You musn’t fear for our future, my dear, dear Nel-lie. I will know very soon what must be done so that we can be together.
With all my love,
Caleb Yoder
Hands trembling, though no longer from fever, Nellie folded the envelope in half and slipped the letter beneath her pillow. Oh, Caleb, you risked so much to deliver this. How could I have doubted you?
She hadn’t forgotten his endearing words, the way he held her at the millstream as he kissed her face, though never her lips. To wait was their unspoken courting promise.
Sliding her warm hand beneath the cool pillow, Nellie touched his letter, wishing she might find a way to get word back to him.
While Rhoda dusted the Kraybills’ front room, their cat pushed against her leg. Back arched high, he let out a resounding meow.
“Ach, you’re hungry, is that it?”
Pebbles meowed again. This pet was always looking for a handout.
He followed her across the entryway, then through the formal sitting room, with its high wooden mantel and matching gold overstuffed chairs, and into the kitchen. Opening the bag of kitty chow, Rhoda filled Pebbles’s dish and checked his water bowl, too.
Standing there, she watched the black-and-white cat nibble away at his dinner, knowing her father would never allow something as frivolous as keeping a pet indoors. Then, eager to get back to work, she returned to the living room, as Mrs. Kraybill referred to their cozy and well-furnished front room. Rhoda straightened the coffee table, trying not to glance at the magazines stacked neatly there, especially one periodical that seemed to have strayed from Mr. Kray-bill’s study—Car and Driver magazine. She’d noticed the new issue had appeared last week. Her parents would be chagrined if they knew she was coveting the cars featured within the shiny pages, yet she couldn’t deny to herself that she was ever so weary of horse-and-buggy travel.
Like some of the church boys surely must be.
Several from the old church had purchased cars and hidden them far from their fathers’ houses, sowing disobedience before eventually becoming baptized church members. Some of those same fellows had given her the cold shoulder at Sunday night Singings. Not caring to admit it, even to herself, Rhoda realized she was on a path to show them just what they’d missed.
Even so, she would wait to investigate the pages of the most current car magazine until she knew she was truly alone here—till Mrs. Kraybill, wearing a wine-colored suit and black heels, left for her ladies’ auxiliary meeting in New Holland. She glanced at the clock. How much longer must I wait? she thought.
Of course, she was expected to thoroughly clean the first floor today, but midafternoon Mrs. Kraybill allowed time for her to enjoy another break, complete with tea and cookies—the latter frequently purchased from Nellie’s Simple Sweets.
Rhoda was less interested in the goodies here lately, as she desired to drop a few pounds. She felt sure that a trimmer figure and a pretty car were just the ticket to getting herself a husband.
CHAPTER 8
Nellie Mae felt better when she awakened Wednesday morning. Though her fever had suddenly broken yesterday, Mamma and Nan had covered for her at the shop, baking fewer items than normal, since customers were only trickling in anyway.
Nellie soaked up the compassion offered by her next-older sister, who smiled warmly across the breakfast table as she passed the food directly to her.
Later, after the table was cleared and Rhoda was off to work, Nan washed the dishes while Mamma dried, with both insisting that Nellie simply sit and sip tea at the table.
But it was after Mamma had left the room to go upstairs and have a “devotional time” with Dat that Nan sat down beside her. “Rebekah Yoder was here for another visit,” she whispered.
“When?” asked Nellie.
“Yesterday, when you were still in bed.” Nan looked troubled. “She told me something awful surprising. Said her mother heard that someone ran an ad in the Lancaster New Era to advertise Nellie’s Simple Sweets.”
“What? You’re sure?”
“That’s what she said. Seems her mamma was ever so outspoken ’bout it, saying it sounded just like ‘them Fishers’ to do something that worldly.”
Nellie was horrified to think Caleb’s mother would talk about their family like that. “Well, who would’ve done such a thing?”
“Only one I can think of.” Nan glanced toward the doorway. “My guess is Rhoda.”
Nellie laughed. “But why?”
