Holding a Tender Heart

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “I thought you might have missed your beauty sleep worrying about me.” Paul smiled.

  He’d obviously just warmed up on the first round, Debbie realized. She wanted to shoot something smart back at him, like I’d forgotten you existed or What did you say your name was? but that would only make things worse. She smiled sweetly instead and said, “Are you saying I need more beauty sleep?”

  “Oh, now that was gut!” came from several of the young men in line. One of them added, “That’s giving it back.”

  They all looked pleased at Debbie’s retort. Apparently not many Amish girls dared give Paul back what he dished out.

  Debbie decided she’d need to remember that in the future.

  Paul just grinned as the others chuckled around him. They all knew she’d bested him at his own game.

  She had to admit Paul recovered himself well.

  Before either of them could interact more, the food line moved forward. Debbie filled her plate from one side of the table, and Paul stood across from her and piled food on his plate. He paused and asked conversationally, “How’s life at the Beilers’ place going?”

  Debbie stole a glance at his face. He appeared serious enough, and the teasing look was gone. Maybe Paul did know how to carry on a decent conversation. “I love it,” she said. “They’re the most wonderful people.”

  Paul caught sight of Verna standing behind Debbie. He quipped, “I heard the bishop’s daughters are all top of the line. So you’re in gut company, I’d say.”

  “You don’t have to waste your words on me,” Verna shot back.

  Paul laughed and slapped his free hand on his chest. “She wounds my soul. There’s nothing like the barb of a bishop’s daughter to tear the heart to pieces.”

  Verna joined in the laughter with everyone around her, but Debbie sensed a sadness about her eyes. Her state as a bishop’s daughter wasn’t exactly an accomplishment in Verna’s estimation. Not with what she’d gone through already.

  Debbie turned to give Verna a sympathetic look as they left the food table. Dear God, Debbie prayed silently, help Verna’s heart heal from her hurt. Allow Joe to see what a wonderful person she really is. She turned and headed toward the kitchen doorway but stopped short at the sight of Alvin still in the line. Her abrupt halt sent a splash of gravy on her plate into the air. It landed with a soft splat on the hardwood floor. Behind her, Verna gasped. Debbie groaned. What a clumsy move—and at her first Amish Sunday-evening supper and hymn singing! First impressions were hard to overcome. Now she’d always be the “gravy spiller” in the eyes of the people here…or perhaps even worse. The gravy had landed not a foot from Alvin’s black shoes.

  Alvin had rushed forward and was on his knees wiping up the dark liquid with a towel someone had handed him. Amish people were the model of efficiency, Debbie thought as she set her plate aside. She protested, “Here, Alvin, give me the towel and let me clean that up.”

  He glanced up with a shy look. “I’ve just about got it.”

  “I can finish. Please, it was my fault.”

  He surrendered the towel, and stood up. Debbie dropped down and wiped up the remainder of the gravy before she glanced up at him. “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

  “It happens to everyone,” he said and moved on with the food line.

  Surely Alvin didn’t despise her? His smile had been weak but genuine enough. And he didn’t seem like a person who faked things. Not like Paul. And he had helped her.

  “Here, I’ll take the towel.” Verna’s voice interrupted Debbie’s thoughts. “And get up off the floor. We’re holding up traffic.”

  Debbie handed Verna the towel and scrambled to one side before she stood. That wasn’t the smartest action either. She shouldn’t scoot sideways like a crab. The older girls who were going past gave her kind looks. One of them even asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Debbie whispered as she retrieved her plate. She waited a second for Verna to return from where she’d dropped off the towel. One thing she could be thankful for—Henry Yoder hadn’t been around to witness this debacle. Where he’d gone, she hadn’t noticed, but he would have waved his arms around, no doubt, and added to her discomfort.

  She glanced back and saw Alvin staring at Paul, who was deep in laughter at some joke. The thought raced through Debbie’s mind that Alvin must have seen the exchange between Paul and her earlier. Their words and laughter had been perfectly harmless, but they might not appear so to Alvin. He didn’t come from her world where young men and young women freely conversed without significance attached. And Alvin knew of Paul’s reputation. No doubt it looked as if she were the latest in a long list of Paul’s conquests.

