The Parting (28 page)
Reuben knew precisely what would happen if he and Manny forged ahead, disregarding the bishop’s wishes. Reuben had heard of families elsewhere who had held Bible studies and were found out, never having asked permission. Eventually, if they refused to “come under” the Ordnung, a six-week probationary shun was slapped on them. If that didn’t teach them, then they were shunned for life. The only way to get back into the church and the brethren’s good graces was to repent and say you were back on the straight and narrow.
The Gospel was divisive; no questioning that. In some cases in Scripture, following God severed offspring from parents, and spouses from each other. Abram of old, for one, had followed the Lord God out of his father’s house and country, forever away from his kindred.
Am I willing to obey God at any cost?
Forcing air out of the side of his mouth, he decided that the minute his hay was raked for baling, he would go and talk things over with Preacher Manny, who was also in danger of being ousted if he crossed this line.
Yet to stand still is to go backward,
Reuben realized.
Nellie exercised patience at the cash register while their English neighbors, Mrs. Landis and her daughter, Joy, chattered on and on right at closing time. Tired from being on her feet, Nellie was anxious to sit at Mamma’s supper table and enjoy the juicy ham she knew was roasting.
Mrs. Landis swept back a strand of raven-black hair—noticeably dyed—into her neatly flipped shoulder-length hairdo. “Joy tells me her cousin Darlene knew your sister Suzy from school,” the woman said, startling Nellie Mae. “Quite well, in fact.”
“Oh?” Nellie’s throat pinched up.
What does she know?
The woman’s daughter blushed quickly and shook her head. “Mom,
please
don’t bring that up.”
That silenced Mrs. Landis, and after the two of them had left the shop, Nellie pondered what could have been on Joy’s mind. But her curiosity was not enough to make her crack open Suzy’s diary again. No, she would not open
that
wound tonight. She was much too tired to contemplate the further transgressions of her sister. Was her lifelessness, even melancholy, due to what she’d discovered through Suzy’s words, or was she coming down with something? She had been known to absorb tension in a way that made her ill.
Come to think of it, is that what happened to Uncle Bishop?
What on earth will he think when he finally returns?
she wondered, what with Dat—a stalwart church member—making prideful talk of being “saved.” What would their bishop do about that?
Going to the shop door, she stood on her tiptoes and turned the Open sign around to Closed.
Oh, how she wished she could take comfort in Rosanna’s company. She wondered how things were for her friend as she readied her household for the coming babies.
Won’t she have fun with two to care for!
Nellie thought ahead to what it might be like to hold a baby of her own . . . hers and Caleb’s. She smiled in spite of herself. She and her beau planned to ride over to the millstream this coming Sunday afternoon in broad daylight—Caleb’s suggestion.
He’s getting mighty bold
. Nellie laughed softly, pulling the door shut before heading toward the house.
Supper was set out—pork chops, fried potatoes and onions, and buttered lima beans, with a small dish of chowchow. Rosanna had taken great care to prepare a fine hot meal for her husband.
Before they could begin eating, though, she quickly showed Elias the matching reversible cradle quilts she had been making for the babies. One side featured a pattern in pastel pinks and green, the other one in blue and lavender. “That way if we have two boys, or two girls, or one of each, we’ll be just fine,” she said, putting them away before she sat down.
Elias frowned at the head of the table. “Two girls, you say?”
She nodded, hoping her husband wasn’t opposed to the idea of daughters.
“These are to be our firstborn, Rosanna.”
“Jah.”
“For pity’s sake, do we want girls, really . . . if we have a say-so?” His frown grew deeper.
“Well, I figure if we can’t ever have any babies of our own, then why on earth not take what we’re given? Besides, the more the better.” There—she’d said at last what she had been wanting to say for days.
Elias rose abruptly. “Why not wait and decide when your cousins’ babies are born? See what they turn out to be.”
“Wait till they’re born? But, Elias—”
“No, you ain’t listenin’.” He stood with both hands on the back of the chair. “I aim to have a son. At least one.”
She didn’t understand what was bothering him so. Surely the possibility of their raising two girls wasn’t all there was to it.
He marched to the back of the house, where she heard him muttering out in the summer porch. She knew better than to go to him. He obviously was trying to hold his peace about something. Elias was not a man who would usually quibble, and initially he had appeared as grateful as she for Kate’s offer—maybe even more so. But the past few weeks had been a trial for him.
Was it the slim harvest? Even with less of a hay crop to bring in than usual, he was beyond tired. They all were, working from sunup to sundown.
Lord, won’t you bless my husband . . . give him peace?
She didn’t know what had come over her, thinking a prayer like that. Maybe she’d secretly visited Jonathan Fisher’s place one time too many. Dear shunned Linda was a fountain of information on canning pureed food for babies, though Rosanna’d never once let it be known that all the questions she was asking were for herself.
So much to learn . . . and Linda is ever so prayerful
.
As far as she knew, Cousin Kate had not yet told anyone that she planned to give her babies away.
How will the womenfolk react, especially with twins? Everybody loves two little ones in a baby buggy, side by side
.
Sighing, Rosanna ate the delicious meal alone, not happy about the idea of sitting here while Elias fumed.
Will he settle down tonight long enough to eat supper?
Surely his hearty appetite would bring him back to the table.
