Miriam and her other two girls joined them a few minutes later. Rachel settled on the sofa beside her sister, while Miriam chose the upholstered armchair with the ottoman and Rebecca slipped into the beautiful carved, cane-seated rocking chair beside him. Ben smiled at the way this comfortable room wrapped its arms around them. The glow of the two flickering lamps colored everything with a softness he missed while he traveled in his wagon.
Rhoda cleared her throat. “I picked a Psalm for tonight—one of the first ones Rachel and I set to memory when we were kids. I liked it then because it was about makin’ noise,” she added with a chuckle, “but while we were at the table laughin’ together, the passage came back to me, on account of how joyful we were.”
She glanced down at the page, but it was merely a formality; soon they were all saying the words silently as Rhoda recited Psalm 100. “‘Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness; come before His presence with singin’.’”
And indeed Ben’s heart was singing. When he glanced at Miriam, the depth of her soulful brown eyes drew him in until they were mouthing the familiar words to each other. “‘Enter into His gates with thanksgivin’ and into His courts with praise; be thankful unto Him and bless His name.’”
As they came to the end of the Psalm, with the promise of God’s mercy and truth enduring for every one of them, Ben closed his eyes in gratitude. Surely, Lord, You’re tellin’ me this is where I belong. But Ya know what a change it’ll be for me, settin’ down roots . . . and I ask Ya to guide me. I don’t want to mislead this fine woman or break her heart.
“Denki for sharin’ that, Rhoda,” Miriam murmured. “It’s gut to be reminded of whose sheep we are, and that we’re in God’s constant care—even when the bishop seems to have his own ideas about how things should be.” She smiled at Ben then. “And I’m at peace with Ben’s bringin’ his brothers here to build a mill. I think your dat would’ve been pleased about puttin’ that land to gut use, too.”
What better benediction did he need? Ben rose from his chair. “I’ll give my brother Luke a call before I turn in for the night. Soon as I hear back about their decision, I’ll let ya know—and denki for a wonderful-gut evenin’. It’s a blessin’ to be included here amongst ya.”
Chapter 17
The next week and a half before the wedding sped by for Miriam. She was filling orders for several homecoming events at nearby colleges, so she felt grateful that Naomi, the Schrocks, and Lydia Zook were taking charge of the wedding meal. Ben was finishing the farrier work he’d promised to nearly every family in Willow Ridge, so she didn’t see as much of him as before. Had he called Polly Petersheim, or at least taken her phone number? That piece of paper was no longer in the phone shanty.
She felt a little blue when Ben was ready to leave for Pennsylvania, the Saturday before Rachel’s wedding. He’d hired a local driver, Englisher Gregg Hatch, to take him back to Lancaster so he could return to Missouri with his brothers and their belongings. Along about two thirty, after the café had closed, Ben slipped into the kitchen with his duffel bag. His smile seemed as hesitant as the one she felt on her own face.
“Sure appreciate you keepin’ Pharaoh while I’m away,” he murmured. “If it all goes like clockwork, I’ll be back with Luke and Ira by Wednesday mornin’. Lookin’ forward to the wedding on Thursday, ya know.”
Miriam smiled, wiping her hands . . . or was she grabbing her towel to keep from clutching at Ben? “It’ll be gut to have your brothers here—and to have ya back, Ben,” she added quietly. “We’ll keep ya in our prayers for a safe journey.”
A horn beeped outside as Gregg’s van pulled up. When Miriam went to fetch the bakery box she’d set aside for him, Ben was right behind her. He turned her in his arms, kissing her full on the mouth. “I love ya, Miriam,” he murmured. “Not even gone yet and already I miss ya. Take care while I’m gone.”
He snatched the white box and headed for the door without looking back, as though he felt just as bereft as she did. Miriam waved to Gregg from the café door and then watched the white van disappear down the county blacktop.
When she turned, Mary Schrock was standing in the doorway between their two shops, where the shared restroom was. “So Ben’s off to Lancaster, is he? Pretty excitin’ to know he’ll be back with a whole new family business for Willow Ridge.”
