From across the Saal, Marie Kunz let out a gasp when she saw her son in David’s arms. She started to cry as she rushed toward them.
“Mama?” the little boy asked shyly at first, and then a smile slid across his lips before he melted into her arms.
Susanna didn’t know whether to smile or cry. And so she did both.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hundreds of cream-colored tallow candles rested in baskets in the room below Bethlehem’s Saal. Susanna and a host of other sisters looped a red ribbon around each candle and tied the ribbon into a bow for the Christmas Eve service. She set the candle into a basket and reached for another one.
While her fingers worked rapidly, Susanna’s lips prayed that Samuel would hurry back to them soon and that he would bring back word of Catharine. She prayed for her friend’s safety even as the truth of the circumstances weighed on her.
If the men who had kidnapped her were anything like Howling Wolf and the earth didn’t shake like it had for their Brethren, then she hoped Catharine had gone home to be with their Savior. The children were safe now in Bethlehem, and she hoped the word spread among the hostile Indians about the quaking of the earth when Howling Wolf attempted to hurt their children.
Nathan was safe with Chief Langoma. Hopefully there would be no more reason for Howling Wolf to search for him.
She tied another ribbon around a candle as the women chattered around her. Juliana, who had been quietly sleeping in the corner of the room, stirred and began to cry. Susanna put down her ribbon and walked over to comfort her. She picked up the baby, bouncing her in her arms as she had done with her in Nazareth, but Juliana refused to be comforted.
Rebecca hurried toward them, her arms outstretched. “Let me try.”
Susanna reluctantly handed the baby to her friend, and immediately Juliana snuggled into her shoulder.
She sighed, realizing in that moment that she and Christian wouldn’t adopt either Nathan or Juliana. If Catharine didn’t return, Joseph and Rebecca would care for this baby.
She reached for her cloak and told the laboress that she needed some fresh air. The windows of the buildings and choir houses were lit by solitary candles that glowed against the darkness, and the doors were decorated with wire ornaments and wreaths colored with dried berries and beads.
She leaned back against the stone wall of the Gemeinhaus and watched the lights dance in the windows. She felt so helpless here in Bethlehem, tying ribbons while her friend was being held captive someplace far from here, probably waiting for them to find her. There was nothing she could do to rescue her friend except pray and wait. She was glad to pray, but the waiting was excruciating.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she felt the winter breeze on her face, and when she reopened her eyes, the glowing windows reminded her of the houses in her homeland as the people prepared for their Christmas festivities. Childhood memories flooded her, the smell of pinecones and gingerbread on Christmas morning, helping her mother prepare their dinner.
Christian was her only family now, and she hadn’t seen much of him since they had returned to Bethlehem. She missed walking with him through the wilderness, and she missed her hours around the fire with her Indian friends. She missed canoeing through the trees, and she missed hearing God in the quiet. And she missed Nathan, who cuddled to her chest instead of pushing her away.
She should be afraid of the Indians and what they could do, but still she wished she could return to Tanochtahe instead of remain here. Unless the war among the French and the British and the Indians ended soon, though, she didn’t know if or when the elders would allow them to return. It was one thing to be willing to be persecuted and die for the sake of the Gospel and a completely different thing to be sent into the face of persecution. She didn’t know if she could face what Catharine must be enduring.
In the lights, she turned and saw a man walking briskly toward her. She almost ran back into the Gemeinhaus, but then she recognized him.
Samuel had returned.
When he drew near, she could see that he suffered with the news he bore, and dread replaced any hope harbored in her heart.
They needed to know the truth, for the sake of their healing, for Juliana’s well-being, but she didn’t know if she was ready to hear it.
“I must speak with Christian,” he said.
She nodded. It was only right that Samuel speak to her husband first and allow him to be the messenger.
Time seemed to plod by as she waited outside the door for Christian to come for her. Part of her wanted to run all the way back to Marienborn, where the colonies were still a marvelous mystery, where she and Catharine dreamed of the day they would marry and begin life together with their husbands in the New World, she among the Indians and Catharine in the village. It was the anticipation of this new life that had driven her for so long, but now she had nothing but yards of ribbon to tie along with the memory of what might have been.
After many minutes had passed, Christian opened the door and guided her into the basement of the women’s house, to the kitchen. Ashes smoldered in the fireplace, and the room was warm. Too warm.
As she sat near the hearth, she wanted to cover her ears and pretend that Catharine was upstairs sewing in her bed and Elias was preparing to build a new mill. That they would all celebrate Christmas together this year.
Christian took her hands. “Samuel found out what happened to Catharine.”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“She was badly injured in Gnadenhutten and the Indians took her to a small settlement about thirty miles west.”
“Did he see her?”
He gently squeezed her hands, pulling them closer to her. “They had already buried her.”
She yanked her hands away, gulping the warm air. It was what she had expected, and yet it was still agonizing to hear. The Indians had hurt her friend and then they had killed her.
