“I disagree,” Monroe stated firmly. “I wasn’t here at the formation of this community—the Lord led me to Missouri a bit later—but I immediately realized that the three women you’re condemning were also following God’s will as they knew it. Their leadership has breathed fresh perceptions into our faith.”
“I disagree, as well, about men always making the best leaders,” Eli insisted. “Our family followed the Bender sisters and Amos out of Coldstream because the bishop there looked the other way when his son Isaac was burning down barns—and after Isaac nearly molested my daughter, as well,” he added vehemently. “God might’ve chosen Obadiah Chupp as our bishop, but Chupp’s taken a wrong turn, using his position to get his own way instead of God’s. We had to call in the sheriff to arrest Isaac, to keep my daughter safe. I thank God that Deborah knew enough to come here, and that we followed her.”
“And along with that,” Amos chimed in, “one of the bedrock concepts of our Ordnung states that we tolerate no spousal abuse—a major step in the right direction, considering the broken nose and battering my Mattie endured at the hands of her first husband. The God we worship—and Jesus, His beloved son—never intended for wives to suffer physical or emotional cruelty. Nor does He condone husbands’ violence as a means of keeping their wives in line.”
“Amen,” Marlin murmured. “And we fully support Annabelle Beachey’s presence in a lodge apartment after Phineas abandoned her. We four have prayed over the matter and we’re awaiting God’s response about how best to resolve that couple’s situation.”
King sipped his coffee, never dropping his gaze. “See there? You’re redesigning the Old Order’s basic tenets to suit yourselves,” he countered. “You’re being too liberal with Phineas! Those who forsake their vows are to be cast out—and they’ve understood that since before the day they were baptized.”
Monroe set his mug on the table, choosing his words carefully. What King said was right, as far as it went. “But where’s the chance for forgiveness and reconciliation in that?” he challenged the man at the other end of the table. “Adam and Eve were allowed back into the Garden after they’d defied God’s command—and the wayward Israelites were time and again restored to God’s gut graces after they’d turned away from Him to worship other gods. Jesus was all about forgiving sins to allow people—”
“If you don’t wish to follow the rules of the Old Order, perhaps you should defect to the Mennonite church,” King interrupted brusquely. “That’s the very mistake the council sent me here to warn you about, considering that you’ve already allowed one of your members to marry a Mennonite. You’re either Amish or you’re not. You’re in—or you’re out. Banished from the true faith with no hope of God’s salvation.”
Monroe swallowed hard. Clayton was declaring the doctrine he’d heard from Amish leaders all his life, but it rubbed him wrong these days. Monroe—and the other folks at Promise Lodge—believed they’d evolved away from condemnation and shunning toward a faith that more closely reflected the values Jesus taught. Was that grounds for banishing their entire community from the faith they’d followed for generations?
“While you men chew on that, there’s another matter I’d like to clarify,” King said. He took his time choosing his words, just as he was deliberating over which treat to take from the cookie tray. “The way I understand it, after the Bender sisters—and you, Amos—pooled your money to buy this property, you then sold plots of ground to new residents as they arrived. Considering that you’ve got ten fine houses, you must have built up quite a cash reserve in the year and a half you’ve been here.”
Monroe blinked. Where was King going with this new topic of conversation? Why was he asking about their finances? “We had to have homes to live in, after all—and we’ve been blessed by the abilities of several carpenters, as well as by Bishop Floyd and Lester Lehman’s siding and window business,” he pointed out. “I assume you’ve gotten your information from Lester, while you’ve been staying at his place?”
“Lester’s been very informative. Nice fellow, and happy to have my company,” Clayton replied with a nod. He cleared his throat, resuming his autocratic attitude. “To me, all these fancy houses are a sign that your prosperity has overshadowed the humility our Old Order requires—”
“But let’s correct the assumption you’ve just made,” Amos interrupted tersely. He appeared as surprised—and irritated—by King’s conversational tactics as Monroe was quickly becoming. “Jah, it’s true that several of our new residents paid us for their property—”
“Five of them, by my count,” Eli put in as he quickly counted on his fingers.
