She glanced back toward the house. “I am here nearly every afternoon. It is difficult to get away from home more than I do.”
“Can you come early one day and stop at my onkel’s farm?”
“That will be difficult. To please my mamm, I must keep up with my chores and work, but I have much less time to do so.”
A shout from the front yard startled them both, and Susanna shot off to discover the reason. Adam was on her heels.
Susanna groaned. “’Tis that English man again. He likes to toss pebbles at Noah to see if he will react, and others find it amusing.”
As if to testify to the accuracy of Susanna’s account, the man reached into a pocket and arranged something between his fingers.
“Can you help?” Susanna spun to face Adam.
“I am not sure I can do anything.”
“He does not listen to me. You are a man. He would listen to you,” Susanna said. “Surely you can see that things are getting out of hand. I do not come to encourage this, but I am limited to prevent it.”
The bishop’s face floated through Adam’s mind. He wanted Adam to speak up among his friends, not involve himself in the spectacle.
Susanna’s dark eyes gripped him.
CHAPTER 19
Adam took a step back. Susanna could make no sense of the gesture. She moved toward him, and he stepped back again.
“Adam,” she said. “We need help. Noah needs help.”
Adam drew breath slowly. “He is an English. He has nothing to do with me.”
“He means harm to Noah. Will you tell me that Noah is nothing to you?”
Susanna had no patience for the hesitation that followed. Moments ago they voiced that they missed each other, and she had spoken truth. But in this moment, she did not recognize the man who held her affections. Susanna pivoted away and marched toward the stone thrower.
“Once again, Mr. Grauman,” Susanna said loudly, “I must ask you to refrain, and if you do not, I must ask you to leave.”
He grunted but for now released the pebble in his hand. It skittered against his boot on its way to the ground. No doubt Mr. Grauman would try again. Even Susanna’s youngest brother had more sense than this grown man. Every time he came, there was another incident. Through the window, Susanna saw Patsy inch into view. Spectators must never think that Noah was unattended. Perhaps it was a useful strategy for one of them to be inside but visible in the window, while the other maintained a presence among those who gathered outside. Would it have been so difficult for Adam to play this small role?
As much as Susanna would have liked to soak up Noah’s words, the task of surveying the farmyard occupied her thoughts. Forty was becoming a usual number of people. It was not always the same forty people. Farms and shops and homes demanded attention. Even Mrs. Zimmerman did not come as frequently as she had in the beginning with her judgment and protests. Susanna did not try to convince herself that it was Noah’s preaching that drew the crowds. Rather it was the trances. Charles Baxton called it falling under the Holy Ghost, but most of the English who came called it trance preaching. Was Noah truly unconscious? Did he truly have no recollection of his actions? Were the sermons one big scam? Those were the questions that spread across the Kish Valley demanding individuals satisfy their own suspicions, with the indisputable evidence of personal visits.
“Susanna.”
She turned toward Phoebe, unaware that her friend and relative had come to stand beside her at the back of the crowd.
“I saw Adam earlier,” Phoebe said. “Do you think he has a bit of time to spare this afternoon?”
“I am not sure.” At the moment, Susanna was unsure of anything except the pressure of the unknown rising in her chest.
“Our stalls are in need of mucking,” Phoebe said. “The preaching takes so much out of Noah that in the mornings he often lacks his usual strength.”
Susanna nodded. “I can muck.”
“Two are better than one,” Phoebe said. “Why not ask him to help you?”
Susanna glanced around, unsure whether Adam was still on the Kauffman farm.
“We will find him together,” Phoebe announced.
Susanna said nothing when they found him lurking at the side of the barn, well away from the gathered onlookers but near enough to monitor the scene. As Phoebe explained her request, Susanna examined the ground at their feet.
“I would be happy to muck for you,” Adam said.