“Seeing some of the old church folks droppin’ off as customers since the split . . . well, it’s bothered Rhoda some-thin’ awful.” Nan paused. “Probably she’s tryin’ to help, is all.”
“Ever so nice, really, when you think ’bout it.”
Nan agreed. “ ’Specially since she’s been rather aloof here lately.” She took a sip of tea. “You know what else?”
Nellie listened as she pushed her teacup and saucer away.
“Rebekah said she thinks the ad’s a wonderful-good idea. She says we’ll get more Englischers than we’ll know what to do with.”
Nellie groaned. “If that happens, how will we keep up?”
“Wait and see. No need to borrow more worry.” Nan was grinning to beat the band. “I’ll help ya more, Nellie Mae, and Mamma will, too.”
“Dat’s nearly finished with the tables and chairs,” Nellie reminded her. “Maybe that’s why Rhoda would pay to publicize the bakery shop—do ya think so?”
“Who’s to say? Knowin’ her, she might simply have an interest in bringing in more fancy folk.” She sighed. “She sure seems to like the Kraybills’ house a lot.”
Better than ours . . .
Nan rested her face in her hands, her elbows on the table. “I daresay things’ll start lookin’ up round here.”
“For you, too, Nan?”
“In some ways, maybe.” Again Nan looked toward the doorway, as if to make sure Mamma was out of earshot. “I’m ready to forgive . . . to overlook my former beau’s foolishness. But I can’t say I’m ready to put aside my anger toward Rebekah’s father. He’s got no right keepin’ friends apart.”
That’s the truth! Nellie thought.
“You’d think David Yoder would listen to Uncle Bishop, of all things. He seems so bent on following the old church, it really makes no sense that he won’t follow the bishop’s bidding ’bout not shunning.” Nan rolled her eyes.
Nellie agreed and rose, carrying her cup, saucer, and spoon over to the sink. “Oh, how good it feels to be stronger again. Can’t remember the last time I was so sick.”
“Well, thank the Good Lord for health . . . and Mamma for her prayers,” Nan said.
Nellie didn’t share how Mamma had placed her hand on Nellie’s forehead while she had prayed right over her. Nan probably knew something about that sort of praying now, too. For sure and for certain, this family was changing—and mighty fast. And if Rhoda had indeed placed the newspaper ad, their older sister seemed bent on heading in a direction of her own choosing.
Chris Yoder stood in the doorway, waiting for his class of boys to arrive. The Wednesday night group had doubled in size since he had begun teaching. Two of the most outgoing boys had invited school friends the same age, and the new kids simply kept coming, bringing along even more friends.
He walked to the windows and leaned back against the sill, regarding the classroom. He and Zach had given the place a fresh coat of eggshell-colored paint this fall, replacing the former gray. Chris had also purchased a chalkboard with his own money.
He prayed for the impressionable young lives God allowed him to shape each week, whispering their names to the Father. One boy particularly concerned him—Billy Zercher—a loner with dark circles under his wide blue eyes.
“Help me reach him. . . .”
Chris knew he was probably too impatient for results. With high school graduation just around the bend, he was eager to get on with life in general, as well as ready for the divine call. His father had always said
it was better to be a moving vessel than a stagnant one . . . waiting for something big to happen. And big was what Chris wanted. Outside grocery stores and along the sidewalk at the local public schools, he and his brothers had passed out tracts containing invitations to revival meetings at Tel Hai campground. While their efforts were met with modest success, he hoped for something even more fruitful, something that might reach more than the two or three stragglers who found their way to the meetings. If he had his way, he would work tirelessly to stamp out the recent “God is dead” nonsense heralded by Time magazine and others.
As for his future livelihood, his father’s landscaping business was definitely an option. Chris knew the ropes—the appropriate, careful way to handle tree roots during transplanting and the like. He’d effortlessly memorized every perennial unique to this locale. He knew their watering needs, how deep the roots went, and which were blooming plants and which were not.