  But none of that was true. Debbie had simply been herself when confronted by a man of Paul’s nature. She wanted to rush after Alvin and explain. She wanted to tell him that he had no need for worry, that she found him a whole lot more attractive than Paul. But with Amish people, that would likely be the wrong approach. Women didn’t assert themselves in such a fashion. No, she would have to exercise traits she hadn’t known much of in her life—patience, prayer, and submission to the will of God. Here these were needed in strong doses.

  “Are you all right?” Verna asked, as she appeared in front of Debbie.

  Debbie sighed. “I guess so.”

  Verna appeared amused. “It wasn’t that bad, Debbie. Don’t look like you’ve lost your best friend over a little accident. It could have happened to anyone.”

  It’s Alvin, not the gravy, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. Some things were best left unsaid. She followed Verna to the table for the older, unmarried girls. After they sat down, Debbie took a few bites and glanced around. Another thought occurred to her. She hadn’t seen Joe all evening.

  Debbie leaned toward Verna. “Where’s Joe?”

  Quickly tears sprang to Verna’s eyes, but she brushed them away. “He’s coming later…I hope.”

  “Oh, Verna!” Debbie said, watching as Verna struggled to keep her emotions in check. What could this mean? Why wasn’t Joe here? It had to be pretty serious from the little Debbie knew about church attendance. But maybe Verna was right, and Joe would come later. She reached under the table to give Verna’s hand a quick squeeze, and her friend rewarded her with a grateful smile.

  Ida and Lois, who were with another group of girls across the room, came over when they were finished eating. They pulled chairs up behind Verna and Debbie.

  “That was so hilarious!” Lois teased. “Your spilling gravy across the floor, I mean. I thought I’d never stop laughing.”

  Debbie glared at her. “Embarrassing, that’s what it was. And you can stop laughing.”

  “I saw Alvin rush to your rescue,” Ida said. “Is there something you want to tell us?”

  Debbie tried to keep the heat from her face. “That’s only because I almost covered his pant legs and shoes with slimy gravy.”

  “That’s right!” Lois tried to control her giggles. “And Alvin rushed right out of line…”

  “Girls, come on!” Verna spoke up. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

  Ida gave Debbie a quick glance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

  Maybe it was dishonest of her, but Debbie couldn’t admit her attraction to Alvin right here in front of everyone. Yet if she left Ida under the wrong impression, that wasn’t an option either. Good old Amish honesty had apparently taken hold of her conscience.

  Neither Verna nor Lois appeared to have noticed her silence. They talked on about Joe’s absence and Verna’s hope that he would soon arrive. Ida, though, had noticed Debbie’s hesitation. She waited with an expectant look.

  “There is something to it,” Debbie finally whispered in Ida’s ear. “I…”

  Ida squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to say anything more, Debbie. I understand. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thank you,” Debbie croaked out.

  Lois glanced at t
hem. “What are you two whispering about?”

  “Secrets.” Ida smiled sweetly.

  “Then you have to tell me!” Lois demanded.

  Ida settled into a painful silence. It was up to Debbie to throw Lois off the scent. She leaned toward Lois and whispered, “I think Alvin Knepp is cute.”

  Lois giggled. “Then you ought to swoon with all the attention Paul shows you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll leave him for you,” Debbie teased.

  Lois laughed and appeared satisfied.

  Ida sent Debbie a grateful look as Henry Yoder made his appearance, once again his arms waving. “Okay! It’s time to get busy. If the girls will get started on the dishes, the boys can help me set up benches in here.”

  Loud hollers of “We’re already busy” came from the boys’ side of the table, followed by some smart aleck who produced even louder laughter with his remark, “I think the boys should manage the kitchen.”

  One of the girls retorted, “You wouldn’t know how to wash a plate, let alone show someone else how.”