Susanna’s eyes snapped up. Adam would not stop a man from harassing Noah, lest it be interpreted as endorsing the preaching—the only explanation she had come up with for his hesitant silence at her request—yet he would willingly do Noah’s work and muck stalls. Adam had some sort of invisible line in his conscience. Susanna’s request was on one side and Phoebe’s on the other.
“We will get to it, then,” Susanna said. She would let Adam choose the stall he would muck first, and she would choose the one farthest from it.
Niklaus lugged the bucket of limestone ground into powder and mixed with water. He might not be a competent carpenter by Shem’s standards—or his own—but he knew how to whitewash. The walls were up; the roof was on; the chinking and daubing were finished; and the siding was on one end wall that had no windows or doorways. Adam had said just yesterday that the wall was ready for whitewashing on the exterior. Niklaus situated the bucket, grasped the brush, and began applying whitewash. The upper areas would require a ladder, and Deborah would advise that he leave the task to Jonas and Adam. Even in his youth, Niklaus had never liked heights. But he was a tall man with long arms, so whitewashing did not intimidate him. Moving from end to end of the wall and working his way upward, he could not help but admire the construction. Niklaus had never seen such clean and consistent notches, and Adam had cut most of them himself.
An approaching horse drew Niklaus’s eye away from the task. Shem had arrived. Niklaus dipped his brush in the whitewash and began another length. If Shem planned to stay, he knew what to do with his horse.
Niklaus dragged the brush as far as he could before returning to dip it once again in the whitewash. It looked like nothing more than a thin layer of liquid going on the wooden siding, but Niklaus had whitewashed enough walls to know that within a few hours a bright white would emerge.
Shem stood at the bucket, a brush in his hand. Niklaus nodded at him but did not speak. Perhaps Shem’s mood had shifted in the last few days. If so, it would be up to Shem to reveal himself. They whitewashed side by side for a few minutes. Soon Niklaus would have to mix up more lime and water.
“I have but one simple request,” Shem finally said.
Niklaus waited.
“I do not question the sincerity of your lively experience of the Spirit,” Shem said, “but when you preach, I ask you to use the traditional style of sermon to which our people are accustomed.”
Swish. Niklaus moved his brush.
“And if I do not feel that I can in good conscience promise to do so?” Niklaus said.
Swish.
“Can you in good conscience choose not to submit to the church?” Shem said.
Swish.
“Can you in good conscience ask me to do so if it might mean quenching the Spirit?” Niklaus said.
Plop. Shem lowered the bristles of his brush into the remaining mixture with a force Niklaus did not find necessary.
“Then,” Shem said, “you must step aside.”
Step aside. The congregation’s members had voted to make Niklaus one of their ministers, and he had accepted the role for the rest of his life or until his health made it inadvisable to continue. In what manner was it Shem’s role to suggest Niklaus step aside?
Niklaus said nothing. The bucket had little left in it now, but he went through the motion of swirling his brush against the container.
“There is no need for you to rush your decision,” Shem said. “There is still more than a week before the next church service—right here at your own home. And if you need more ti
me, it is simple enough to arrange that Yohan and I will take the two sermons. That will give you more time to come to terms with submitting to the teaching of the church, just as you always have.”
Niklaus picked up the empty bucket and walked toward the barn.
“Will you not agree to this sensible arrangement?” Shem said.
Niklaus did not turn around.
Another horse trotted toward him. Adam was returning, as he said he would, in plenty of time to resume his work.
“I hope you will approve of my whitewashing efforts.” Niklaus put a grin on his face.
“’Tis hard to go wrong with whitewashing,” Adam said.
Niklaus laughed. It felt good.
“Hello, Bishop,” Adam said, swinging off his mount.
“I am glad to see you,” Shem said. “You have done well in the tasks I assigned. I am confident now that you will be able to complete the work on your own.”
“I did not realize you were coming,” Adam said, “or I would have been sure to be here to receive you.”
If Adam had done as well as Shem said he had, then why was the bishop scowling?
