Autumn Winds

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Several in the crowd looked at each other as though this was indeed the first time they’d heard of Hiram’s earlier escapade.

  “It’s only right that you take these things into consideration as you listen to your bishop’s confession and cast your vote as to his penance.” Enos turned to look at Hiram. “Are you ready to confess, Hiram?”

  With his hands clasped before him, Hiram rose from the bench. His gaze swept the men’s side of the room and then the women’s, beseeching his longtime friends to be merciful. When he held Miriam’s gaze, she kept all expression from her face. He went to his knees then, facing the two bishops.

  “Is it true you own an automobile, Hiram?” Jeremiah asked in his sonorous voice. “And is it true that you concealed it, believing no one would be the wiser?”

  “Yes.”

  The two visiting bishops waited, probably for more of a response. Then Enos cleared his throat. “Would you tell us how you came by this vehicle? A customized Cadillac convertible isn’t something the average fellow would have parked in his garage. We need to know why an Amish bishop would own one.”

  Hiram’s face went ruddy with suppressed temper. “I sold a registered Belgian stallion to a man in Michigan and he defaulted on his payment,” he explained impatiently. “To make matters worse, when I tried to collect the debt, he had already sold the horse. He offered the car for the balance of his payment, and because I suspected this was the only form of remuneration I would receive, I took it.”

  Miriam pressed her lips into a line. Hiram often used lofty vocabulary when he was talking his way out of a sticky situation.

  Jeremiah Shetler’s dark eyebrows rose. “And you’ve kept it locked away all these months? But you’ve also driven it?”

  “Yes.”

  When a few shocked folks sucked in their breath, Hiram looked up. Judging from the scowls Miriam observed on the men’s side of the room, the women probably looked no happier to hear that their leader had not only accepted a car, but had concealed it and taken it out on the roads.

  Hiram gazed at her, assessing her allegiance. Miriam gazed back; she didn’t condone his mistakes, and she wouldn’t fall prey to insinuations that he would hinder the building of the mill. She couldn’t imagine that Jerusalem Hooley, seated a row ahead of her, wore an expression that looked any more lenient or loving.

  Hiram licked his lips, as though finally realizing his friends might vote to shun him. “I . . . I want to beg forgiveness of my congregation—my extended family,” he proceeded in a contrite voice. “I now see that I am guilty of the worldliness for which I disciplined Miriam Lantz several weeks ago. I also wish to apologize to Miriam for the way I have so publicly pursued her and badgered her about marrying me.

  “And on a similar subject,” Hiram went on before the other bishops could interrupt him, “I wish to apologize to Ben Hooley for my attitude concerning his coming to Willow Ridge . . . and for threatening retribution if he established himself here—with Miriam at his side.”

  The women around Miriam stole glances at her, and she sighed. She sensed the bishop was voicing his apologies just to sway the vote on his punishment. Wasn’t that a shame?

  “I also wish to apologize to Tom and Gabe for my arrogance these past couple of weeks. They were doing their duty to God by confronting me about my website photograph and the car I’ve concealed,” he went on in a voice that wavered. “My Mennonite stable manager, Jason Schwartz, has driven the car to his home, so I’m no longer in possession of it. The driver’s license I’ve surrendered is in the glove compartment.”

  Whispers hissed around the room; a lot of Amish fellows had driven a car during their rumspringa, but having a Missouri license meant Hiram had posed for the mandatory photograph on it. Was there no end to the secrets he’d kept?

  “Most of all, I owe apologies to my daughters Annie Mae and Nellie for the way I have so often chastised them when the younger children have misbehaved,” he went on. “And I wish to express my sincerest thanks to Jerusalem Hooley for showing me how I’ve distanced myself from my children. She has insisted I remain at home with them more often, to be a mainstay in their lives rather than a father who places other concerns before the raising of his family.”

  He went silent then, still kneeling before the two other bishops, his deacon, and the preachers.

  “Have you anything else you wish to confess to us, Brother Hiram?” Enos asked in his reedy voice.

  “Are you insinuating there’s more?” Hiram blurted. Then he let out a sigh. “Excuse my cavalier attitude. I’m starting to realize how deeply ingrained my temper and lack of humility have become. I beg everyone’s forgiveness and patience as I find my way back to rightness with God.”

