A Faithful Gathering

by Leslie Gould

  He explained to her, “Sometimes we’re tested, but that doesn’t mean we’ve done anything wrong. You need to take care of yourself as best you can to get through this.” He talked with her about watching her diet, getting enough exercise and sleep, expressing her feelings, and reaching out for help. After she left, he went out to the barn. I was sure he’d gone out there to call the bishop to arrange more support for her. The next day, I noticed that Marie made a meal for the family. Men in the district soon put a new roof on her house. Dat went and visited her son in jail. And I saw the woman sitting on her porch, writing in a notebook. Perhaps that was her way of expressing herself.

  What did it mean for me to take care of myself? I reached for my laptop. The professional challenges I’d longed for were missing from my life. I had to apply for a different job. I opened my computer, logged onto the Lancaster General website, and then applied for a job in the ICU. Sure, if I got it, I’d bump into Stephen now and then, but the job would be worth it.

  As I closed my computer, I felt a little less numb. A little more alive.

  I pulled Dat’s letter out of my purse and read it again, slowing down as I reached the end. And then reread, Don’t give in to fear . . .

  Did he see me avoiding conflict because I was fearful? Had I, like Mamm, written superstitions into my own story?

  Perhaps we had more in common than I thought.

  Marie, Gordon, Caden, Aenti Suz, and I all went to Silas and Jessica’s for our Thanksgiving meal. John joined us. Afterward, during dessert, Aenti Suz said she had an announcement to make. “I’m going to be leaving in two weeks.”

  I smiled. “Where?”

  “The mission organization your Dat went to Haiti with also works with an orphanage that needs help right now. I’ve also contacted a nonprofit that helps support an orphanage in Vietnam. I may go there next.”

  With wide eyes, Marie asked, “What does Bishop Jacobs say?”

  “I have his blessing,” she answered. “I’ll fly, of course, but he allowed your Dat to fly to Haiti too, so it wasn’t as if he could tell me I couldn’t. Arden and Jessica will be renting out the Dawdi Haus full-time.”

  “Will you come home?” I asked.

  “Jah,” Aenti Suz answered. “Eventually.”

  “She’ll stay here.” Jessica grinned. “We have plenty of room.”

  Aenti Suz nodded.

  “And I’ll mainly be the one looking after the Dawdi Haus,” Jessica said. “I’ll clean it and change the sheets and towels and all of that while Aenti Suz is gone.”

  “What a wonderful thing for you to do,” John said to Aenti Suz.

  As the conversation continued, my heart fell a little. I wished I could go with her. Perhaps I could sometime for a week’s vacation. But once I had my student loans paid off, I’d have more opportunities to do that sort of thing.

  Jessica was giving Marie and Gordon an update on the farm and the finances. “I’ve convinced Arden to wait a year as far as selling the herd. Supply has gone down, but we might make it with the help of the income from Aenti Suz’s endeavor. If not, I’m willing to let go of the dairy.”

  Aenti Suz began telling all of them about when her father added the current dairy business back in the late 1940s. I smiled at the thought of Joe and Martha building up the farm. Soon it would be Milton taking charge. The Bachmann farm would continue, with its joys and challenges, one generation at a time.

  I left soon after that and headed for Delaware. Rain poured from a dark, dark sky as I drove, and my car was shaken every now and then by blasts of wind, but at least it wasn’t snowing. When I stopped for coffee and a break from the weather, I noticed I’d missed a call from David’s number in Chester County. Had Mamm called to wish me a happy Thanksgiving? That surprised me, but maybe she was missing her daughters. I figured she’d already left the phone shed as I called back to leave a return message. But to my surprise, she answered.

  Without even saying hello, she said, “I just got off the phone with Jessica—we’d planned ahead to talk today. She told me you broke up with Stephen.”

  “That’s right,” I answered.

  “What were you thinking?”

  It wasn’t as if she really knew him. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “He was Mennonite. Didn’t that matter?”

  “I thought you wanted me to marry an Amish man,” I teased.

