Jenny's Choice (Apple Creek Dreams #3)

by Patrick E. Craig

  Jenny thought back to that day—the electric shock that had gone up her arm when he took her hand, the deep voice that had thrilled her heart, and then his eyes—oh, his wonderful deep-blue eyes.

  “You know, Rachel, I think I did. Now that I look back on it, I think I loved your papa from the first moment I saw him.”

  “And did he love you back?”

  Jenny paused again. He said he loved me from that moment too. And I know he did. How does that happen?

  “Yes, Rachel, he loved me too.”

  “That’s good, Mama. That’s a good thing.”

  Jenny pulled Rachel even closer. “Yes, my darling, that was a very good thing.”

  “Thank you, Mama. I need to hear about Papa so I won’t forget him. Will you always help me to remember?”

  “Until my dying day, my precious one. Until my dying day.”

  That evening, Reuben came home late from the fields with a sour look on his face. Jenny could see storm clouds brewing in his eyes.

  Jenny helped him take off his coat. “What is it, Papa?”

  “Is there any coffee made?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  “Yes, it’s on the stove. I made it an hour ago, so it’s fresh.”

  Reuben went into the kitchen while Jenny hung his coat and hat on the rack by the door. She heard him pour a cup of coffee, muttering under his breath. When she heard the chair scraping up to the table as he sat down, she went into the kitchen.

  “Okay, Papa. What is it?”

  He frowned and took a sip. Then he set his cup down and looked at her. “I had some callers today.”

  “Who, Papa?”

  “The visiting bisschop and one of the elders.”

  “What about, Papa?”

  “They came to talk to me about your book.”

  Jenny felt the unease stir back to life. Maybe this is what I was sensing this afternoon.

  “My book? But what did they want to talk about?”

  “They came to me because they heard you were writing a novel and they had deep concerns about it, especially the bisschop.”

  “What kind of concerns, Papa?”

  “They don’t think it’s a good thing for an Amish woman to be an author, especially a fiction author. They say it’s not edifying to the Amish community and will bring reproach on the name of Jesus.”

  A strange mixture of anger and pain stirred inside Jenny. “But it is the name of Jesus I want to glorify with my writing.”

  “I know that, but they do not. They want to read some of the book and meet with you about it. I’m not sure it will go well, Jenny. The visiting bisschop is from Lancaster. I think I told you before that they interpret the Ordnung much more strictly than we do.”

  Jenny twisted her apron between her fingers. “Why is he even out here then, Papa?”

  “He has come to help oversee the founding of a new church in Dalton. Our bisschop knows him, and because he is so busy with the Apple Creek and Wooster churches, he asked Bruder Lapp to come assist him. While he’s here, he has as much authority as our own bisschop.”

  “When do they want to meet?”

  “They would like to come here next Sunday after church. I have agreed.”

  “Oh, Papa, what will they do?”

  “It’s an interesting situation. Our own bisschop is trying to stay out of it. I’ve explained to him about the book, and he seems more accepting of my side of the story. But Bisschop Lapp is insistent on looking into it, so Johann must go along with him. I’m sorry, Jenny, there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t guess what they will do. I hope it doesn’t become an awkward situation. Bisschop Lapp seems to be fairly stiff-necked.

  Reuben clenched his fists and then spread his fingers out on the tabletop. “He reminds me of me about thirty years ago.”

  That Sunday afternoon, Jenny waited with trepidation in her heart for the elders to come. She sat through church that morning without really hearing a word that was said. She thought about all the work and effort and research that had gone into the book thus far. It was almost done.

  Lord, it would be a pity not to publish the book. I’m sure You told me to write it.

  After a while there came a knock on the door. All three of them stood up, but Reuben waved the two women back into their chairs. He went to the door and opened it. Jenny and Jerusha could hear Reuben greeting the men, and then they all came into the kitchen. Bisschop Samuel Lapp was a short, stout man with a red beard. When he took off his hat to greet the women, Jenny saw that he was bald. He had a beaked nose and small, gimlet eyes that seemed to take in the whole room at a glance. There were two men with him, Bruder James, an elder, and Johann Troyer, their own bisschop. Jerusha motioned for them to sit at the table.