“No need,” Shem said. “You are more than capable to finish up on your own—or with your cousin’s assistance. If you would like, I will have a word with Jonas about taking a greater role in helping you.”
Adam gripped the reins still in his hand. “I am not sure I understand.”
“’Tis simple,” Shem said. “I will gather the tools I have left here for you to use. Your onkel has sufficient implements for the work that remains.”
Shem was speaking as if Niklaus were not standing just five feet away. Adam looked from one to the other.
“I appreciate your confidence,” Adam said, “but I do not feel ready to be on my own.”
“You will not be on your own. I will be here,” Niklaus said. “Shem, thank you for all you have done to bring us this far. I am sure Jonas would also wish to express his gratitude.”
Sealing the chimney. White oak interior trim around the doors and windows to match the rest of the house. The bed frame. The shelves that Jonas’s betrothed had asked for on one wall. In Adam’s mind, many details remained.
Niklaus began to mix up a fresh batch of whitewash. Shem gathered tools, wrapped them in leather, and secured them in his saddlebags. The two men did not speak to each other again before Shem rode off the farm.
“Onkel,” Adam said.
Niklaus positioned his bucket along the wall and began brushing.
“Onkel,” Adam repeated.
Niklaus looked up.
“Is there to be no reconciliation?” Adam said. Though he had not—so far—found reconciliation with the father who had sent him to Kish Valley, nor with Susanna who might have made plain God’s will for coming, surely the two spiritual leaders would find a way to move toward one another.
“We will wait on the Lord,” Niklaus said.
Adam found less comfort in the words than he might have wished.
“Someone must make the first step toward forgiveness,” Adam said. This is what every preacher Adam had ever heard said. Two hardened hearts would only cause more division. One must soften.
“The path is not yet plain,” Niklaus said, “but I pray the Lord will make it so. Go put your horse away. As Shem suggested, we will work together on the labor that awaits us.”
CHAPTER 20
Susanna might just as well have gotten off a train in an unknown town in Indiana for all the strength of the ties she felt with her own church right now. She ate with her parents, listened to her father’s devotions, and kept up on chores. But her mother’s smile was gone, and the boys only looked at Susanna with confusion. She rarely saw Adam, and when she did, they might not even speak. Not really speak. Noah and Phoebe came to expect her every day, and she was glad to go, but when she looked out at the crowds that gathered, even if there were Amish among them, her role with Noah set her apart from them. When she slid into the back row of the worship service on the Zug farm, she was not sure she wanted to meet anyone’s eye.
Susanna found no expression to interpret in Niklaus’s face or posture. Perhaps it was a simple prayerful discernment between the three ministers that he would not preach on this Sunday. If so, he was content with the choice. He sat with his Bible open in his lap, listening to the second sermon of the morning. Through the hymns and prayers, Niklaus’s mouth moved, and Susanna heard his rich, unwavering baritone anchoring the congregation’s progress through the stanzas. His brow held no furrow, his mouth no frown, his posture no slump.
As they always did, the ministers withdrew during an early hymn to discern who would bring the two sermons. The trio had left that morning and returned only a few minutes later to take their places for the rest of the service.
Yohan brought the first sermon. No doubt he was secretly relieved not to be responsible for the longer main sermon. Yohan never seemed at ease in his role as preacher. He was a devout man, a kind man, a studious man. For all these reasons, he had been nominated to serve as a minister, and in God’s wisdom he had chosen the hymnal with a slip of paper between its pages that confirmed he was God’s choice. Susanna once heard a rumor that Yohan studied his Bible by lamplight late into the night, making notes and committing them to memory lest he be called on to preach and have no insight to offer the congregation. Even still, his phrasing was often stilted, and beads of perspiration shone along his hairline. When he was assigned the long sermon, it was sure to be briefer than either Niklaus’s or Shem’s. Today he had spoken on rejoicing in all things, quoting from Paul’s letter to the Philippians without need to read from his Bible.