Lately, though, he longed for something with eternal meaning, some kind of full-time ministry. Hopefully he’d figure that out while attending Bible college in Harrisonburg, Virginia, next fall.
Chris wasn’t the only one with grandiose dreams. He knew Zach had his heart set on ministry, too, and had even been praying for his life mate with that in mind, asking for a girl who loved God with all her heart, mind, and spirit. When he met Suzy Fisher, Zach had believed that his future bride had been revealed, if perhaps a tad too early. Their next-older brother, along with their dad, had tried to dissuade Zach from falling too hard, too fast . . . especially for an Amish girl.
Chris, on the other hand, had never encountered any girl who turned his head. But Zach was sure he’d found a special love early in life and had confided as much to Chris. He’d decided to ask Suzy to go steady the afternoon of their outing to Marsh Creek State Park. And then in one terrible instant, Suzy was gone, swallowed up by the vast lake.
Chris and Zach had immediately jumped into action, as had their three older brothers, leaving their horrified dates alone in the other rowboats. At first, Chris’s terror kept him from filling his lungs with adequate air to dive farther down.
But finally, on his third dive, Chris managed to dive deep enough to swim up with Suzy. Too late—her lungs were already full, her body limp.
She never knew Zach thought that God had brought them together. . . .
Chris believed in God’s sovereignty, as did all four of his brothers. Their parents had drilled it into them as youngsters. To think Suzy, so new to their Mennonite church, might have become his sister-in-law had she lived. But now it troubled him to know that Zach was unable to shake the memory of Suzy standing up—then teetering—in the rowboat, her long dress billowing as she lost her balance and plunged overboard. He suffered frequent nightmares, thrashing in his bed across the room he shared with Chris. The dreams and flashbacks kept him on edge all day, and his grades had plummeted.
Even Chris had struggled to concentrate after last June’s accident. He recalled going through the motions at the nursery, alongside his dad. When the opening for a Wednesday night youth leader had come, he’d gladly accepted.
The Lord knew I needed this class. . . .
Moving away from the window, he scattered extra Bibles on the large, round table before scanning his note cards once more. But his thoughts stubbornly returned to Suzy Fisher’s conversion and sudden death.
To think she might have died in her sins.
He thanked the Lord again for causing their paths to cross, for preparing Suzy’s heart to receive Him. He prayed, too, that somehow Suzy’s death would not be in vain.
The group of boys rushed into the classroom with a bustle of talk. Quickly they took their seats, forming a circle of eight energetic third- and fourth-graders. Chris hurried to sit at the table with them, wanting to be on their level, like an older brother. “You guys ready for the sword drill?” he asked.
There was a sudden flurry as those who hadn’t brought Bibles snatched up the ones in the center of the table. Thumbs poised over the gilded edges, they waited, eyes bright.
“Galatians 6:2,” Chris announced.
“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ,” one boy belted out, not bothering to search for it.
“No fair!” another boy piped up.
“Isn’t this a sword drill, not a memory verse drill?” asked Billy Zercher.
Chris looked at Billy in surprise. “You’re right.” He smiled. “Want to pick a Scripture?”
Billy turned shy, eyes blinking. He lowered his head and fell silent.
“Let me!” came the chorus of voices.
Chris glanced at Billy. I won’t give up on him. And not on Zach, either . . .
CHAPTER 9
The moment had come.
His countenance absolutely serious, Daed sat Caleb down Wednesday night and began to outline the future, beginning with his expectations for the initial division of farming and dairy responsibilities, next moving on to the eventual land transfer. “Son, I want you to be in charge of everything—plowing, planting, and working the land, overseeing livestock. For a while, of course, you can rely on your older brothers for some help with that, just as I do now.” He ran his thumbs beneath the length of his black suspenders before delving into more detail.
Anxious as he had been for this day to come, Caleb paid mighty close attention. My birthright, at last!
After a time, Daed leaned back in his chair and seemed to appraise him. Caleb met his father’s gaze, uncomfortable under the unexpected scrutiny.