  “I gave up on that,” she said. I guessed it was easier for her to tell people I was going to join the Mennonite church and marry a doctor than to say I was Englisch. At least then I was still on that imaginary line, straddling both worlds.

  “I’m not going to join the Mennonites,” I said, surprising us both with my sudden decision. “I’m sorry, Mamm, that I’m a disappointment to you, but I’ve been living in fear ever since I moved back from Pittsburgh, and I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to feel as if God is going to punish me at every turn, and I don’t think you should either.”

  “I don’t feel that way,” she said. “The Bible tells us not to fear.”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “It also tells us not to be unequally yoked. I hope you don’t go back to dating that Nick.”

  “I wouldn’t be unequally yoked if I did—”

  “You’re acting just like before. You’re not listening to me.”

  I sighed. “Could we start again?” Before she could answer, I said, “Happy Thanksgiving! How are you and David doing?”

  Her voice softened a little. “Just fine. We had a good dinner with his kids. . . .” She told me about his infant grandson and how she’d sat in the rocking chair with him for half of the afternoon.

  I let her go on for a while and then said, “Well, I need to get going. I’m on my way to Wilmington to see Paisley and Autumn.”

  “Englisch friends?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Let’s talk soon. Or maybe I’ll come up to visit. Would that be all right?”

  She hesitated, but then said it would.

  After we said good-bye, I held my phone in my hand. And then I did what I’d wanted to do for the last week. I texted Nick.

  Hey, Happy Thanksgiving! How is the Air Force? How do you like your first assignment?

  I imagined he would reply eventually, even if tersely, although I couldn’t help but think of when he texted me the second time I took my boards. I hadn’t texted him back. Then again, his manners were better than mine. I was sure he’d reply.

  But I was wrong. He still hadn’t answered by the time I reached Paisley and Autumn’s apartment. And not while we went out for Thai food. And not while we stayed up late watching old movies—Mean Girls and The Princess Diaries. Their goal was to make up for my “wacky childhood,” as they called it.

  All through the night, the wind continued to howl as the rain poured even harder. Friday morning, the bad weather continued with torrential rain, relentless wind, and falling temperatures as we headed out for a late brunch. Nick still hadn’t texted.

  “Why do you keep checking your phone?” Paisley asked.

  Before I could respond, Autumn asked, “So what happened with that doctor, anyway?”

  “Oh, that,” I answered. “It’s been over for forever.” I gave her a sassy look. “Over a week.”

  She laughed. “And how is Nick?”

  I sighed. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  We ate at a café in downtown Wilmington that reminded me of the one up the street from where I’d lived in Pittsburgh, which of course made me think of Nick again. Afterward, as we walked through shops, my phone buzzed.

  “Oh, good,” Autumn teased. “Maybe it’s him.”

  It wasn’t. It was an alert from Mennonites Serve. There was flooding in northern Kent County, Delaware, along the river, and they were sending a team because there was an Amish settlement in the area. Availability was down because of the holiday weekend, and they needed all the volunteers possible.

  I quickly texted back, saying I
could meet the team there.

  Perfect. The team lead texted me the address and said she’d see me soon.

  I explained to Autumn and Paisley what the text was about.

  “That’s cool,” Autumn said. “Let’s head back to the apartment so you can get your stuff.”

  A half hour later, I was on my way south, wondering if Nick was at his folks’ in Lancaster County or at Dover Air Force Base. As a Red Cross volunteer, he might have been summoned to the flooded area too.

  The going was slow because of the wind and the rain, and there was standing water across the road in several places with detours in place. Once I neared my destination, the traffic signals were all out, as were the lights in the businesses and houses. I saw several trees toppled across houses and cars. I drove on through the howling wind and rain, hoping it hadn’t been foolish of me to come.

  24

  When I arrived at a tent set up in a strip mall parking lot, I checked in with the woman holding a clipboard. She directed me to work on the far side of the tent. There were a couple of portable heaters running, but I kept my coat on. I also scanned the area for Nick. Of course he wasn’t there—my wishful thinking had gotten the best of me.

