Morning Star

by Charlotte Hubbard

  As she headed outside to await the congregation’s verdict, Gabe felt fiercely proud of Red for giving all that money to the church. Considering the buying frenzy on that Saturday, it must’ve been thousands of dollars.

  It would’ve paid her bills for months, even if Dat fired her. Would’ve kept her from becoming her uncle’s charity case.

  Yet to show her faith, Red had given away a large chunk of her financial security. In her place, Gabe wasn’t sure he could’ve done that.

  Maybe you should show your faith—come clean and live like an honest man.

  Gabe blinked. Such thoughts had occurred to him all week, but he didn’t think he’d be helping Red’s case if he—

  This isn’t about her. She’s already confessed, but you have not.

  Gabe refocused, listening to the usual procedure during which the bishop called for questions and any further details from the congregation. He groaned inwardly when Preacher Ammon insisted that, despite Red’s show of remorse, the congregation should vote for the full six-week shunning. After Bishop Jeremiah suggested that four weeks was probably enough, considering Red’s voluntary confession and donation, Preacher Clarence shook his head.

  “We’re talking about years of Regina’s defying the Old Order to keep painting,” her uncle pointed out. “She stayed in her parents’ house—and has remained a maidel—because she couldn’t give up her art. What’s six weeks, when you consider how long she’s indulged in such wayward, dishonest behavior? I also insist that she sell that house and move in with us, where she’ll be less likely to fall into temptation’s trap again!”

  The bishop smiled. “Matter of fact, Regina put her house up for sale yesterday,” he said. “She didn’t want to mention it before she’d told you and Cora, but there it is. Another sign of her sincerity, as I see it.”

  Gabe almost laughed when Preacher Clarence’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, as though he’d assumed Regina would never initiate such a drastic step. Once again Gabe was impressed with all Red had done to renounce her former independence. He already felt sorry that she’d have to endure Clarence’s humorless personality as she toed his line and became a flawless example of Amish womanhood for her younger cousins.

  “Well! Will wonders never cease?” Preacher Clarence blustered as he shot his wife a startled look. “But I don’t see how this changes Regina’s need for the customary six weeks under the bann.”

  Bishop Jeremiah appeared sadder and older as he gauged the feelings of those present. “We’ll vote on the six-week option,” he said with a sigh. “If, however, the vote is not unanimous, we’ll consider the lesser penance of four weeks. Shall we proceed?”

  Gabe wasn’t surprised that the ayes bounced like a rubber ball along the rows on the men’s side—until it came to his turn. “No,” he stated.

  Folks murmured, wondering if his defense of Red implied a relationship, but Gabe suddenly didn’t care what they thought. As the vote continued along the women’s side, he noticed his father looking at him with a speculative expression.

  “No,” said Jo Fussner emphatically, and Gabe wasn’t surprised when the Helfing twins and Lydianne echoed her negative vote.

  When the last vote had been voiced, the bishop said, “Five folks believe a six-week bann is too long. Do any of you five wish to give us your reasons for—”

  “Puh! Those maidels and Gabe—her close friends—want to let her off easy!” one of the women muttered.

  Once again Bishop Jeremiah scowled as he tried to figure out who’d made the remark. “And who among us doesn’t pray that our friends will stand with us in times of trial?” he asked softly. “That settles it. Because some of you are unable to release your negativity—and because Regina has voluntarily turned over more than four thousand dollars and put her home on the market—her bann will be reduced to four weeks. Lydianne, will you bring Regina back to the meeting, please?”

  “While it’s admirable of Regina to hand over the money she made her last day in business,” Deacon Saul put in from the preachers’ bench, “wouldn’t it be a stronger show of faith if she forfeited all the profits she’s earned on her paintings? The Old Order doesn’t condone any of her artwork, after all.”

  Something inside Gabe snapped. Ordinarily when a member was shunned, the proceedings were orderly and low-key, without the nit-picking he’d witnessed this morning—and without the stories that had flown around town since he’d accidentally guessed that Red had painted those beautiful wildlife pictures.

