The Judgment

by Beverly Lewis

  “Meaning?”

  “You prob’ly don’t even know it, but the ministerial brethren were mighty outspoken about my decision to take in Nick—not only the neediest boy I’d found, but the most unruly. When ’specially Bishop Ezekiel got wind of it, he said only time would tell if my actions were wise or not. And, considering how Nick’s turned out, I’m looking downright guilty of poor judgment.”

  Sol was stunned. “First I heard of this.” Yet he knew as well as anyone that Old Ezekiel had not a progressive bone in his body.

  Aaron straightened. “My disobedience to Bishop Ezekiel has come back to haunt me, I daresay.” He motioned for Sol to move closer. “Ezekiel’s even gone so far as to suggest that Christian’s death might very well be God’s judgment on me . . . because I unwisely picked Nick Franco to be our foster son.”

  Shocked, Sol shook his head. “That just can’t be. The old bishop believes such a harsh thing?”

  “Seems so. He suggested that no good would come of this back when Nick first arrived and was already hard as anything to manage. He simply would not submit to my authority.” Aaron pulled out his kerchief and wiped his face.

  Sol was unable to speak as he considered all this. Moments later, when several of the womenfolk came into the room to redd up the floor, he said, “You never breathed a word of this to me, Aaron.”

  “No, I wanted the whole mess brushed into a corner somewhere.” Aaron moved toward the front door and stepped into the frigid air. He looked remorsefully at Sol. “You had enough to think about then, what with Emma struggling so. I felt for ya, I truly did.” Aaron shook his head. “Still do. Your wife’s in constant pain . . . and your daughter’s left her husband.”

  “Emma endures both mental and physical suffering.”

  “One is due to Hen,” Aaron said.

  They stood there silently for a moment. The sky seemed to lower as smoke from someone’s pipe on the other side of the house wafted over the big roof, its sweet aroma filling their nostrils.

  “So now that she’s left Brandon . . . what’re ya thinking?”

  Aaron bore a pained expression. “Guess if I was truly God’s man for the church, I would’ve succeeded somehow in keeping your dear Hannah in the fold. The Lord knows I certainly tried.” Aaron remarked how he’d practically run Brandon off Sol’s premises the only evening Hen had brought him over for supper, back when.

  “We were all mighty upset,” Sol admitted, pulling hard on his uneven beard.

  “Jah, the Lord himself knows just how desperate a time it was.”

  Sol nodded in agreement. Still, it could not compare to what his friend was now experiencing. He wondered if Aaron might be waiting for him to offer to go along to look for Nick. But with Emma so awful weak, Sol wouldn’t think of leaving her. And he had numerous orders to fill this week, as well. It wasn’t right to deprive his family of that income to seek out the likes of Nick Franco in Philly. Still, it would be ideal if the bishop’s foster son agreed to return and make recompense. But, as Aaron had said, the likelihood of that was mighty dim, if not hopeless. “So you truly think the brethren are holdin’ a grudge against ya . . . ’bout Nick?”

  Aaron’s eyes were fixed on a flock of geese gleaning in the cornfield across the road. He never once moved his head to acknowledge one way or the other. Sol placed his hand on Aaron’s back. “I’m awful sorry about the disunity. ’Least it hasn’t caused a ruckus amongst the People,” he offered.

  “Not just yet.” Aaron turned toward him. “Thing is, I’m standing my ground, refusing to make Nick come home, even if I could locate him. How absurd, when ya think of it. I’m of the mind to think it should be his doin’.”

  Words like these were exactly why Sol looked up to the man chosen by divine lot to oversee the local church. “I’m with ya on that.”

  Aaron continued. “I don’t expect Nick to ever set foot in my house again, but at the same time, I won’t quit praying for him to do just that.”

  Solomon said he’d continue to pray, as well, still reeling with the disquieting information that the most revered bishop in the county was putting such pressure on Aaron.

  The Sunday evening barn Singing was well populated with nearly all the courting-age youth from the local district, as well as a dozen or more from a neighboring one. Rose couldn’t help overhearing one of the ministers’ sons from the other church talking about his father and others wanting to get to the bottom of what had happened to Christian Petersheim that fateful day.