  The first person I examined had a possible concussion. He was a sixty-two-year-old man who’d woken up to water rushing into his first-floor apartment. He’d fallen and hit his head on a table while he was trying to get out. I recommended he go to the emergency department.

  The next patient was an Amish man who had sliced his hand on sheet metal in his flooded barn.

  Several people came in who were chilled. As I wrapped one in a blanket, more volunteers showed up. I recognized a few from Lancaster County and searched the group. I smiled when I spotted Aenti Suz. Once I was done with the patient I was examining, she gave me a quick hug and then said she’d had a visitor at the Dawdi House that morning.

  “Who?” I asked, thinking maybe Stephen had stopped by, looking for me.

  “Nick.”

  I exhaled. Why would he stop by the farm but not text me back?

  “In fact, he gave me a ride to the church to get on the van.” Her eyes sparkled.

  “Interesting.” I crossed my arms. “So did he stop by to see me? Or you?”

  She just shrugged, and then said she was continuing on to go to the church, which was about a mile away, to help prepare the meal.

  I kept on with my work, feeling unsettled about Nick, but feeling much more comfortable serving than I had the day of the tornado. Most things in life got easier the more we did them.

  I thought of the final line of Dat’s note to me: Live for Him. Love for Him. And serve for Him.

  If only Nick were serving with me.

  When my shift was done, I headed to the church. The parking lot was full, and once I found the fellowship hall, it became obvious to me that more than just the workers were being fed. I headed to the kitchen and, after I washed my hands, helped Aenti Suz butter loaves of French bread. Spaghetti was on the menu again. It was the perfect meal to feed to a crowd.

  Aenti Suz instructed me to take a tray of bread out of the oven. As I positioned it on the counter, several people stepped into the fellowship hall. One of them wore a down jacket and a beanie. As he took the beanie off, I realized it was Nick.

  He glanced around the hall for a moment, and then his eyes fell on me. He gave a half wave and started across the room. As he grew close, he asked, “Do you have a minute?”

  Curious, I replied, “Are you volunteering?”

  He shook his head. “No. When Suz said she was coming here, I took the chance that you were too. I’m on my way to Dover.” His brown eyes were as deep as ever. He gestured toward an empty table at the very back of the room. “Could we talk?”

  Aenti Suz nudged me. “Go on.”

  I followed him.

  As we sat, I asked if he’d gotten my text.

  He grimaced. “I recently got off my parents’ plan and got a new number. I would have sent it to you except—”

  My eyebrows shot up.

  “I thought you were serious about the doctor. But then I stopped by your farm today. I was just driving by and thinking about you . . .” He exhaled. “And I stopped.”

  “And saw Aenti Suz?”

  He nodded. “She told you?”

  “Only that you stopped by.” I folded my hands on top of the table. “What did she tell you?”

  “That you broke up with the doctor.” His eyes were kind. “I’m sorry.”

  I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. “Don’t be,” I managed to say. I wasn’t.

  He leaned forward, his forearms flat on the table. “I need to apologize to you. I was wrong. So, so wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “About joining the Air Force the way I did, without us talking it through.”

  I felt a hint of sympathy for him. “I wasn’t exactly making it easy for you to discuss it. I’m sorry about that.”

  “No,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. On one of my sleepless nights after we broke up, I finally researched nonresistance. I don’t know that I totally get it, but I understand that it’s essential to your upbringing, to your faith. It’s why the Anabaptists were persecuted in Europe and why your ancestors came to America, and Pennsylvania in particular, in search of religious freedom. I get why you didn’t want to be associated with the military.”

  “I should have explained it to you better,” I said. “I was so focused on graduating, and then Marie, and then my boards, and then retaking my boards.” My voice wavered. “And I didn’t take the time to really listen to you either, about your financial worries and interest in pursuing an advanced degree.” Marie was right. I’d been empathetic to everyone but Nick. I’d taken him for granted. “I’m so sorry too.”

  We both had tears in our eyes as we offered forgiveness to each other.