  “Something’s been bothering me for the past couple weeks,” Gabe said as he rose from his seat. “I need some clarification about artwork. Why is it perfectly acceptable for us at Flaud Furniture to create beautiful, outrageously expensive furniture, yet it’s not all right for Regina to paint her pictures? Isn’t fine furniture a form of art?”

  Gabe’s heart thudded hard as he spoke. He was vaguely aware that Red was slipping back onto the bench beside her friends, but the stunned expressions on everyone else’s faces convinced him to continue. “And let’s not forget that the bedroom and dining room sets we produce are custom-made and usually sold to English customers for thousands more than the average Amish family could afford. Red has to paint dozens of pictures to earn what one piece of our furniture costs.”

  A movement caught Gabe’s eye. His dat was glaring, motioning for him to sit down—but his father’s disapproval only goaded him to go on.

  “Along that same line, why is it acceptable for Saul to create elaborate fairy-tale buggies in his carriage factory, which he sells to theme parks for thousands of dollars?” he demanded earnestly. “Regina’s being shunned for painting scenes from God’s own wondrous creation—and she’s not painting human faces, so she’s not creating those graven images the Old Order objects to. And she’s sold her work to generate money for the new schoolhouse,” he added ardently. “Had The Marketplace not opened, no one would be the wiser about her paintings, and we’d be funding the building another way.”

  Hissing whispers filled the concrete room as Deacon Saul glared at Gabe even more vehemently than his father.

  “Sit down,” Dat ordered tersely. “This is not the time or the place for such harebrained opinions about what puts food on your table!”

  Red’s wide-eyed gaze from across the room stilled Gabe’s heart, and he knew he wasn’t nearly finished with what he needed to say. “We at Flaud Furniture and the folks at Hartzler Carriage Company—create items of beauty partly because it brings us joy, and because God has given us the talent to do what we do,” he pointed out fervently. “So why do we Old Order Amish consider Red’s God-given talent with a paintbrush a sin?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Regina’s mouth dropped open. Never had she imagined that Gabe had such impassioned ideas about art bringing joy; nor had she ever heard anyone challenge a leader of the church about his livelihood. She’d often wondered why art was condemned by the Old Order, but Gabe had just nailed it: the fine furniture she finished at Flaud’s never raised an eyebrow, yet the pictures she produced with her smaller brushes had set her apart as a sinner in need of serious repentance.

  “We maidels—and Gabe—voted no on a six-week shunning,” Lydianne whispered as she grasped Regina’s arm.

  As the older women in front of them murmured in shocked disbelief at Gabe’s impassioned speech, Jo also leaned close to Regina. “We got your time reduced to four weeks, thanks to the bishop’s levelheaded way of handling some people’s bad attitudes.”

  Regina didn’t have a chance to thank her friends, because Deacon Saul was rising from the preachers’ bench with an expression that would scald water.

  “I suggest you sit down, Gabe, rather than question Old Order ways that have been in place for centuries,” Saul said tersely. “Have you forgotten that furniture and buggies have a function, and that they serve a purpose? Seems to me you’re a lot more concerned about Miss Miller and joy than you are about the business your dat has established as much for
you as to support his family.”

  “Jah, since when are you so concerned about talent and art?” Martin challenged with a scowl. “You have a factory to oversee!”

  When Gabe met her gaze again, Regina’s entire being thrummed. The emotions on his handsome face spoke of a conflict raging within him—and possibly of a decision he’d just reached. He appeared to be composing a response to his dat and Saul as he remained standing.

  Meanwhile, Bishop Jeremiah was holding up his hands for silence as the chatter in the room got louder. “Folks, we have business left to finish,” he reminded them.

  “Jah, I need to speak about some unfinished business, too,” Gabe blurted before the bishop could continue. “You folks seem fine with me being your song leader for our hymns—and you fellows who sing with me on Friday nights love it as much as I do—but you have no idea that music goes much deeper for me. I—when I was in my rumspringa, I bought a guitar and took some lessons—without telling anybody,” he went on in a rush.

