Winter of Wishes (18 page)

“—so I took some of the breakfast casserole. It smells so yummy, with all that bacon
and cheese.”

“Lookit what I got, Dad!” Brett piped up behind her. “That fellow over there helped
me load up with biscuits and gravy, and these fried apples, and a big ole cinnamon
roll!”

His son pointed toward a man who was leaving the buffet table. He didn’t wear a beard,
but his suspenders and collar-length sandy hair announced he was Amish. Andy mouthed
a thank-you and pointed toward Brett. He got a thumbs-up in return . . . yet another
sign that these folks in Willow Ridge were friendly despite the way they preferred
to keep to themselves, sequestered in their faith. And when he saw the way his mom
beamed as Rhoda came to the table with her order of fried eggs, sausage patties, and
another huge cinnamon roll, he again felt that sense of rightness that settled over
him whenever he was in Rhoda’s presence.

She looked up at him, her smile hopeful. “I’m ready for a late breakfast, Andy, if
ya don’t mind me joinin’ ya. What would ya like?”

Oh, but his imagination came to life at the playful shine in her eyes. He reminded
himself not to say or do anything these Amish folks might hold against her when she
confessed, even though most of the fellows who’d been watching them from the center
table had left while he was in the smithy. “Surprise me. Whatever you bring will be
wonderful-
gut
. Ain’t so?”

When Rhoda laughed, Andy wondered if she was happy to see him or making fun of his
attempt at talking Amish English. Not that it really mattered: when she came from
the kitchen a few minutes later with two plates of breakfast casserole, fried apples,
and strips of bacon that still sizzled, Andy sighed with contentment. His kids and
his mom all seemed happier than they’d been for days. For now, it was enough to watch
Rhoda as she sat across the table, between Taylor and Brett . . . everyone eating
together, catching up on everyday events since Rhoda’s last day of working for them.
Even though they weren’t sitting in their own kitchen, Andy felt so at home.

Thank You for this moment of joy, Lord
, he prayed.
No matter what happens from here on out, I want to remember this special morning.

Lord, I wish this dinner was already over
.

As Rhoda looked at the many folks seated around their extended table for Sunday dinner,
her heart beat painfully fast. The women sat on one side—except for Annie Mae, who
was on the men’s side between Joey and Josh, so they would behave—while Preacher Tom
and Ben sat on the ends. Little Sara and Timmy Knepp sat in high chairs alongside
Nazareth and her sister. Jerusalem Hooley had insisted on following the rules for
Hiram’s shunning, so the bishop sat at a small table behind Rhoda. What with the five
Hooleys, the Knepps, Tom Hostetler, and Rebecca joining them today, seventeen people
filled the Lantz kitchen.

Please, Lord, I just want to get through this meal without Ira or Hiram or Jerusalem
or Preacher Tom lecturing me about Andy or what we did in his car
—
or what might come of it after I confess next Sunday.

Rhoda sighed. God deserved a better prayer from her. Yet, as much as it had thrilled
her when Andy and his family came to the café yesterday, his visit only added fuel
to the fire: even a blind man could have seen the way the Leitners welcomed her into
their company and the way she wanted to be with them. The Christmas season would shine
so much brighter if only she could be eating dinner with Taylor and Brett teasing
her right now, or with Andy making much of the seasonal foods she wanted to cook for
them.

“We’ll bow for a word of thanks now,” Preacher Tom intoned from his end of the long
table.

As they bowed their heads for a silent grace, Rhoda swore she felt Ira Hooley gazing
across the table at her. And was Hiram glaring at her from behind? He had balked at
the small table Mamma had set for him, but the alternative would’ve been for him to
leave and fix his own food. Patience had never been Bishop Knepp’s strength, and a
week remained before he knelt in front of the congregation to implore their forgiveness.

Would Hiram order her to her knees the minute his confession was accepted, to interrogate
her about her involvement with Andy? Or would Bishop Shetler and Bishop Mullet, assisting
their church from Morning Star and New Haven, allow her to confess first, before they
took up the matter of Hiram’s reinstatement? Rhoda’s stomach twisted. She’d never
had to endure a kneeling confession, and this final week of waiting would be the most
difficult yet . . .

“Seems Rhoda has a lot to pray on,” Ira teased from across the table. “Or maybe she’s
really daydreamin’ about that Leitner fella.”

Heat flared in Rhoda’s face. She glared at Ira as she accepted the bowl of broccoli
from Rachel, but before she could reply to his remark, Jerusalem Hooley smacked the
tabletop loudly enough to make them all jump.

“That’ll be enough of your smart remarks, Nephew,” the middle-aged
maidel
warned as she glared at him from the opposite end of the table. “Frankly, I wonder
why your parents didn’t steer ya into joinin’ the church. You’re twenty-eight, Ira.
Long past the time where ya can point a finger at Rhoda, who became a member years
ago.”

