Was it Annabelle’s imagination, or was the sun shining brighter, making the orange, red, and gold leaves glisten on the trees? Could there be anything more glorious than riding in this wagon with the bishop, spotting all the neighbors who came outside as the thunder of hooves and the ringing of bells alerted them to the momentous occasion?
Lester Lehman jogged out into his yard for a closer look, grinning like a young boy, and down the hill from him, Preacher Marlin and Frances stood waving with awestruck expressions on their faces. Preacher Amos and Mattie came out of their house, too. When Annabelle saw the Kuhn sisters step out of their cheese factory—and then Irene and Phoebe emerge from the little white bakery building—her heart was so filled with joy she could barely breathe. Farther along they passed Roman Schwartz with little David on his shoulders, alongside Mary Kate and Gloria—and the younger Peterscheim kids were calling out to them as they waved wildly, as well. Even Deborah and Noah Schwartz, with their new baby, had come to witness the excitement.
When they passed under the white metal Promise Lodge sign at the entry to the property, Bishop Monroe slowed the horses to check for traffic. “All right, boys, carry on!” he called to his horses. “Gee!”
When they made a right turn onto the pavement, the rhythmic clatter of the Clydesdales’ hooves got louder and a bit faster. Annabelle held the strings of her kapp to keep it from blowing off, gazing ahead to the Helmuths’ nursery at the intersection of the state highway. Several cars filled the parking lot in front of the greenhouse buildings, and when she spotted redheaded Sam and Simon helping customers load colorful mums into their vehicles, she returned their smiles. Their wives, Barbara and Bernice, turned from picking pumpkins in the garden behind their double house to wave, as well.
Annabelle grinned blissfully as the bishop urged the horses into a fast trot on the highway. Could there be any place more wonderful, more welcoming than Promise Lodge? The thought of building a home here and starting fresh with Phineas filled her with such happiness that tears trickled down her cheeks.
When she felt Phineas gazing at her from the other side of Bishop Monroe, Annabelle leaned forward to look at him. His pale green eyes glowed with hope as he blew her a kiss.
Between them, the bishop let out a long, contented sigh as he held the lines easily in his big, capable hands. “Life doesn’t get any better than this, friends,” he murmured.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Bishop Clayton stood up to preach the first sermon on Sunday morning, everyone in the meeting room tightened at the sight of his scowl. The opening hymns and prayers had sounded subdued, as though folks expected to be lectured and disciplined like wayward children at the hands of a harsh father.
From her place beside Laura in the center of the women’s side, Gloria saw the man they knew as Cornelius, the suave impostor, more clearly through a lens wiped clean by the truth. She didn’t know what to expect as the service progressed, but she was determined not to let her friends fall for any new lies he might use to ensnare them. Sensing that important matters might come to a head, the Kuhn sisters and the three Wickeys were attending this service instead of their Mennonite church in Cloverdale.
Bishop Monroe and the three preachers appeared wary as they sat on the preachers’ bench, waiting. Did they have a plan? How did they figure to handle Cornelius, especially if he refused to cooperate with them?
Help us discern Your will, Lord, Gloria prayed. And stand with our leaders as they reveal Cornelius for the thief he is.
“When I came here about a month ago, sent from the Council of Bishops—and God,” Cornelius began in an ominous tone, “I had high hopes for Promise Lodge and the ability of its leaders to reform, to lead you folks back toward the light of God’s salvation. But instead of listening to my wisdom, these four men have challenged me at every turn, as contrary as Missouri mules and refusing to return to Old Order standards. So I stand before you a sorely disappointed man.”
Cornelius’s scowl deepened as he raked the congregation with his gaze. “Unless we make drastic changes—right here, right now—your souls will be forever damned,” he continued, dramatically pointing downward. “I’m determined, however, that such a catastrophe won’t happen during my watch, because—as we touched upon earlier—I am the newly appointed bishop of this district. And I’m taking the necessary action now.”
The room suddenly felt airless. Folks stared in confusion between the man standing before them and their four leaders on the preachers’ bench. Gloria swallowed hard. She and Laura exchanged a fearful glance, but it wasn’t her place to rise up and speak out.