“—but when we moved here,” Amos continued, “the sisters and I agreed that our kids would be allowed to choose plots of land as they married and set up housekeeping. Which means that the other five plots—and the homes we’ve built on them—were gifts that involved no exchange of money.”
“It’s our way of providing for our children and keeping them close, to grow our community and ensure that our families can stay together,” Marlin explained. “Lester probably told you that when I married his sister-in-law, Frances, I gave my house farther up the hill to my son, Harley, and his wife. When Frances’s daughter, Gloria, is ready to marry, we intend to provide her with an acreage and a house, as well.”
“And you’re the deacon of the Promise Lodge district, I understand,” Clayton put in without missing a beat. “I hope you’re keeping a tight rein and an accurate account of all this money folks have entrusted to you—all of these extremely generous gifts you’ve been talking about.”
The kitchen fell silent as Monroe and his three friends considered their responses. Marlin appeared genuinely puzzled about the direction King’s questions were heading—although, again, their guest was speaking about the duties of a district’s deacon, which were deeply ingrained in the Old Order faith.
Amos cocked an eyebrow as he looked at King. “Long before Marlin arrived, we deposited our funds in the bank in Forest Grove,” he explained. “When we learned Bishop Obadiah’s business accounts in Coldstream were being compromised by his son, we suspected the church’s funds could’ve been misappropriated just as easily—so we solved that problem before it happened to us. Sort of falls into the category of ‘lead us not into temptation.’”
Monroe had observed a number of expressions on Bishop Clayton’s face as Amos recounted their financial story. When King spoke again, he appeared genuinely appalled.
“You’ve entrusted your money to an English bank?” he demanded in a whisper. His brownie dropped to his napkin. “Here’s yet another irregularity I’ll need to report to the council—another way in which you’ve gone against Old Order traditions and values—”
Monroe’s patience snapped like a dry twig and he was suddenly ready to be finished with the meeting. “On the topic of temptation,” he blurted, “I may have to report to this council of yours about the way you cornered Annabelle Beachey in the lodge kitchen—”
“I was counseling her about the dangers of associating with a husband who’s committed the unforgivable sin,” King shot back. “As a bishop, I have that responsibility. And mark my words,” he went on in an ominous tone, “you won’t make any points with the Council of Bishops if you play tit for tat. I’m appalled that you’ve even considered it, Burkholder.”
Monroe inhaled deeply to calm himself, holding the gaze King challenged him with from the other end of the table . . . his table. It was beneath him to make petty threats, and his hasty retort warned Monroe that he was sinking to King’s level. When he glanced at his three preachers, he could tell they’d also had enough of a conversation that seemed more unproductive with each passing moment.
Monroe slowly stood up, considering his words very carefully. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize the future of Promise Lodge as they knew it, because the families in his care were depending upon him to do the right thing. But he had to be sure that King and his council fully understo
od that this Old Order congregation had been carrying out God’s will as He’d revealed it to them.
“I apologize if I misspoke,” Monroe said softly. “But when Annabelle came to me and said that from here on out, she was making sure she was surrounded by her friends—in case you approached her again—I agreed that she was being prudent. I think we all need to pray about what we’ve discussed today—”
“I get the feeling that you and your council surely must worship a different God than we do—a harsh, judgmental, unforgiving God,” Amos stated as he stood up beside Monroe. “We’ve tried to explain that we have earnestly sought God’s responses, His will for us, about all these matters you claim will separate us from Him and the Old Order.”
“And as far as I can tell,” Eli put in as he, too, rose from his chair, “you haven’t listened to a thing we’ve said. Every one of us was elected by the falling of God’s lot to serve other church districts before we heard His call to bring our families to Promise Lodge. We were elected with the same holy process by which you were chosen, Bishop Clayton. That doesn’t make us any better than you, but it levels the playing field, ain’t so?”