Jah, he’ll return in a few minutes. Then, when he’s filled up, he’ll tell me what’s really troubling him
.
Caleb headed toward the barn to check on the bedding straw for the animals, particularly for the new calf. He whistled a tune he’d heard in town, a snappy melody he’d liked immediately. His Mennonite cousin Christian Yoder had told him it was a “jingle” often used on radio stations right before the news or a sports report. Of course, not having been around radios much, Caleb wasn’t aware of such things. The tunes Cousin Christian liked to whistle were as foreign to Caleb as the worldly jingle he found himself whistling repeatedly tonight.
The young calf seemed to like the sound as Caleb moved into the pen with her and petted her soft coat. He gave her more straw, pushing it around to even it out, and was getting ready to return to the house when he heard his father talking to someone up in the upper level of the two-story barn.
Not one to eavesdrop, he almost headed out of the barn, but the topic of conversation swayed him. A man whose voice Caleb could not place was talking about someone who’d served out his conscientious objector status in Civilian Public Service years before. While doing so, the young man had been introduced to lively prayer meetings and Bible studies. “He even started watchin’ television,” the man said, sounding indignant. “Well, if this here fella didn’t start second-guessin’ the absence of a tractor in his father’s fields and the lack of electricity flowing through the house, mind you.”
“I’ve heard similar tales,” Caleb’s father replied. “Too much mixing with Englischers ’most always comes to a bad end.”
“No doubt of that, David. And same thing can happen when the youth start attendin’ gatherings where the Good Book’s discussed every which way. A march starts toward this enticing new path—a new order, some call it—and you hear every excuse under the sun for changing the Old Ways. ’Tis harder to turn your back on ‘thus saith the Lord’ than on ‘thus saith the church,’ some say. You just watch, David, if it don’t come to that here . . . that tabernacle nearby’s invitin’ trouble.”
Caleb realized he was holding his breath. He slowly exhaled, waiting to hear what Daed might say. “We were all young once, so I can’t be talkin’ against the youth. But to go against the Ordnung as a baptized church member? There’s just no excuse for crossin’
that
line.”
“I say it’s Uncle Sam’s fault all this got started,” the unfamiliar man replied. “Far as I can tell, trouble reared up when he forced our hand and made us serve our time, even though we were conscientious objectors.”
“Jah, look where that got us.” Daed huffed loudly, and Caleb darted out of the barn while he had his chance. He felt terribly guilty for listening in as he had, but with Nellie Mae’s family stepping so close to this same dangerous edge, he was anxious to know all he could.
Sweet breads and anything made with pumpkin were the most-requested items at Nellie’s Simple Sweets now that they were into deep October. The demand for such goodies moist with pumpkin always rose near Halloween, though Nellie Mae never cared to acknowledge the day. While the practice of trick-or-treating mystified her, Nellie found the idea of dressing in costume to be most curious—she especially couldn’t picture grown-ups dressing like storybook characters or favorite animals the way neighbor Diana Cooper described.
She expected the market for harvest-time desserts to last well into November and the start of the wedding season. Keeping up with the ever-increasing orders was so much of a chore for both Nellie and Nan that Mamma sometimes helped with the baking. Nellie could scarcely keep count of the quantity of pumpkin whoopee pies she was making between her dates with Caleb. They aimed to see each other every few days now that the silos were full.
Twice this week, Caleb had surprised her with thoughtful notes, none marked with a return address. Unable to wait until Sunday afternoon after all, Caleb had taken her driving last night to their spot near the picturesque stone mill. There they had huddled against the cold on the wrought-iron bench, sitting so close they could have squeezed into Caleb’s heavy woolen coat if they’d tried. They had wandered up and down the creek after a time, walking over to the millrace and back, talking and trying to keep warm by moving alongside its gurgling waters.
Nellie had noticed how Caleb reached for her hand almost absentmindedly.
Like I’m a comfortable part of him somehow
.
There had been moments during last night’s conversation, though, when Caleb had seemed tentative, as if holding back something important, although she wouldn’t think of pressing him. He would tell her when he was ready, and until then she must simply swallow her fears that it concerned her parents, who were planning an upcoming meeting at Preacher Manny’s . . . minus the blessing of Uncle Bishop. Might Caleb have heard of that?
She did not understand her parents’ decision, but it was not her place to question. Dat and Mamma had made their promise to the church and to the Lord God long ago—who was
she
to remind them? According to Caleb himself, as well as her customers in the bakery shop, there were plenty of people who were still holding firm to tradition.
Here lately, she was glad she hadn’t been born a boy and therefore more privy to the bishop’s fury as his will clashed with those pushing for change. She’d heard Dat and Preacher Manny describe it in just that way as they talked openly yesterday morning while drinking coffee in Mamma’s kitchen. They had not pretended to talk of other things when Nellie came to fetch a batch of pumpkin sticky buns for Mrs. Kraybill.
“Listen, Manny, the lines have been drawn and erased and redrawn near endless times over the years,”
Dat had let fly from his lips.
“Don’t you see the contradictions?”
Preacher Manny had wholeheartedly agreed, which was evidently part of the reason the two of them remained so determined to begin their Bible-study meetings, starting on this next no-Preaching Sunday. To Nellie the whole thing sounded dangerously as though they were not only questioning the Ordnung but outright refusing to obey the bishop, too.
