She noticed Cousins Melvin and Noah walking with two girls, but she couldn’t make out who they were. It was nice to see two brothers double-date in the older one’s courting buggy, especially on a wintry night. She smiled fleetingly, then felt sad, thinking of Nick and Christian.
Never close enough to double-date . . . and always so opposed to each other.
After a few minutes, she headed back inside the barn to get warm. In just the short time Rose was gone, Rebekah had managed to find Silas, or the other way around. The two of them were talking and laughing in a circle over in the corner with three young men.
Rose stood there quietly observing, feeling quite left out . . . puzzled. Silas was caught up in conversation with Rebekah nearly to the exclusion of the others, and the more Rose watched him, the more she realized he must be oblivious to Rebekah’s apparent interest in him, or he would be more guarded.
Rose moved about the barn, hoping she might somehow attract his attention. But to no avail.
Eventually, she became frustrated—and hurt—at her inability to catch her own fiancé’s eye. A thought struck her: Was this the way Silas had felt about her friendship with Nick? Oh, she hoped not! Perplexed, she turned quietly and headed for the barn door again. This time, though, she took off walking toward home without waiting for Silas to finish talking with Rebekah, who’d said quite distinctly that she knew why she’d come back to Lancaster.
The wintry scent that hung in the air earlier answered its promise with a cloudburst of white. The snow fell fast around Rose as she hurried home, thick flakes multiplying as she pressed on, thankful for no wind. Rose came upon the Amish cemetery, its rows of white markers rectangular mounds of snow against the night.
It was then she heard the gut-wrenching sound of a man weeping—heard it before she saw the dark figure hunched over a single gravestone. Concerned, she stepped near to peer over the white picket fence lining the perimeter. Much to her surprise, she saw Bishop Aaron kneeling on the ground, his hatless head leaning against his strong arms as he clung to the small tombstone.
“My son . . . my precious son” came his cries, lingering in the air as wet flakes swiftly covered the ground.
Her heart went out to him, and she wished with everything in her that somehow time could be reversed, that Christian could still be alive.
The bishop’s keening rang into the snow-dotted sky as Rose whispered a prayer. “Our bishop is a desperate man, O Lord. Please send someone to help him this night, this week. And may his heart be open to receive that help, whatever it may be . . . and whenever it comes. Amen.”
Chapter 27
With Christmas fast approaching, extra attention would need to be given to cleaning the house from top to bottom, similar to a thorough cleaning in the spring or in preparation for the Preaching service. There would also be baking frolics and cookie exchanges, as well as time spent carefully washing decorative plates and cups and saucers.
Today, though, Hen was going to Arie Zook’s to enjoy some midmorning coffee and sweets. She was glad when Rose offered to babysit Mattie Sue for an hour or so that Tuesday morning. Beth had seemed anxious to take her turn reading the Bible to Mom when it was time for Hen to leave the room. Hen kissed her mother and said she’d be back before the noon meal. Mom smiled and nodded drowsily and closed her eyes, seemingly more at peace today than usual.
She’s in and out of herself, like Dad says.
Hen bundled up before going out to hitch up the horse and carriage. As she worked, she realized how accustomed she’d become to traveling by horse and buggy and dreaded the thought of ever driving her car again—even to go into town Friday to meet Brandon’s attorney and begin the required evaluation. After a solemn talk with Dad yesterday, Hen had promised her father she wouldn’t take things into her own hands further. She had made her stand to Brandon about what she felt mattered, and that’s all Dad felt was necessary. He was quite outspoken about it, too.
Yet as much as she desired to please her father and the bishop, Hen still felt ill at ease about what this meant for her and Mattie Sue’s future. Despite that, Dad had urged her to trust in God for the outcome.
“ ‘The Lord will give strength unto his people; the Lord will bless his people with peace.’ ” Hen quoted the psalm as she lifted the reins and headed up Salem Road to make her way to her dearest friend’s house. Arie had seemed so excited after Preaching service when Hen agreed to visit her, going on about the delicious goodies she planned to bake. “Another time I’ll have you and Mattie Sue over, so your daughter and mine can play together,” Arie had said with joyful anticipation.
