Autumn Winds

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Hiram paced a few steps in his confined area between the male and female sides of the crowded room. “Is this the sort of man you want to do business with, my friends? And more importantly—is he a man our sister Miriam should be associating with?” he asked in a rising voice. “Ben might be a fine farrier, but I don’t trust him. And I fear for Miriam’s soul when she’s alone with him.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Hiram, but you’re pouncin’ on Miriam yet again, just like that lion in the Scripture.” Of all things, Leah stood up. She clasped her work-worn hands in front of her, nervous, but she didn’t waver. “You’re the leader God chose for us by the drawin’ of the lot, but I’d respect ya a lot more if you’d go down on your knees to admit you’ve stepped outta line, the same as you decide for the rest of us. And it’s time ya stopped houndin’ my sister in front of the whole town, too,” she added staunchly. “Miriam’s made it clear she wants no part of marryin’ ya.”

  Miriam groaned inwardly, yet she was grateful that her sister had stood up for her. It compensated for the way Leah had tattled to Bishop Knepp last summer, when Miriam had gone to meet Bob Oliveri, her daughter Rebecca’s English dat. Across the room from them, heads nodded while the women’s kapps bobbed in agreement.

  “Sister Leah, you’re changing the subject,” Hiram informed her. “We were discussing the sale of Miriam’s land—”

  “Jah, well, Moses thought he could get away with killin’ that Egyptian slave driver who was beatin’ up on one of his kin, too. Thought nobody saw him—but Pharaoh got word and Moses was banished from the palace.” Henry Zook, the storekeeper, stood up a few benches away from Daniel Kanagy. “After that, Moses had to hide out in Midian, keepin’ sheep—and my concern is for your soul, Hiram. Seems to me you’re ignorin’ your need to confess before God—and ignorin’ what most of us think is a gut opportunity for expansion here in town.”

  Then, lo and behold, Henry’s wife, Lydia, stood up a row in front of Miriam. “King David wanted Bathsheba for his wife, too, so he sent her husband to the front lines of battle, knowin’ he’d be killed,” she began in a nervous voice. “But God took David down a peg or two later on, for behavin’ like he knew it all and didn’t need to listen to his Lord. How come you’re not willin’ to confess like the rest of us, Hiram? Are ya better than we are, just because ya raise those fancy Belgians and ya can’t be voted out of your position?”

  The roomful of people got deathly quiet. What an unprecedented situation it was, when two bold couples stood together to denounce Hiram Knepp. Miriam closed her eyes, praying that this matter would come to a positive solution before Ben returned from Pennsylvania. Why would Ira and Luke Hooley want to stay in a place that was in such an uproar over their mill, before folks had even met them?

  “Ah, but I have indeed confessed to Bishop Shetler of Morning Star and to Bishop Mullet of New Haven.” Hiram pressed his palms together, the vision of a man about to pray. “I admitted my guilt to those in a position to hear and accept my plea for forgiveness. The offending photograph on my website has been removed, and I’m sorry those of you who saw it—”

  “Jah, see there? Just like the fella in the Scripture, ya figured nobody would know any better about that picture.” Preacher Tom stood up then, and Gabe rose beside him. “Gabe and I, in your best interest, asked you to show some contrition. Callin’ a members’ meetin’ to point a finger at Ben Hooley’s long-ago past and to shut him down without lettin’ us have our say about it—now that’s a horse of a different color altogether.”

  Tom shook his head as he gazed out over the gathering. “For all we know, Ben confessed and was forgiven for breakin’ his promise to that gal so long ago—if indeed that’s the way it happened. We can’t judge him, because we weren’t there.”

  Again the room went silent. Hiram Knepp’s face furrowed as he looked at the two preachers and the two couples who still stood, challenging him. Miriam’s insides felt unbearably tight. When the bishop glared at her, she sensed Hiram believed she had rallied her friends in Ben’s best interest, circumventing his authority. And she knew, too, that he still intended to marry her—was perhaps even more determined now that a younger fellow had shown an interest in her.