  Debbie joined in the laughter as everyone got to their feet. She followed the Beiler girls out to the kitchen. With the large number of girls present, they could hardly fit into the room, let alone all find work. Debbie managed to grab one plate and dry it with the tail end of a towel Lois had in her hand. They leaned against each other and gave in to the giggles. No one noticed in the press of the crowd. The stress of her first full day of Amish church services had gotten to her, Debbie told herself.

  The work was almost completed when Henry appeared again. “Time to get going, girls! Almost seven-thirty.”

  The crowd began to move, and Debbie stayed close to Lois as they filed into the reordered living room. The benches had been set up again in close imitation of the morning’s church service positions, this time with one aisle down the middle. On one side the unmarried boys were already seated, facing the unmarried girls. Debbie rushed toward the back and found a seat still empty in the third row. If she’d sat on the front bench where Paul could watch her unhindered, that would have been a little much, though most of the other girls didn’t seem to mind the seats further up. She would get used to this eventually, she told herself. One couldn’t hide out in the third row forever.

  Debbie snuck a glance between the shoulders of the girls in front of her. Sure enough, Paul was looking her way. She gave him a sweet smile. That probably wasn’t very wise, she thought, but she figured he deserved the same medicine he dished out. It might confuse him or make him grow up. Debbie glanced further down the rows of unmarried men, but there was no sign of Joe. Poor Verna! Her heart would bleed tonight. She must remember to give her friend an extra-tight hug once they arrived home.

  Debbie’s attention was brought back to the hymn singing when someone hollered out a number from the front row of the boys’ section. The singing began at once. These were faster tunes, she noticed, and she joined in as much as she could. She would enjoy every moment of the evening with such beautiful melodies. Indeed, this day had been a blessed one. It wouldn’t be long now until she found her place fully among these wonderful people.

  Nineteen

  Almost three weeks later, on a Saturday morning, the first day of summer heat had moved in. Bishop Beiler stood in the barn and threw the harness on Milo. His face was drawn in grim lines. The report he’d heard last Sunday from Deacon Mast hadn’t been good, and he’d dreaded this trip all week. He should have gone to visit Henry Yoder on Monday night, but he had put it off until the last minute. Perhaps some vain hope still floated around in his heart that Deacon Mast’s buggy would appear at any moment with news that this trip wouldn’t be necessary.

  But that hadn’t happened. The matter with Henry was beyond Deacon Mast’s duties anyway. The deacon usually spoke with erring members who had committed first transgressions and perhaps a second. When the problem persisted, as it did in Henry’s case, this added great gravity to the matter so the bishop must get involved.

  Bishop Beiler groaned at the thought. Why was the man so stubborn? After the stern warning given at Henry’s last confession, surely he would have learned. But that apparently wasn’t the case. At least not with the account Deacon Mast had given at the last Sunday-morning minister’s meeting. Henry Yoder had moved well beyond using his neighbor’s tractor for field work. It was said that he’d purchased a tractor for himself—a tractor with rubber tires still mounted on it.

  Deacon Mast claimed a solid report had come in on the matter from a very reliable source. After he’d heard who had given the report, Bishop Beiler agreed. Amos Shirk’s wife, Rhonda, rarely got things wrong. The woman had the sharpest eyes in the community when it came to Ordnung transgressors. She also had the close ear of Deacon Mast since she was his aunt. Coupled with the stable constitution of her husband, Amos, who made sure Rhonda kept a level head on herself, any report coming from the Shirk household rarely proved false. And Rhonda said she’d come home late one night from town and saw Henry cutting his hay with his new rubber-tired tractor.

  Bishop Beiler sighed. And here he’d thought things were going so well these past few weeks. The Englisha girl, Debbie, had settled in and was now attending the services on Sundays—and wearing Amish dress at that. The rest of the time Debbie wore Englisha clothing and her car still sat behind the barn at night. Those weren’t gut things, but Debbie had brought a great peace to the household by the influence she had on Lois. There could be no other explanation for Lois’s change of attitude. It had been more than two weeks now since she’d said anything about her desire to jump the fence into the awful world that lay out there.

