Jan looked around the room. “And now we will go. We will leave this church rather than cause division and strife.”
“Stop!” The tiny voice, raised to its loudest, came from Heidi Veicht. The congregation lapsed into silence.
“I will be their live-in chaperone,” she said clearly into the silence. “I will testify to their behavior.” Norvald quickly repeated her words to Jan.
“Sit down, old woman,” Adolphe shouted. He pointed his finger at her and shook it. “A woman is not permitted to speak!”
“I will speak! You have made me a prisoner in my own home. I will no longer live with you.”
Adolphe strode to the front row and grabbed her by the arm. With his other hand he threatened to strike her.
Jan had seen enough. “Thou shalt honor thy father and mother,” Jan thundered. “Do you speak to your mother with such disrespect? Do you dare raise your hand to her? A man who strikes his mother is not fit to be a minister of God!”
Norvald stumbled at this, but duly repeated it. The congregation had already erupted, some shouting in Jan’s favor, some in Adolphe’s.
Heidi Veicht wrenched her arm from Adolphe’s grip and ran to Jan’s side. “Herr Thoresen, will you take me into your home?” She was trembling and reached out her hand to him. Jan grasped the elderly woman’s hand and pulled her to his side, understanding perfectly how frightened she was. Norvald looked from Heidi to Jan and then translated.
“Ja,” Jan answered. “You are welcome in our home, dear sister. Come with us.”
He lifted Kjell to his shoulder and led Heidi toward the door. Søren followed behind holding Little Karl and a sobbing Arnie by their hands; Amalie and Sigrün joined them.
“Where are you going with my mother?” Adolphe roared. “She is under my care and protection—she must obey me!”
Jan kept walking. Heidi clutched his hand and watched Adolphe, fear on her face. Jan handed her up into their wagon. Amalie appeared at his side and he handed her up also. All the children clambered into the wagon, even though the horses had not yet been hitched to it.
Adolphe called to his elders. “This man is taking my mother unlawfully!” He strode toward Jan’s wagon with a reluctant posse behind him.
Jan stood between Adolphe and Heidi. Søren stood by him.
“You have no right to take this woman!” Adolphe shouted. “She is under my authority!”
“Nei,” Jan answered. “This woman is free. She may do as she chooses,” he declared.
Jan raised his voice to the congregation gathered around the wagon, “She has asked in front of all of you to be the live-in chaperone that Minister Veicht requires of us.”
He turned to Heidi, who was trembling on the wagon’s bench under Amalie’s arm. “Fru Veicht, do you consent to live with us and bear testimony to our behavior?” Norvald, from the crowd, called up to Heidi, translating for Jan.
“Ja, I do!” she stated clearly.
Then Norvald was beside Jan and Søren, between Adolphe and the wagon. Ivan and Henrik joined him. Another man from the congregation came alongside them.
Adolphe, his face burning with fury, spoke again, his voice less strident but loud enough for the people to hear. “Listen, then, all of you! This woman has chosen. She is no longer my mother and will no longer be received in my home or this church.”
He pointed at Jan. “Jan Thoresen, you are banned from fellowship with this church. Go! Do not show yourself here again.”
Without a word in reply, Jan and Søren strode to the bays and unhobbled them. They led the team to the wagon.
The row of men between Adolphe and Heidi had grown. Several of them came forward to help Jan hitch the horses to the wagon. As Jan mounted the wagon and took the reins, Norvald shook his hand.
“Our fellowship is unbroken. The Lord bless you,” he said loudly, first in Swedish, then in German. Norvald called to his family and began to hitch his team to his wagon.
He was followed by a phalanx of men, each shaking Jan’s hand and repeating Norvald’s words. “Our fellowship is unbroken. The Lord bless you.”
“Norvald Bruntrüllsen!” Adolphe called loudly, a threat in his voice. “If you leave, you may not come back!”
Norvald nodded. “I understand.” He stood up in his wagon and addressed the people.
“I have erred. I confess, here and now, that I have not been obedient to the Lord. He spoke to me many months ago to say to this congregation—where is the grace and love that Tomas taught of from the Scriptures? This church was founded on the whole counsel of God’s word.
