The Englisher

by Beverly Lewis

  When Ben expressed how impressed he was at her knowledge, Annie had smiled self-consciously, as if he truly was making too much of it.

  But it was not Annie’s familiarity with local flora he wanted to focus on this night. He had made a quick trip to the Goodwill store and purchased a pair of nearly new ice skates, and was amused at Annie’s ability to smuggle a pair of her own out to the car in a wicker basket, as if she were feigning a visit to a neighbor.

  The hours crept up on them as they skated on the millpond, the surroundings awash in a moon-white sheen. When they held hands, zipping round and round on the ice, he felt frozen in time, though he would never have admitted it to Annie. It was as if what was happening was not real at all, but a lucid dream—a weaving together of two hearts amid the tranquility of twilight. The few other Englishers there scarcely seemed to notice them as they flew across the ice, so their secret was safe.

  Annie seemed to be an open book about her life, and he felt almost too comfortable talking with her about his family in Kentucky, as well, wishing he might introduce her to them someday. Too soon to think this way . . .

  Eagerly she told of her longtime pen-pal friendship with Louisa, formerly one of her ‘‘big secrets,’’ which made him wonder what other secrets might be locked away from view.

  After their first night of skating he had offered to store her skates in his trunk so she wouldn’t have to sneak them in and out of the house again.

  They met nearly every other night after that. Annie was apparently delighted to return to the same place repeatedly. There the world seemed to go still for them, like a shelter for their growing friendship. At least while they skated they could talk and laugh and enjoy the feel of the blades gliding on ice, even though Ben was concerned that Annie not get too chilled.

  Sometimes they would hurry back to the car to warm up before resuming their dance, the night dissolving into a dazzling memory of hoarfrost and snow-clad trees near the pond—their pond.

  Within two weeks, their secluded meetings began to run together in his mind. Yet he could not blur the memory of Annie’s quaint remarks, her appealing smile . . . the firm touch of her small hand in his.

  Never let go . . . he thought.

  And in spite of the bitter cold they endured night after night, Ben was in no hurry for warmer temperatures, nor for the sweet blossoming of spring.

  Chapter 21

  The house felt terribly cold to Esther this Lord’s Day. Hurrying to get a hot breakfast on the table, she was aware of Zeke’s pushing more logs into the belly of the wood stove. The old stove was their best means of heating the house— especially the downstairs. Their two kerosene heaters often stood in the upstairs hallway, near the children’s rooms. Though Zeke was proud they weren’t ‘‘spoilt with central heating,’’ like their English neighbors, he spoke of the spring thaw often, hoping it was not too far away.

  Esther hoped so, too. But there was more on her mind today than the coming of spring. The People were planning to meet following the Preaching service today—to vote on whether or not to shun her.

  She was in a quandary, no doubt about that. Here she was, grateful to the Lord for her deliverance from sin and despair, from the legalism that had ensnared and dominated her for a lifetime, yet facing the dreaded shunning.

  Will my own mother turn her back on me? Will Annie and my dearest friends? Will my children, in time?

  Esther would not let fear overtake her. She would move only one small step forward at a time, clasping the hand of divine guidance, the precious Holy Spirit. My comfort in this dark hour . . .

  The Preaching service went longer than usual and much emphasis was placed on ‘‘waywardness leading to pride,’’ which Preachers Hochstetler and Zook adeptly wove into their sermons. Esther observed Preacher Jesse’s soberness as he stood before them, beads of perspiration on his face. More than once, he paused to mop his brow, occasionally catching her eye where she sat cradling her baby with the women. All the while, she prayed silently for the Lord’s will to be accomplished in her life and the lives of the dear ones here. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. . . .

  When time came for the members’ meeting, following the closing hymn and dismissal of the non-baptized youth, Esther was asked to leave the room. Annie’s father would lead the discussion, after which each member would have his or her say about Esther’s unwillingness to atone for her sin of pride and defiance. Very soon, the voting would take place.

  The outcome is clear, she thought, surprised to hear footsteps in the hallway from the upstairs bedroom where she waited.