  “Welcome to our house,” Jerusha said sweetly. “Can I fix you some tea or coffee?”

  Bruder Johann smiled and started to answer in the affirmative, but Bisschop Lapp cut him off.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Springer, but I want to get right to the matter at hand. May I see this book I’ve heard so much about?”

  Jenny watched his face. He seemed to have a tic, for every once in a while his face gave a tiny twitch.

  Jenny put on her most ingratiating smile. “Certainly, Bisschop. I’ll be happy to show you what I’ve written. But at this point it’s almost forty chapters long and still in draft form. Do you want to read it all in one sitting?”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t want to read it at all,” the bisschop said stiffly. “It’s an unheard of thing for an Amish woman to be writing what the Englisch call pulp fiction. But if I must, I will look at a few sample chapters.”

  Then at last Johann spoke up. “Bisschop Lapp, I appreciate your concern, and I’ve come with you at your request, but let’s put first things first. Jerusha has kindly offered us some coffee, and I for one would like a cup. As for calling the book pulp fiction…I have talked with Reuben about the book, and it is my understanding that it is a biographical work that tells the history of one of the families of our district and the ways that Gott has worked in their lives. So before we rush to judgment, ja, let’s have some coffee.”

  Samuel Lapp shot Johann a grim look but acceded to his request. Jerusha went to make the coffee, and Jenny glanced at her bisschop gratefully.

  “I’ll fetch the book while Mama makes coffee. I will be right back.”

  Jenny stood in her room with the manuscript in her hand. Her heart thumped like a hammer in her chest.

  I feel like this is my child. I have labored over it, wept over it, laughed, and rejoiced. And now I must give it to a man whom I fear has already judged it in his heart. Lord, before I do that, I must put this in Your hands, for it is Your book. You asked me to write it, and only You know if it is ever to be published.

  She took the pages and went back out to the kitchen. The coffee was brewing, and the strong smell permeated the kitchen. Bisschop Lapp looked very uncomfortable as Johann and James chatted with Reuben. Jenny went out to the cooling shed and fetched some cream. Finally, when the coffee was poured and the men had a chance to relax, Jenny placed the book in front of them. Samuel Lapp reached for it, but Johann gave him a look that backed him off.

  “Reuben, would you pick a few chapters that give us the general direction of the book?”

  Reuben picked up the manuscript and carefully looked through it. He chose three chapters—the beginning, one from the middle, and the last chapter—and set them before Johann. The bisschop took one and gave one each to James and Samuel. The three men began to read. Jenny sat in silence with her eyes down. Once she glanced up at her papa, but his face was an unreadable mask. Jerusha saw the glance and smiled at Jenny. The men passed one another their chapters as they finished.

  Finally they all had read all three chapters. Bisschop Johann was about to speak, but Lapp jumped in and went first.

  “Just as I thought,” he said. His voice was high-pitched and whiney. “This is not gut. Not gut at all.”r />
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A Shelter

  REUBEN SPOKE FIRST.

  “And what is not gut about it?”

  Samuel Lapp’s face gave a little twitch, and he set the book down on the table.

  “Well, for one thing, it contains romance. It’s no better than one of those worldly novels in the drug stores. And the chapter about you killing Japanese soldiers with your bare hands goes against everything we hold to be true. And writing about a couple embracing, like you did in the last chapter, Mrs. Hershberger—why, it’s shocking.”

  Jenny stared at the man. She felt anger rising up inside her, and she was about to reply to his remarks when she felt a gentle squeeze on her arm. She looked over, and Jerusha was giving her a tiny signal with her eyes. It told Jenny to stay out of it, so she clamped her jaw shut and sat silently, all the while burning with indignation. Bruder Samuel pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. There was silence around the table. Finally Bisschop Johann spoke.

  “I think perhaps you’re reacting a little strongly, Samuel. I find the writing quite good and see nothing in what Jenny has said that is offensive or prurient. Perhaps the battle scene is shocking, but it is what happened, and I’m sure Reuben can enlighten us as to the purpose of the chapter.”