“The word brought by Adolphe is unbalanced. The Bible says, For the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ. Adolphe has taught only law—and my soul is starving for the truth and grace of Jesus!
“I am leaving to seek the Lord for another minister. Until he provides, I will hold services in my barn every Sunday. If you wish to join me, you are welcome.”
In the silence following Norvald’s speech, a few men began harnessing their wagons while others followed Adolphe back into the meeting house.
Jan called to the team and they trotted out of the yard onto the dirt road. His and Adolphe’s heated words rang in Jan’s head during the drive home.
O Lord, my heart is breaking! Such strife and division is not of your Holy Spirit! he grieved. What of the little ones? They will be tainted with our discord, discouraged from following you. O Father, I would not be part of harming your little ones! He was sobbing and could not stop himself. Heidi and Amalie wept with him.
In the back of the wagon Sigrün buried her face in Søren’s shirt and the three little boys huddled in his lap, seeking comfort from the storm of emotions. Søren, his young face set in hard lines, wiped his face, tears of rage and humiliation running down his cheeks.
Jan and Søren unhitched the team, rubbed them down, and released them into the paddock in silence. Jan could not miss the anger on Søren’s face—it was written in a red, seething frown.
“Sønn, let us talk,” Jan was weary beyond measure as he sat on the barn’s bench. Søren reluctantly took a seat next to him, keeping his face turned away.
“I would not have you subjected to what happened at church today,” Jan said softly. “It was an evil thing.”
“Ja,” Søren spat back. “Minister Veicht is an evil man!”
Jan shook his head, the conviction in his spirit growing. The Holy Spirit has been warning me for weeks of this coming confrontation, yet instead of resolving it in private, my heart desired to vindicate itself in public. How much harm has my wicked, pride-filled heart caused?
“Nei; that is not what I meant, Sønn,” Jan replied, choosing his words with care. “What happened—the public strife and quarreling—that is the evil of which I am speaking. I should have resolved this issue in private with just the elders and Minister Veicht.”
Puzzlement joined anger on Søren’s furrowed brow. Jan looked away and tried to explain.
“Jesus said the church is his body on earth—and that the world would know we are his disciples by the love we have for one another. What do you think our Savior would think of what happened today within our church?”
“He would not like what Minister Veicht said!” Søren answered quickly.
“I agree. What he said was not true. But how I respond to such an accusation is just as important—”
“You said nothing wrong!” Søren retorted. “Even when he called you a liar!”
“Søren, listen to me. Do not interrupt me again, ja?” Jan stared at Søren until the boy reluctantly nodded.
“The Bible tells us that, wherever possible, disagreements are to be handled peacefully. It says that mature Christians will work hard to keep the unity of the Holy Spirit in the bond of peace. In another place Scriften tells us that man’s anger does not produce God’s righteousness.
“Yes, Minister Veicht is wrong, but some of my words to him were spoken in anger and pride. What happened because of
my words? Because I spoke in anger, some of our friends have decided to leave and start a new church. The Bible calls this division—is Jesus’ body divided? Is this the love he spoke of?”
Jan stopped for a moment, wondering what the Lord would have him do to fix the damage his rashness had caused.
In the silence Søren spoke quietly. “Maybe there needs to be a new church, Pappa.”
With a start, Jan realized he agreed with Søren. “Ja, perhaps you are right. But the manner of our leaving is wrong, Sønn. It will create unforgiveness and bitterness on both sides. The Lord is grieved when our hearts are bitter. I will repent and ask him to show me what to do next.”
Jan slid to his knees and turned toward the bench. Søren knelt next to him. “Ah, Father,” Jan prayed aloud. “I have allowed my tongue to speak in anger—and what a fire has been kindled by my angry words! O Lord, I repent. I ask your forgiveness for my pride and brash deeds. Please speak to me and guide me! Show me how to make amends for the damage I have done to many hearts and to our church.” He prayed quietly for a long while and Søren prayed beside him.