  When she looked, there was Louisa, Annie’s friend, wearing a big smile on her face. ‘‘Mind if I keep you company, Esther?’’

  ‘‘Why, no. Come on in.’’

  Louisa made herself right at home, sitting on the edge of the bed. John scampered over to her right quick. ‘‘It was kind of funny,’’ she said, looking as Amish as the rest of the women. ‘‘I think the ministers forgot I’m not one of them.’’

  ‘‘Oh? And where’s Annie?’’

  ‘‘She left to help watch some of the younger children during the meeting.’’ Louisa lifted John and placed him on her lap. ‘‘Want to ride horsey?’’ He nodded, giggling, and she jostled him up and down. ‘‘The deacon shooed me out when they realized I was still sitting there.’’

  ‘‘Well, you might’ve gotten to voice your say and voted me out of the fellowship,’’ Esther said.

  Louisa shook her head. ‘‘I doubt that. Whatever you did isn’t grounds for being kicked out, is it?’’

  ‘‘According to our Ordnung, a person is not to embrace the assurance of salvation in any way.’’ She wouldn’t go into this now, but she did say that she knew she was saved. ‘‘It isn’t only a feeling—it’s the strongest knowing I’ve ever experienced. The Scriptures say I can claim the promise of eternal life, and this has nothin’ at all to do with pride . . . and everything to do with the love shown in the ultimate sacrifice of the Lord Jesus.’’

  ‘‘Julia talked of faith and love being interconnected, too,’’ Louisa said suddenly.

  ‘‘I don’t see how you can separate them.’’ She wouldn’t have minded talking about the verses in the Psalms she’d read earlier this morning, but Louisa rose just then and seemed to lose interest, setting John down and going to pick up Essie Ann.

  Esther put her mind on what King David had written so long ago: seeking with all of your heart and finding the peace of God in troublesome times.

  Such as now . . .

  She almost wanted to go downstairs and hurry up the process, the inevitable result of embracing a perverse doctrine, as the preachers and deacon had repeatedly said when they had met with her during her stay with the Rancks.

  Breathing a sigh and a prayer, she walked across the room to stand at the window while Louisa rocked Essie Ann. She contemplated her situation, married to a man who would always uphold the Ordnung and its requirements. No doubt I’ll not even be allowed to sit at the table with my family.

  Suddenly, she felt the need to look into the sweet face of her baby, soundly asleep. She bent to kiss her soft cheek. ‘‘A gift from God, I must say,’’ Esther said softly.

  ‘‘A pretty one, too,’’ Louisa agreed, smiling. ‘‘I’ll babysit for you anytime.’’

  ‘‘Why, that’s awful nice.’’ Seeing Louisa so gentle with a babe in arms, Esther had no doubt Annie’s friend would be a good option for helping, if ever necessary. She thought, too, of her widowed mother, ever willing and eager to spend time with the children, and with Esther, too. As for Zeke, Mamma had never been too keen on her son-in-law. It was no wonder.

  Turning, Esther went slowly to the window and gazed out over the undisturbed fields of white. Beneath all that snow lay hardened ground and narrow hideaways where small critters hibernated from the harsh weather.

  I, too, burrowed away . . . for a time.

  She recalled having walked over a thin layer of soil peek
ing out from beneath frozen ground just this morning. And she’d slid, catching herself.

  Now the sound of Deacon Byler’s calling pulled her out of her reverie. She and Louisa—who was clearly enamored with Essie Ann—and the children all headed slowly down the stairs to the solemn gathering.

  Had it not been for Louisa and Annie, as well as Esther’s mother, young Laura and the boys might have been exposed to the bishop’s straight talk directed toward Esther and in front of the entire membership. As it was, the three women and the children scurried out to the kitchen.

  It turned out the fellowship of saints, of which Esther had been a part since her teenage baptism, had chosen to put teeth to her formal Bann and excommunication: They would shun her permanently. ‘‘Even unto death, until such a time when you will bow your knee and repent,’’ Bishop Stoltzfus decreed.

  When the time came for Esther to stand before the man of God, she scarcely knew where to look. If Zeke should happen to catch my eye . . .

