by Jan Drexler
Following the other men out into the spring sunshine, he worked his way to Elias, Tall Peter, and another man Shem didn’t recognize.
“I hardly know the man,” Tall Peter was saying.
“But he’s a member of our community.” Elias pounded one hand with his fist to emphasize his point. “We help each other, don’t we?”
“Of course we do,” the stranger said. “I’m going to talk to Jacob about when he needs my help with Christian’s farm.”
“That’s fine for you,” Peter said. “You live closer to him than we do. But I’m still clearing my land, and I can’t afford a day or more away from my work. It will mean my family won’t have enough food next year.”
“You must look after your farm,” Shem said, nodding his approval at Tall Peter’s words. “The Good Book says that we must be responsible for our own families.”
The stranger stared at him.
“We haven’t met yet, have we?” Shem put a hand out to shake the other man’s. “I’m Preacher Shem Fischer, from Ontario.”
“Yost Bontrager,” the man said as he shook Shem’s hand.
Yost’s handshake was firm. Purposeful. That handshake told Shem this man could be a strong opposition. He’d have to get him on his side, and soon.
“You’re a minister?”
Shem smiled his friendliest smile. “For sure.”
“I have a cousin in Ontario. Daniel Troyer. Do you know him?”
Shem kept his smile. “Daniel was the man who told me about your settlement here, and your need for more ministers.” He felt the blood draining from his face. Daniel had told him that his cousin had left the settlement and moved farther west, to Iowa.
Yost stroked his beard. “I told Daniel about the lack of ministers. But I also told him about the new settlers from Ohio and the minister that was coming with them. I never asked him to send anyone.”
In spite of his best efforts, Shem’s smile faded. “He didn’t send me. I wanted to move my family west, so I came ahead to see how things were.”
“How long have you been a minister, Preacher Shem?” Elias’s question diverted Yost’s scrutiny.
“Almost two years.”
Yost’s eyebrows raised. “And you are thinking of leaving your community already? Don’t they need you there?”
“I have already left Ontario, with their blessing. They felt I would find my calling in one of the new settlements in Illinois, or here in Indiana.”
“You mentioned a family,” Elias said. “Will they be joining you?”
“Once I find a place to settle and build a house.” Shem paused. Priscilla had said she would never leave Ontario. “My wife is . . . sickly. She needs to stay with her parents for a time.”
Shem moved on to the next group of men, along with Tall Peter.
“I hope you’ll choose your land from the farms available here in Clinton Township,” Peter said as they walked. “Two of the other ministers in our district live in Newbury Township, and only Preacher Elam lives here. We would feel more like a part of the community with an equal number of ministers living here among us.”
“That is a fine idea.” Shem had noticed that the Gingeriches’ farm already looked prosperous even though they had moved to the area so recently. “I would be happy to look around this area.”
“Where are you staying now?”
Shem had been offered a bed at Abraham Troyer’s in Newbury Township when he first arrived but had preferred to be on his own. Being under the Troyers’ roof would mean good food and a warm bed but put him in too close proximity to a man he didn’t really like.
“I’m camping out, not really staying in one place very long.”
Tall Peter swung around to face him. “Didn’t anyone on that end of the district offer you a place in their home?”
Shem shrugged. Let Peter think what he would.
“You’ll stay with us, then. We have room in the loft with the boys. You’ll have your own bed, of course, and eat with the family.” Tall Peter smiled. “It will be good to have a preacher under my roof.”
He clapped Shem on the shoulder and led him to a group of Clinton Township men. As he joined them, Shem cast a glance around the Gingerich farm again. Susan was sitting with the other young women around a table in the yard. Her blonde hair shone in the sunlight where it peeked out from under her kapp. He would enjoy staying with the Gingeriches for a time.