They walked back to the house together, Jan’s arm about Søren’s shoulder. Jan’s heart was lighter, but he knew with certainty the Lord would require him to go to Adolphe and others and ask their forgiveness.
He shook his head. Whether or not his apology was accepted, he would humble himself and do as God directed.
~~**~~
Chapter 27
Jan and Søren found Amalie and Heidi seated at the kitchen table. Amalie was nursing the baby. “Heidi and I fed the boys and put them down for a nap,” Amalie said softly. “I know Little Karl is too old for naps, but Heidi wanted to talk to us alone. Even so, we will need Søren for Heidi to speak to us.” She gestured at her nephew. “But first, eat your dinner, eh?”
As Jan and Søren ate, Amalie told them she had settled Heidi in the downstairs bedroom—Jan and Elli’s room. It was the only logical place, Jan realized. Heidi was too old to be burdened with the climb upstairs and down.
Heidi watched Jan and Søren eat, her eyes clear and peaceful. Jan finished his meal, placed his arm on the table, and took Heidi’s hand in his.
“You are most welcome in our home, Søster Veicht,” he told her. “But I am sorry for the proud and angry words I spoke in church today. I am sorry for the strife they caused . . . and for the pain you must feel right now. I have asked God to forgive me—will you do the same?”
Heidi spoke for a minute, pressing Jan’s hand as she did. Søren nodded and repeated in Riksmaal.
“Frau Veicht says she thanks you for taking her into our home. She says she is only sorrowful that Adolphe may not allow her to see her grandsons as often as she would like. She says she has known all along that such a, a—” Søren struggled to find the right word.
“Confrontation?” Jan asked.
“Ja, confrontation,” Søren nodded his thanks. “That such a confrontation was coming because she has often heard Herr Veicht talking about you . . . and Aunt Amalie.”
Søren gulped and frowned, trying hard to again master the anger he had just released to the Lord. “And she says that God had already told her to ask you if she could come and be a—”
He looked at his father. “What is the word you used in church, Pappa? A live-in something.”
“Ah!” Jan nodded. “A live-in chaperone. A trusted witness to attest that nothing wrong is happening.”
Søren was old enough to understand but still he asked, “To say you sleep in the barn? Because you and Aunt Amalie are not married?”
Jan nodded again. “We do not believe the Lord wants us to marry, Sønn, but your Tante Amalie was my brother’s wife, so I will take care of her and your cousins.”
Jan mused for a moment. So Heidi had already felt the Lord leading her to come live with them? He turned the situation around in his mind, looking at it from all directions.
“Søren, please tell Frau Veicht that we are honored she would come to live with us, but . . . I am still grieved that my words have created a rift between her and her sønn.” Jan sighed and started to say something else when Heidi shook her head vigorously and spoke again.
“Frau Veicht, she says that you did not create the rift between her and her son. It was already there.” Heidi was nodding as Søren spoke.
Jan peered into Heidi’s honest face. “Is it so? What I am hoping you can tell us, dear lady, is why Adolphe hates me so. He has disliked me from the moment he met me—and I cannot understand why.”
“I can tell you,” she answered quietly. “It is because of whom you remind him.”
She shifted in her chair and sighed. “Tomas and I had been married for several years but we could not—I could not—have a baby. Many little ones I lost before they were ready to be born.”
“Ach!” Amalie said. She touched Heidi’s shoulder in sympathy.
“Danke, Amalie. We had a farm in Ohio then. A Czech family lived near us. They were nice people, good people. Just different than us, ja? But still good neighbors even though life had not been good to them. The father was often ill, the mother worn down with caring for him, their little son, and a new baby.
“Then the father died. Tomas and some other neighbors plowed and planted their fields that year. We all hoped to make a crop for the woman so that she would have money to return to her brother’s house back in their homeland. But it was not to be.
“Ah, dear Gott! First her husband died, then her baby, and then she, too, passed away, leaving their little boy an orphan. Tomas and I took him in. He was only three years old, and we had no way to return him to his uncle—we had not even a name or address.”
