman's pain had seeped through her skin. It was a feeling she hadn't felt in a while—compassion. In LA she hadn't been shielded from the pain of others, yet she thought they pretty much got what they deserved. Here, with Joy, it was different. Whatever hurt her friend must be serious. And Alicia honestly wished at the moment that she could carry some of Joy's pain.

Alicia swallowed down the emotion. “Is it your dad?”

“No. He's fine. It's just…” Joy pulled a handkerchief from her shirt pocket and wiped her face. “It's just that Matthew and I are no longer courting.”