The warm thrill of his touch caught her by surprise, rooting her feet to the soil. She wondered how her hand felt to him—probably all sweaty from nerves, even in this nippy weather—but so far he hadn’t let go.
The unmistakable sound of lively guitar music came from across the barnyard.
“My father says it’s best to run away from evil, not move toward it.”
Caleb surely meant the guitar player in the barn, not their holding hands. Nellie smiled, mighty glad for the shadow cast on them as he led her through the thick willow grove, far from the barn and the devil’s music. She wouldn’t admit to having been drawn to the pleasing sound . . . wouldn’t think of saying anything to make him stop walking with her, his thumb stroking her hand, his arm brushing against hers. She needed to be able to think clearly, to be alert and on her guard all the rest of their time together tonight. No matter her attraction to Caleb, Nellie Mae would not disappoint her mamma by behaving recklessly.
“We’ll walk over to that white stake—see it?—then we’ll head back,” he said, pointing.
“Jah, fine.” She had to smile. How confident her voice sounded, nearly fooling even herself.
With the house good and quiet—Betsy busy with her embroidery and the girls all out for the evening—Reuben settled down with two Bibles, the old German family one and the English one. He much preferred sitting in the front room near the open door, but now that fall was in the air, he found himself enjoying the warmth and comfort of Betsy’s kitchen.
“Betsy,” he said, glancing over at his wife, who sat within the golden ring of light coming from the gas lamp he’d hung over the table.
She looked up from her work. “Jah?”
“I’ll be reading the Scriptures now.”
She nodded.
She has no inkling what I have in mind. . . .
This night he would read the whole of chapter three in the Gospel of John. Reuben had been downright curious about the passage ever since his visit to Cousin Jonathan’s. According to his shunned relative, there was something important—even powerful—to be learned from this section of Scripture. Others too.
He felt a glimmer of guilt as he thumbed through the unfamiliar pages, one mingled with a hint of boldness. Truth be told, he had felt peeved ever since Preacher Manny had laid into him for no understandable cause. Manny knew precisely where he stood on things. Why treat him so?
With all the commotion already going on, what could it hurt for Reuben to read where he wished to in Scripture? He wanted Betsy to hear this, too, halfheartedly though it might well be.
For that reason, he began in English—he would read the same chapter to himself in German later. “ ‘There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews. The same came to Jesus by night, and said unto him, Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him.’ ”
He paused, glancing over at Betsy. Her mind’s wandering, for sure.
He continued. “ ‘Jesus answered . . . Verily, verily, I say unto thee, except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.’ ”
Right there, that’s what Cousin Jonathan talked about: being born again.
Reuben hadn’t believed these words were written at all the way his wayward cousin had stated them, yet they were right here before his eyes. Had Betsy heard what he’d just read?
He went on to the next verse, then the next, eager to see what else Scripture had to say. Was this what Jonathan meant by “hungering after the Word of God”? He shrugged off the memory. Leave it to outspoken Jonathan to say such things. Better for Reuben to do as he was told, to do things the way the People had always done them. Better he should listen to the bishop . . . and close the Good Book right now.
Listen and submit.
But when all was said and done, who was the final authority? Was it God and His Word? Or the bishop and the ministerial brethren?
Reuben struggled with all he had been taught . . . the unique way the Lord God identified the men to lead the People . . . the ordination process by the drawing of lots. All of it.
Can I trust what I know . . . what has always been?
His eyes followed the outline of his wife’s ample shape across the room. Her body sagged with exhaustion and grief. Neither of them was getting any younger. Had they missed something altogether important, as Jonathan had suggested? In daring to consider this, was Reuben opening himself up to what was not allowed, letting worldliness creep in? And if he were to memorize these verses, what then? Would they spring to life in him as Jonathan had insisted they would?
Puh! He was just offended enough by Preacher Manny’s rebuke that he forged ahead. “ ‘That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.’ ”
The air seemed to leave him, and he found himself gasping. He read on, silently now. Jesus seemed genuinely surprised that Nicodemus did not know the vital things of which he spoke.
Reuben reread the same verses. Neither had he known the truths Nicodemus had missed. Reuben realized at that moment that somehow he had been kept from the truth due to tradition—following carefully, cautiously, what his forefathers had always done. Never, ever wavering.
If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?
There it was again. He was as bad off as this Nicodemus fellow. He had not known this at all.
. . . that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
Stunned, Reuben looked at the verse again. Was it truly written so clearly? Yes, he’d made no mistake in the reading. Yet his people did not believe a person could have the assurance of salvation. You had to wait till the Judgment Day to know whether you were heaven bound.
He thought of Suzy and trembled at the thought of her life being snuffed out. He’d lost many nights of sleep over his youngest’s death, tormented by the knowledge she had died before making her life vows to the church. Not a soul knew of his dire concern. Not even Betsy, dear woman. He could not consider adding his worries to her own heavy burden of sadness.
He opened his German Bible, the ancient, large book where births and deaths of his ancestors over the generations were recorded. Where he had printed Suzy’s date of death with a shaking hand.