  After what seemed an eternity, during which no one moved or spoke, Hiram let out a disgusted sigh. “All right then, we shall vote upon the matter of Ben Hooley and his brothers opening a mill on the river,” he proposed tersely. “And should time prove me correct—should misfortune occur in Willow Ridge because we invited this family into our midst—we shall remember this day when we ignored the counsel of one who tried to steer us away from consequences we’ll regret.”

  He turned to Mahlon Zook, Henry’s father, who sat on the end of the front pew with the church’s oldest members. “The vote will be aye or nay, in favor of the mill or against it,” the bishop stated. “As always, we strive for unanimity so the will of the People shall prevail.”

  “Aye,” Mahlon said.

  “Aye,” stated Wilbert Reihl beside him.

  And on it went, until all the men had voted in favor of the new mill.

  Hiram’s face remained a stern mask as he turned to the women’s side. Leah and Lydia had sat down, but their speeches had inspired confidence among their sisters in the faith. Never in any of their lifetimes had members so openly challenged a bishop’s leadership, yet when the eldest—Daniel’s mother, Essie Kanagy—said aye, the room rang with her conviction. And down the rows it went. Miriam grasped her sister’s hand in triumph as the vote proceeded to the back of the room where the youngest members sat.

  This time the silence that followed felt entirely different; the People had spoken, unanimously, and only the bishop had taken a negative stance. Hiram quickly ended the meeting with a prayer.

  The October day had a chill to it, so the men set up long tables for the common meal indoors, using the pew benches as seats. They chattered excitedly as they discussed the potential a new mill offered to each of them.

  In the kitchen, the women bustled about unwrapping the pies and other dishes they’d prepared beforehand to go with the platters of ham Leah had prepared. Miriam had fried several chickens in the café on Saturday, for cooking on the Sabbath was forbidden.

  And oh, the quiet comments from her friends as they put out the place settings and poured water into the glasses.

  “Such a nice fella, Ben Hooley is,” Reuben’s wife, Esther, remarked. “A real pleasure it was to talk with him while he ate his dinner at our place last week. And he spoke so well of you, Miriam.”

  “Jah, it’ll be gut havin’ another family here and another business,” Hannah Brenneman joined in. She was Naomi’s youngest, and she’d taken over most of the household chores for her mother. “And it can only be gut if Ben’s brothers are hardworkin’ and lookin’ to start families, ain’t so?”

  “Been needin’ some new blood for a long time now,” Gabe Glick’s granddaughter Millie agreed. “Seems like all the older kids have married and moved down the road to Morning Star or—”

  “But with Rachel marryin’ Micah next week, that’ll start a whole new generation here,” Rhoda pointed out.

  That inspired a flurry of conversation about the wedding details, and Miriam’s heart swelled. She felt blessed to be living among families who had supported her in her darkest days after Jesse had passed. Her parents were long gone and her older sisters and brothers had scattered to Plain settlements in Bowling Green and Jamesport.

  “So are ya ready for the big day? Thursday’s not far off,” someone behind her asked.

  Miriam turned to smile at Annie Mae Knepp, the bishop’s oldest daughter still living at home. She had a harried look about her, as usual, yet she was making an effort at conversation among older women who had outvoted her father’s wishes. “I’ve got the cake to make yet,” Miriam replied, “but otherwise we’ve made progress on the cleanin’ and preparin’ at the house.”

  “Jah, there’s always that,” Annie Mae replied with a
shake of her head. “At our house, I no sooner get one chore done—the floors scrubbed, say—when in come the twins, trackin’ mud from the creek bed, or—”

  As though her brothers had known they were the topic of conversation, Josh and Joey Knepp came racing through the front room, down the narrow aisles between the tables, in hot pursuit of little Sara. Fifteen-year-old Nellie, holding toddler Timmy against her hip, tried to corral the twins as Sara gleefully ran behind Annie Mae’s skirt, grabbing her knees and laughing at the ruckus she’d started.

  Then it was Hiram entering the kitchen, his expression stormy as he looked at his two older daughters. “Time and again I’ve told you to take better charge over the twins and Sara,” he warned in a tight voice. “Where else will they learn proper behavior if not from you?”

  The kitchen got quiet. Every woman there had an answer to the bishop’s question, but none of them expressed it.

  Miriam said a quick prayer for Nellie and Annie Mae, who surely missed their mamm—and probably even missed Linda, Hiram’s second wife and the mother of the four youngest Knepps—whenever their dat scolded them this way.