  Yet she did not accept guilt. For she knew in the deep of her heart she had come to her life’s crossroad and had elected that ‘‘holy and just path.’’

  I must cling to this for always.

  Meanwhile, as the bishop announced ‘‘the blemished one’’ would lose her status as a voting member, Esther prayed for the strength, determination, and grace to withstand the years of social avoidance awaiting her.

  Zeke was clearly put out, even swearing in Dutch, forced as he was to miss the common meal and the fellowship with the men because of the shun slapped on Esther. Forced to miss much more, too.

  ‘‘You’ve shamed me! In front of all the People, yet. You are a disgrace, woman.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Ach, and Deacon’s wife brought peach cobbler, too,’’ he bellyached, as though the departure from their usual dessert fare was more important than accompanying his family home. But he was required to take Esther and the children away from the meeting place and the large gathering for the meal, where she would not have been welcome at any table.

  There were Scriptures the brethren looked to in the case of die Meinding—the shunning. One from Matthew came to mind, that she had heard preached since her baptism: If (the sinner) refuses to listen even to the church, treat him as you would a pagan. . . . Verses in First Corinthians also admonished believers to abstain from eating and fellowshipping with idolaters and other sinners. Esther was now considered such an offender.

  Shielding her baby from the cold air blowing into the front of their old gray carriage, Esther stared at the frost clinging to every imaginable spot as they rode. Ponds, creeks, hollows in fields and on roads, where former snows had melted and now had turned to pure ice. Perty, she thought, attempting to keep her chin up despite the reality of the day.

  Once home, Esther quickly set about laying out a lunch of cold cuts and butter bread, along with red beet eggs—all made yesterday. Zeke, meanwhile, brought in the folding table and banged it down on the kitchen floor, then got himself situated at their long table, stonily silent for a time.

  At one point Zach asked timidly, ‘‘How long is Mamma gonna sit over there?’’

  Elbows on the table, Zeke glowered. ‘‘Forever, by the looks of it. Don’t be gawkin’ at her. Just eat.’’

  So this is what it’s going to be like, Esther thought. An outcast in my own home.

  After the meal, she put the children down for naps. Then, hurrying back to the kitchen, she redd things up and headed upstairs for a bit of a rest herself.

  Curling up in bed with her Bible and Essie Ann, she began to will her body to relax. Zeke had taken the team and left the house, though he hadn’t said he was going anywhere in particular. Gone visiting, probably.

  She knew she must not envy Julia’s relationship with Irvin, but the memory of hearing him tell his wife fond good-byes and I love yous prior to his heading off to run errands was altogether unlike her experience. That and their many other thoughtful exchanges—verbal and otherwise— made Esther realize that Irvin and Julia’s marriage was a strong and happy one . . . a witness of God’s love in a couple’s life.

  How can I possibly have that with Zeke . . . now? Won’t he always resent me for standing firm for my beliefs? She assumed he would rail against her for not giving in to the People’s expectations, for not honoring the Ordnung, in the long run. In Zeke’s eyes she was most disobedient.

  In God’s eyes . . . what am I?

  The nagging thought persisted. Closing her eyes, she asked for the Holy Spirit’s protective covering over her mind. ‘‘And help me to keep my thoughts centered on you, O Lord,’’ she whispered.

  In all her days, Annie had never felt so torn. Esther had been shunned till death, or until such time as she should bend her knee in contrition. Mamm had whispered the outcome of the solemn meeting at the common meal, and now Annie felt nearly sick to her stomach. She didn’t rightly know or understand Esther’s stand now that she believed herself to be ‘‘saved.’’ Annie only knew how the People looked on such a thing. Pride was the ultimate and original sin. So to excuse Esther, even in Annie’s own mind, was to join her in her haughtiness.

  She could only hope she might still see Esther occasionally, although that remained to be seen. Mamm would tell her one way or the other, she knew. Daed, too, would say something if Annie was so bold as to bring it up. Nonbaptized folk were not to be privy to what was voted upon.