Reuben studied each verse from one through fifteen, comparing them to what he’d read in the English version as he balanced both holy books on his knees.
“No wonder some folk want to study on their own, without the bishop present,” he muttered.
“What’s that you say?” Betsy’s question broke into his thoughts.
He stared at her, almost not seeing her at first, so caught up was he in what he’d read.
“The Lord says I will have everlasting life . . . if I but believe.” He closed the Bibles and rose from his favorite chair to go stand by the back door, looking out through the summer porch to the pastureland beyond the yard and the small outbuildings.
“Reuben, are you all right, dear?”
He heard his wife’s voice, but the haze in his mind was so thick he felt nearly helpless to respond. Not now, while this arrow of light was piercing his soul.
“ ‘That which is born of the Spirit is spirit,’ ” he whispered, suddenly realizing his actions must be quite perplexing to Betsy. He was behaving strangely, just as she had in the days immediately after their Suzy drowned.
Would his darling daughter burn in hell for her sins as the church taught?
To keep his own pain and fear at a manageable level, he knew he must give Suzy’s death and her eternal reward up to the Lord God. Not only once, but again and again for all the remainder of his days.
Maybe this was why his Betsy was so taken with little Emma. Like many of their other grandchildren, James’s only daughter had become their sunshine in the midst of deepest sorrow. Surely the Good Lord kn
ew they needed some light in their darkness of loss.
The Good Lord Jesus . . .
Reuben reached for his kerchief and wiped his eyes; then he pushed open the door and headed out into the night without even bothering to pull on his work coat. Out, into the most radiant night he’d witnessed in years.
CHAPTER 12
The moon was a luminous round flare. Below Nellie’s feet, small and unseen creatures doubtless scurried in the brush as she peeked through the thicket of trees and shrubs, waiting for Caleb to arrive in his courting carriage. She could still feel his hand over hers as it had been all during their long walk earlier. Really they had talked of little beneath the sky and the willows. The memory stirred in her and she could scarcely wait to see him again.
Will he hold my hand again?
What might it be like to bake his favorite pie or cake . . . serve it to him sitting and smiling at the head of the table? How would she feel knowing he was out digging up, then marketing, their own potatoes, his tobacco crop already cut and stored in the shed, ahead of the frost?
She mused on what their daily chores would be as husband and wife. But no, this was merely their first date; she couldn’t be sure if there would be more. All the same, her thoughts turned to the future, pleasant what ifs filling her mind while dozens of buggies hurried past her hiding place near the road.
She thought of Nan, who’d asked repeatedly if she was all right, since there was no young man in sight to see Nellie home. Nan, as always, had an invitation to ride long into the night. I’ll walk a bit, she’d told Nan, not wanting to say more. And, oh, had she walked. A good, long way to this secluded spot previously chosen by Caleb.
Looking up, she could tell the moon had moved only slightly, judging the time by its slide across the sky. Surely Caleb would be along soon.
She reached into her dress pocket, where she kept Suzy’s Kapp strings. Some might frown on her decision to snip and cherish the strings, but Nellie took comfort in having these tangible reminders of her sister. These small pieces of Suzy were one way in which the memory of her short life lived on. Little by little now, Nellie found her great sadness was slowly subsiding as she turned toward the good things life had yet to offer. At first, in the days and weeks after Suzy died, she had wished to simply dissolve into the moonlight, disappearing like dew evaporates in the heat of the blazing sun.
Truly she had much to live for . . . much to do before it was her turn to cross the wide Jordan.
She heard a horse and buggy coming, slowing now, and shifted forward to peer through the branches. Surely this was Caleb, yet she must play along with his strange game and be certain before making herself known.
Scanning the overgrown area along the roadside, Caleb reined in the horse, standing now to look for Nellie. It was obvious she’d kept herself from view. Wunnerbaar-gut, he thought.
In spite of himself, he had started the evening scrutinizing her, but the more he observed, the more he genuinely liked Nellie. It had been difficult to tear himself away from her to go their separate ways after the Singing, as had been his plan. Even so, he knew it was best to be as discreet as possible, at least until he knew whether he wanted to pursue her. After tonight, once he determined whether there was anything of Suzy in her, he would know what he wanted to do.
Still holding the reins, he halted the horse and lingered without moving. How long before Nellie would emerge from the darkness? Was she here . . . nearby?
Finally, impatient to see her again, Caleb leaped down from the carriage and walked toward the thickest area, where he assumed she was hiding.
On a night so well lit by the moon, he could see nearly everything. The blue-black outline of the elm and oak branches and, if he wasn’t mistaken, the shadow of a girl, her head tilted in expectation.
“Nellie?” he said softly.
The girl said nothing.
Was it Nellie standing there?
“It’s Caleb,” he said more urgently, stepping forward.
Still the girl he could plainly see did not reply.
Then he heard it . . . a small giggle.
He rushed toward the bushes and found himself face-to-face with her, pulling her near before he realized what he was doing. She laughed happily in his arms. “I daresay you’re a tease,” he whispered.