Wednesday morning dawned cool and clear, with the promise of a fine day ahead. Cap had spent the previous two days planting corn in the cleared spaces between the tree stumps on his land with the help of Eli’s horses, and now had time for another necessary job. He needed to replace the blanket covering the doorway with a real door. As soon as he finished breakfast, he set up the sawhorses and started picking through the logs left from building his cabin.
A straight log would be best, but most of those had been used for the cabin. He shifted the logs from the pile one at a time until he found one that suited him. A nice piece of maple, too narrow for the cabin walls, but it would do nicely for the door once he sawed it into planks.
He had just begun his first cut when Jacob hailed him from the path through the woods.
“You’re getting an early start this morning.” Jacob jogged over and steadied the log while Cap continued sawing.
“No better day to put up a door.” Cap grunted the words as he sawed.
“For sure, better now than when a storm is blowing.” Jacob’s voice rose so Cap could hear him over the noise of the saw. “Jed Smith came by this morning. He says he wants to talk to all of the settlers in the area about a gang of bandits.”
Cap stopped sawing. “Bandits?” The sight of the two men opening his tool chest flashed in his memory.
“That’s what Jed said. He’s at Eli’s now. Will you come?”
“Ja, for sure. I’ll finish this board and then come with you.”
Jacob held the log until Cap had sawed the first board off. He hung the saw in the wagon bed and followed Jacob through the woods to the Schrock farm. The men had gathered near the barn, standing with their hands clasped behind them and facing each other in a circle, listening to an Englisch man speak. Jacob and Cap joined the circle as the man continued.
“I know this gang, and I’m sorry that I do. Their leader is William Smith, my cousin. He’s a bad one. Always been trouble.”
“Why do you think they’re going to cause problems for us? We’re peaceful folk and have nothing worth stealing,” Josef said. The other men in the circle nodded their heads in agreement.
“You have horses, don’t you? Stores of grain? Cash money?” Jed turned and spat on the ground behind him before he looked from face to face around the circle. “The only way to keep the gang from attacking is to put up a strong defense. Arm ourselves. Set a watch.” He spat again.
Cap shifted from one foot to the other. “Jed is right about the gang. They’ve been to my farm.”
“See? We need to be ready to fight.” Jed stomped his foot in emphasis.
Jacob gripped Cap’s shoulder. “They’re the ones who took your horses?”
“Ja, Blau and Betza.”
“But they didn’t hurt you? Or threaten to?”
Cap felt the cabin wall digging into his back. “I don’t think so, but I didn’t resist them.”
Should he mention that one of them had spoken Deitsch?
“Cap did well,” said Eli Schrock, nodding in his direction. “We won’t fight this gang. Nonresistance has been our way for two hundred years and more. We won’t change that now.”
Jed’s face grew red as he stared at Eli. “You won’t even defend your farms or your families?”
Eli looked at the ground, but with no hint of shame. “We will not disobey Christ’s teaching.”
Jed looked from man to man. Cap watched him with a steady gaze. Eli was right, they must do as the church taught, but a stab of worry and fear twisted his gut. He had been tested once and knew the rage that had thre
atened to take over. If the gang came again, looking for more to steal, would he respond as the church taught? Or would his fear and anger win out? His fists clenched and released.
The Englisch man raised one dirty finger, pointing it at Eli. “You would stand by as this gang attacked? You would let them run over you without fighting back?”
“We can only live as the Good Book teaches.”
Jed threw his hat on the ground, revealing a bald head circled with a fringe of greasy black hair. “So you’re leaving it up to me to defend the whole neighborhood?”
Eli’s voice was quiet as he spoke for the group. “We are not asking you to defend us. We don’t want you to take any action on our part. When we show that we aren’t willing to fight, perhaps these men will leave us alone.”
“Perhaps?” Jed’s voice rose to a higher pitch. “You don’t know these gangs. Outlaws strike at the weak, the vulnerable. They’ll love it when you don’t fight because that just makes it easier for them to take what they want.”