And because of the way Arie had stated it, Hen felt sure this morning’s get-together was sure to be a friendly heart-to-heart. Oh, she could scarcely wait to spend this special time with her cherished friend.
As Sol watched his older daughter take the family carriage out onto the road, he hoped she wouldn’t be gone long. She’d asked for George, one of the driving horses, as well as the family buggy, but hadn’t said when she would return.
Sol had errands to run, one involving the pending end-of-year ruling of the oldest bishop in the county. Seventy-seven-year-old Ezekiel was the most respected and most unyielding of all the ministerial brethren in the area, including the other bishops.
It had been Bishop Aaron who’d said that if things weren’t resolved between himself and the local ministers that Ezekiel would step in and decide what must be done. Since Nick wasn’t Aaron’s flesh-and-blood son, the heated debate continued to brew. Yet Nick’s decided lack of interest in joining church in a timely fashion pointed to what some of the brethren said was a shoddy upbringing, one that reflected poorly on Bishop Aaron.
Nick just ain’t one of us, mused Sol. That’s all there is to it.
The People expected each of the bishop’s offspring to be a church member in good standing—something frequently considered before a man was nominated for the divine lot in the first place. But Aaron’s children hadn’t all been grown at the time of his appointment, and Nick had come along as a foster lad, so Aaron had argued with the local preachers that this should not be an issue. That Nick hadn’t bowed his knee to God and the church wasn’t Aaron’s fault.
Sol went back to finishing his work, nearly ready to take the garden cart over to Jonathan Esh’s place—the deacon’s brother. Jonathan was pinching pennies, so Sol had decided to sell him the commissioned cart for just half of what he’d normally get.
Just then, Sol heard the sound of tires creeping along the snowy gravel. He looked out the window to see the mail truck coming and Rose running out to meet it. Checking his pocket watch, Sol wondered again when to expect Hen back with the buggy, feeling mighty restless now. He wished to goodness the brethren weren’t breathing down Aaron’s neck like this! He stepped back to admire his craftsmanship and thanked the Lord for the ability to work with his hands. It kept his mind from worry . . . most days. “Jonathan will find this cart mighty useful,” he muttered to himself.
He pulled on his heavy work coat and made his way through several inches of snow to the house. Inside, he heard Rose calling happily to Beth, saying she had a letter from her aunt Judith in Illinois.
Beth appeared at the doorway to the sitting room where Emma liked to rest and peeked her head out, eyes shining. “Goody, Aunt Judith must’ve gotten my letter,” she said, going to sit at the kitchen table, envelope in hand.
Meanwhile, Rose was opening a letter of her own, but her expression was quite the opposite, a trace of exasperation in her eyes as she read.
Sol went into the sitting room and closed the door. He stood beside the daybed and looked at his wife sleeping so peacefully and wished there was something the Lord—or even a doctor—could do to allow her to look as relaxed when she was awake as when she slept.
Slowly, reverently, he moved to her side and leaned down to touch her face. “Emma, my dear . . .”
Her eyes fluttered open, and when she looked up at him, Sol leaned down t
o kiss her.
Hen couldn’t recall ever feeling so completely at ease with another person. Arie animatedly recounted the year she and her husband had planted too many hills of watermelon. They’d gone up and down the neighborhood, leaving melons on back porches at dusk as “gifts.”
“Same thing happened to us one year with zucchinis and tomatoes,” Hen said, remembering the greens and reds of the squash and tomatoes. “They took over the kitchen—nearly every square inch, and then some.”
“I know what ya mean. It’s like you’d turn your back and they’d multiply, ain’t so?”
Hen laughed heartily. “My brothers helped us out a little, though. They had tomato fights, of all things.”
Arie burst out laughing.
“It’s good they didn’t smash the tomatoes in the backyard, though. Dad would’ve had their hides.”
Arie poured some more coffee and offered sugar to Hen. She paused and bowed her head slightly, looking at Hen with her expressive light brown eyes. “Mind if I ask ya something?”