Heidi smiled when she remembered. “We called him Adolphe. Oh, he did not look like either of us with his dark hair and eyes, but we loved him so very much! Such a serious little boy he was. He followed Tomas everywhere he went, a quiet, sober little man, running after his new father, eager to help. Eager to be loved. We doted on him as if he were our flesh and blood. Nothing could ever change that! And yet . . .”
A long sigh escaped her. “When Adolphe was six, a miracle happened! I had a baby. A baby boy.”
Søren stopped, amazed, when he translated Heidi’s words. Jan and Amalie looked at each other.
“We did not know,” Amalie murmured.
“Ja, I know you did not,” Heidi answered quietly. “Not many of our friends remember. It was long ago now.” She seemed lost in her memories until Jan spoke.
“What happened?” he asked softly.
Heidi looked at Jan and smiled. “Such a sunny disposition and merry blue eyes our little Dieter had! Everyone loved him simply because he was so easy to love.
“But Adolphe . . . Adolphe was not as easy to love, you see. Many people mistook his quiet watchfulness as sullenness. And, not knowing the harm they were doing, people made comparisons between Adolphe and Dieter.
“Dieter is such a happy baby! they would remark. Dieter is so handsome, what with his blonde hair and blue eyes. It is too bad Adolphe is so dark, don’t you think? they would say. And later, when Dieter was older, they said, I do wish Adolphe had a more pleasing manner, don’t you? Like Dieter.”
Heidi looked at Amalie and Jan and tears stood in her eyes. “They had no idea how Adolphe was receiving their words. We did not know either, at first. But later . . . as Adolphe grew toward manhood and Dieter was still a boy . . . In his eagerness to be loved, Adolphe compared everything he did—and everything he was—only with Dieter.
“He just could not believe we loved him for himself. And so he would pounce on any perceived preference we showed for Dieter. I say ‘perceived,’ because Adolphe’s perceptions became skewed, twisted.
“I remember the first day Adolphe said to Tomas, I am the elder son. Just as in the Bible, I am to receive your blessing and the larger part of the inheritance. Well, that told us so much! He was a young man, but he was still trying to earn his father’s love and approval.
“To
mas had a long talk with Adolphe then. Afterwards we were sure that Adolphe understood. He married Rakel and, when we left Ohio and moved here, he began to farm his own land.”
Heidi tapped the table with a finger, remembering. “You know, I think that was the happiest I have ever seen Adolphe. He and Rakel worked hard and were well accepted by our tiny church when it began.
“For several years all was fine. Then Dieter married a lovely girl, Gretchen. They lived with us and Dieter farmed with his father. You see, by our customs the youngest son stays and inherits the father’s farm, not the eldest son.
“A year later Dieter and Gretchen had a baby boy. Another year after that they were blessed with another son.
“How we doted on our little grandsons! They were so precious to us. But Adolphe and Rakel had no children. After a while we could tell Adolphe began to be bothered by his old thoughts again. He felt that he and Rakel were on the outside looking in, that Dieter and his little ones had everything including all of our love.”
Heidi lifted her hand to Jan’s face and peered into his eyes. “You see, Herr Thoresen, you are so very like Dieter! You even look like him,” she said sadly. “I believe that is why Adolphe dislikes you so deeply. It is as though Dieter has come back—the people of our church so easily loving and respecting you. I believe that is why the bad thoughts Adolphe hid away have returned.”
She sighed. “Just as he was with Dieter, Adolphe wants to be more loved and respected than you, Jan. And the only way he knows to do that is to try to tear you down.”
Jan stared at Heidi. “What happened to Dieter, Heidi? Where are his sons?”
Heidi looked steadily at Jan, not speaking for several moments. “Dieter and our lovely daughter-in-law went for a drive one beautiful summer day. They left the little boys with us so they could enjoy the drive and the sunshine, just the two of them. When they had been gone many hours, we grew concerned. Tomas went to look for them.”
Jan could tell the memory was difficult for Heidi to speak of, but she did not flinch from it. “Something must have startled the horses because they ran off the edge of the bluff that runs along the river. It is perhaps a thirty-foot fall. Tomas could see the wagon, all broken in pieces, on the bank below.”
Wild Heart on the Prairie (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 20