  One could almost call the past few weeks peaceful, Bishop Beiler thought as he pushed open the barn door. A bishop’s life was never quite at that state; there was always some wrong that stirred or was about to. Though he might have become a little jumpy in his years as bishop, Adam was reminded by his frau often that “Da Hah will take care of things.” Saloma would say, “Isn’t that what you preach Sundays in your sermons?”

  Yah, he admitted to himself. It was so. But the practice of a thing was always harder than it was to preach it, and right now everything appeared a burden. Perhaps if he got this Yoder matter off his mind, the next Sunday services would be a joy instead of further dread. But what if all that was said about Henry were true? Or even worse, what if it were true and Henry refused to repent? The bishop would only have a bad report to give at the next ministers’ meeting, which would mean more talk, a late start to the church service, and things would get worse from there. Bishop Beiler jerked on the halter, signaling Milo to move forward through the barn door. Why couldn’t people stay inside the fence established by the Ordnung? Instead they saw supposedly greener blades of grass on the other side. This grass always proved to be the same old grass that grew inside the fence. The bishop had preached and preached this truth, and everyone agreed in theory. But then it happened again. He supposed if it hadn’t been Henry this time, someone else would have taken it on him- or herself to cause trouble.

  Bishop Beiler hitched Milo to the buggy and drove out of the driveway. Saloma appeared for a brief moment in the doorway and gave him a little wave. He waved back. She was a gut frau, there was no doubt about that. He couldn’t carry this load without her. But then Da Hah never gave a burden without the means to bear it. He would have to keep this in mind when it came to Henry Yoder.

  Milo’s hooves set up a steady clip on the road, and a dark cloud settled over Bishop Beiler’s mind as he drove along. He’d known it was there for some time, but it was the drive over to the Yoders’ place that made it seem worse. And then there was Verna’s continued trouble with Joe Weaver. His daughter still mourned the boy’s leaving. Her fear that Joe would never come back was unfounded, he told himself. He’d made it clear that Verna had no hand in the disclosure of the driving transgression. Surely Joe was just taking his time about the matter. And that showed depth of character in the bishop’s opinion.

  This
wasn’t Verna’s opinion, though. He did declare, that girl moped around the house on Sundays in an almost indecent manner. Before long he would have to speak with her again about it, but so far his heart wasn’t in the rebuke. He’d been partly to blame about this trouble. Well, Henry Yoder and himself.

  Maybe the entire situation had only shown Joe what it would be like to marry into a bishop’s family. He might have second thoughts about marriage into a family that had to place church work above other considerations.

  Bishop Beiler gently slapped the reins against Milo’s back, encouraging him on. Joe Weaver wasn’t that great a loss, but that wasn’t something a father told his daughter when she was still grieving over the situation. Joe wasn’t that bad a choice as a son-in-law either. His former girlfriend, Rosy, obviously had some complaint against him, but the bishop had never been able to find out exactly what. Maybe the girl simply found a better option in someone else. And that was what he wished Verna would do. But she clearly had no plans other than Joe, so he’d better work with the girl if he could. And it was true what Verna had said. She was over twenty-four now, and every month her chances of marriage to a decent man in their community dwindled. And Ida was in much the same shape, but she didn’t seem as worried.

  On the other hand, either girl might succeed with one of the community’s widowers in the years ahead. That wasn’t a bad option. He would actually prefer it over a greenhorn who had never been married. But most young women didn’t look at things that way. They wanted a man’s heart first, rather than get one secondhand. And he couldn’t blame them for the sentiment. Saloma likely had been of the same mind.

  The bishop neared Henry’s place, and Milo neighed to several of his horses grazing in the field. The sound brought the bishop out of his thoughts. He tightened the reins and steered the buggy into the driveway. Henry’s smiling face appeared in the barn doorway before Milo came to a stop.