  So Esther would live under Zeke’s roof and covering, yet not be allowed to partake of food at the same table. She would also not be permitted to pass money or other objects from her hand to the hand of a church member in good standing. There were other, more personal stipulations regarding marriage that Annie suspected but had never been told directly.

  It would be a painful life for dear Esther. No, she mustn’t even be thought of as dear any longer. Not while she was in this rebellious state. And Annie knew she must attempt to follow her parents’ stance on this delicate issue, hard as that would be.

  While Annie was tied up with church, Ben drove over slippery roads to locate the old covered bridge on Belmont Road. He had avoided the area altogether after the creepy sensation he’d first encountered. Now he was determined to conquer the peculiar sense of disquiet by walking through to the north entrance of the old bridge.

  His snow boots clunked hollowly on the wooden planks as the boards gave with each step. When a horse and carriage came rattling through—folks from another district— the vibrations shook his entire body, and he was suddenly very aware of his rib cage.

  Shakin’ your liver loose—an unexpected phrase came to mind.

  He smiled at the recollection and kept going, staring at the back of the Amish buggy, its orange triangle reflector catching his eye as it moved on, up the steep hill and beyond.

  Stopping, he uttered a sound, listening to the echo. ‘‘Hello,’’ he said quietly, then slightly louder, ‘‘Hello-o-o-o.’’ Then he whistled, paying attention to the muted ricochet.

  Going all the way out of the bridge and around the long stone abutment on his left, he turned and headed down toward the creek.

  The snow lay in great patches, and he could see where pods from the black locust trees had fallen during the recent storm. He recalled someone once saying that cows liked to chew on ground-up locust pods. Stooping, he picked up several, noticing the reddish brown color, the deep, rippled texture, and the beanlike seeds inside. He counted fourteen.

  He slipped two narrow four-inch pods into his pocket, recalling how his mother had often shaken her head, offering a bemused smile as she handed back the peach stones that seemed to wind up in the laundry from time to time. Other pieces of nature had landed in the washer, too, but she hadn’t ever complained. It was as if she understood his need to pick up things, investigate, and either discard or keep them in his possession. His dad had not been so keen on his collection of ‘‘junk,’’ as he called the array of items. But, for some reason, the peach pits had remained a favorite, just as they had for his best frien
d, Eric, who had carried one in his pocket for as long as he could remember, too.

  Slowly, Ben moved toward the grove of trees. Reveling in the tranquility of the area, he was no longer conscious of alarm, as before. He had a sudden urge to bring Annie here in the spring to stand here with him beneath the flowering branches of these beautiful, tall trees. He was impatient to see if he was right about the blossoms, eager to know if they were white as lilies, as in his dreams.

  Esther had been reading a Bible story to the older children near the wood stove while nursing Essie Ann. All the while Zach kept glancing at the ceiling, his eyes bright with the awareness of the ticking sound of sleet on the roof. Soon Laura and John were looking up, as well.

  ‘‘Does the Lord God make the snow and sleet?’’ Zach asked when she finished the story.

  ‘‘Our heavenly Father knows just what we need—rain, sleet, snow—and we can trust Him for everything. Even for the weather.’’ She had been cautiously yet consistently sharing with the children, ever so eager to pass along all she was learning about the standard for holiness and godliness as found in the Holy Scriptures.

  ‘‘The Lord calmed the wind and the storm,’’ Laura told her little brother. ‘‘Remember that story?’’

  ‘‘Jah, yesterday.’’ Zach, soon to be four years old, smiled, not so serious now.

  ‘‘And God rained down a special kind of food,’’ Laura said, looking quite pleased with her good memory.

  ‘‘Manna,’’ said Zach, looking equally pleased.

  They came and gave her a simultaneous hug. ‘‘Ach, I love you so,’’ Esther said, kissing each sweet head.

  It was evident that Laura and Zach had noticed a change in her. She was beginning to see a tenderness of spirit in them, too. Julia had counseled that the children would become ‘‘hungry for more of the Lord Jesus’’ as they were presented with the gospel over time. ‘‘Laura, Zach, and little John will know instinctively what motivates your life, Esther. Even if you don’t talk of it constantly . . . they’ll sense God in you,’’ she’d said repeatedly.