King slid his chair back from the table. “I can see it’s time for us to think carefully—jah, to pray—about what we’ve discussed this morning, and to reconvene after our tempers and tongues have cooled. Gut day, gentlemen.”
After plucking three more cookies from the tray, Bishop Clayton strode across the kitchen. The door slammed behind him as he left.
A puzzled silence filled the room as Monroe went to the window to watch King head down the hill. He shook his head as he turned toward his friends again. “What did you fellows make of that conversation?”
Amos let out an exasperated sigh. “He came in with a chip on his shoulder, and when he left he was carrying an entire tree.”
“We need to find out more about this Council of Bishops,” Marlin muttered. “Do any of you know folks from Lancaster County who could fill us in on who they are—”
“Along with their telephone numbers,” Eli put in with a humorless laugh. “Have you ever heard tell of such a group reaching out halfway across the country—like the long arm of the law—to clamp down on a church district, just because of what they read in The Budget?”
“I’m as puzzled and frustrated as you are,” Monroe replied. “But I think I got my point across regarding Annabelle. At least King knows our women aren’t afraid to speak up when they don’t like men putting the moves on them.”
A smile lit Eli’s face. “We’ve done all we can for now, so I’m heading home to see if Noah needs somebody to help him pace,” he said.
“Your Alma’s there with Deborah, of course—and Minerva, too, I hope?” Marlin asked, helping himself to another cookie.
“Jah, and we’re blessed to have your daughter-in-law’s midwifing skills at Promise Lodge,” Eli replied as he started for the door. “With any luck, I’ll get there after the baby’s born. Bless her heart, Deborah was hollering like a calf caught in the fence when I peeked in on them this morning.”
Monroe found a silver lining to the cloud of doubt and dismay hanging over them. “No matter what sort of trouble King’s cooking up, life goes on and God continues to bless us with children and grandchildren,” he remarked softly. “We have to keep believing He holds the future for us, and that we’re safe in His loving hands.”
Chapter Thirteen
Annabelle was so happy while helping with preparations for Allen and Phoebe’s wedding meal that she sang along when Beulah and Ruby burst into a chorus of “Oh, Susanna.” It felt good to feed people, to work with her friends on the big dinner for Friday, just two days away—and it was a special treat to have Mattie, Christine, and Rosetta cooking with them. Because Irene took Wednesdays off from baking pies for the Promise Lodge Pie Shop, she’d taken charge of the wedding pies. The entire lodge smelled like cinnamon, fruit, and sugar, and Annabelle was peeling apples to fill the crusts Irene was making.
“Nothing like a wedding to lift our spirits,” Christine remarked after the song ended. “Monroe’s really in a pickle, figuring out how to deal with the things Bishop Clayton’s been saying.”
“And a new baby—another grandbaby! We can be happy about that,” Mattie put in as she cut chicken meat away from the bones. “Deborah’s doing well, Noah looks ready to pop with pride, and little Sarah is just perfect. We have a lot to be thankful for no matter what kind of trouble that other bishop’s kicking up.”
“And after this wedding meal’s behind us, the crochet club has gut reason to take up our hooks again,” Beulah said. She stopped kneading bread dough to check the sausage and bean casserole she’d put in the oven for the day’s noon meal. “What with so much going on lately, we haven’t crocheted many blankets or booties for Deborah. Last time we were in town, we got that birdseye cotton to make her some diapers, too.”
“Oh, I’ll get right on those!” Annabelle put in quickly. “They’ll be a gut project for when I need to get off my feet this evening.”
“I bet the rest of us could join you—make it a sewing and crocheting frolic in your apartment,” Irene said. She smiled at Annabelle after fitting another circle of dough into a pie pan. “Unless you end up spending your evening with Phineas—or Clayton,” she teased.
Annabelle waved her off. “What with those two circling each other like snarling dogs, I have to watch every little thing I say to either one of them,” she said with a sigh. “I really appreciate the way you gals are sticking with me.”