“When Jesus prepared His disciples for the ministry they were to begin after His death, He granted them the power to cast out demons,” Cornelius reminded them with a flourish of his hand. “As His devout disciple, I must therefore assume the same responsibility, to rid Promise Lodge of a cancerous growth that threatens the life of this community.
“You, Phineas Beachey,” he whispered, as though the words felt like poison on his tongue, “be gone from here! You plan to come before this congregation today begging for reinstatement into the Old Order, and I cannot allow that to happen! You’ve committed the one unforgivable sin, and unless I cast you out, your presence will continue to contaminate the community.”
The room’s silence rang like a siren. Phineas stood up slowly, his jaw clenched. “Begging your pardon,” he began, barely controlling his temper, “but you have no power to—”
“It’s too late to beg for pardon!” Cornelius blurted, pointing toward the doorway. “I’ve repeatedly beseeched Burkholder and the preachers to do the right thing by sending you away, but in the face of their weakness—their blindness to God’s will and the Old Order—I must banish you this minute. Get thee behind us, Satan!”
“You can’t do this!” Annabelle cried out as she sprang up from the pew bench a couple of rows in front of Gloria. “We’re going to build a new home here! Bishop Monroe has assured us—”
“Silence, woman!” Cornelius commanded, glaring at her. “Had Burkholder kept you and the other women here in your rightful places—had you paid attention when I warned you of the dangers of associating with Phineas—we wouldn’t be separating the wheat from the chaff and casting the chaff into the fire right now. Sit.”
Aghast, Annabelle dropped back onto the pew bench. As she and Phineas looked to Bishop Monroe for guidance, Gloria caught his subtle motions. Behind Cornelius’s back, Monroe was shaking his head at Phineas. Just as Cornelius turned, Monroe pointed toward the door—and then quickly gripped the bench and put a blank expression on his face.
“Enough of your signals, Burkholder!” Cornelius spat. His face grew ruddier as the pitch of his voice rose. “Matter of fact, you might as well leave the room, too, because I’ll be calling for a congregational vote concerning your shunning before this service concludes!”
As folks sucked in their collective breath, Cornelius pivoted to face them. “Might I remind you of how far gone, how worldly, your deposed bishop has become—and how blindly you’ve followed him? Every single one of you rushed outside on Friday to watch as he paraded his exorbitant horses in their finery down the road—and you waved and cheered him on! Did it not occur to you that Burkholder’s extreme pride and vanity have become so deeply engrained that he’s practically English?”
Bishop Monroe rose slowly from the preachers’ bench. Gloria sensed he was putting on a calm façade, but his glances toward the doorway betrayed his anxiety. Across the room, Cyrus and Jonathan were looking at one another as though they couldn’t believe what they were witnessing.
“And who was riding high along with him, shameless and gleefully unaware of their own guilt by association?” Cornelius demanded without even pausing for breath. “The Beacheys! You saw them for yourselves!”
Annabelle’s whimper made Gloria feel so sorry for the poor woman that she nearly began to cry. Never had she witnessed such an upsetting tirade, as though their self-proclaim
ed bishop wasn’t going to stop until he’d chastised every last member of the congregation.
“Out, all three of you!” Cornelius commanded. “Pack up and leave, Phineas, and don’t come back! We’ll see if your sadly deluded wife and Burkholder have backbone enough to accept the disciplinary action we’ll be voting on at the close of the service. Meanwhile, you Mennonites need to leave, too,” he added as he glared at them. “Your permissive, progressive attitudes are the root of this evil, after all.”
Gloria gripped the pew bench with both hands. Cornelius had enjoyed countless meals in the lodge dining room, apparently unconcerned about Irene and the Kuhns’ beliefs, yet he was banishing them with an imperious wave of his hand. Beulah wasted no time getting up, steering Ruby ahead of her with a disgusted frown. Rosetta appeared more defiant, perhaps ready to argue with Cornelius, but when Truman and his mamm rose to go, she reluctantly left the room with them.