Standing, she began to pace the dirt floor, past the benches and tables and shelves packed with pans and dishes. Never again would she and Catharine eat dinner together or whisper to each other late at night. Never again would her friend join her in worship or make her laugh. Catharine had been slipping away from her for months, ever since she returned from their first journey to Gnadenhutten, but she’d hoped it was only a season, that Catharine would eventually thrive in their new home.
“They don’t know—” She stopped in front of him. “How do they know it was her?”
Christian lifted something off the bench, and she saw the brown bag that Catharine tied around her waist every morning. She’d never asked what was inside, and Catharine had never offered to tell her. “One of the Indian women gave Samuel this.”
Christian dumped the bag onto the table, and Susanna watched as a pile of gold coins cascaded down and flashed in the remaining light. Her friend had more wealth secured around her waist than Susanna could ever imagine. She could have left the Brethren at any time and yet she chose to remain among them.
He sat at one of the tables, his hands in his lap, as he watched her pace. “Samuel said it is much better that she went to be with the Savior than suffer at the hands of the hostile Indians.”
“How does he know she would have suffered?”
“She would have, Susanna, and if the Lord hadn’t called her home, it might have been years of torture at the hands of her enemy.”
When Susanna reached the wall, she turned and paced back toward Christian. She wanted to be glad, too, that Catharine was with their Savior. She didn’t want Catharine to suffer, but even as the others had mourned for her, she’d been harboring the hope that Samuel and the soldiers might be able to rescue her and bring her home. That in time she would heal and devote herself to her love for Juliana, like she’d devoted herself to Elias.
But her desires hadn’t aligned with the will of God.
As the shock of this news wore off, tears came quickly. Christian opened his arms, and she fell into them, her tears spilling out onto his coarse
shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” Christian whispered in her ear.
“She was supposed to come home, for Juliana’s sake.”
“She is home.”
“But why did He have to take her away from us?”
“I don’t know.” He rested his chin on her haube; her face was buried in his chest. “God’s will is often not our own.”
She knew the answer might never come, not until they joined Catharine in the presence of their Savior, but she didn’t know if she could wait that long. Her faith wavered like a flag in the wind, and she didn’t know how she could continue following a God who allowed those who served Him to suffer and die.
“Remember the earthquake, Susanna.”
She lifted her head and looked up into the compassion of her dear husband’s eyes. She’d never forget the earth trembling in the face of hatred, the terror across the faces of men who had terrorized so many others.
“He protected the children that day,”
She wiped her tears on her shawl. “But why does He allow some to suffer while others are saved?”
“It is not for us to question what God does or does not do.” His voice was tender in its truthfulness.
She sat down at the table beside her husband, his words tumbling in her mind. Was it wrong to question God, to ask why an all-powerful God allowed evil to trump His good? Never would she equate herself with God in her questioning, but relationships allowed for questions, for understanding.
“I think we can question, Christian, even if we do not understand.”
He considered her words. “Can you question without losing your faith?”
She knew God wanted the Indian nations to experience His mercy and forgiveness. It was the evil one who was bent on killing those who desired to share and experience this love. The enemy wanted revenge, not forgiveness. Death, not life. But the enemy didn’t know that removing life from a body only freed the soul to live with Christ forever. That it was a beginning, not the end.
Above all, she knew God was love.
“I can,” she said simply.
Then he smiled at her, and in his smile, she saw a glimpse of delight, as if he wanted her to question in faith.
The organ began playing nearby in the Gemeinhaus, calling them to evening worship, and he helped her to her feet. In her grief she would question why God had taken her friend, but her faith wouldn’t falter, even if He never gave her the answers.
Chapter Thirty-Four
A wooden pyramid stood at the front of the Saal, adorned with evergreen branches, candles, and tinsel sparkling in the candlelight. The women sat on the left side of the room for the love feast while the men sat opposite them.
The dieners served the basket of sweet buns, and Susanna savored the butter and cinnamon along with the mug of black coffee. Then the brothers and sisters sang a hymn about the Christ Child as another diener emerged with a glowing tray of red-ribboned candles.
When the diener handed Susanna a candle, she brushed her fingers over the strands of ribbon tied around its base. In spite of their grief, the candle and ribbons reminded them of Christ’s birth and the wounds He bore for them. In the midst of the darkness, He was the light of the world.
The elder read the story of Christ’s birth before the trombone choir, with four voices of the instrument blending together, played another song. In the dim light, Susanna looked up. When she found Christian’s face among the married men, he was looking her way.
As he mouthed the words again that he loved her, wax dripped onto her finger and she flinched. Even as the light in her hand flickered, the blaze inside her seemed to roar.
Those around her began blowing out their candles, but she held her light firmly in her hands.
“I love you,” she whispered back this time, and his face seemed to light up like his candle.
“Christ came to this earth as a child in order to die for our sins,” the elder read. “As a baby, He was predestined to suffer and die, and He did it for each of us.”