“Jah,” Miriam agreed. She blinked back unexpected tears—chalked them up to the wedding being so close now—and returned to the haven of her kitchen. “Ira and Luke are supposed to have all their seed stock loaded, along with their clothes and everythin’ else they’re bringin’, by the time Ben gets there,” she said. “They’re gonna put it all in a long livestock trailer so they can bring a few horses, too. I guess their driver’s got a big pickup.”
“It’s quite a move for them, halfway across the country. But then, younger fellas think of that as an adventure.” Mary joined her in the kitchen, taking up a towel to dry the few dishes in the drainer. “So where do they figure to live once they get here? If they need rooms, Zeb and I have some to spare.”
“They’re gonna bunk with Ben above the smithy for now,” Miriam replied. “Rachel’s invited Rhoda and me to live at the main house for a while, like maybe that feels more comfortable to her until she and Micah get used to each other.”
“That won’t take long! They’ve known each other all their lives.”
Miriam smiled. Mary had married her Zeb even before Jesse had brought Miriam to this homeplace as his bride, so her Mennonite friend had long ago forgotten how strange it felt to be living with a man for the first time. “Rachel’s mighty close to Rhoda. It’ll be different for her, answerin’ to Micah’s needs instead of havin’ her mother and sister to take up where she leaves off,” she remarked. “But she’ll be workin’ here for a while yet. At least until the kids start comin’.”
Mary smiled, gazing around the kitchen. “Priscilla and Eva are mighty excited to be helpin’ with the wedding dinner. We haven’t had one of those in Willow Ridge for a while.” Her expression turned speculative. “Of course, they see Ben Hooley comin’ and goin’ and they predict we’ll be havin’ another wedding not so long from now,” she said with a sparkle in her eye.
Miriam couldn’t help smiling. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” she hedged. “Ben’s got a lot to do, helpin’ his brothers set up their new mill—”
“He’s awful nice, Miriam. All of us wish ya the best.” Mary hung up the tea towel and smiled at her. “If there’s anythin’ at all we can do—”
“Oh, it’s plenty enough that you’re pitchin’ in on the food and the servin’ for us.” Miriam waved as Mary went back over to the quilt shop. When the silence of the bakery’s kitchen settled over her, however, she immediately wondered how Ben was. Were he and Gregg finding things to talk about? The drive would take them better than fifteen hours, all told.
And why are ya worried about that? Ben can talk to anybody. What ya really want to know is whether Polly Petersheim is watchin’ for him, hopin’ he’ll take up where they left off before she married that other fella.
The phone jangled, making her jump—and wasn’t that silly? Miriam sensed she was making more of Polly’s call than she should. As she stepped out the back door she reminded herself that it was Hiram who’d set that whole ball of wax to rolling. If he hadn’t contacted Polly, she wouldn’t be any the wiser about Ben’s working in Missouri now. Miriam got to the phone just before the message machine kicked in.
“Jah, this is the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café, and this is Miriam,” she said in her usual phone voice. “How can I help ya today?”
“Well, I’m wonderin’ why Ben Hooley hasn’t called me yet. Ya did give him my number?” the woman on the phone demanded.
Miriam closed her eyes, willing herself to remain cool and detached. “So this is Polly Petersheim, is it?” she asked quietly.
“Well, jah! Who else would it be?”
Oh, but she wa
nted to blurt a few random female names! But it was best not to take the bait . . . best to listen and learn what she could about this woman Ben Hooley had almost married. “This is my bakery and café,” Miriam answered politely. “I confirm my callers’ names out of habit, takin’ orders for caterin’ and cakes and what-all. And jah, I left your number for Ben. What he did with it is his business, ain’t so?”
“So is he there? Can I talk to him?”
Miriam scowled. Such a tone this woman had in her voice today . . . not sounding nearly so chatty or nice-as-pie as she was last week. “No, I’m sorry, ya can’t. He’s—”
“Tell him I called then, will ya? I’ll try him again later.” Click.
Miriam gaped at the receiver before she hung up. She hadn’t figured the mill was a topic of conversation to share with Polly, even before she got so snippy. But she’d almost asked if Hiram Knepp had called her again.