Without a word, Bishop Monroe started for the aisle between the men’s and women’s sides of the meeting room. His head was bent low, as though he were a sheep being led to the slaughter. He paused to allow Phineas out of his row to precede him.
Annabelle, too, made her way to the aisle, her fist pressed to her mouth and her face wet with tears. Her heart-shaped kapp quivered with her suppressed sobs.
A pang of deep fear shot through Gloria’s soul. Cyrus and Jonathan were gaping at her, looking ready to jump up and protest—yet worried that their outburst would make the situation worse. Outside, Daisy’s distant barking seemed to express the same note of desperate concern.
“If you’re sending Bishop Monroe away, I’m certainly not sticking around,” Preacher Amos announced as he stood up and started walking.
“Same here,” Preacher Eli said sourly. “This is no way to conduct a worship service—and if you were any sort of bishop, you’d know that, King.”
“Count me out, too,” Preacher Marlin muttered as he followed the others. “If God’s calling the likes of you to lead this community, I want no part of it.”
Gloria’s body vibrated with the need to stand up and shout at the impostor before them. “Laura, this is wrong,” she whispered frantically. “If all of our real preachers are leaving, somebody has to stop Cornelius before he—”
As Bishop Monroe passed by the end of her pew bench, he caught Gloria’s eye. He was shaking his head, pressing his hand downward, telling her to keep her seat and keep silent. She stared at him, dumbfounded by the way he was abandoning his friends—the faithful members of his congregation who were depending on him and the three somber men behind him to restore order to a morning that had gone desperately awry.
Didn’t it mean anything to Bishop Monroe that Gloria had shown him those incriminating papers from Riehl’s closet? Had her trip to Willow Ridge—the evidence she and her friends had gathered against Cornelius—been for nothing? She couldn’t bear to look at the despicable man who was standing before them with his arms crossed, chuckling triumphantly.
“This is a sight for sore eyes,” Cornelius said. “We’re getting rid of the chaff faster than I’d anticipated—which is clearly the Lord’s way of saying that I’m doing exactly as He wants me to do. We must totally annihilate the disease in this community if we wish to be healed and emptied, ready to receive the Lord’s new direction for our lives. But there’s one more wayward soul to ferret out before we proceed.”
The congregation shrank in upon itself as Bishop Monroe, the Beacheys, and the three preachers disappeared through the doorway. Folks gazed fearfully at one another, too afraid to ask the question on everyone’s mind. Is it I?
“Last Sunday when I was attending church in Coldstream,” Cornelius said, eyeing the people around him suspiciously, “someone entered my room, obviously without my permission. And that someone also rifled through the contents of my closet.”
Gloria’s throat got so tight she couldn’t swallow. The blood drained from her head and she looked down at her lap, praying she wouldn’t pass out—praying Cornelius wouldn’t notice how guilty she appeared. Laura clasped Gloria’s hand, but she released it quickly before Riehl could see her gesture of support.
“Every last soul in this congregation knows it’s wrong to enter someone’s private space. That’s trespassing in its most odious form,” Cornelius continued relentlessly. “I’m asking the intruder to rise and confess his—or her—sin. If this person doesn’t respond voluntarily, I’ll be coming to stand before every last one of you to question you. I’ll be able to spot the guilt on your face immediately, won’t I?”
Gloria couldn’t breathe. The direction of his voice told her that Cornelius was looking at the women’s side—possibly staring straight at her. The room began to spin, and she was vaguely aware of the rustling of women’s dresses and aprons as they shifted nervously on the wooden benches. Did this mean Cornelius was starting on the front row, with the older women, and working his way back—to her? Did he intend to make her sweat until then, so she’d be a nervous wreck by the time he called her name?
“Bishop Clayton, as a fine upstanding man of God, you surely have nothing to hide,” one of the men called out. “So what was in your closet that you didn’t want anyone else to see?”
Gloria’s heartbeat went wild. Cyrus had dared to speak up—to divert Cornelius’s attention away from her—and his impertinent question brought the congregation out of its stunned stupor. Folks began whispering, incensed by the way this interrogation—this witch hunt—was being conducted.