  “So be it.” Jeremiah Shetler stepped back, allowing Hiram to rise to his feet. “You may now wait in Preacher Tom’s cellar or the mud room—or outdoors—until you’re called back in.”

  All eyes watched Hiram Knepp leave the crowded room. The door from the kitchen to the mud room closed with a decisive whump before anyone dared breathe or whisper to each other.

  Jeremiah’s shoulders relaxed. He looked at everyone as he spoke. “Enos and I have discussed this situation several times in the past week. We feel the Ordnung clearly recommends a six-week shunning for owning a car—especially because this sin follows on the coattails of Hiram’s having a photograph on his website. Enos and I will share your bishop’s duties between us during his time of contemplation and separation. Is there any discussion?”

  Tom Hostetler rose, his expression grim. “Gabe here won’t mention it, but with his Wilma so ill, he’s concerned he won’t be around town much to help with any church matters that might arise. And, frankly, he doesn’t feel much like preachin’ these days,” Tom added. “He’s also concerned about the hospital bill that’s mountin’ up, to the point he’s sold off a part of his farm to pay it.”

  Miriam gasped, as did everyone around her. Because most of Willow Ridge’s property had been in the same Plain families for generations, it was highly unusual for a man to sell off land rather than pass it on to a son. Poor Gabe looked exhausted from sitting here these past few hours, and he was clearly uncomfortable about having his private affairs discussed.

  Enos nodded. “Jeremiah and I will take turns with the preaching, Tom. You won’t bear the burden of Hiram’s absence alone. And we’ll find some help with that money Gabe needs, too. I suggest your scribe for the Budget post a request for a money shower.”

  After a few moments of silence, Miriam felt compelled to stand up. “While shunnin’ Hiram is the proper thing to do, it also puts his family in a bad way,” she remarked. “To his credit, he’s been spendin’ more time with his four younger ones, but now he can’t eat at their table. And they’re not to accept anythin’ from him—a difficult concept for little children to understand, especially since they have no mamm.”

  In front of her, Jerusalem Hooley rose, as well. “My sister Nazareth and I have discussed this issue, and—if Hiram’s willin’—we can stay at his place to help Annie Mae with the youngsters while Nellie finishes school.”

  Ben’s aunt cleared her throat, as though thinking about how to express the rest of her thoughts. “I feel bad that our adventurous little goats led to all this disruption of Hiram’s life, but we Amish believe that followin’ the Ordnung keeps us strong in our faith—and in our families, too.”

  “Are there any other concerns?” Bishop Shetler asked.

  Ben stood up then, smiling at Gabe Glick before he began. “We knew a fella in Lancaster who got caught with a car, and when he sold it, he donated the money to the district’s medical emergency fund,” he said. “It’s not my place to decide that, of course. But we all know a fella who could use the cash a fancy car like Hiram’s might bring.”

  “Point well-taken.” Enos Mullet looked around the crowded room then. “Are we ready to vote? Aye means Hiram Knepp is to be placed under a six-week shunning, which will last until the middle of Decem
ber. Nay means we must discuss other options—and in a situation that affects everyone in Willow Ridge, I feel we must have a unanimous decision. Is that agreed?”

  Everyone nodded. Most clasped their hands tightly in their laps, awaiting the final outcome.

  Wilbert Reihl, the oldest male among them, began the reckoning. “Aye,” he said heavily. And on down the pew rows it went, as every man—and then every woman—agreed that Hiram should be shunned. No one sounded happy about it, but this, too, was one of the duties of membership: to ensure justice and conformity to the code of ethics they had agreed to uphold when they’d been baptized into the faith.

  Miriam said her aye without a moment’s hesitation. It didn’t sit well with her that Hiram had sneaked into her café to persuade her to derail the vote, and to again propose marriage because it would improve his reputation. The longer she thought about his little speech—and that pie he’d ruined—the more peeved she got.

  “We have a decision, then,” Jeremiah confirmed. “Will one of you ladies nearest the kitchen bring Hiram in, please?”