“And you’re not?” She squirmed out of his grasp and stepped back.
He laughed heartily, and his horse whinnied and stomped. “Well, we’d better hurry . . . or we might be walkin’ tonight.”
He reached for her hand and they scurried toward the black open buggy, all shined up to beat the band, though she might not notice in the darkness. He steadied the horse, glad he’d studded the harness with lots of silver buttons. They caught the moonlight just now as Nellie sprang into the carriage, her face beaming.
Reuben took his time outside, moving along the perimeter of the meadow, the moon illuminating his every step. He had no idea how to pray on his own, to voice his thoughts to the Holy One of Israel. Sure, he’d said all the rote prayers he’d learned as a boy, but he had never cracked open the door of his heart and let God hear what was inside. If the God of Isaac and Jacob had appointed His Son to speak so frankly to a Jewish ruler, what would He be saying to the People today?
Ach, what would He say to me?
Reuben could not shake the remarkable things he’d discovered this evening. To think they’d been there, unmistakably plain, all this time. “Yet I never knew,” he murmured.
He had the greatest urge to seek out Cousin Jonathan and tell him about this. Just what had happened, anyway? Could he even put his finger on it?
“Jah . . . I believe the words of Jesus, the Christ.” He lifted his head toward the sky. “O Lord God, almighty One, I believe in your Son as my Savior. May I have the promise of eternal life your friend Nicodemus received?”
As sure as he was Reuben Fisher, he embraced the dawning within his soul. He raised his hands out before him, palms open, fingers spread wide. “Born again . . . by the spirit of the true and living God.”
He knelt down in the dirt, asking the Lord God and heavenly Father to receive him into the kingdom. As he did, he pictured Nicodemus doing the same.
He bowed his head low and breathed in the stillness around him, unsure of himself, hoping no one but almighty God was witnessing his gesture of contrition and faith.
In time, he rose and headed toward the house, feeling the need to tell someone. He couldn’t begin to describe what he’d experienced out there in the field alone with God. However, he must be careful how he explained it, for if he were to use the wrong words, he could be ousted and shunned like his cousin.
No matter the risk, he must share this with his beloved Betsy. But by the time he opened the door to the kitchen, it appeared he was too late; Betsy had evidently abandoned her embroidery to retire for the night. “Well, now, I s’pose there’s tomorrow,” he said, disappointed.
Eyeing the Good Book, Reuben went to it and sat down again, opening its pages. Never did he want to forget the splendid words he’d read, so he began to memorize the sayings of his Savior, beginning with the first verse of chapter three.
Haven’t our preachers ever read and pondered this chapter? Hasn’t the bishop?
Nellie’s mamma might have been surprised to know Caleb could hold Nellie’s hand and sit smack-dab next to her in his right-fancy courting buggy without attempting to cross any other romantic lines. They’d been riding under the glow of the most beautiful moon she’d ever seen for two hours, yet he had not so much as slipped his arm around her.
Mamma would like this boy, she thought, trying not to smile too broadly.
“You cold, Nellie Mae?” He leaned near.
How could she be cold under several lap robes and with a handsome fellow sitting next to her? “I’m fine,” she answered.
“You sure?”
She nodded, wondering if he hoped she might be chilly. By the twinkle in his eye, she was certain she’d guessed right.<
br />
They rode without talking for a long stretch, and then he surprised her by mentioning Suzy. “I know it’s too late, but I’d like to offer my sympathy.”
“It’s been terribly hard . . . to say the least.” Her throat closed up, and she hoped he wouldn’t say more.
“It must be, considerin’ the rumors, jah?”
She stiffened. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged awkwardly. “I’ve heard some talk about . . . well, how she drowned and all.”
What on earth?
Her breath came in little catches.
“Some of the People were worried ’bout the company she was keeping.”
Surely he’d also heard the sanitized version of Suzy’s life that Dat and Mamma had offered. “Her company—you know them?”
Caleb turned his head to look at her. “You haven’t heard what’s bein’ said, Nellie Mae?”
All of a sudden she didn’t like his tone. She let go of his hand. “Why are you askin’?”
He seemed to force a smile. “I’ve wondered, is all.”
She let the silence take over. He had no right to question her so; he scarcely knew her.
“What was Suzy like, really?” Caleb seemed to be changing the course of the conversation a bit.
“She was everything you saw.” Nellie felt compelled to defend her sister. “I loved her ever so much. She was kind and loving. . . .” She hesitated, realizing that what she wanted to say was more a fib than anything.
Frustrated and fighting the familiar sadness, she began again. “The rumors you’ve mentioned, well, they’re false. Suzy was a good girl.” The lie slipped out.
He leaned his head against hers. “I’m sorry, Nellie. Of course they’re not true. If you say it, then I know so. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no, it’s all right.” But it wasn’t and she held her breath, trying not to cry. She wanted him to take her home right quick.
“I’m awful sorry,” he said, going on to say that his sisters thought a lot of all her sisters, including Suzy. “They talked often of all four of yous.”
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