“You’re way out of line, King,” Harley Kurtz muttered.
“Jah, this isn’t the time or the place for these goings-on. Not during a church service!” Gloria’s mamm chimed in.
“Silence!” Cornelius thundered, raising his clenched fist. “As your new bishop, I’ve come to shine light on Promise Lodge—to chase away the black clouds of unforgiven sin that stand between you and our God.”
A tense stillness again filled the meeting room. Gloria had detected a note of rising anxiety in Riehl’s voice, and she wondered if other folks were becoming as concerned about his mental state—and their safety—as she was. When had anyone ever witnessed an Amish man shouting during church, with his fist raised?
“Well, Cornelius, it’s gut to hear you speaking on a topic you’re very familiar with,” a man behind the congregation said calmly. “Shall we tell these folks about the black clouds of unforgiven sin in your life?”
At the sound of Bishop Tom Hostetler’s words, relief rushed through Gloria’s soul. She grabbed Laura’s hand and turned, as everyone else was doing, to get a look at the man who was starting down the aisle. In his black suit and white shirt, Bishop Tom looked like a tried-and-true Amish bishop, but it was the serenity radiating from his weathered, bearded face that brought a sense of God’s presence into the room with him. A younger man was walking alongside him, watching Cornelius intently as he, too, conveyed the reverence befitting a Plain man of God.
As Bishop Monroe and the others who’d left came to stand at the back of the room, Gloria turned toward the front again. Cornelius’s face had turned the color of paste. As he raked his fingers through his dark hair, he scowled.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, taking a step backward. “How did you know I was at Promise Lodge?”
“What are you doing here?” the man beside Bishop Tom countered calmly. “It appears you’ve changed your name and promoted yourself to being a bishop. But you’re up to your same old tricks, Cornelius, and we’ve come to shine light on them.”
“Jah, you can run from your past lies and deception, but you can’t hide from God,” Bishop Tom said as he reached the front. He turned to face the curious crowd. “Gut morning, folks. I’m Bishop Tom Hostetler from Willow Ridge and I’ve brought along Preacher Ben Hooley to assist with this difficult situation you’re facing. Let’s ask God for His guidance in a moment of prayer.”
As Gloria and everyone around her bowed their heads, Preacher Ben took a seat on the bench
and insisted that a very defensive Cornelius sit beside him.
“Lord, we ask for Your wisdom and Your discernment as we address the wayward tendencies that dwell in our human hearts,” the bishop said in a hushed voice. “Help us to understand what this morning’s confrontation is truly about. And help us to forgive Cornelius in the same way You forgive us, so we might move forward on the path to Your everlasting salvation. Amen.”
When Gloria opened her eyes, she felt a worshipful serenity returning to the room even though folks were wide-eyed, wondering what Bishop Tom would say next. Cornelius had recovered from his initial shock and appeared annoyed enough to walk out. Would he have his horse and buggy hitched up before the men from Willow Ridge had finished talking about him? Or would he stay to defy them and defend himself?
“Where shall I begin?” Bishop Tom said with a shake of his head. “The man you’ve known as Clayton King, supposedly from a Council of Bishops in Lancaster County, has been leading you astray, folks. First of all, there’s no such thing as a Council of Bishops,” he clarified matter-of-factly. “And this man’s real name is Cornelius Riehl. He was our church’s deacon—until he skipped town after gambling away nearly all of our money.”
All around Gloria, mouths dropped open. Folks gaped at one another in disbelief.
“When Preacher Ben and I got word that our deacon had been visiting a casino, we called him on it—asked him to confess in church,” the slender bishop continued. “But Cornelius pleaded for our forgiveness and vowed he’d never set foot in a casino again, so Ben and I gave him a second chance. Didn’t make him face the humiliation of admitting his gambling habit to his friends.”
“And that was the wrong thing to do,” Preacher Ben put in ruefully. “As you know, Cornelius can be very persuasive—and we were too trusting. Next thing we knew, he was gambling online with a laptop computer after secretly depositing our money in a bank account.”
Light Shines on Promise Lodge Page 24