“Then let them take it.” Eli’s gaze silenced Jed’s sputtering. “We will not fight. We rest in God’s hands.”
Jed picked up his worn felt hat and thrust it back on his head. “So be it.” He turned and stalked toward the road and his home.
The group was silent. Cap studied the faces of his new neighbors. Some watched Jed as he left the road, following a trail through the woods to his land, some had bowed their heads in prayer. Solomon Plank rubbed at a spot on his thumb.
“Nonresistance is all well and good as far as it goes.” Solomon kept his gaze fixed on his hands as he spoke. “But what if the bandits go farther than stealing from us? What if they turn to murder too?”
Eli sighed. “Our way is nonresistance. We cannot disobey Christ out of fear.”
“You do as you wish.” Solomon glanced around the group. “I’m going to keep my rifle within reach.”
Josef ground his toe into the packed soil of the barnyard. “You would kill a man to protect your property?”
Solomon’s voice was quiet as he spoke the words Cap wanted to say. “I would be willing to defend my family, if someone threatened to do them harm.”
Eli’s voice broke through the silence. “Think of this, Solomon, and any others who might be tempted to walk the same path: If you or your loved ones are right before God and are killed by one of these bandits, what is the result? Your soul is safe for eternity in glory. But if you kill the man who attacks you, what happens to his unrepentant soul? It means for him an eternity of woe without a chance to be redeemed. Which is better?” He looked into the faces of each of the men around the circle. Cap couldn’t meet his gaze.
“We are to pray for our enemies,” Eli said after a long moment. “I will pray for these bandits. I will pray that they will see the error of their ways and will live lives pleasing to God.”
“And we can pray that if they don’t change, something will stop them from carrying out their depredations against us,” Solomon added.
Eli smiled. “Ja, I will pray for that, also.”
The circle broke into smaller groups. Jacob and Josef joined Cap just as Henry stepped up beside him.
“What do you think?” Henry said, looking from one to the other of them. “You’ve encountered them, Cap. Do you think Daed is right?”
Cap nodded. “It is a difficult thing to do, but Eli stated what the church teaches. We must follow the Ordnung.”
“I think Eli is right too.” Jacob stroked his beard. “It’s the same thing my daed would say if he was here.”
Henry shook his head. “I think I’d rather fight, even if the church does teach differently.”
Jacob sighed. “I know what you mean, but fighting doesn’t gain anything for us or our families. Remember when the horse thieves were trailing us on our way here to Indiana? We tried to protect our horses, but in the end your daed and mine were right. We left the outcome in God’s hands, and he protected us.”
“It was not an easy road to follow, though.” Josef clapped his hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “It was a time most difficult. We may be facing a time just as hard now, or worse.”
Cap studied Josef. His wiry build belied the strength Cap had witnessed as the man worked tirelessly the day of the cabin raising. Cap had also observed the man with his young children, correcting them with gentle words when they misbehaved and holding them with loving arms when they needed comfort. Henry had told Cap the story of how Josef had been a redemptioner, coming to Pennsylvania to escape the wars in Europe when he was only fourteen, traveling alone across the ocean.
Even though Josef was still a young man, he had proven his worth in the short time Cap had known him. If they were going to face this trial Jed had warned them about with continued attacks from this gang, he would be glad to face it next to a man like Josef.
On Friday morning Annalise set the children to do their chores, then slipped into the bedroom to check on Christian. His eyes were closed in sleep. She moved into the room with quiet steps, but at the slight rustle of her skirts, her husband’s eyes opened.
“Good morning.”
Christian’s eyes blinked twice as Annalise straightened the quilt that lay over him. He had lost weight since the apoplexy and—she bit her lip as she realized—he was growing weaker. He didn’t attempt to reach out to her as she moved around the bed, but only followed her with his eyes.
“Would you like a drink of water?”
Two blinks. Annalise raised his head and shoulders and put the cup to his lips. Water went in his mouth, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, but even more water spilled out onto the bedding. When she laid him back down on the pillow, he closed his eyes again. Just taking a drink had exhausted him.