  The room fell silent as folks considered this. On the women’s side, Delores Flaud’s face tightened with shock—and apprehension.

  Gabe nervously raked his hair back. “I learned to play pretty well, and after I joined the church I didn’t give it up,” he confessed as he gazed around the crowded room. “Music comes easy for me, and sometimes I slip into the Methodist church and play their piano—they leave their back chapel unlocked for folks who want to pray, you see. Their hymns are about God’s love and Jesus forgiving our sins, and when I play them I feel centered and—and closer to God.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Martin demanded under his breath. “Why are you—”

  “No, I’ve found my soul,” Gabe shot back without missing a beat. “And now that Red’s situation has come out, I can’t remain quiet and be one of the hypocrites Bishop Jeremiah preached about today.

  “And just for the record,” he went on in a coiled voice, “I’m appalled at the way Saul and Ammon confronted Red in her shop—in front of her customers—and at the way her uncle belittled her at work after she’d confessed her wrongdoing. These leaders of our church were not the least bit uplifting or encouraging as they spoke with her—as they humiliated her in public. If that’s what the Old Order faith is about, why does anyone want to belong to it?”

  Gabe released a loud, shuddering sigh. “That said, I’ll make my confession.”

  As Gabe went to kneel in front of a stunned Bishop Jeremiah, Regina couldn’t believe what she was seeing, or what he’d said about playing the guitar—not to mention the way he’d so staunchly defended her and rebuked their leaders. Did she dare believe that Gabe had feelings for her? Or was he simply being driven by guilt to come clean?

  “Son, think about what you’re doing,” Martin protested. “If you’re shunned, no one will be able to speak to you, or to give or receive anything from you—”

  “That’s an Amish thing,” Gabe pointed out with a shrug. “English customers will have no qualms about handing me their credit cards at the factory or at The Marketplace, as they’ve always done. My sins are comparable to Red’s—they concern an art form, and my need to keep it secret. So it seems reasonable that I confess the way she has, ain’t so?”

  Bishop Jeremiah appeared flummoxed for a moment, but then he motioned for Martin to take his seat. “Whenever a member confesses, it behooves us to take him seriously,” he said after the undercurrent of chatter stopped. He gazed at Gabe, who knelt before him with his head bowed. “Let’s be clear about what you’re confessing, Gabe. You bought a guitar and took lessons during your rumspringa, and when you joined the Old Order you continued to play it—and to play the piano at the Methodist church, as well. And you’ve kept this a secret because, although you know we consider musical instruments worldly, you didn’t want to give up playing them. Do I have that right?”

  “I love playing them,” Gabe corrected him softly. “I’ve always wondered why talent that comes from God and has brought me such joy would be considered a sin.”

  “Sin’s the most natural condition of all,” Preacher Ammon put in with a curt laugh.

  A few rows in front of Regina, Gabe’s mamm shook her head in disbelief. “How can this have been going on since—and we’ve had no idea?”

  “It’s like I told Regina,” Esther Slabaugh remarked archly. “It’s an addiction.”

  “So are gossip and negative thinking, and I’ve had enough of them,” Bishop Jeremiah snapped. He gazed at the Slabaugh sisters until they lowered their eyes. “I believe we need to pray for God’s wisdom and guidance before we proceed. And we need to pray for one another as well.”

  The room rang with an uneasy silence. Folks bowed their heads. A dehumidifier kicked on and filled the basement with its noisy rumble. As the minutes ticked by, Regina wondered what folks would decide about Gabe—and what other surprises this fateful day might reveal. When Bishop Jeremiah spoke again, even the three men on the preachers’ bench appeared more contrite and mindful of their attitudes than before.

  “Now that we’ve heard your confession, Gabe, we’ll take the vote,” he said. “We’ve lowered the customary six-week bann to four weeks for Regina. Because you’ve come forward so willingly, that’s my recommendation for you as well.”

  Gabe exited through the door at the far end of the basement as Regina had. She hadn’t enjoyed feeling the gazes of the entire congregation as she’d left, yet once she’d stepped outside into the open air, she’d felt freer and greatly relieved.