  Everyone shifted on the benches as Millie Glick rose to fetch their bishop. Miriam bowed in prayer, glad she wouldn’t be meeting Hiram’s eyes as he entered the silent room. Even the slow, steady tread of his boots increased the tension among them as he stepped forward to receive word from the visiting bishops.

  “The members have voted that you are to serve out a six-week shunning, which begins immediately,” Enos Mullet announced quietly. “We pray for you, Hiram, as you begin this journey of solitude and reconciliation. As you are not allowed to eat at the same table with other members, you are to leave immediately. I’m sure someone will bring your children home, if they wish to stay for the common meal and the visiting.”

  Hiram’s expression darkened. Without a word, he reclaimed his hat from beneath the preachers’ bench and then stalked out. This time the door banged so hard the windows rattled.

  “Our meeting is adjourned,” Jeremiah announced quietly. “If ever we had a need for a common meal that binds us together in fellowship, it’s now.”

  Chapter 27

  Ben hustled with the other men to set up the tables in the area where the service had been held. He wasn’t surprised at how they spoke about Hiram’s car—all his sinful secrets—in tones of dismay and disgust.

  “Guess Hiram won’t be ridin’ on such a high horse now, for sure and for certain,” Ezra Brenneman remarked.

  “Almost makes ya wonder what God was thinkin’ when He had the lot fall to Hiram years ago, ain’t so?” Henry Zook pondered aloud.

  “Or, with all Hiram’s finaglin’,” Daniel Kanagy joined in, “ya gotta ask if maybe he somehow fixed it so he knew which hymnal the marker was in, that day he was ordained by the fallin’ of the lot. And I hate it that I’m even thinkin’ that way.”

  “Jah, we can only hope bein’ under the ban tones him down a notch or two. He’s our bishop as long as he lives,” Wilbert Reihl stated in his breathy voice. “Sure hope none of our families leave Willow Ridge because they can’t trust him.”

  In his travels, Ben had indeed heard of folks who’d moved from one district to another after personality differences had arisen with the bishop. While it was true the perfect bishop didn’t exist, it was a shame when members lost their confidence in the man who served as their spiritual leader.

  He stepped out of the way as Rhoda and the two Knepp girls placed bowls of pink applesauce on the tables. It was good to see them working together—the same way they’d been crocheting together the other night. “Say, girls, I’d be happy to take your little brothers and Sara home so’s ya can stay with the young people for the singin’ tonight.”

  Annie Mae flashed him a grin. “Denki, Ben, but your Aunt Jerusalem’s already got that covered.”

  “She’s quick that way, jah,” he agreed. “And how are ya feelin’ about her and Nazareth stayin’ at your place while your dat’s under the ban?” he asked quietly. “I know from growin’ up next door to her, and bein’ a scholar in her classroom, that she can be kind of . . .”

  “Assertive?” Annie Mae asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Controllin’?” Nellie teased.

  “Bossy?” Rhoda added.

  “All of those things and more.” Ben chuckled at the kitty-cat grins on their faces. “So if ya think she’ll be a little more high-handed than ya want to put up with for six weeks—”

  Nellie shrugged. “She and Nazareth already have the boys and Sara writin’ their letters and spellin’ out words by sound. They sit at the table playin’ school, except it’s real learnin’. So if anybody can teach Dat a thing or two—”

  “It would be Jerusalem Hooley,” Annie Mae agreed. “And while we couldn’t point it out to Dat if he was breakin’ the rules of his ban, she won’t let him get away with anythin’.”

  “Des gut then,” Ben replied. “The aunts wanna be useful, and your dat and little brothers will give them plenty of chance at that.”

  As the three girls returned to Preacher Tom’s kitchen for more food, Ben followed. He knew better than to get in the women’s way, because they were intent on getting the meal served. Aunt Jerusalem was tossing salads while Aunt Nazareth put forks on the turkey platters. He spotted Miriam at the kitchen table, cutting the pies for Naomi to carry out, and made his way among the other women to stand behind her.

  “Can I have a word?” he asked quietly.

  Miriam teased him with a brown-eyed smile. “Ask me real nice, and ya can probably have just about anythin’ ya want, Ben.”