The kitchen got quiet. Both Ira and Luke knew better than to sass their aunt, so they
focused on passing food: a bowl of bright red apples cooked with cinnamon imperials
. . . a basket of Mamma’s oatmeal rolls . . . the pan of scalloped potatoes . . .

“We’ll most likely start up an instruction class after the holidays, for young folks
wanting to join in the spring,” Tom remarked. His tone was matter-of-fact, not pressuring
the Hooley brothers or Annie Mae, but the three of them began to eat as though they
wanted to keep their mouths too full to respond.

“And what do you have to learn to become a member?” Rebecca asked. Her face, framed
by chestnut hair that had grown enough since summer to reach her collar, shone with
sincere interest. “It seems, from what I’ve seen, that you Amish are trained in the
ways of your faith from the cradle.”

Preacher Tom smiled at her. “
Jah
, that’s right. But once our young folks have had a chance to explore the English
world during their
rumspringa
, they concentrate on becomin’ committed members of the faith—members of the community
who see to each other’s needs, ready to follow God’s will for their lives. Most take
their instruction when they’ve picked out somebody to marry.”

“So . . . are ya thinkin’ about joinin’ us, Rebecca?” Mamma asked. Her voice vibrated
with hope, and as she slipped her hand into the crook of Rhoda’s arm, Rhoda felt her
mother’s pulse thrum. “I’m not expectin’ ya to, understand. I know ya have your own
life and plans for your computer business—”

“As it says in the Scriptural story about the rich young ruler,” Hiram chimed in when
he rose to fill his plate, “it’s easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle
than for a wealthy man to enter the Kingdom of God. The same could be said for English
thinking they want to be Amish. It’s too difficult for them to give up their worldly
possessions and habits to follow the narrow road to salvation.”

“Ah, but in the next verses Jesus’s disciples ask Him who could possibly be saved,
if not that wealthy fella who’d kept all the commandments,” Ben said, continuing the
familiar story. “And Jesus said that for people it was impossible, but that all things
are possible with God. So,
jah
, Rebecca, while we’ve been raised up with our Plain values all along, we still rely
on the Lord to accept us into His Kingdom. And I believe that applies to English wantin’
to become Amish,” he went on with a glance toward Rhoda. “It’s not an easy road, but
with God’s help it’s possible.”

Rhoda’s cheeks prickled. Mamma had apparently filled him in on her situation. Was
Ben telling her not to give up on Andy? Or was he merely deflecting some of Hiram’s
harshness?

“Well, it’s not like I’m wealthy enough to worry about that part,” Rebecca said with
a laugh. “And, like Mamma said, I’m not ready to give up my computer business, either.
I was just curious. Interested.”

Ah, but the bishop’s the wealthiest fella in Willow Ridge
, Rhoda pondered.
I wonder if he would give up those magnificent Belgians he raises, and the modern
barn he keeps them in, to enter the Kingdom?
She watched as Hiram stood at Tom’s side, dishing up potatoes and cinnamon apples.
Something about the bishop’s expression hinted that he wasn’t finished with this lesson
yet, and that he was about to use her as a main point.

“As Jerusalem has said,” Hiram remarked, his gaze sweeping the side of the table where
his daughter Annie Mae and Ben’s brothers sat, “it’s past time for some of our young
people to get off the fence and come into the fold. Perhaps taking instruction would
be more
meaningful
if the three of you attended together—and invited Millie Glick to make it a foursome.
There comes a time to be fruitful and multiply, to become productive families in our
community.”

Annie Mae’s face turned the color of the cinnamon apples, while Ira nearly choked
on his food. Luke, however, was studying Rebecca’s face with an expression Rhoda found
. . . interesting. It was a good thing Annie Mae couldn’t see him, as she’d confided
to Rhoda that she’d stopped dating Yonnie Stoltzfus and other fellows to concentrate
on this handsome, adventurous newcomer. Rhoda felt bad for the slender girl across
the table: what fellow would court Hiram Knepp’s daughter, knowing he’d have to toe
a stricter line while all of Willow Ridge speculated about them?

When Hiram came around to stand behind her and Mamma, Rhoda sat absolutely still.
He reached between them to stab a few slices of pork roast. “And just as there is
a time to embrace our faith and marry, there is a time to refrain from embracing,”
he paraphrased pointedly.

Beside Rhoda, Mamma stiffened. Bad enough that they all felt a lecture coming on,
but Hiram also dripped meat juice on Mamma’s shoulder—not once but twice—as he brought
the pork roast to his plate.

“Must we discuss this at the table, Hiram?” Mamma demanded in a strained voice. “It’s
common knowledge what Rhoda has done. Nothing’s to be gained by goin’ over it again.”