  The idea greatly disturbed her, mostly out of concern for Nick. And also because Christian’s passing had taken its toll on the whole community, especially the bishop and dear Barbara.

  In her heart of hearts, she did not believe Nick was capable of causing someone’s death—no matter what his cryptic words had implied.

  In the note I burned . . .

  Much later, when the cold air had stilled, Rose and Silas rode alone in his courting buggy. She brought up the new youth who’d come to the Singing. “They aren’t from our district, which seems a bit odd to me.”

  Silas chuckled. “It appears word got out that a new batch of girls recently turned sixteen over here.”

  She smiled; she’d guessed there was more to it than the other boys just showing up because their songs were faster than the neighboring church’s, or whatnot. But this made plenty good sense.

  Funny how fast word spreads about eligible girls!

  They visited pleasantly for a while, until Rose began to shiver. Silas reached back and brought out another lap robe and placed it over her. Then, just as quickly, he slipped under it, too, trusting the horse to keep going as he got resituated next to Rose. Silas, for his part, seemed relaxed and happy, even talking about the possibility of her coming to see his father’s dairy farm—“the milking operation is mighty impressive.” He held the reins lightly with a single hand. “Ya needn’t be shy about comin’ during the daytime. My family already suspects you’re my girl.”

  She blushed at that. It was awfully hard to keep such things secret from families, especially when two of Silas’s sisters were regulars at youth gatherings. “I could prob’ly visit this Wednesday, since I won’t be working for Mr. Browning that day.” She explained that Beth Browning was staying with them. “For the week, anyways.”

  “Wednesday morning’s fine with me.” He smiled at her. “I’ll come pick you up.”

  “Denki . . . sounds gut.” Rose couldn’t wait for him to hold her hand tonight. So far he hadn’t, and she wondered if it had anything to do with what she’d witnessed between Silas and Rebekah at the Masts’.

  Not knowing in the slightest how to bring up that uncomfortable topic, Rose gazed at the night sky. Tiny specks of snow drifted onto her face and she felt momentarily at peace. “Seems like December’s been here for a long time already.”

  “Hog butcherin’ weather, for sure.”

  She again contemplated what she wanted to say about Rebekah. Did she dare reveal her concern? She glanced his way, but he was focused on the road again. Just as well, maybe.

  The road stretched out before them like a narrow gray strand, dotted on either side by golden lights in the farmhouse windows. She’d noticed the clouds looking denser, grayer that afternoon—like goose down. Dat and Mose, the third oldest of her five brothers, had spread fresh manure around the rosebushes days ago, then sowed rye in the vegetable gardens as green fertilzer and to prevent erosion. There was no turning back; winter was here to stay.

  Rose drew a slow, deep breath after thinking it over. “I can’t help wonderin’ how Rebekah Bontrager must feel, being away from her family with Christmas coming up.”

  Silas mumbled a single syllable, though Rose couldn’t make it out.

  She continued. “I saw her yesterday, standing outside at Annie Mast’s—near the springhouse.” She paused and waited to see if he might respond. “My sister and I, and her little girl, went with Beth Browning to see the new twins.”

  Silas said nothing,
and Rose felt she must press forward. “You were there, too.”

  Silas shifted in his seat, bringing his free hand up to hold the reins. “I stopped off to make a quick delivery, is all.”

  A delivery?

  “Something for Rebekah,” he volunteered.

  “Rebekah?” Her mouth felt like cornmeal mush.

  “It was a letter I should’ve written sooner . . . before she ever arrived here.”

  Rose was all ears, though apprehensive about what was to come.

  “You see, she and I exchanged a few letters a while back—months ago, actually. It was during the time you were stayin’ home with your mother, after your Dawdi Jeremiah had his stroke.”

  She remembered her months of loneliness all too well. Except for Nick, Rose really hadn’t had anyone to talk to, because, even when she’d been awake, Mamm had not often been up for much conversation back then. Even less so now . . .

  “Just five or six letters.”