  He chortled, loving the way she’d kept her sense of humor despite the morning’s events. “If it’s all right with you . . . shall I make our big announcement? Folks are sayin’ so many negative things about Hiram, it might be a gut time to offer up a happier subject, ain’t so?”

  “What a gut idea! Our friends’ll be glad to hear about us . . . and it means Hiram will be the last to know,” she added mischievously. “I didn’t tell ya yet, but he was waitin’ for me at the Sweet Seasons early this mornin’. Tried to sweet-talk me into marriage again, among other things.”

  “And what’d ya tell him?”

  “Puh!” Miriam resumed her pie cutting as she talked in a low voice. “Said I couldn’t marry him because I didn’t love him. Almost told him you’d spoken for me, but I thought that information deserved a better time—like now! So see?” she asked brightly. “Ya read my mind, Ben. Ya know me awful well, ain’t so?”

  Ben grabbed her playfully by the shoulders. “Just you wait, perty girl. I might throw in a surprise or two for you, once I start talkin’ about our plans.”

  He returned to the main room, feeling better about this whole day. It amazed him how welcome—how at home—he felt among these folks, and he knew almost every one of them by name already. Ben was pleased to see so many of them talking to his brothers about their new mill, too. Several local farmers had already bought seed for some of the specialty grains Ira and Luke wanted to process, so they were off to a productive start before the building was even constructed.

  A few moments later, Jeremiah asked folks to be seated for the meal. By extending Tom’s kitchen table with all its leaves, and putting the plates close together at all the tables set up in the front room, the women had found a way for everyone to eat at one sitting. After a moment of silent grace they passed the platters of turkey and the other bowls of food.

  Ben had ended up beside his brothers, while Miriam—acting as Preacher Tom’s hostess—ate in the kitchen with Naomi and Rhoda so they could refill water pitchers and bread baskets. He rose at his place and, with a big grin, dinged his spoon against his water glass. How could he not be delighted, making such an announcement? When Miriam winked at him from the kitchen, his heart fluttered. What a blessing it was—what a joy—to know such a fine woman wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

  “I want to share some gut news!” he began as the conversations around the two big rooms ceased. “Firs
t off, I want to thank all of ya for makin’ me—along with my brothers and my aunts—so welcome here in Willow Ridge. And while it might not be the conventional thing, sayin’ this at a common meal, I’ve never been a fella to stick real tight by convention. So why start now?”

  Friendly laughter rose around him. Ira and Luke were watching him closely, and down the table Rhoda’s eyes widened, anticipating what he was about to say. He smiled at her, so grateful—to her and to God—that her crush on him had found a graceful resolution without hurting anyone’s feelings or damaging her relationship with her mother.

  “Lemme guess!” Bram Kanagy called out. “You’re gonna park that blacksmith wagon and set up shop permanent-like, so’s ya can keep an eye on your brothers.”

  “Jah, they’ll be needin’ it, too, if they’re keepin’ company with the likes of Annie Mae and Millie!” Jonah Zook called out.

  Good-natured remarks rose around him, with more laughter. And didn’t it feel fine that folks here could tease him so freely while saying they wanted him to work among them . . . to live among them?

  “The way I see it, that wagon comes in mighty handy, bringin’ my farrier work to you instead of makin’ you haul your weldin’ and horses to me,” he replied. “But jah, I’ll be settin’ up shop, too . . . right there at the same forge where Jesse Lantz worked. And I thank Miriam for makin’ that possible, and because—well, we’re gonna get hitched!”

  An “oh!” went up in the kitchen while the men around Ben nodded and murmured “jah!” and “des gut!”

  “Wait’ll Mamm hears this!” Ira crowed. “She thought she wouldn’t live to see the day!”

  Beside him, Luke began to clap enthusiastically. Soon, the applause spread all along the table, and even Jeremiah Shetler and Enos Mullet expressed their congratulations.

  “It’s Miriam I’m happy for,” Preacher Tom said. “Not only is she gettin’ herself a fine new husband, but now Hiram’ll have no choice but to leave her be. Congratulations to the both of ya—and we’re mighty glad ya told us, too. Makes my day!”