  He looked hopefully at Reuben. Reuben smiled back.

  “I was hoping you would ask me, Johann. I gave you that chapter to read because it’s the strongest chapter in the book, and it is my true story. It’s also the root of the reason why my first daughter died and why this book is being written at all.”

  Jerusha put her hand on Reuben’s arm. “Husband, this is all behind us. We don’t need to go into it—”

  Reuben shook his head. “No, Jerusha, I’ve carried this for thirty-five years, and I, for one, would like to clear up some things that have troubled me most of my adult life.”

  “Why do you say it was the cause of your daughter’s death?” James asked.

  “When I came back from the war, I was a ruined man, physically and spiritually,” Reuben began. “I had killed men in hand-to-hand combat in the most violent and bloodthirsty ways. Sitting at this table, you cannot imagine the horror of that time. Ich war ein gebrochener und bitterer Mann, broken and bitter. I made up my mind to come home, join the church, and hide behind the Ordnung for the rest of my life. I was sure that as long as I kept the rules I would be right with Gott.”

  “And is that not the truth?” Samuel interjected. “Is it not the Ordnung that keeps us protected from the world and all its evil? Without it, we would be just another marginal religion that would have faded into obscurity long ago.”

  “There is truth in what you say, Bruder Samuel,” Reuben replied, “but it’s not the whole truth.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following you, Reuben,” Johann interjected. “What do you mean it’s not the whole truth?”

  “The Ordnung does not save us,” Reuben said quietly.

  “What do you mean?” Bisschop Lapp asked. “The Ordnung is everything to us!”

  “No,” Reuben said quietly. “Jesus is everything to us. The Ordnung means nothing if we do not know Christ.”

  “This is bordering on the blasphemous!” Brother Samuel was aghast. “I don’t want to sit here and…”

  Johann placed a hand on Samuel’s arm and spoke quietly. “Calm yourself, Bisschop. Remember, the Springer family has walked in the light for many years. They have been a great blessing to our district and to me personally. You must be careful before you start throwing words like ‘blasphemous’ around.”

  Bisschop Lapp’s face was twitching, but as he looked around at the grim faces, he did his best to calm himself. “In Lancaster we would not tolerate such statements.”

  “You are not in Lancaster,” Jerusha said quietly. “You are in Ohio. And my husband is right. Does not Paul say, ‘For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death’?”

  “And now I would have a woman instruct me from the Bible? I know what the Bible says,” the bisschop said.

  Jenny had been listening carefully and watching the men. She looked at Reuben. He wore an expression she hadn’t seen before, and it scared her. She looked back and forth between her papa and Samuel and realized that the look did not bode well for the whiney little man.

  “You would insult my wife?” Reuben said quietly, but the look on his face was grim. It did not escape the bisschop’s notice.

  Bisschop Lapp pointed at Reuben. “You see, he is threatening me.”

  “Brothers, brothers, where is the grace in all this?” Johann asked. “We are Amish! We do not fight among ourselves.”

  “I am a bisschop,” Samuel said, trying to put authority behind his words. “I will not be corrected by a woman.”

  Reuben laughed. “Brother Samuel, I’m not threatening you. Though if I wanted to hurt you, nobody at this table could stop me. I want to show you respect because you’re a visitor to our community and an elder in your own church, but I find it very hard to do so. You remind me of Peter, who went from Jerusalem to Antioch and acted as if he were under the Law. Paul withstood him to his face, and I am doing the same. You can’t impose the Law here simply for the sake of the Law. And I do not know of any part of the Ordnung that specifically states that Amish people cannot write a novel. If you can show me one, I might reconsider my position.”

  Bisschop Lapp leaned forward. “And just what is your position, Mr. Springer?”

  Reuben looked at Jenny. “My daughter has been through a great sorrow in her life. When she turned to her writing, I saw a healing begin to take place. Now she has discovered that Gott has placed in her a gift for words. She is writing a story that can bring glory to Him and, I believe, help many of our people to come to a true understanding of their faith.”

  “And just what is this true understanding you speak of?”