  As they carried the last of the food to the tables, Naomi Brenneman stepped up to the bishop. “It’s none of my business, maybe, but Linda told us—more than once—that her doctor insisted she should be havin’ no more babies or it would do her in,” she murmured.

  Although they were startled that Naomi dared to bring up this subject, the women around her nodded.

  “Yet ya refused to go along with that, Bishop,” Naomi went on in a trembling voice. “So now the twins and Sara and Timmy are runnin’ wild because their mamm, Linda, died of complications birthin’ a stillborn—”

  “You’re right. That’s none of your business.” Hiram’s dark eyes bored into Naomi’s until she looked away, mumbling an apology. He scattered the rest of the onlookers with a disapproving gaze. As he approached Miriam, it was obvious he’d had enough of folks finding fault with him.

  “The longer you defy my intention to marry you, Miriam, the higher the price we’ll all pay for your obstinance,” he murmured tersely. “While your friends might voice their support, you have forgotten the Scripture Gabe read from Peter, who tells us to be accountable to one another, clothed in humility . . . living honorably in marriage, as God intended. This won’t happen if you encourage the attentions of Ben Hooley.”

  Miriam clutched her platter of chicken to keep from dropping it. “I’m leavin’ it up to God, as far as what’s honorable and what He’d have me do with the rest of my life.”

  She sensed the sympathy of the women around her . . . felt Rachel and Rhoda—and even Annie Mae and Nellie Knepp—supporting her in their silent witness. So she dared to pick one more bone with the bishop. “I’d appreciate it, Hiram, if ya wouldn’t call Ben’s former fiancée out in Lancaster anymore,” she said quietly. “You’ve got Polly all stirred up—hopin’ Ben’ll come back to her now that her husband has passed—the man her dat, the bishop back then, made her marry. It’s not one bit honorable, the way you’re twistin’ the facts to suit your purpose. And my answer is still no.”

  Miriam stepped around him with her platter while Leah, as the hostess, informed the men that the meal was ready. Was it her imagination, or did Naomi and her daughter Hannah—and even Annie Mae and Nellie—move in around her as they headed to the tables to sit down? Once again, Miriam was ever so grateful for her friends and their daughters.

  And once again, Miriam wondered how Ben was doing. She prayed that he and his brothers and aunts would get an early start to Missouri tomorrow morning—and prayed she could hang on until Wednesday when they were to arrive. With Hiram in such a foul mood, it was anyone’s guess how he’d behave come Thursday, at Rachel and Micah’s wedding.

  “Oh, but the bishop irritates me!” Rachel muttered as she stepped outside with Micah after the common meal. She felt so fired up she didn’t bother to grab her shawl or bonnet. “The way he’s been badgerin’ Mamma about marryin’ him has gone beyond embarrassin’. What if he acts this way at the wedding? What if he—”

  Micah kissed her, trying to settle her down. Then he slipped an arm around her waist, steering her toward the dozens of carriages that were parked off to the side of Aunt Leah and Uncle Daniel’s long lane. “Rache, that’s a whole ’nother ball of wax,” he remarked in his low, unruffled voice. “And I suspect the other preachers’ll be watchin’ Hiram pretty close, now that so many folks have pointed out his refusal to confess.”

  “Jah, but what if he keeps after Mamma in front of all our kin and the friends who’re comin’ from far away?” she continued in a rising voice. “Seems like we Lantzes can’t make a move lately but what the bishop doesn’t aim Sunday mornin’s Scripture at us like an arrow.”

  Micah laughed quietly. “Far as I can see, he’s only pointin’ up how you girls and your mamm are standin’ strong. Every time he throws up a barrier—like tryin’ to buy the café, or sayin’ ya shouldn’t be sellin’ land to the Hooleys—you gals find a way to get past his bluster and do the right thing. Folks all over Willow Ridge are cheerin’ ya on, too.”

