The Longing (21 page)
She put her hand on her heart and stepped forward. Softly she spoke the name of the man she believed most praiseworthy and then she meekly moved away, returning to the house by way of the front door.
Inside, she joined the others in the large front room who’d already offered their
Stimmen—
votes. No one, except the bishop, would ever know how many votes each man had received.
When Bishop Joseph, solemn as night, came at last into the room and offered a prayer of blessing upon what they were about to do, Betsy squeezed her eyes shut. Afterward, the man of God chose five exceptionally worn
Ausbund
hymnals and placed a single piece of paper inside only one of them. Each hymnal was then secured with a matching rubber band, and the books were arranged on the table.
Bishop Joseph asked, “Does either Preacher Manny or Deacon Zook want to reshuffle the hymnals?”
Silently Preacher Manny stepped forward and made a stack of the books before laying them out on the table to reorder them. He moved aside, allowing the new deacon to do the same. When the ministers appeared satisfied the books had been sufficiently shuffled, the bishop announced the names of the five men in the lot. Elias King was the first named, and Rosanna gasped, a reaction repeated by the next three wives as their husbands’ names were called.
Not my Reuben,
Betsy hoped, her hands moist.
Bishop Joseph stopped to wipe his eyes. Then, looking at the congregation, he said gravely, “And last . . . Reuben Fisher.”
Betsy reached to clasp her daughter-in-law Ida’s hand next to her.
Ach, dear man.
She swallowed hard, fully conscious of the seriousness of the hour . . . and the weight of duty about to befall their soon-to-be chosen servant. The men whose names had been called could no longer refuse the lot, because they’d already promised at their baptism to serve as ordained ministers, should the divine lot strike them.
Betsy was aware of her own heartbeat as the bishop reverently spoke the familiar words, “Are those in the lot here, seated before me, in harmony with the ordinances of the church and the articles of faith?”
Each man answered, “Jah,” and then knelt to beseech the Lord to use the biblical process to show which one was to be the minister.
Betsy bowed her head and recalled the day Reuben’s cousin Manny had been struck by the lot. His wife and many of his immediate family had wept, their grief something that no one among the People would dare to slight.
When the prayer was finished, Reuben bowed his head as the oldest of the five men went to the table to select one of the hymnals. After a time, he heard that man shuffle back to the bench and sit down.
The next two men each took turns choosing one of the hymnals, but the lot was still not cast.
Only two of us remaining. . . .
Holding his breath, Reuben walked forward to the table. He thought of the added responsibilities ahead should he be chosen by the Lord, and an enormous weight seemed to press on him as he picked up a book.
When the bishop removed the rubber band, Reuben reverently searched the pages for the slip of paper bearing the telltale Bible verse. The lot was not there.
His breath returned and he made his way back to his seat. Then, realizing the outcome before Elias ever rose to take the remaining hymnal, Reuben heard the sound of weeping as it swept through the room—the ritual mourning. His heart went out to Elias and Rosanna—both so young to receive this divine call, and already so brokenhearted. . . .
Elias’s shoulders heaved as he returned the book to the bishop and stood for the bishop’s charge. “In the name of the Lord our God and this church, the ministry of preacher has been given to you, Elias King. You shall preach God’s Word to the people, and encourage and instruct them to the best of your ability.” The bishop went on to list other expected duties before concluding, “May the almighty God strengthen you in this work, with the help of the Holy Spirit. Amen and amen.” Bishop Joseph then shook Elias’s hand and greeted him with a holy kiss.
Immediately following, the members were instructed to pray and “to encourage Elias and his good wife, Rosanna,” and the half-day gathering swiftly came to an end.
Reuben searched the congregation for Betsy and noticed how relieved she looked. He couldn’t help wondering how they both might be feeling now had the lot struck Reuben instead of Elias, who was expected to give himself—his time, energy, and insight—for the good of the flock.
All the days of his life.
Elias and Rosanna spoke not a word as they rode. Silence reigned except for the clatter of the buggy wheels on the pavement, punctuated by the steady
clip-clop-clipp
ing of their horse.
Fully aware of her husband’s humble heart, Rosanna wiped tears away.
Dear Lord, give Elias the patience of Job, the wisdom of Solomon, the faith of Abraham. . . .