  “When Jenna, my first daughter, got sick, I believed exactly the way you do, Samuel. I believed that because I was so careful to keep the Ordnung, I had favor with Gott. Because of that, I wouldn’t allow my wife to take Jenna to the Englisch hospital. Instead I called the healer. I have great respect for our healers, but in this case, it was not the right thing to do. Jenna had contracted bacterial meningitis, and the only thing that could have saved her was a massive dose of antibiotics. My friend from the war, Sheriff Bobby Halverson, finally ripped her out of my arms and rushed her to Wooster. He was too late. If I had taken her in two days earlier…”

  Reuben’s voice choked up, and he put his head down. Jerusha put her hand on Reuben’s arm and leaned against his shoulder. The room was very quiet.

  Finally Reuben looked up.

  “You see, Bruder Samuel, I was so locked up in the Ordnung that I couldn’t see beyond my own fear. And the price I paid was my daughter’s life. In my anger and shame, I ran away. At a certain point I was going to take my own life, but an old soldier in Colorado shared the gospel of grace with me. He showed me in the Bible that all I have to do to be saved is to believe that Christ died for my sins, that He was buried just as the scriptures foretold, and that He rose from the grave and is alive today. Do I want to follow the Ordnung? Yes, I do. But why?

  “My late son-in-law, Jonathan Hershberger, Jenny’s husband, said it best. He was a convert to our faith and an outsider who willingly adopted our way of life. He had a very clear understanding of the Amish way. He once told me that he loved the Ordnung because it was like the stars a sailor follows across a dark sea at night. But he knew that the Ordnung did not save him. It was Christ who saved him.”

  “Did you say Jonathan Hershberger?”

  “Yes, he was killed almost two years ago in a boating accident.”

  Samuel looked puzzled. “I heard about an outsider named Jonathan Hershberger who joined the church and lived in Paradise. He was married to Bisschop Borntraeger’s granddaughter.”

  “Yes,” Jenny said quietly, “that was my husband.”

  S
amuel turned to Jenny with a look of surprise. “You are Bisschop Borntraeger’s granddaughter? But how can you be if you are the Springers’ daughter?”

  “Mama found me in a great snowstorm many years ago. She saved me and kept me alive until Papa and my Uncle Bobby could rescue us. No one knew who I was, so Mama and Papa adopted me. Then when I was nineteen, I met Jonathan, and he and my papa helped me find out who my birth mother and father were. They were both dead, but my grossdaadi, Bisschop Borntraeger, was still alive. Jonathan studied with him for two years to learn our ways, and then we were married and lived with Grossdaadi until he passed.”

  Samuel took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Perhaps I have been a bit hasty. Jonathan Hershberger and Lem Borntraeger gave very generously to their district for the support of the Amish community in Paradise. I heard about it even in Lancaster. Everyone said he was a very good man and one of the few Englischers who was able to truly assimilate into our community.”

  “It was because his family was originally Amish,” Jenny said. “It was like he was born to be Amish. Grossdaadi often said that Jonathan took to our ways like a duck to water. When I was a research intern at the library in Wooster, I helped Jonathan discover his family roots. His family came from Switzerland with the first Amish who arrived in Pennsylvania. And interestingly, he was my mama’s very distant cousin. That’s one reason I want to write this book, Bisschop Samuel. I think it will help our people to come to a deeper understanding of their roots and the manner in which du lieber Gott has guided us and kept us in the midst of wicked and perverse generations.”

  “But the book is fiction—how can it be a historical work?”

  “A biography can be written as a novel and still tell a true story. My publisher says that many people who are not Amish will read it because it is written like fiction.”

  “And who is your publisher, may I ask?”

  “Jeremy King from Kerusso Publishing.”

  A grim look passed over Samuel Lapp’s face. “Ah, the apostate, Jeremy King. Do you know that he once was Amish but left the faith many years ago and is under the meidung in Pennsylvania? So! Almost you convinced me to change my mind. But this is another matter entirely. King is under the bann. Therefore you cannot associate with him, especially in the matter of this book. If he was a man of honor, he would have told you that himself. And now, I think we are finished here. Brothers, shall we go?”