“Not at all.”
“I’m just curious . . . since you’ve come back home, you tend to call your parents Dad and Mom. Why’s that?”
Hen wasn’t surprised she should ask. “Guess I just got in the habit of referring to them that way when I lived on the outside.”
Arie looked out the window, sad suddenly. “We won’t go our separate ways ever again, will we, Hen?”
“No, never.” No matter what happens, Hen thought. A tremor of concern rushed through her as she exchanged glances with Arie.
Then, quite simultaneously, each of them reached for another slice of cherry strudel.
Rose looked over at Beth, who was obviously pleased with her letter. “Aunt Judith is coming to visit me,” Beth said. “Next month sometime.”
“That’s so nice,” Rose said, wondering why Donna Becker hadn’t dropped by again with further word from Gilbert. She hoped his widowed mother was doing all right but wouldn’t worry, since Gilbert had been so conscientious about keeping Donna informed thus far.
Beth glanced at Mattie Sue, who was laying out a checkers game on the kitchen floor. “Did you get a nice letter, too?” she asked Rose, leaning forward on her elbows.
“Nice enough.” Truth was, Silas had written rather pointedly to Rose, concerned that she’d left the Singing so suddenly.
Why didn’t you wait for me, Rose Ann? he’d written. She guessed he might as well have asked, What got into you? But he was more tactful than that. Still, she could read between the lines. He was upset with her, and rightly so.
Now that she thought of it, she’d made him look bad, though not intentionally.
He’d written to ask her to meet him this coming Saturday night, after dusk. We should talk, he’d written before signing off, With love, Silas.
She didn’t know how she felt about seeing him, because if they did talk about the things that bothered her, she wasn’t sure how to make him understand. At first, she’d wanted to befriend Rebekah, make her feel included in the group . . . since she’d been Rose’s friend years ago. But the more Rose had gotten reacquainted with Rebekah, the more she felt concerned about her obvious regard for Silas—and his friendship with her. Rose had witnessed an undeniable spark between them.
Beth interrupted her thoughts, asking if they could go upstairs for a while. Rose agreed, glad to have the chance to dismiss Silas’s letter. She wondered what was on Beth’s mind.
When they were upstairs, Beth closed the door to Rose’s room. “I want you to read something real nice . . . since you look so sad.” Beth went to the drawer where Rose had cleared a place for her things. Beth brought her notebook to Rose and held it open to the page titled “Healing Love.” Then Beth went to stand near the frost-covered window, her face alight.
“This is what I wrote about my dream,” she said. “You’ve been so busy, I couldn’t show it to you before now.”
Rose sat on the bed and began to read the surprising account of a woman who could not walk because of a mysterious buggy accident. She suffered horrible pain and went to see a special kind of doctor—a surgeon in York, not far from here. A doctor who was able to quiet her pain.
What does it mean? Rose wasn’t sure how to react, or what to say to Beth. So she closed the journal and thanked Beth for showing her. “Your writing is beautiful.”
“I believe God gave me the dream to help your Mamma,” Beth said as she took the journal.
“Beth, I don’t want to disappoint you, but my mother absolutely will not go to a specialist,” said Rose. “She doesn’t really trust doctors.”
“Well . . .” Beth’s eyes shone. “Sometimes God lets people have very real dreams to give them hope.”
Rose agreed. “Jah, and there are accounts of dreams in the Bible like that.” She sighed, not wanting to hurt Beth’s feelings. “But . . . not all dreams come true,” she added softly.
“I know.” Beth held the journal close to her heart. “I’ve been praying, and I really think God gave me this dream as an answer to my prayers. I really do, Rosie. Will you talk to your father about taking her just one more time?”
“Against her will?” Rose was perplexed.
Beth’s face was bright with joy. “What if she could live without pain? Just imagine that!”
Imagine it? Oh, there had been literally hundreds of hopeful days—years filled with them—when Rose had clung to that expectation just as Beth did now. But reality had set in long ago, and Rose had resigned herself to Mamm’s never being free of pain.
