The Longing (20 page)

Caleb went to the window and saw a young woman emerge from the carriage, her head bowed. Was it . . . could it be his long-lost sister? He leaned closer to the window and realized it was indeed Rebekah. “What do you know!”

She had not darkened the door since leaving nearly three months ago. Quickly he headed down the stairs, to the back door, chagrined at not having kept in touch as he’d promised that miserable Sunday night in late January. Things had gone awry shortly thereafter, spiraling out of his control. There had been no time for his headstrong sister, with so many problems of his own.

“Well, look at you.” He opened the door.

She smiled. “You’re up early.”

“I might be the only one awake in the house.” He stood near the cookstove, thinking he ought to fire it up to take off the chill. For Daed, especially. “What brings you here?”

“It’s communion Sunday—at Preacher Manny’s, that is. And even though I’m not a member just yet, I want to have a clean slate, so to speak.” She eyed him hesitantly. “Caleb . . . I want to make peace here. If at all possible.” Her light blond hair was still parted down the middle and combed back smoothly on top, the twisted strands on the sides pinned beneath her white netting Kapp. He’d thought his sister might have begun to look different by now, spending time with the defectors. “Are ya starin’ at me?” she asked softly.

“You look exactly like you did before you left.”

“Well, what did ya expect? Ain’t like we’re fancy folk. We dress Plain and still use horse and buggy.” She smiled. “It’s the spiritual teachings that are the big difference . . . and I daresay, Caleb, if you gave it a try, you’d find it wonderful-good, too.”

He shrugged, put off.

“How’s Daed since . . . the accident?” she asked.

“Go and see for yourself,” he dared her.

She flung off her shawl. “Be serious, Caleb. It won’t be that easy to make amends.”

“With Daed?”

“Well, not with
you
.” She poked his arm, mischief in her eyes.

“Ach, I miss seein’ ya,” he admitted. “You oughta come to see Mamm some. You have no idea how hard things are for her—Daed’s unable to move without help and all.”

“I’m here for that, as well. But do you think I’ll be welcomed back?”

He shook his head sadly. “Truth is, I doubt it . . . not if you’re bent on stayin’ with the heretics.”

Her eyes dimmed. “Why do you call us that? You can’t condemn what you don’t know firsthand, now, can you?”

It occurred to him that she was in touch with Nellie Mae every week at church, or so he assumed. He found himself straining to hold back, even inching away from her, not wanting to ask what he was dying to know.

“What is it?” Her eyes searched his. “You all right, Caleb?”

He forced a chuckle, waving away her question. “I’ll see if Daed and Mamm are up yet.”

Rhoda awakened to the sound of wood thrushes bickering loudly in the pasture. A sudden breeze rang the dinner bell hanging on the back porch from a rope high in the eaves. Stretching in the warmth of her bed, she remembered it was Sunday and thought again of attending church with James and Martha. She could help with the babies in the nursery, which might soothe her a bit. Oh, how she wished she could wipe Ken’s offhand remarks from her memory!

Getting up, she washed and dressed in Plain attire for the day. It was impossible to push her short hair into a bun, so she merely parted it down the middle and secured it on the sides with bobby pins. Then, putting on her Kapp, which she had not worn in quite some time, she hurried downstairs to start breakfast for Martha before the rest of the family awakened. For herself, though, she would lay out only fruit—grapefruit, apple slices, and half a banana. She wouldn’t take any sugar in her coffee, either, nor allow herself a single bite of Martha’s scrumptious cinnamon rolls, baked yesterday evening.

A boring breakfast is my lot. . . .

Even Emma seemed to notice her Amish garb as the little girl came running into the kitchen to give her a good-morning hug. Eyeing her but good, Emma grinned shyly, her eyes drifting to the undoubtedly disheveled appearance of Rhoda’s too-short hair. She quickly guided Emma to the drawer for her apron, tying it around her waist before her niece gave her yet another hug, as if to say,
I’m glad you look more like yourself today, Aendi Rhoda.

Sitting at the table to await the rest of the family, Rhoda listened to Emma’s chatter about going
to “God’s house” and wished Ken could allow his own heartstrings to be tugged by such an adorable child.