And then came Shem, always the preacher with the lengthiest sermon. Two weeks ago he had preached on the theme of submission, and today he returned to the topic. Yohan’s brevity meant that Shem could speak for an hour and a half and the service would conclude at its usual time. It was as if he had a clock ticking in the pocket of his worn black frock coat reminding him, without need of a glance, of the time remaining so that he might fill every minute.
Submission in the family always led to submission in the church when Shem addressed the theme. Today’s twist was submission to those whom God has placed in authority over us. Even Christ, Shem reminded the congregation, submitted to the will of His Father, even though it brought Him great suffering. It was no surprise when, at the conclusion of the service, Shem began to sing a hymn not of Yohan’s glad rejoicing but remaining steadfast in suffering even unto death.
The Methodists do not sing seventeen stanzas of a hymn.
Susanna ousted the thought as quickly as it came into her mind. It mattered not what the Methodists did.
At last came the final Aemen.
Susanna eyed her little brothers sitting across the aisle. Her mother nodded to dispatch Susanna to round them up and assure they did not wander alone toward the creek that ran through this farm, especially Stephen, the youngest and most daring. Finding a group of children already eyeing the creek, Susanna redirected them to the safety of the horse pasture and paused at the edge of a group of women.
“I was glad to see that the bishop did not allow Niklaus to give a sermon. And the bishop’s word of authority is quite timely.”
The voice behind her was hushed and not directed to Susanna, but Susanna turned toward it nevertheless. Martha Zimmerman met her gaze but said nothing more.
Susanna hummed the bars of the hymn they had just sung. Suffering even unto death seemed an apt exhortation when it came to Martha Zimmerman. She once again expelled the thought before it could distort into something she would have to confess.
At the top of the Hertzbergers’ lane, Niklaus halted his horse. For more than twenty years, he had trotted around this corner, barely slowing down. No matter the reason for his call, his friend would be glad to see him. By the time Niklaus was ordained as a minister, Shem was seasoned in the role and the one who patiently guided Niklaus’s adjustment to being a minister and learning t
o preach.
Today Shem would not likely welcome their conversation. For two weeks Niklaus had prayed and reflected and considered the nature of the last sermon he had preached. Shem’s response mattered. His suggestion that Niklaus simply not preach for the time being was not unreasonable.
Neither was it sufficient. The church service two days earlier had confirmed the movement in Niklaus’s heart.
He pressed his knees into the horse and rode all the way down to the Hertzberger house. Its spacious front porch was more than most of the homes in the valley featured. Meticulous craftsmanship, with the rocking chairs Shem had also fashioned, made it a beautiful and welcoming place. Today, to Niklaus, standing on the porch felt like defacing its hospitality. He knocked on the front door and then backed down the steps.
Shem’s wife opened the door and soon directed him to the stables, where Shem was examining horses’ hooves and deciding which ones must be shoed first.
At the stable door, Niklaus paused once again. Shem spoke softly to one of his Belgian workhorses while he had a look at a shoe, murmuring a promise to visit the blacksmith soon. Niklaus inhaled and exhaled without sound, a habit he found himself cultivating more frequently in these weeks of befuddlement. He had no wish to harm his friend.
“Shem,” he finally said.
Shem gently let the horse’s leg down before looking up at Niklaus.
“I have thought a great deal about our conversations,” Niklaus said, “and I have come to a decision.”
“God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins,” Shem said.
Inhale. Exhale.
“I have not come to confess or repent,” Niklaus said.
Shem straightened to his full height.
“You are right that my sermon had the possibility to cause some confusion for the congregation,” Niklaus said. “They have trusted me to be their minister. I have no wish to confuse them.”
Shem waited.
“You challenged me to consider whether my actions were in the interest of the congregation.” Niklaus shifted his feet. “While I do not believe that a livelier style of preaching or an exhortation to know God in personal ways disrespects our tradition, I can see your point that our disagreement on the matter might be perceived as conflict. We should not pit minister against minister.”
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