“Listen, Caleb, I’m proud of you for breakin’ things off with that girl of yours. That is, I assume you have.”
His father’s words filled him with resentment, but he managed to maintain eye contact.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re not attendin’ Singings and whatnot.”
Caleb clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
“Now’s the time to find a befitting wife. Don’t let the grass grow under your feet.” His father added, “A deal’s a deal. I’ll sign the deed over when you’ve found yourself a suitable bride.”
“Suitable?” Nellie Mae was the most suitable bride he could imagine. “Why not Nellie Mae? She hasn’t joined Preacher Manny’s church, Daed. She’s staying Old Order. You’ll see for yourself next fall when we’re both baptized.”
His father grunted. “Way I see it, girls tend to follow their mammas even after marriage. It’s a good thing you’ve let her go.”
Caleb opened his mouth to respond but changed his mind. It certainly wasn’t Nellie’s fault Reuben Fisher had abandoned das Alt Gebrauch—the Old Ways—getting caught up in his preacher cousin’s dangerous way of thinking about things like studying Scripture. Why should Caleb have to abandon his affection for Nellie Mae because of his father’s opposition to Reuben’s keen interest in all of that?
Daed continued. “You could marry any number of girls in our church district . . . Deacon Lapp’s daughter, for one.”
“Susannah?”
Daed’s eyes brightened. “She’s a strong one—a hard worker. Mighty pretty, too. Even prettier than the Fisher girl.” Daed pointed his finger at him. “What I’m saying is, I expect you to marry a respectable girl from one of the families in our church. It’s the only way to get your land.” By this his father meant no one would do from among either the “saved by grace” folk or those splintering off further yet. Caleb had heard that several of the so-called tractor enthu-
siasts were already dialing up folk on telephones installed inside their houses, no less.
Judging by Daed’s flushed face, now was not the time to press further, risking his ire. No, his father was much too caught up in this split, drawing fine lines for his family about who was and was not fit for association. Caleb had wondered if his sister Rebekah wasn’t given a similar ultimatum. Yesterday he’d overheard quarreling between the usually calm Rebekah and Daed, and Rebekah had burst out crying, saying she was going to visit her best friend, Nan.
“And no one will stop me!”
Clearly he wasn’t the only one put out with his father’s bias against the Fishers, though it appeared Rebekah was more headstrong than he.
Or so Daed assumes . . .
Daed didn’t bother to dismiss him but simply rose and ambled out to the utility room. Caleb couldn’t forget this was the same man who had nine years ago railroaded Abe, his older brother, forcing him to marry his pregnant girlfriend. But Caleb’s situation was nothing like that of the too-amorous Abe.
Still, he shuddered to think how swiftly he could be pulled into a ferocious tug-of-war between the inheritance he was raised to and darling Nellie Mae. Fact was, all could be avoided if his father saw for himself that Nellie Mae was wholly faithful to the Old Order. If only Daed would just give it time.
Word spread about the newspaper ad for Nellie’s Simple Sweets like dandelions gone to seed in summer. Betsy’s sister-in-law Anna, the bishop’s wife, took it upon herself at the sewing frolic on Thursday morning to point out that it was “just a sinnin’ shame” for the Fishers to stoop to such a deed. She said it right to Betsy, who was taken aback.
“Well, it’s not Reuben’s or my doing,” Betsy replied.
“Whose, then?”
“I don’t know.” No one in the house even read the daily paper put out by Englischers. The only paper they subscribed to was The Budget, a Plain publication from Sugarcreek, Ohio, that chronicled the week’s activities.
“I daresay some folk will do anything for extra money.”
Rachel Stoltzfus put in her two cents as if she hadn’t heard Betsy at all.
“Had nothin’ to do with it, I tell ya.” Betsy turned away, peering down at her sewing. This morning’s group numbered eight other women, including her own daughters-in-law Esther and Fannie—wives to Thomas and Jeremiah.
Always one to offer a kind word, Esther spoke up on her behalf. “Now, why would ya think such a thing of Mamm?”
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