“No point in ruinin’ this fine meal, either,” Nazareth Hooley added. “Miriam was nice
enough to ask us all over to celebrate the birth of Jesus—”

“Who died for our sins,” Hiram pointed out. He stood so close behind Rhoda, she wondered
if he might rest his plate on her head to humiliate her further. “And the part of
our faith most English and our Mennonite friends find impossible to accept is our
belief in shunning, Rebecca. Has your sister told you about how she might be forced
to eat at a table alone and avoided by her friends in public—the humiliations I have
endured these past five weeks—if the members vote to put her under the ban? And has
she told you about the sins she committed with Andy Leitner?”

Rhoda wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. Beside her, Mamma felt so tightly
wound she might just spring up like a jack-in-the-box—except that Hiram still stood
close enough that she would send his plate flying if she did that. Rachel, on Rhoda’s
other side, reached for her hand under the table.

Poor Rebecca looked sorry she’d asked her innocent question. “No, sir,” she murmured,
sending Rhoda an apologetic, flummoxed look. “And it’s really none of my business.”

“Ah, but the Amish consider a member’s sin everyone’s business,” the bishop replied.
He chuckled, as though Rebecca had played right into his little drama. “That’s why
she’ll kneel before us next Sunday and confess the evil of her ways, and then she’ll
leave the room while the rest of us vote on her punishment. Were you there to witness
that event, Rebecca, you would think very, very hard about becoming one of us. The
Plain life’s not for the faint of heart.”

Rhoda could barely breathe. Every face around the table looked tight with sympathy
for her and aversion to the bishop’s tactics. She dared not move or speak. She sat
looking down at her dinner, which was growing cold along with everyone else’s.

“And because I take my duty as the spiritual leader of Willow Ridge very seriously,”
Hiram continued, “I must insist that Rhoda have no further contact with Mr. Leitner.
And if he expresses an interest in becoming Amish, I will refuse to let him take instruction
or to join our community of faith. His professional training will only provoke the
brightest of our youth to jump the fence and pursue more education. And his presence
will lead Rhoda into further temptation. Perdition rather than redemption.”

Hot tears stung Rhoda’s eyes. She looked at Preacher Tom, wondering how much he had
influenced the bishop’s edict, but Tom’s startled scowl suggested he’d had nothing
to do with it. Again the kitchen went silent. Her mother’s eyes took on a defiant
shine. The others around the table masked their initial shock by resuming their eating—except
for Ben, who held his fork like a pointer.

“You’re assumin’, Bishop, that at the preachin’ service this Sunday you’ll be voted
back into your duties,” he said in a low voice.

“Once the lot falls to a preacher or a bishop, he retains that position for life,”
Hiram shot back. “The moment I chose the hymnal with the slip of paper in it, God’s
choice became clear. And irrefutable.”

Oh, how Rhoda wanted to lash out. Instead, Rachel squeezed her right hand and Mamma
gripped her left, the sign of solidarity that had gotten them through many a trial
these past couple of years since Dat had died. Never had she felt so humiliated .
. . so angry and frustrated. Here she sat, in front of Ira, who had initially reported
her and Andy . . . and across from Annie Mae, whose whispering in the pantry had led
to Jerusalem’s hearing the story, as well . . . and with Tom, to whom she had confessed.
With Hiram standing behind her chair, there was no escaping those who already knew
firsthand of her activities, yet she would have to endure this sort of scrutiny all
over again when she confessed on Sunday before the entire district.

Now Rhoda fully understood what Mamma, Naomi, and Micah had endured when Hiram had
insisted they confess last summer, when Rebecca’s return had sparked such controversy.
For the first time ever, she questioned the faith she’d been baptized into: If she
obeyed the bishop—never saw Andy again—would she regret remaining Amish? Would she
live out the rest of her life in mourning for the family, the love, she’d given up?

Or is it time for ya to leave?
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she hung her head. How she hated this tug-of-war
going on in her heart right now.

“You’ve made your point, Hiram,” Jerusalem remarked tersely. “Please sit down and
eat so the rest of us—”

“
Jah,
Pop, we wanna be gettin’ out of here!” Joey piped up.

“Wanna go sleigh ridin’ this afternoon!” Josh added gleefully.

Between them, Annie Mae dropped her fork to hook an arm around each twin. “That’ll
be enough out of you two—”

“For interruptin’ me, and for sassin’ your father,” Jerusalem continued as she rose
to her feet, “you’ll be standin’ with your noses in the corner while the rest of us
finish our meal and dessert.” Her expression grew ominous as she pointed toward two
corners of the kitchen. “Nazareth brought that strawberry rhubarb crisp ya like so
well, too, but you’ll be havin’ none of it, boys. Move along now.”

“There’ll be no sleigh riding, either,” Hiram added sternly. “You boys are not to
take the sleigh out by yourselves—ever—and nobody else will be going with you today,
either. Understand me?”