Not that it mattered. Miriam was far more interested in whether Hiram would be confessing his website sins after the church service tomorrow. While it was wrong to hope their bishop would receive the same sort of penance he’d dished out to her, the congregation would have plenty to say about his recent behavior. And she was mentally preparing herself for whatever Hiram Knepp might do now that Ben was headed to Pennsylvania.
Miriam sighed and closed the kitchen door behind her. She needed to hear her girls chattering as they sewed their new blue dresses for next Thursday’s wedding. They were also making a matching dress for Rebecca, who wanted to dress Plain for this occasion, even if she wasn’t in the wedding party.
On her way up the lane toward the house, Miriam paused in front of the smithy. Ben’s wagon was parked beside it, but otherwise it remained the same—at least on the outside—as when Jesse had been alive. Inside, of course, the upstairs was a totally different place . . . a new home and a new beginning for her and Rhoda once Rachel married, and once the Hooley brothers were housed elsewhere.
And isn’t it the same for you? Hasn’t a change been happenin’ inside ya for a while now? Ben Hooley has shown up to take that change farther along. Most everybody thinks he’s gut for ya, so it’s best not to worry about what that Polly Petersheim wants! God’s gonna take care of all the details.
And no matter what happened with Hiram or Ben, she had her family—and she had her faith in Jesus. And for that she was ever so thankful.
Miriam headed toward the house with hope in her heart, ready to rejoice in new blue dresses and the girls who would look so precious and heartbreakingly lovely in them. Now there was a vision for her to get by on until Ben returned!
Sunday morning, as Miriam sat beside her sister Leah, she felt the thrum of curiosity in the women who had packed themselves closely into the pew benches: Would Hiram call a members’ meeting? And would he come before them to confess about his photograph on the website, or to admit he’d displayed arrogance that defied the humility called for in the Ordnung?
Willow Ridge was a small, tightly woven community, and word had gotten around about what Preacher Tom and Preacher Gabe had seen on Rebecca’s computer screen. The question in everyone’s heart concerned more than just gossipy anticipation. It was about Hiram Knepp’s integrity as their spiritual leader . . . about whether he could admit his mistakes, the same as the rest of them were expected to, and then accept the discipline voted upon by the members.
As Deacon Reihl read the Scripture passage for the day, Miriam shifted on the seat. Had the backless wooden benches become more difficult to sit on because she was getting older? Beside her, Leah muffled a sigh. Larger than Miriam, and more inclined to physical work in her vegetable gardens, Leah Kanagy was no doubt thinking of a dozen other things she’d rather do than listen to Gabe Glick’s main sermon. Their eldest preacher was long-winded, and he was getting short of breath to the point they had to sit forward, barely breathing, to hear what he was saying.
“While Reuben has just read us the passage the lectionary sets forth for today,” Gabe began, “I wish to depart from that, to better illuminate the most relevant subject of humility . . . the ability to set aside the desires of one’s own heart to submit to the public good—and indeed, to submit to God’s will rather than our own,” he declared. “We Plain folks believe our accomplishments don’t deserve attention or praise because all glory goes to God, who created us, and to Jesus, who died to save us.”
Everyone in the crowded room sat straighter. Leah and Daniel’s house wasn’t as large as some of their homes, so even after Daniel and the boys had taken down the partitions between the rooms, the Willow Ridge members sat like sardines in a can turned upright; they could tell what everyone around them was thinking by the way they sucked in air or laughed to themselves—or sighed wearily.
And at this moment, all the adults in the room were focused on Gabe Glick. Because he habitually spoke his mind, they trusted him to name sin for what it was, even when it was their own shortcomings he discussed. The old preacher paused to gaze at them—men on one side and women on the other. Hiram, Tom, and Reuben were sitting on a bench behind him.
“It’s in the sixteenth chapter of Proverbs where we learn that pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall,” he continued, “while in the New Testament, Peter says in the fifth chapter of his first letter, ‘yea, all of you be subject one to another and be clothed with humility: for God resisteth the proud and giveth grace to the humble.’”