She picked another apple from her pile. “When I was a schoolgirl, I thought it would be so romantic to have two fellows vying for my attention—but now, not so much,” she added pensively. “All I want is a life where I can be happy with one gut man. It won’t be Bishop Clayton, for sure and for certain—but who knows how things will work out with Phineas?”
“Jah, it can’t be easy, with things left unsettled,” Rosetta said softly.
“I sense that Monroe’s inclined to let your husband confess and have a shot at reconciling with you and the Old Order, if Phineas is willing to do that,” Christine put in. “What would you like, Annabelle?”
What would she like? It was a question Annabelle had pondered often of late, even though she figured the church might have more to say about it than she did. “I recall being the happiest girl in the world when Phineas wanted to court me,” she replied in a faraway voice. “He was so handsome, and such a dependable worker that he’d already built up enough money to—”
At the sound of the lodge’s front screen door opening, the women froze in their places, listening.
“Smells mighty fine in here!” Jonathan called out.
“Jah, we came to the right place for lunch,” Cyrus chimed in with his usual good humor. “I don’t suppose you’ll let us sample any of the wedding goodies you’ve been making. I’m pretty sure I smell rhubarb pie.”
Everyone in the kitchen relaxed, but the time for girl talk had ended. Beulah removed the big casserole from the oven. “We’ll be right there with lunch, fellows,” she called out. “Make yourselves at home.”
“Sounds like a fine idea.”
Annabelle’s body stilled at the sound of Phineas’s voice—and then the front screen door squeaked again.
“Put another plate on the tables, ladies,” said Bishop Clayton in a thundering voice. “The aromas of your cooking have drifted through your windows all morning, and I can’t stay away any longer!”
Annabelle’s eyes widened. “This might get interesting,” she whispered.
Mattie’s smile was catlike as she placed cut corn bread in a basket. “Jah, and who knows what might get said or done if we stir the pot a little, girls?” she replied softly. “We’ve got them outnumbered, after all.”
“And they’re on my turf,” Rosetta pointed out as she removed the dome from the cake stand. “I don’t care who’s here—we expect a certain level of civility from the folks gathered around our table. Meanwh
ile, let’s keep planning for happiness,” she added with a lilt in her voice. “We shouldn’t allow quibbling men to interfere with making a satisfying life for ourselves.”
With that, Christine put on oven mitts and took hold of Beulah’s steaming casserole. “Onward and upward, friends. We’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to, after all—cooking and serving the men.”
“Puh! This is our dinner, too!” Beulah said as she and Ruby fell into line with a bowl of fresh slaw and a lime and pineapple gelatin salad. “Don’t think for a minute that I’m going to stay in the kitchen like a meek little mouse while those men gobble it all down!”
Irene took out a plate, a glass, and a setting of silverware, smiling at Annabelle. “We’d be missing all this excitement if we hadn’t come here to live, ain’t so, dearie?” she teased softly. “Our best bet is to jump in feet first, because somebody’s bound to step in it anyway. Better to make our own mess than to clean up somebody else’s, jah?”
Annabelle had to chuckle. Who, indeed, could be a meek little kitchen mouse even if two men who despised each other had shown up for the noon meal? Her friends wouldn’t let her hide—nor would they let her down if she needed them. As she entered the dining room after the other women, Annabelle couldn’t miss the uneasy expressions Clayton and Phineas wore as they took their seats on opposite sides and opposite ends of the table. She caught the wry smiles that Cyrus and Jonathan flashed, too.
“What’ve we got here?” Cyrus asked as Christine set the bubbling casserole on the trivet in front of his place. “Looks like meat and beans—”
“And it smells scrumptious-gut,” Jonathan put in.
“The recipe was my mamm’s, and she called it Posse Stew,” Beulah replied as she set down her bowl of slaw. “When she served it, she reminded us that law and order were to be maintained at her table, or she’d call in the sheriff,” she added in a purposeful tone.
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