by Jan Drexler
Would the friendship Lovinia offered last once she was well again? Or would she recoil at Ruby’s outspoken ways like everyone else did?
Gideon sat on the backless bench next to Abraham, his head bowed. Abraham would think he was praying, but no prayers would come.
Mein Herr . . .
Did he even belong here anymore? Since he had last been to a Sunday meeting, he had witnessed horrible things. He had never known that men could be so cruel to each other. The worst part was that he had done nothing to stop the madness. He had only stood as a silent witness, even when death fell at his own feet.
Mein Herr, forgive me.
How could he even ask for mercy?
Someone sitting toward the front of the room started singing the first hymn, and the rest of the congregation joined in. Gideon knew it well and forced himself to mouth the words. He raised his head and glanced across the aisle at Roseanna and Sophia, sitting with Lydia. Roseanna knew the hymn as well as he did, and Sophia watched her face, repeating each slow word that rose and fell with the chanting music.
When the hymn reached the end of the second stanza, “He who on earth does Thy will, know us as Thy children,” Gideon’s voice broke. He had never felt farther from God. The Lord was silent.
Gideon cleared his throat and continued singing the next verse. The words spoke of praising Christ and thanking him for his favors and his protection from sin. His heart beat so loudly that Abraham must be able to hear it, but the older man made no sign that anything was amiss. Gideon took a deep breath, then another. His knees shook and he wiped beads of sweat from his nose, but he could not make himself conspicuous by leaving the service.
Mein Herr, have mercy.
He took another deep breath and joined in the fourth verse of the song. This verse was about how sorry the sinner is in his sins. Unrepentant sins. The plight of the man who nurtures his soul-destroying pride and who ignores God’s warnings.
Mein Herr, I heed your warnings. Help me humble myself under your righteous hand.
His gaze found Roseanna again, and he felt strength returning to his limbs. The Lord knew he didn’t participate in the war more than he had been forced to. Hauling supplies, helping the cooks, splitting wood . . . he did only what they forced him to do, but he did nothing against his conscience. Except that one, terrible moment.
How many times did he need to ask for forgiveness before he felt the peace of being part of God’s family again?
When the service was over, Gideon left the house with the other men, leaving the youths to convert the benches into tables for the fellowship meal. Instead of following the men to the shaded area by the barn, though, Gideon walked to a fence that lined the crest of the hill behind the house. A panorama of peaceful farms lay at his feet. Farms that had never known the ravaging forces of an army.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Gideon’s overwrought nerves jumped at the sudden intrusion. He hadn’t been aware that anyone followed him, but the young man striding toward him wore a friendly expression. His round face was red from the exertion of climbing the hill, but his smile never faltered.
“Ja,” Gideon said. “It is lovely. And so peaceful.”
The younger man joined him and gazed at the scene, his hands resting on the top board of the fence. “From here you can see most of the farms in the community. The stream is Weaver’s Creek, and you can see the Weavers’ barn behind the trees down there in the valley.” Then he turned to Gideon and held out his hand. “I’m Levi Beiler. I understand you and your family are staying with the Weavers.”
Gideon shook his hand. “We are traveling, and Abraham was kind to offer to let us stay with him and his family for a time.”
“Abraham said you might consider settling here.”
Gideon kept his tone noncommittal. “We might. My wife is ill, so we’ll stay at least until she is able to travel again.”
Levi looked back toward the house where the men stood in groups near the barn and the children played a game of tag in the shady yard. “Do you know what illness she suffers from?”
Gideon caught the shadow of a frown flash across the younger man’s face, and he felt the stiff wall of resentment rising in his own heart. “Ne, but it is not catching. None of the children or myself have experienced any illness.”
Levi flushed, his face turning a deeper shade of red than it had held before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I heard some folks talking, and I only want to set their minds at ease.”
Gideon relaxed. Levi was young, but he spoke with a reassurance in his voice that was sincere. It told Gideon that Levi had discerned the defensiveness he had tried to conceal but still pressed on to get the information he needed to protect the community from an unknown disease. It was an unusual quality for a man his age.
“Your last name is Beiler?” Gideon asked, changing the subject. “Are you related to Amos Beiler, who preached this morning?”
“Ja, for sure.” Levi smiled. “I am his son.”
“How many ministers are in the church?”
“Only one now, since Bishop Miller moved west to Indiana a few months ago.” Levi dug into the grass with the toe of his shoe. “Abraham mentioned that you are a minister. My father has been saying that our community could use another.”
Gideon shook his head. Not him. “I have a sick wife and a family to care for, and I don’t know how long we’ll be staying around Weaver’s Creek. If there are nominations for a new minister, I won’t let my name be put in.”
Levi’s shoulders relaxed. “Unless God ordains it . . .”
Gideon nodded, an automatic response to Levi’s words. “For sure, unless God ordains it.”
But God wouldn’t. God didn’t use men like him in his church.
“Well then,” Levi said, taking a deep breath. “That’s settled.”
His words were quiet, not directed at Gideon.