Miriam glanced at Hiram Knepp. As always, he sat straight and tall, his black hair in contrast to his long beard spangled mostly with silver. He met no one’s eye, yet he showed no sign that the preacher might be addressing his pride, either.
“Yet it is in the tenth Psalm where we see an even more unsettlin’ description of pride, which is equated with wickedness—and I beg your indulgence while I read from the Bible rather than risk leavin’ anythin’ out.”
Eyebrows rose. Preachers were expected to deliver the message prompted only by God’s Holy Spirit, without depending upon notes. Yet who could point a finger at Gabe Glick? He was admitting to age and imperfection, rather than succumbing to the same pride he had denounced.
“These thoughts come from verses two through eleven,” he went on, his gnarled finger planted on the page. “‘The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor; let them be taken in the devices that they have imagined. For the wicked boasteth of his heart’s desire and blesseth the covetous, whom the Lord abhorreth. The wicked through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after God; God is not in all his thoughts.’
“And then we have this image,” Preacher Gabe went on, sounding sad and sorry about the task he’d undertaken. “‘He sitteth in the lurking places of the villages; in the secret places doth he murder the innocent. His eyes are privily set against the poor. He lieth in wait secretly as a lion in his den; he lieth in wait to catch the poor . . . he croucheth and humbleth himself that the poor may fall . . . He hath said in his heart, God hath forgotten, he hideth his face; he will never see it.’”
Gabe gave the big Bible back to Reuben Reihl, sighing. He looked a hundred years old, like Miriam imagined an Old Testament prophet, delivering a message from God even as he knew the people would not like it—and might not listen. “How well we know the pitfalls of believin’ that just this once, we can get away with somethin’ wrong and God won’t notice,” he went on. “It grieves me to say that one among us closely resembles that lion lyin’ in wait, crouchin’ to pounce upon those he considers beneath him—condemnin’ them for their trespasses while remainin’ blind to his own.”
Miriam glanced at her sister. Leah looked as wide-eyed as the other women seated around them. Without naming names, Preacher Gabe was calling a spade a spade, saying Hiram Knepp had condemned others while believing his position as bishop set him above the need for confession. Never mind that she could see herself in the role of that “poor” soul being pounced upon.
Gabe went on at great length, asking them to ponder their tendencies
to place themselves above punishment—above the law—and to humble themselves by falling on their knees to confess and repent. Miriam wondered how Hiram must feel, being so overtly called upon to submit to the will of God and the People . . .
Yet the bishop showed no sign of discomfort or displeasure. For a moment during the long sermon, Hiram met Miriam’s gaze, yet he showed no inclination toward that humility Gabe was expounding upon. After the singing of the final hymn, when Hiram asked the children and nonmembers to leave, it surprised them all that the members’ meeting he called was about a totally different topic from what Gabe had preached about.
“A situation that demands our full attention has arisen,” the bishop began in a ringing voice, “involving the sale of property along the river, on the Lantz place. I understand Ben Hooley is bringing two of his brothers to Willow Ridge to open a new gristmill. He’s had papers drawn up and a survey done, and Sister Miriam has agreed to sell him this land without consulting any of the preachers or me about it.”
“I think a mill would benefit every one of us,” one of the men declared. “And after havin’ Ben over to my place weldin’ a baler and shoein’ my horses, I’m pleased such a fella wants to live here.”
Miriam and the other women stretched to see who had spoken so boldly. Hiram turned to study the men’s side of the room. “Please stand so we know whom to address,” he said in an extremely polite voice.
After a few tense moments, Daniel Kanagy—Leah’s husband—rose to his feet. He stood a bit taller than the bishop, and his life of farm work had muscled him out and burnished his skin like fine leather. Beside Miriam, Leah murmured, “Oh, I hope he knows what he’s lettin’ himself in for.”
Hiram smiled stiffly. “Several among us have done business with Mr. Hooley; myself included. But until I called to speak with the bishop of his home district near Lancaster County, I was unaware of the sort of person we’re inviting among us,” he continued in an ominous voice. “Ben has never settled down—keeps his wagon rolling down the road—because he jilted a young woman to whom he was engaged, dishonoring both her family and his own.”
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