  They strode past the corral, where dozens of horses pricked up their ears. Once they were behind the cattle barn, Rachel threw up her hands. “Micah, you just don’t get it!” she blurted. “Our wedding’s the biggest day of our lives. Years from now, I don’t want to recall how Bishop Knepp ruined it by making a spectacle of Mamma yet again. If someone doesn’t—”

  Micah took her face between his large hands, which were callused from his carpentry work yet ever so tender. “Years from now,” he repeated in a low, purposeful voice, “you and I are gonna look back on our wedding as the start of a wonderful- gut life together, Rachel. We’ll gather our kids around the table every day and give thanks for all the things God’s blessed us with, and by then Hiram Knepp’s carryin’ on’ll be somethin’ to laugh about.”

  Rachel stared up at him, ready to protest yet again . . . but Micah’s deep green eyes held her captive. “Jah, but—”

  “No buts, Rache. No more what-ifs or gettin’ all upset, makin’ up problems where they don’t exist.” He leaned down to kiss her softly, once . . . twice . . . until she couldn’t help but kiss him back. The tension she’d felt all morning eased from between her shoulders.

  “Seems to me,” Micah went on as he pulled her close to shelter her from the chilly breeze, “that your mamm’s got Ben watchin’ out for her—not to mention his two aunts and his brothers. And the way your Uncle Daniel and Aunt Leah, and the Zooks, and Preacher Tom stood up to Hiram today tells me you Lantzes have nothin’ to fear. It’ll all work out.”

  Rachel stood quietly, letting the calm conviction of Micah’s words settle her troubled heart. Maybe she had been making a mountain out of a molehill . . . again.

  “You have nothin’ to be afraid of, either, Rachel,” he continued quietly. “What with your sisters close by, you’ll never lack for love or company. And then there’s me. Don’t think for a minute that I’ll let the bishop interfere with a marriage—a family—that’s come about as part of God’s own plan. Ya believe that about us, don’t ya?”

  She swallowed hard, still caught up in Micah’s unwavering gaze. With his strong arms around her and such intense devotion shining in his eyes, how could she harbor any doubts? “Jah, I do believe that,” she murmured. His heart beat steadily beneath her head when she laid it on his chest. “There’s never been anybody else for me, Micah. I’m mighty lucky that you can see past my frettin’ and stewin’, ain’t so?”

  His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Jah, you’re one lucky woman, all right,” he replied lightly. “And I intend to remind ya of that every chance I get. We’ve been blessed with each other, so how can Hiram or anybody else spoil a single hour of our life together? We just won’t let them.”

  We just won’t let them. Rachel smiled, enveloped in Micah’s warmth and strength. If this fine man was for her, who could possibly be against her? And Lord,
if You’ll remind me of that, too, I’ll do my very best to hand my worries over to You. Thanks for bein’ willin’ to take them.

  Chapter 18

  “Well, Brother, there’s not much we can do until help gets here,” Ben said with a sigh. “We didn’t figure on pickin’ up nails in two of the trailer tires.”

  He slapped his hat against his thigh. Never mind that he’d planned to be back in Willow Ridge by now; it was Wednesday morning and they were only halfway across Illinois. One delay had followed another, and as they waited alongside the highway for the service truck that would bring those new tires, Ben wondered if Miriam was doubting him . . . thinking he wasn’t dependable, or that he might not stick around once he got his brothers to their new property.

  “Might be a gut time for a bite of lunch,” Aunt Nazareth suggested. She and Aunt Jerusalem had been riding in Gregg Hatch’s van while Ben had shared the extended cab of the pickup that hauled Ira, Luke, and their belongings. “I’ll fetch the cooler, Sister, if you’ll get out the plates and what-all from the picnic basket. Sure glad we thought to pack extra food for this trip.”

  Ben smiled ruefully as the two aunts disappeared behind the van. The maidel sisters got testy when long hours on the road made their legs stiff, so their little caravan had stopped more often than he’d figured on. Add to that their late start because Polly Petersheim had arrived just as they were ready to pull out—and Polly had always been one to chatter on and on. Ted Murray’s pickup drank a lot of fuel while hauling the overloaded horse trailer, so stops for gas had cost them time, too. They’d spent Monday and Tuesday nights at Amish homes where he’d done farrier work in the past, because his brothers’ horses needed time out of the trailer to eat and walk around. He knew with a sinking certainty they wouldn’t make it back to Miriam’s in time for the wedding tomorrow . . .