As Christian listened to the words, he wondered if somehow Catharine had been destined, as well, to suffer and die. Perhaps Susanna was right; perhaps it was all right to question why God did certain things. In the questioning, their faith could grow.
He had so much to learn from the Brethren around him, from the Indians, and, most of all, from his wife. His gaze wandered back across the room and he found his Susanna’s beautiful face again, her eyes closed as they worshipped their Savior in song. He loved that Susanna questioned him and questioned God. In the questioning, he prayed that God would bring them even closer together.
Seated on the bench next to Susanna, Rebecca held the Schmidts’ child, and the girl was content in her arms. When they found out about Catharine’s death, he worried that God would require him to raise this child as his own, as a reminder of his sin and perhaps how God used his weakness for good. But the lot had entrusted her care to Joseph and Rebecca.
Their Gnadenhutten friends were still among them, but he sensed their restlessness to return to the wilderness, to a place where they could worship their Savior in the midst of His creation. He understood their restlessness because he felt it as well. Here in Bethlehem it was safe—as secure a place as they could find without relocating to Philadelphia. Their days were perfectly ordered, and he had been assigned to help teach at the boys’ school until the fighting subsided.
Like their Indian friends, he longed for the wilderness as well, to be with Chief Langoma and his people, to help them stay strong against those who insisted they fight. The day he and Susanna had spent with them was just a taste of what he wanted to do. He wanted to teach and baptize, and as he grew in his own faith, he wanted to lead them as well. Together, he and Susanna could learn and teach and serve the Indians who wanted to follow their Savior.
And he loved the idea of them doing this together.
David began to play and Christian joined the singing, rejoicing with the angels in Christ’s birth in Bethlehem; when the service ended, he filed toward the door with the other men. David stopped him.
“Merry Christmas to you, my friend.”
“And a merry Christmas to you.”
David put his hand on Christian’s shoulder, whispering, “When was the last time you and your lovely wife were alone?”
The question stunned Christian for a moment, and then he thought back to the tangled weeds in the forest. “We paddled a canoe together to Tanochtahe.”
David’s eyes twinkled. “That’s not what I meant.”
Christian knew what the man meant, but he wasn’t going to tell him about their time along the river. And he was too embarrassed to say that their last time in the bedchamber had been back in April when he returned from his mission.
He cleared his throat. “It’s been a long time.”
David grinned again. “That’s what I thought.”
David slipped something into Christian’s hand, and he looked down at a clunky iron key. He clasped his fingers around it.
Several brothers remained in the Saal, so Christian whispered, “The bedchamber?”
David shook his head and pointed to the ceiling. “The attic.”
Christian glanced down at the key again.
David put his hand on Christian’s shoulder, leaning toward him. “There happens to be a bed up there.”
“How would you know?”
David threw both hands into the air. “Just a rumor I’ve heard.”
Christian clenched the key in his palm. It had been so long since he and Susanna were together in a bedchamber, and even then they had never really been together. Was it possible that they could really steal away, in a place without rattlesnakes or threatening Indians or even babies to care for? If he went, would Susanna join him?
Leaning back against the wall, he thought of their time together along the river, her timidity along with her willingness to love him. Perhaps she would meet him.
“I can’t get Susanna from her dormitory.”<
br />
“You don’t have to,” David said. “She’s waiting for you.”
Christian took a step toward the door, and then he turned and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
“It was Marie’s idea.”
He turned again toward the door, but this time David stopped him. And then he pointed to the front of the building. “The stairs are over there.”
Susanna waited by a locked door in the attic, clutching a candleholder with one of the ribboned tallow candles from the love feast. The flame trembled in sync with her hands as she waited for her husband.
She leaned back against the door. Marie didn’t tell her why Christian had requested her presence in this forgotten hallway, and it worried her. Did he want to speak with her again, or did he—was it possible that he wanted something else from her?
The flames danced with her breath, the memory of their time on the Lehigh as sweet as the taste of tonight’s rolls. Their time at the river was before their mostly tidy world seemed to crash down around them, before sorrow soured their bellies like bitter herbs.
Tonight was a taste of the sweet and the sorrow alike, of the joy of their Savior’s birth even with the knowledge of the suffering that lay ahead for Him. She hadn’t thought she would be able to celebrate the birth of their Savior tonight, but the beauty of the singing, the taste of the sweet buns and coffee, reminded her that God defeated the enemy and that love would ultimately win. Somehow it was possible for the grief and love to coexist, even for love to thrive in the midst of the pain.
More than a year and a half had passed since she had wed Christian at Marienborn. A year and a half of desire and heartache. Bitterness and forgiveness. A year and a half of pursuing hope and healing wounds.
In the past months, she and Christian had become one in spirit and mind, protecting the refugee families and Nathan. They had also shared their desire to demonstrate Christ’s love and forgiveness, the forgiveness that had changed their lives, to the Indians.
Love Finds You in Nazareth, Pennsylvania Page 25