  Rose was somewhat shaken to learn that Silas’s romantic interests had strayed during the months she hadn’t gone to Singings and such. Goodness, did that mean Silas and Rebekah’s present communication might be less innocent than Rose had hoped? She cleared her throat. “What did ya write to her yesterday?”

  “That I was engaged to you. I wanted her to understand why I’m not pursuing her while she’s here.”

  That’s good, she thought, relieved he’d let Rebekah know he was spoken for. But she wondered why Silas hadn’t written to say he was engaged prior to Rebekah’s coming. “So then, she knows for certain we’re a couple?” Rose asked, still feeling somewhat cheerless.

  “I made it clear—you are my betrothed.” Silas looked at her quickly, then away. “I should’ve told you before now about writing her. For that, I apologize.”

  She recalled Silas stating that Rebekah was “solidly Amish,” as if comparing her to other girls—possibly even herself, although she couldn’t imagine why he’d find her own commitment to the Plain tradition wanting. After all, Rose had been the one to join church at just fifteen, a younger age than most girls. Much earlier than the young men in the church district typically did, too. No, surely he wasn’t comparing her to me.

  When Silas reached for her hand later, Rose felt heartened and welcomed the old thrill. She decided she had been right to bring up the niggling topic after all, and was glad Silas had been so forthcoming. A right gut trait in a husband.

  Yet as they drove on into the night, her mind traveled in circles. It haunted her, recalling how fond Rebekah had been of Silas as a preteen. What had seemed so nearly perfect between Rose and Silas in the past months had come about in spite of Rebekah Bontrager.

  Chapter 18

  The next two days brought sleet and even colder temperatures. Woodsmoke puffed out from chimneys along Salem Road, more than Rose had noticed thus far in the season. With the last of the leaves gone from the trees, the landscape looked bleak, even tattered, and the sky was the eerie shade of steel wool.

  “ ’Tis downright dismal,” Mammi Sylvia remarked to Dawdi Jeremiah as they sat with Rose in the kitchen of the main house.

  “Well, you can’t have summer in December, now, can ya?” Dawdi jokingly replied.

  Rose kept busy stoking the cookstove for warmth in the kitchen and the sitting room, filling it from the woodbox just outside the back door. She checked on the oil space heater in the front room, wanting to keep things nice and cozy for Mamm. For her part, Mamm didn’t want to move from her comfortable nest, no longer interested in even being at the table for meals. Mammi, Hen, and Rose took turns with Mamm and, more often than not, Beth Browning was either sitting near or pacing just outside the room. As much as Beth had previously enjoyed playing with Mattie Sue, she spent less time doing so now, focusing most of her attention on Mamm. It was as if Beth had adopted Mamm as her own.

  As Wednesday morning dawned—before Rose left to meet Silas—she sat in bed reading one of her favorite novels, A Girl of the Limberlost, wishing she could someday see the beautiful area where the long-ago story had been set. Might it be close to Rebekah’s parents’ home? she wondered.

  Later, when she’d washed and dressed, Rose asked of both Hen and Mammi Sylvia if her being gone for a little while would cause a hardship for either of them. Hen reminded Rose she was scheduled to work that afternoon. “Till four-thirty—only a few hours today.”

  Mammi fairly shoved Rose out of the house, eager to tend to Mamm, Rose thought. So Rose took off walking down the driveway, expecting Silas to be prompt as always. She eyed the spot near the road where Nick had clasped her arms the pitch-black night he’d taken her down Bridle Path Lane—a supposed shortcut. Not wanting to dwell on that, she quickened her pace and turned west toward the designated location to meet Silas.

  Her fiancé was as punctual as she’d assumed. He smiled and waved as she walked toward his father’s gray family carriage. “It looked like it could sleet or snow, so I brought the family buggy,” he explained quickly. The enclosed buggy would also shield them from prying eyes—a good idea, since they had another year before they would announce their wedding.

  She smiled at him, appreciating the warmth and shelter of the carriage as she carefully raised her skirt to climb inside.