The doctor’s treatments didn’t appear to be helping at all. Annalise touched his sunken cheek with the back of her hand. Cool. Almost too cool. She choked back a sob. He was dying right here in the bed, bit by bit, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Margli stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “Mamm, Dr. Samples is here.”
“How are we today, Mrs. Yoder?” the doctor said in his booming voice. He strode into the sickroom as if his patient wasn’t lying at death’s door.
Annalise rose to meet him. “I’m afraid he isn’t doing very well. I can’t get him to eat anything, and he will drink hardly any water at all.”
“Hmm. Yes.” The doctor puffed out his bushy mustache. “Let’s have a look at him.”
He felt Christian’s papery skin and lifted his eyelids to peer into the depths behind them. He held Christian’s wrist to count his pulse. Through it all, Christian lay on the bed, watching.
Dr. Samples puffed out his mustache again, and then smoothed it down with one hand. “All we can do is try bleeding him again.”
Christian squinted his eyes shut once, then stared at Annalise.
“You’ve already bled him three times, doctor, and it hasn’t helped.”
“That’s the standard procedure for apoplexy, Mrs. Yoder.” The doctor opened his bag and removed the tubes he used for the treatment. “The seizure your husband experienced was caused by too much blood in his system. When the weak blood vessel burst under the strain, it nearly killed him. The only solution is to keep draining the excess blood out.”
Christian stared at Annalise. She knew his answer.
“No, doctor. We will not do this procedure again.”
Christian relaxed against his pillow.
“But you can’t do nothing. He will die.”
“He may die with the bloodletting.” Annalise straightened her back. “But whether he lives or dies is in God’s hands. We will not do the procedure again.”
Dr. Samples put the tubes back into his black bag, snapped it closed, and stood. “If that is what you wish.”
He leveled his gaze at Annalise and she nearly changed her mind at the disapproving look on his face. If Christian should die . . . His pale face against the pillow strengthened her resolve. Th
e bloodletting treatments were doing no good.
“That is what we both wish.”
“I can offer you more bottles of my tonic. That will certainly help him.”
Annalise suppressed a shudder. The first bottle she had bought from the doctor at his urging smelled so strongly of turpentine that she couldn’t force herself to give it to Christian.
“No, thank you. We have enough.”
“Well then.” The doctor gazed down at Christian, then moved toward the door. “Send someone for me if you need my services again.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Annalise followed him out to the kitchen where she put a two-bit piece in the man’s outstretched hand.
She closed the door behind him and leaned against it. She had just turned away the only help she knew of, except to pray. And yet her prayers had brought no changes other than Christian’s gradual weakening. And when he died—
She stopped herself. She wouldn’t think about death. Not yet. Not until Christian took his last breath.
10
On Sunday morning Mamm had her woven hamper on the table when Naomi came out to help prepare breakfast.
“You must be taking food to the Yoders today.” Naomi laid plates on the opposite end of the long table for the family’s meal.
“Annalise needs all of our help,” Mamm said as she laid three loaves of the bread she had baked yesterday on top of the nearly full basket. “With her family to take care of and Christian—” She bit her lip as she sank onto the bench.
Naomi gave Mamm a hug. “Christian can still recover. We don’t know what God has planned.”
“Ja, ja, ja.” Mamm nodded and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “But sometimes it is God’s will that one of his faithful ones dies. It could be that Christian is facing his last days, and poor Annalise has already lost so much.”
“We will be able to help her with anything she needs. She knows that.”
Mamm cleared her throat and tucked a towel over the loaves of bread. “Ja, she knows, but it doesn’t take away the fear and the worry.” She paused, looking out the open door toward the barn. “I would be so lonely if something happened to your daed. I can’t imagine . . . poor Annalise . . .” She sniffed again and tucked the last corner of the towel into the basket.