When James and Martha came to the table with the rest of the children, James’s eyes lit up momentarily at seeing Rhoda dressed so conservatively, ready for church. And Martha’s smile never once ceased all during breakfast.

The same noisy birds were still quarreling even after the morning meal, their song occasionally rising amidst the ruckus—
ee-oh-lay, ee-oh-lay—
as Rhoda walked to her car. Although she still hoped to stay on with James and Martha, she would not stoop to groveling, in spite of her church attendance today.

Her words were not the only thing she had to convince James. Though headstrong, he was quite responsive to Martha—unlike her brother Ephram, who paid little mind to what his wife ever thought.

So I’ll play my cards right—for now,
Rhoda decided as she drove to the Beachy meetinghouse, quite pleased with herself and her growing collection of wordly phrases.

She hoped her willingness to don a cape dress and apron— and to attend her brother’s church—this beautiful Lord’s Day morning might just soften his heart.

Rosanna couldn’t help noticing the size of Preacher Manny’s black sheepdog as she and Elias pulled into his yard Sunday morning. Sitting guard presently on the front porch steps, as if observing all the gray-topped buggies, the dog was a fixture. Nothing moved him, including the comings and goings of the teen boys who were busy leading driving horses to the stable to water them for the long day ahead.

Eventually she took her seat in the kitchen for council with other women church members. They turned in handwritten sheets of paper giving their individual answers to the communion questions, and clusters of the membership were asked to answer as Preacher Manny read the list of questions.

She was glad she’d shared openly with Elias last evening. As unworthy as she felt apart from God’s mercy and grace, today Rosanna believed she was ready, indeed, to take communion.

It was during the time of congregational singing that she sensed a near-tangible sweetness in the room; tears of repentance shone on the faces of some. And following communion, during their traditional foot washing, she delighted in the miracle of unity displayed among the membership. She knelt to tenderly wash Betsy Fisher’s callused feet, considering the many families separated during the span of time since they’d made their choice to follow the way of salvation.
So many of us heeding the prompting of the Holy Spirit . . .

When it was time to dry Betsy’s feet, Rosanna prayed silently that Ephram and Maryann Fisher, and Rhoda, too, might come to find the Savior in a personal way. With a warm smile, Betsy stooped to slip on her stockings and shoes again, and they traded places as Betsy, in turn, knelt to wash Rosanna’s feet. Betsy wept as she did so, her head bowed for the duration of the foot washing. When at last she had finished, she looked up and nodded to Rosanna, her eyes gentle and kind
.

Nellie Mae was happy to baby-sit a group of hushed small children. She used her white handkerchief to do clever tricks to entertain them—one minute making imaginary mice, then the next twin babies who slept side by side in a hankie cradle. The little girls’ eyes were bright with glee, although they knew better than to make more than a quiet sound out here in the barn.

When at last communion was over, she took the children back to the house to reunite them with their parents. Happy to help further, Nellie offered to work in the kitchen to get the common meal laid on the table. Preacher Manny’s wife was glad for the extra assistance and asked her to retrieve a variety of cheeses from the summer kitchen.

Going for the cheese, which needed some preparation yet, Nellie Mae happened to glance out the back window. There, near the barn, she spied Preacher Manny’s nephew standing not so far away from Nan. The attractive young fellow was actually grinning and flirting in an understated way.

Well, now, is this Nan’s beau?
Curiously she watched as he stepped closer to Nan and slipped her a note.

Nan quickly pushed it into her dress pocket and walked away, head high, as if merely strolling to the outhouse. Out of respect for her sister’s privacy, Nellie wiped the smile of delight off her face before continuing to the kitchen, still savoring her discovery.

Nan’ll wonder how I know,
Nellie thought as she sliced the cheese thinly on the cutting board.
I’ll have such fun teasing her!

“What’re you lookin’ so happy about?” Rosanna came over and hugged her arm.

“Oh, nothin’ much.”

Rosanna’s eyes were puffy but bright. “Romance in the air? The possibility for a beau, maybe? New Order marrieds look awfully handsome with their neat beards.”

Nellie blushed and laughed. “No, there’s no beau. Not for me.”

“Aw, Nellie Mae . . .” Rosanna leaned close. “There
is
a Singin’ tonight.”