  The worst was over. She’d faced the congregation, and she knew what they expected of her. She’d forfeited the most recent money she’d made from her paintings and put her beloved home on the market, despite the overwhelming sense of loss she felt . . . the claustrophobic numbness that loomed at the thought of spending the rest of her life in a guest room, with Uncle Clarence and Aunt Cora being constantly present and holding her accountable.

  The vote went quickly. Because Regina had been shunned, she wasn’t eligible to vote—not that she would’ve disrupted the process by saying no. She believed Gabe was sincerely trying to face the music, so to speak, and she was pleased that a unanimous decision settled the matter quickly. After Bishop Jeremiah informed Gabe of his four-week bann, folks rose from their seats, eager to be out of the Slabaugh sisters’ gray basement. The women went upstairs to set out the common meal, but because Regina was to be excluded from the time of fellowship, she slipped out the basement door to walk home.

  Home, she thought with a deep sigh. How much longer would she be able to remain in the house where she’d grown up and been so happy? She had a lot of belongings to get rid of before she took up residence in her uncle’s house. Because it was Sunday, she wouldn’t begin packing, but to keep from sinking helplessly into depression, she could make lists of all the tasks before her. She could decide where to donate her furniture, her kitchen utensils, her art supplies, and—

  “Red! Wait up!”

  Gabe’s voice made her turn around. Regina had been concentrating so intently, she’d almost reached Maple Lane without realizing it. Rather than appearing downtrodden or distressed, Gabe flashed her a smile that made her pulse beat in triple time as he jogged toward her.

  “Now that the church has banned us from the common meal, why don’t you and I go into town for a pizza?” he asked. “We have some catching up to do!”

  * * *

  Gabe knew he’d never forget the happy shine of Red’s hazel eyes as she watched him approach. They’d been employer and employee for years, knowing better than to forge any other sort of connection, yet the possibility now intrigued him. Dressed in her Sunday cape dress of dark brown, with her auburn hair coiled into a bun and tucked neatly into her pleated kapp, Regina Miller held an unexpected appeal for him—and his new awareness of her took him by surprise. He had the urge to frame her dear, freckled face in his hands and kiss her, even though it was way too soon for that—and way too dangerous to think about.

  When they
’d slid into opposite sides of a booth and had ordered a large sausage and mushroom pizza, Gabe gazed across the table at her. “I feel this enormous sense of freedom now,” he murmured. “Even though Dat has told me not to return to work until my attitude improves—until I appreciate all he’s done to establish my future—I’ve finally expressed my real feelings about how the Old Order exasperates me.”

  Red’s eyes widened. “He told you to stay away from the shop? Who’s going to oversee the building of all that furniture we’ve taken orders for?”

  Gabe shrugged. “I guess it’s not my problem for a while. I’m not ready to go crawling back just yet.”

  She took a long sip of her cola. “Now that I’ve been shunned, he’ll probably fire me,” she murmured. “I—I’ll have real estate expenses and final utility bills to pay and—”

  “Red, I’m sorry you’ve given up your home,” he said as he reached for her hand. “I really admire you for turning over that money and for doing as your uncle expects you to, but I can’t imagine how painful this must feel. You’ve had your own life for so long, and soon that’ll be gone.”

  Gabe was immediately sorry he’d expressed his condolences, because he’d made Red cry. She blinked furiously, releasing his hand to wipe away her tears so the folks around them wouldn’t see how upset she’d become.

  “I really, really don’t want to live at Uncle Clarence’s,” she admitted, “but selling my house seemed like the only way to convince the church leaders I’m serious about repentance.”

  He took her hand again, savoring the feel of her sturdy, stained fingers linked between his. “If it’s any consolation, when Jeremiah informed us you’d already put your house up for sale your uncle’s stunned expression was priceless.”

  “Well, it was nothing compared to the look on your dat’s face—and your mamm’s—when you confessed to playing the guitar,” she shot back. “You might as well have announced you were a space alien from Mars.”