  I spread my hands out flat on the table, and Nick reached and took both of them in his. And then we talked. I told him about my work in the clinic. He told me about his work in the ICU at the base hospital. He asked about Mamm getting married. I told him about Aenti Suz’s plan to go to Haiti.

  “Did your Aenti Suz finish telling you your grandparents’ story?” he asked. “She can’t leave if she hasn’t.”

  I told him how Dawdi Joe’s and Mammi Martha’s wartime story ended, and then about my note from Dat. “I learned,” I said, “that I was living in fear, just like Mamm. I was walking an imaginary line, afraid God would punish me, as Mamm predicted, if I fell too far over on the Englisch side. I feared marrying a military man would do that.” I met his eyes. “But my Dawdi and Mammi’s story showed me that life, even an Anabaptist one, isn’t as black and white as the life I thought I needed to create.”

  Nick squeezed my hand. “What now?”

  “Could we start again? Where we left off?” I asked.

  “Even though I’m in the military?”

  I nodded. “It isn’t what I would have chosen, but I don’t want to give up you and what we had because of it. I don’t want to reject what God has for us. . . .”

  As my voice trailed off, he said, “I won’t make a career out of it. I’ll meet my commitment and then get out, I promise.”

  I smiled. “I can live with that.”

  He unzipped his coat and reached into an inside pocket, taking out a small white box with a battered lavender ribbon tied around it. He handed it to me.

  I held it in my open palm as my heart began to race.

  “I’ve been carrying it around for a while,” he said a little sheepishly.

  “Since the night before my graduation?” I remembered him patting his coat pocket after our celebratory dinner. “For the last six months?”

  He nodded, his gaze fixed on me.

  My hand closed over the box as tears filled my eyes. All the nerves in my fingers seemed to be transmitting extra signals, and yet I couldn’t seem to move a muscle.

  “I’m sorry.” He ran his hand through h
is hair. “Did I mess up again?”

  I shook my head, only able to squeak out, “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  A single tear escaped. Then another. “Nothing.” I brushed at my face. “I’m just so happy,” I said, “to be here. With you.”

  He nodded toward the box and coaxed, “Open it.”

  I pulled the ribbon off, wound it around my wrist, and then took the little lid off the box. Inside was a simple band with a single embedded diamond. Neither the Amish nor the Mennonites wore rings. But I would wear this one. It was perfect.

  His eyes met mine. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” I answered as joy bubbled up inside of me.

  He came across the table and sat beside me, taking the ring and sliding it onto my finger. Then he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. He kissed the top of my head. And then my forehead. And then my mouth.

  The months apart melted away, but what I’d learned would stay with me forever.

  On Christmas Day, after celebrating with Jessica, Marie, their families, and Aenti Suz, Nick and I visited Mamm and David and told them our news. Mamm said it certainly wasn’t what she’d been praying for. “I had faith you’d join the church,” she said. “Or at least the Mennonites.”

  I couldn’t avoid the conflict any longer. “Mamm,” I said. “I wouldn’t expect you to feel any other way, but I want you to know I have my own relationship with the Lord and this is where He’s led me. I love Nick, and I want to spend my life with him. And I know God made me to be a nurse. I know I’ve disappointed you, but I don’t want you to fear that God will punish me for the choices I’ve made.” I shared what I’d learned from Dawdi Joe and Mammi Martha’s story and from Dat’s note. Then I told her I planned to not live in fear anymore. “That’s my prayer for you too, Mamm. I want you to be free from fear. To not hold on so tightly. To trust God, with all of us.”

  She pursed her lips. For a moment I wondered if she would apologize for hiding Dat’s note, but she didn’t. After a long spell of silence, David asked if we’d like a piece of Christmas cake, made with orange juice and pecans. Over cake and coffee, the conversation turned to grandkids and new calves and the snowstorm that was predicted for the next day. David teased Mamm about her new snow boots and soon she was smiling, telling a story about when I was little and Jessica and Marie rolled me around outside in my snowsuit. It was a story I hadn’t heard before.