She knew that all too well, thanks to Nan.

“Elias’s handsome cousin Jacob will be attendin’.”

“It just ain’t fair for me to go, honestly,” Nellie managed to say.

“Why’s that?”

She sighed. With so many womenfolk milling around, it was impossible to explain. “ ’Tis just best for now. That’s all.”

Rosanna smiled. “You’ll know when you’re ready. . . .”

Appreciating Rosanna’s insight, Nellie nodded. “All in God’s hands.”

Ken should see me now,
Rhoda thought as she snuggled a baby close. The morning service had lasted longer than was usual, yet she didn’t mind. Feeding and changing the infants in the nursery was a joy, even though it had been some weeks since she’d attended the Beachy church. And she truly enjoyed being back.
Even more than I thought . . .

The baby boy in her arms was fussy now. Rhoda began to walk, whispering in Amish to the wee one, realizing it had been months since she’d spoken her first language to anyone but family. She hadn’t been able to erase from her mind Mamma and Nellie Mae’s visit to the restaurant yesterday. Not for a minute.

Sighing, she sat down to rock the child, hoping that a change in his position might help to calm him. “I’ve hurt my mamma terribly.” She muttered her woes.

One of the other women asked if she was all right. Rhoda nodded and suddenly realized she was crying. Stroking his little head, she faced the wall, attempting to compose herself.

Not only have I disappointed my family, I’ve disappointed myself. . . .

Reuben was the last man to make his way into Preacher Manny’s temporary house of worship this Lord’s Day. His delay was intentional, as he had been outside pacing behind the barn. Several others had been there with him, all of them doubtless begging God to pass them by. So heavy was the burden of ministering to the People . . . the lot brought with it a lifelong pledge, one that came with no financial compensation for being on call at all hours. That, however, was not so much Reuben’s worry as was his concern over wayward Rhoda . . . and even Ephram and Maryann, who still embraced the old tradition. He wondered if he shouldn’t have asked not to be considered for either the office of deacon or preacher. Yet likely all his worry was for naught. Truly, the very idea of presuming that anyone would nominate him felt prideful.

He sat down on the backless bench next to his son Benjamin to wait his turn to nominate a man to fill the office of deacon. Once that man was divinely appointed, they would all line up and repeat the same process for the ordination of a preacher—whispering the name of an honorable man to Preacher Manny.

Reuben had always kept his mind trained on matters at hand, but today he noticed several of the men, including Elias King, fidgeting three rows ahead.
We’re all restless till this is over. . . .

He was somewhat reticent to nominate for preacher the
man he felt was the most deserving of all the married men. Naming a choice for deacon was another thing—while it was sobering to have the lot fall on you, that particular position did not carry the immense responsibility of preacher.
A near-crushing blow to most
. Some men lost sleep for decades after the lot struck them.

Bishop Joseph rose and stood before them, reading from First Timothy, chapter three. “ ‘Likewise must the deacons be grave, not double-tongued, not given to much wine, not greedy of filthy lucre; holding the mystery of the faith in a pure conscience. And let these also first be proved; then let them use the office of a deacon, being found blameless.’ ”

The bishop went on to admonish the wives of the prospective deacons: “ ‘Be grave, not slanderers, sober, faithful in all things.’ ”

Bowing his head, Reuben pondered the verses of instruction, praying for God’s will to be made known in this place.

Women members formed a line on one side of Preacher Manny’s farmhouse, while the men did the same on the opposite side. Betsy watched as their neighbor, the newly elected deacon, Abraham Zook, stepped forward. “Whisper only one name for preacher at the door,” he reminded them. For womenfolk it was one kitchen door; for men, it was the other. Neither the bishop nor Preacher Manny could have a vote, but Manny would be standing there in the kitchen to hear the name, which he would pass on to Bishop Joseph once he closed the door. The bishop, for his part, would write each candidate’s name on a piece of paper. Any name that was whispered three or more times would be included in the lot.

Betsy’s heart pounded as she approached the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar. She dared not look ahead but kept her gaze on the floor. Her mind was on Reuben, hoping he would not be in the preacher’s lot. He had enough on him already, what with his sons scattered to the four winds, or so it seemed.
And with our wandering Rhoda. A big worry,
she thought.