When Elias reached for her hand and offered a meek smile, she made an unspoken pledge to help her husband however she could, for as long as she lived.
A sudden and sharp pain shot through her stomach. She started but suppressed the urge to cry out.
“What is it, love?” Elias turned.
“Ach . . . the baby.” She cradled her middle, trying not to cry—refusing to allow fear to overtake her.
Elias drew her near. “O Lord, protect our child. And if it be your will, strengthen . . . and heal my wife. I call upon your name, Lord Jesus Christ,” he prayed.
Rosanna was comforted by her husband’s confidence, yet her own doubts threatened to assail her.
Don’t let me lose the baby today, Lord,
she pleaded, thinking of Elias’s ordination.
Please, not today. . . .
On the way to the Sunday night Singing, Nellie noticed tire tracks in James and Martha’s cornfield. “Sure seems odd that James uses his tractor for fieldwork instead of just in the barn like some farmers,” she told Nan from the front seat of the family buggy. “Guess he wants to do more than fill
silo.”
Nan nodded, holding the reins. “It’s hard gettin’ used to all the modern equipment round Honey Brook.”
Nellie noticed the stubble from last year’s cornfield covering the ground, keeping the green from springing up.
Less need for horses anymore, it seems.
Her thoughts turned to the Singing. She half wished she’d stayed home and planned the flower beds with Mamma instead.
I’m thinking like a
Maidel
, for sure.
Crows were
caw-caw
ing in the underbrush, and redwing blackbirds cackled out near the pond behind the new deacon’s place. How quickly word would spread of Abraham Zook’s and Elias King’s ordinations. She wished she might have been sitting next to Rosanna when the lot fell on Elias. She would have cried right along with her.
When the youth had finished with the evening’s songs, more than half the fellows sought out girls, moving swiftly across the barn floor. Nellie caught sight again of Ezekiel Mast, Preacher Manny’s dark-headed nephew. He strolled confidently to Nan and discreetly touched her hand, his engaging smile and the way his whole face brightened when he spoke to her revealing his intentions. Nan seemed to make no attempt to hide her own brilliant smile, either.
Now that the organized part of the event had concluded, Nellie assumed she would be returning home in Dat’s carriage, leaving Nan to ride with Ezekiel in his open buggy. Waiting to let her sister know she was about to leave, Nellie stood there until Nan glanced her way. She motioned toward the barn door and Nan nodded. Satisfied, Nellie turned to depart.
She reached to slide the rustic barn door open, and Jacob King slipped in next to her. Elias’s tall and good-looking cousin offered an enthusiastic smile, his big brown eyes intent on her. The heat rushed to her face when she realized how close he was. Rosanna had undoubtedly put a bug in his ear, and for that Nellie was even more mortified—although it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to matchmake.
He is awfully cute,
she thought as he heaved open the barn door with one easy shove.
“Goin’ out for some air?” He fell into step with her.
“Thought of heading home.”
He glanced up at the sky. “But the night’s mighty young yet, jah?”
She’d heard that before. All the fellows said it with a new girl when they were at a loss for words. He was definitely going to ask her to go with him in his courting buggy.
Should I? How would Caleb feel?
Jacob glanced down at her, still smiling encouragingly. She felt so uncomfortable walking this way with a new fellow— like she was betraying her former beau.
Suddenly she said, “Jacob, please wait just a minute.” She ran back to the barn, motioning for Nan to come quick.
Nan hurried over to her. “I thought you’d left.”
“Well, I did, but . . .” She hesitated. “There’s someone waitin’ outside for me. Ach, Nan . . . this is just so awful.”
“You’ll be fine. The first date after a breakup is the hardest.” So Nan had guessed Nellie might have an opportunity to go riding. “I’ll tell ya what, if our buggy’s still sittin’ out there when I’m ready to leave, I’ll drive it home and walk to meet . . . well, my beau, somewhere later.”
“No need to be secretive ’bout Ezekiel Mast, ya know.”
A smile spread across Nan’s face. “Well, don’t be goin’ and telling anyone.”
“Like who?”
“Like anyone,” Nan said, eyes twinkling. “And I’ll keep mum ’bout Jacob King, too, jah?”