  In due time, they arrived at Reuben Good’s great spread of land, just four miles south of Dat’s farm. Silas’s younger sisters, Sarah and Anna Mae, ran out to greet them as Rose stepped out of the carriage. The girls walked with her and Silas toward the barn, and Rose noticed her betrothed’s face light up like a lantern when he began talking of the large herd of dairy cattle he would oversee—“forty milking cows, with additional heifers for replacements.”

  They strolled through the stable, past the box stalls for birthing, and out through the barnyard, with Sarah and Anna Mae happily tagging along. Even compared to her father’s expansive acreage, the place was enormous. Silas mentioned the many workers the daily production required, obviously excited to have been chosen to take over the sizable operation.

  Rose wondered if she would be expected to help with the milking. Oh, she’d do so, if need be, but it was not her favorite thing. She surveyed the grand main house, where she and Silas would eventually reside. Its white clapboard exterior gleamed in the sunlight and was the center of activity, with several smaller houses connected to it. She was eager to set up housekeeping here and make a home for Silas and their future children.

  Rose continued to follow Silas demurely as he showed her the outbuildings and narrow mule lanes rimming the vast fields.

  Sarah and Anna Mae urged her to come again soon before they headed back to the house to finish cleaning and baking. “Your sisters are real sweet,” Rose told him later.

  “Jah, well, they can sometimes be mischievous, too.”

  Rose liked the sound of that.

  “ ’Course, maybe I get special treatment, since I’m their brother,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

  Rose chuckled at that. “They seem like good girls. Close as your Mamm seems to Annie, I wonder why one of them wasn’t chosen to help with her twins.”

  Silas shrugged. “Guess I hadn’t given it a thought.”

  Yet Rose was unable to dismiss how odd it was seeing Annie Mast’s mother seeking out Silas’s mother at the common meal. After all, it had been Annie’s mother who’d first contacted Rebekah’s mother about the twins.

  “What’s on your mind?” Silas smiled down at her.

  She paused a moment, then forged ahead. “Why do you think Rebekah was asked to come and help with Annie’s babies?”

  He shook his head, obviously puzzled. “I’ve no idea.”

  “Well, does it seem peculiar that Annie’s mother wrote to Rebekah’s mom about it?”

  “Really?” Silas frowned. “Is that how it happened?”

  Rose felt ridiculous. “Rebekah said so herself.” Evidently that wasn’t something Silas and Rebekah had discussed. Rose wished now she hadn’t brought up the tetchy subject;
Silas’s response had explained nothing. Worse yet, she didn’t want her intended to wonder if she could think of nothing else—especially on what was supposed to be a special morning for both of them.

  “Your dad pressed me for more time.” Brandon’s words rang in Hen’s memory as she sat at the kitchen table with pen and paper following breakfast. She had been agonizing over what to write to him, wanting to state the conditions for her return home. To live under his roof . . .

  Deciding to simply be straightforward about her thoughts, she began to write.

  Dear Brandon,

  I’ve been pondering your ultimatum. I hate to think of our marriage ending, and I dread the idea of having strangers decide Mattie Sue’s living arrangements. Can’t we meet each other halfway?

  I will be happy to return home if you’d permit Mattie Sue and me to dress in Plain clothing. It would also be wonderful if we could continue to attend our Amish church and have ongoing fellowship with my family and friends. In addition to this, how would you feel about visiting my parents and siblings on the Lord’s Day as a family?

  I realize how difficult this has all been for you, Brandon, but I truly think you’d find my family quite pleasant, even fun.

  One more thing: If you don’t mind, would it be possible for you to watch TV only when Mattie Sue is not in the room?

  Surely these things are not too much to ask in the hopes of keeping the peace in our marriage—and in an attempt to retain Mattie Sue’s precious innocence. Oh, Brandon, I would love to have the chance to rebuild what we have lost!

  I really hope you’ll hear my heart in this.

  With love,

  Hen

  She’d thought of asking that Brandon attend Preaching services with her and Mattie Sue, but realized it was unrealistic to expect Brandon would agree. I may be asking for more than he can handle as it is.

  Hen folded the letter and tucked it away in her stationery drawer in the nearby cupboard. She would read it again tomorrow before mailing. If she had second thoughts, she’d rewrite it completely . . . or discard the idea altogether.