“What is settled?”
Levi’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. “I just meant that I’ll know not to nominate you, that’s all.”
“Did you have someone else in mind?”
Levi didn’t answer but kicked the grass again. “Since you’re a minister, can I ask you something? And you won’t tell anyone else?”
“I’m not a minister anymore, remember?” Gideon leaned against a fence post. “But I won’t share anything you tell me if you don’t want me to.”
“Before you became a minister, did you already have a . . . a feeling that God was calling you to be one?”
Levi’s face was serious as he waited. Gideon looked out over the valley, thinking back to that Sunday meeting more than five years ago when his name had been put forward in the nominations.
“Not until my name was called as one of the men who had been nominated.” Gideon turned to Levi. “Then I knew, as if God had spoken the words out loud. I knew the lot would fall to me.”
Levi nodded. “I know that feeling. It’s as clear as opening a door and seeing beyond it to a different world on the other side.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’ve never heard anyone else talk about it, though.”
“I’ve never mentioned it, not even to my wife.” Gideon frowned as he looked out over the scene below. “It is prideful to claim that God has spoken to you.”
The younger man nodded. “He speaks in Scripture, in his Word. But this other . . . he doesn’t use words, but somehow I know that I will be a minister someday.”
“But you haven’t told your father or your friends?”
“For sure and certain I would never do that.” His face reddened again. “My friends would laugh at me, and Father would be angry. He scolds me for reading his books, saying that a boy like me can’t possibly understand them. But I do, and I can’t stop reading them.”
“What kind of books?”
“The Good Book, of course. And the Martyr’s Mirror. Father also has Augustine, Luther, and Zwingli. He recently bo
ught a book by Menno Simons, and that is one I long to read.”
“Then you are a scholar?”
Levi’s face flushed again. “I can’t stop reading and memorizing. I’ve memorized the hymns in the Ausbund, and now I’m working through the prayers in the Christenflicht. Sometimes I feel that it’s wrong to fill my head with all these things, but I can’t stop. I have a thirst that can’t be quenched.”
“Has your father told you that it is wrong?”
“Not in so many words, but he doesn’t want me to speak of what I’m reading or discuss it with me. He wants me to spend my time working on the farm, as if he’s the only one who should be concerned with books.” He kicked the grass again. “Sometimes he acts like he’s ashamed of me. I know he would like me to be more like his other sons.”
“I take it that your brothers don’t spend their time reading.” Gideon covered his mouth to keep from smiling. He remembered feeling the same way about his uncle when he was Levi’s age. It seemed that every decision he made displeased Uncle Eli, but even as a young man, Gideon had known how he wanted to live his life.
“I don’t know what they do. But they don’t take after Father. They are tall and strong and work hard. They live in Illinois, and from the news they share in their letters, they have large, successful farms.”
Taking in Levi’s soft face and round body, Gideon could see that this young man would have a hard time keeping up with most farmers.
“I have a volume of Menno Simons’s writings. You’re welcome to borrow it.”
“Could I?” Levi’s eyes lit up. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Come by the Weavers’ sometime. I’ll have it waiting for you.”
“This afternoon? Or this evening?”
Gideon grinned. Levi’s eagerness was contagious. “I’ll have to get it from the box in our wagon, but this evening would be all right.”
Levi nodded, his hat nearly falling off. “I’ll be there.”
“Won’t you miss the young people’s Singing tonight?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Levi looked at the sun as if he was calculating how many hours he would have to wait until evening. “Books are more important.”
Gideon found himself laughing. Suddenly, he felt far away from the struggles of the last several months.
3
By the time the last of the families had left the Beilers’ farm on Sunday afternoon, the sun was finally heading toward the horizon. As far as Levi could tell, everything was ready for the Singing tonight. Millie and a couple of her friends were in the kitchen, giggling as they set out the snacks for the evening. Mother had gone to her room to lie down for a nap before the rest of the young people returned, and Father was in his study where he spent every Sunday afternoon.
He knocked on the closed door.
“Come,” Father said.
When Levi opened the door, Father looked up from notes he was writing. He sat at his desk, just as he always did when he wasn’t working in the farm fields. Levi had never seen him sit in the front room with Mother, or even linger at the table after meals. The study was Father’s, and his alone. Levi stood in the doorway, not daring to set a foot in the quiet room while Father was there. He waited until Father finished writing a sentence, then looked at him.
“Well?”
“I wanted to let you know that I’m going to the Weavers’ for an hour or two. I won’t be too late.”
Father frowned. “The Singing is here tonight. You should stay home.”
“I’ll be back before it ends.”
Blowing on the page to dry the ink, Father perused what he had written before closing the notebook. “You won’t find a wife that way.”
Levi sighed. He had given up on finding a wife after Rosie Keck had married and moved to Wayne County, and Katie Stuckey had refused him last fall. He would never find another girl like Katie.
“I saw you talking with that new man this afternoon.” Father’s eyes pierced as he started the interrogation Levi knew would come. “What was his name again?”