“So you saw him.” Nellie sighed. “Now, listen: I haven’t decided what I’ll do tonight. Honestly, I shouldn’t be here at all.”
Nan frowned and then leaned closer. “Why not go with Jacob just once? See if he makes you forget Caleb.”
Nellie squeezed Nan’s hand, wondering if Jacob had given up on her by now. But when she stepped outside again, he was still in the vicinity, talking to his horse, petting the animal’s long neck—waiting for her.
Nearly afraid to move from her comfortable position in bed, Rosanna lay as motionless as a log, her breaths coming in shallow sighs. She let her body sink into the mattress, embracing its consolation. Aside from her many miscarriages, she had never endured such gripping pain, pain that caused her to clench her jaw to keep from crying out, curling her toes beneath her pretty, handmade quilts. But she must not allow herself to relive those terrible, wrenching times.
Try to think on the Lord,
she told herself.
The Lord and Elias.
Her dear husband had been so kind to her, it nearly made her cry. She remembered how he’d sat on the bed, holding her hand tenderly as he prayed, entrusting her and their baby to God’s will.
Eventually she fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of holding the twins once again, and waking to find Elias near, his arm draped over her protectively.
Rosanna awakened hours later and realized her pain was somewhat lessened. Yet she couldn’t trust that it was over, even though she longed for this frightening afternoon to pass.
Elias brought up some tea for her to drink and helped her to sit up slowly, murmuring loving words . . . taking such good care. Truly, she loved him all the more. “There, now, you’re goin’ to be all right.” His lips brushed her forehead. “The pain’s subsiding, jah?”
“How’d you know?” she asked.
He reached for her hand. “Your eyes are free of it, love.”
“Perhaps a false alarm.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Ach, Elias, I’ve never heard you pray so earnestly.”
He nodded, looking down at their entwined fingers. “I believe the Lord heard the cry of our hearts, Rosanna.”
She sipped the tea, letting the warmth fill her slowly as she relaxed in the presence of her husband . . . the newly ordained preacher.
It was already dark when Chris headed for home following the Sunday evening meeting with the Mennonite Youth Fellowship. They’d discussed plans for their annual Lord’s Acre fund-raiser coming up this summer, deciding which vegetables to grow for sale.
Zach and a few of the kids from MYF had decided to go out for sodas, including Sheryl, who’d glanced Chris’s way as if wondering why he, too, wasn’t going. He’d smiled at her as he left, but now, thinking about it, he must have seemed aloof. With all the hours he was putting in at the landscaping office and David Yoder’s farm, he was finding it tough to stay focused on his studies and eventual academic future at Eastern Mennonite School in Harrisonburg, Virginia. He was especially interested in their cross-cultural study programs. He was glad they’d added seminary courses less than two years ago, since he hoped to enroll in those once he had his four-year degree.
Chris had been driving only a short time when he noticed in the distance an Amish buggy parked off the road, not many blocks from the ice cream parlor in Honey Brook. He tapped on the brake. He hadn’t seen many Amish courting couples milling about yet; the evenings were still too cold. Most of the time they kept to themselves anyway, staying on the back roads, far from prying eyes. He was curious about their secretive dating customs, which Caleb had alluded to in passing. How strange that no one was supposed to know whom you were seeing until the preacher “published” your wedding date and time just a few weeks before the actual wedding.
Slowing down even more, Chris could see a young Amish couple on the shoulder of the road, surveying their broken-down carriage. Without thinking twice, he signaled and slowed to a stop, parking a safe distance behind. The last thing he wanted to do was startle them.
Hopping out, he walked up to the young man, who looked about his own age. “Anything I can do to help?” asked Chris.
“Well, it ain’t somethin’ that can be fixed tonight. Denki anyways.” The boy tipped his straw hat, seemingly frustrated. “I’m goin’ to unhitch the horse and lead him home over yonder.” He pointed toward the farmhouse in the middle of a vast meadow to the south.
Chris assumed that meant the girl was going to walk with him, but a chilling wind was picking up now. “You sure I can’t give you two a lift?”
The young man glanced at his date, whose face was veiled by the shadow of her black bonnet. “Nellie Mae, would ya want to catch a ride home with this Englischer?”