“Please don’t give up, Rosie. We mustn’t.”
Looking into Beth’s sweet face, Rose wondered what would happen if Mamm was told about the dream from Beth’s own lips. Would it change her mind? “I have an idea,” Rose said, getting up and going to her bedroom door.
Beth’s eyes lit up. “What?”
“Let’s go back downstairs.”
“All right,” said Beth, following close behind.
Dear God, if this is your will for Mamm, let her be openhearted to Beth’s strange, yet remarkable dream.
Chapter 28
Once Hen returned from Arie’s, Solomon took the team over to Deacon Esh’s farm. The two local preachers had already arrived, their buggies parked on the side yard, the horses tied to the hitching posts. Bishop Aaron was turning into the lane, as well.
The gathering had been planned to include several long-standing church members, including Solomon. When Sol had first heard of it, he’d immediately decided to go in support of his friend and bishop. And even though he wasn’t an ordained minister—and never would be nominated due to Hen’s marriage to an outsider—Sol wanted to give his opinion on behalf of his closest neighbor and friend.
Over the period of an hour, a handful of church members gave their say-so, one way or the other. While much of the talk surrounded Nick, a couple men present also reluctantly faulted the bishop for giving sermons that were too long—something they said smacked of pride.
Sol could scarcely believe anyone would accuse humble Aaron of anything near pride, but he held his tongue until he was called upon to sum up his own thinking. He then restated what those present already knew. “From the first day onward, our bishop has been a faithful, diligent, patient, and compassionate father to Nick . . . never wavering even in the face of the boy’s belligerence. An exemplary minister, to be sure.”
The men listened intently as Sol continued in that vein, emphasizing Bishop Aaron’s repeated efforts where Nick was concerned. When he’d concluded, the ministerial brethren dismissed Sol and the other church members from the deacon’s wife’s kitchen. As Sol turned to leave, Aaron caught his eye, and in that instant, he realized anew how gracious and benevolent a man their bishop had always been.
How could anyone force such a man out of leadership? Sol trudged across the driveway to his horse and carriage. He reached for the buggy’s ice-cold frame to pull himself inside, wishing he’d worn gloves. He pondered the real possibili
ty of Aaron’s being forced to step down as bishop. Silenced, they call it. And for what reason? A rebellious son not even of his own flesh?
It was beyond Sol how the actions of Aaron’s foster son could shed a speck of light on the nature of his spiritual influence in their church district. Surely the Lord God, who’d chosen Aaron in the first place, would not allow such a sad end to come of his ministerial calling.
How can mere men make such a judgment?
Sol blew his warm breath on his hands and rubbed them together briskly before picking up the reins. For all the many years he’d lived neighbors to Aaron Petersheim, Sol had known his friend to be a man who wholly followed the Lord, always openhearted to what was right and good.
“O Lord, make your will known in this,” Sol pleaded as he drove.
Sol lay next to Emma, who was sleeping so serenely he dared not doze off. His wife had passed a new threshold of lethargy, and he could hardly stand to see her this way. Yet which was worse—the uncommonly cruel pain, or this near stupor? Emma did seem less afflicted, which was a blessing after all these years.
Perhaps it was partly because of an endearing—and surprising—conversation he’d overheard between Beth and Emma earlier today. And as he lay there, resisting sleep, the scene played over in his head. Beth had apparently had a rather vivid dream, and she’d explained to Emma that God cared for her so much that Beth believed He had shown her a doctor who could help her. “I have peace that God will answer my prayers, and you will be healed from your pain,” Beth had said, eyes ever so hopeful.
But what had surprised Sol even more was Beth’s ability to impart the optimism she herself clung to. For a fleeting moment, Emma had seemed to catch a glimpse of it, too, before going away, back into herself.
He didn’t know if this was a sign he should pursue a new doctor, or even take another look at the list of specialists Emma’s original doctor had strongly recommended.
Was this God’s answer to Sol’s own fervent prayers for his wife? To be sure, there had been something too special for words that passed between Beth Browning and his dear wife. Even his Rose had witnessed it.
The Judgment Page 19