“Gideon Fischer.” Levi knew better than to try to hurry Father through his questions.
“Did he say why his wife wasn’t here with him?”
“He said that she is ill.”
Father smoothed his beard with one hand, a gesture Levi recognized as the prelude to a long interview. “You made certain that it is nothing catching? We never know what illnesses outsiders may bring into the community with them.”
Levi let the comment pass. “I asked him, and Gideon assured me that only his wife is ill. He and the children are well. I don’t think her condition is contagious.”
“How did this . . . Gideon?” Father paused, looking for Levi’s nod that he had remembered the name correctly. “How did this Gideon seem to you?”
“You mean, will he and his family fit in with the rest of the community.”
Father’s sharp look told Levi that he came close to overstepping his bounds. “Did he seem acceptable of our ways?”
“He didn’t speak as if he felt anything was other than he expected.”
“Abraham Weaver said this man was a minister in Maryland before he came here. Did you ask him about that?”
“He said he wasn’t interested in taking on that role here. He isn’t certain how long he will be staying.”
Father nodded. “Good. Then we don’t need to worry about him pushing in before we learn to know him.”
“I liked him.” Levi had never volunteered information in a discussion with Father before. He stood straighter. “He looked tired and worried, but he was also friendly and willing to talk. I think he needs a safe place to rest and help his wife recover from her illness. He isn’t looking for anything more.”
“So far.” Father smoothed his beard again. “Will you see him when you visit the Weavers?”
Levi couldn’t do anything but give Father a straight answer. “For sure, I will.”
“Why is it so important that you go over there tonight?”
“Gideon has a book he said I could borrow.”
Father threw his hands up in the air in a dramatic gesture. “A book! Now the next week will be wasted while you read a book instead of applying yourself to your work on the farm.”
“I promise I won’t let it interfere with my responsibilities.”
“It already has. It’s taking you away from home when you’re needed here to help your sister and your mother.” Father tapped his finger on the desk blotter. “You are too quick to forget your duties on the farm and stick your nose in a book. I don’t know how you expect to get married and start a family if you’re reading all the time.”
Levi didn’t have an answer to that comment. He had heard it too many times. He waited.
Father turned back to his notebook, opening it to the page where he had been writing, and dipped his pen in the inkwell. “Go now and get the book. But don’t dawdle and be back here as soon as you can.”
“Yes, Father.”
Levi closed the door behind him and went toward the kitchen. If Mother was still resting, he could slip through to the door without Millie and her friends taking too much of a notice of him.
Silence fell as soon as he appeared in the big kitchen. The girls were making sandwiches and slices of bread covered the table. All three girls had been buttering the slices while they talked. When Levi paused, the girls looked at each other and giggled.
“Am I interrupting anything?” He grinned at Millie.
“Nothing we want you to listen to,” she said, then giggled again. “And the sooner you get out of here, the sooner we can get back to our visiting.”
“Don’t mind me.” Levi stopped behind Millie on his way through the kitchen, leaning over her shoulder to snatch a slice of bread from the table. “I’m on my way to the Weavers’.”
“Aren’t you coming to the Singing?” Millie’s round eyes showed her disappointment.
“I’ll be back before too long. If I’m not here when it starts, I�
�ll be here soon after.”
Millie smiled at that. “There are cookies on the cupboard shelf. But don’t take too many.”
Levi wrapped two cookies in his handkerchief, then he was out the door and on his way to the Weavers’.
The bread was good, as Mother’s baking always was, and Millie had spread a generous amount of fresh butter on it. But as satisfying as it was, it didn’t match the anticipation of reading a new book, and with Father’s permission. Perhaps this meant that Father was finally recognizing that Levi was more like him than he thought.
Levi finished the slice of bread in two bites, brushing crumbs off his fingers. Father would see that he had one son who wanted to follow in his footsteps.
Ruby’s days quickly fell into a new routine. She and Elizabeth would have breakfast together, but then instead of working in the garden with her sister, Ruby would head down the road to the home farm to help Mamm with the Fischer children and spend time with Lovinia. Even though Lovinia’s health didn’t worsen, it didn’t seem to be improving, either.
After two weeks, Lovinia still didn’t feel strong enough to come downstairs. Rising to care for her personal needs exhausted her, and afterward she would sink back into the bed, pale and breathing as hard as if she had run to Millersburg and back.
On Friday morning when Ruby arrived, Mamm, Daed, and Gideon were still sitting around the breakfast table. Ruby had seen the three older children playing near the barn, but Daniel was in his high chair chewing on a crust of bread. He grinned when he saw her, but the adults’ faces were grim. Mamm rose to fetch a cup of tea for her, and Ruby sat between Mamm and Gideon.
“Lovinia took a turn for the worse last night,” Mamm said as she set the teacup in front of Ruby and sat down. “I don’t know what more I can do.”
“The poultices aren’t helping?”
Mamm shook her head. “They seemed to ease the congestion, but she isn’t getting stronger.”
Ruby looked at Gideon. “Do you have any idea what is wrong with her?”