The Tinderbox

by Beverly Lewis

  “Sorry to hear it, Rhoda . . .” Ella Mae started, as if waiting to hear why, but when Rhoda didn’t offer specifics, the Wise Woman didn’t press. “Maybe ya just need to cry,” Ella Mae said thoughtfully. “’Tis better than bottlin’ up emotions . . . that can make a body sick.”

  Rhoda nodded. “I just don’t know how we—I mean, I—can get through this.”

  “Well, whatever this is, the Lord sees ahead, dearie.” Ella Mae took a breath. “Your situation is no surprise to Him—He’ll walk right with ya and never let ya fall.”

  “I’ve already fallen.” Rhoda said this convinced she was guilty of going against the Ordnung in urging Earnest to keep quiet about his past.

  Ella Mae sipped her tea slowly, looking at it, then over at Rhoda. “Have ya fallen so far that the Lord can’t reach down and pick you up?” She paused, then went on. “Will ya trust Him to carry you?”

  Rhoda sighed. “I’m sorry, but you can’t possibly know what I’m talking ’bout.”

  “Nee, but He knows.”

  Lifting her tumbler, Rhoda took a drink, the minty taste soothing her.

  “I tell ya what . . . why not take a long walk and just talk to your Savior like He’s walkin’ alongside ya. I used to do this all the time, before I got up in years—walk and talk with Jesus, our elder Bruder.”

  Rhoda smiled. Even without knowing much at all about Rhoda’s difficulties, Ella Mae sure knew how to get to the bottom of things. “I want my happy life back,” she ventured, inching closer to telling Ella Mae something more significant.

  “Remember, you are God’s hands and feet to your husband,” Ella Mae said quietly. “Forgiveness is one of the greatest forms of love.”

  This startled Rhoda. How far into her heart could Ella Mae see? “I don’t understand,” she sputtered. How does she know this?

  Ella Mae set her tumbler down and wiped her thin lips with the paper napkin. “Usually a woman doesn’t cry her eyes out, like ya said, if her marriage is on solid ground.”

  While Mamma went to visit Ella Mae, Sylvia took out a pen and stationery and sat at the kitchen table to write to Titus, thinking that, while it was too late to send it to Maryland, it could be waiting for him on his return. She tried several times to simply tell him how she’d passed her time but soon realized there was a certain tone in her words and phrases that she could not conceal.

  I must be upset with him, she thought, crumpling up her third attempt and going to the wastebasket under the sink. “What’s wrong with me . . . with us? Do I expect too much from Titus?”

  She wandered upstairs to her bedroom and stood there, surveying the space. It would be plenty big for her and her husband-to-be, even had a nice-sized closet, which not all the bedrooms in this house had. Why did Eva think they shouldn’t stay here, in her parents’ home, like other Amish brides? Was she having trouble letting go of her eldest son?

  Going to the window, Sylvia looked out at the family vegetable garden, thinking she should go and weed it again.

  And as she did, she found herself praying for Mamma, believing the Wise Woman was the ideal person for her to visit.

  Once Rhoda was home, she took Sylvia up on her offer to make dinner and hurried out for a walk, exactly as Ella Mae had suggested. She started to pray but felt embarrassed about speaking words into the air when always before she’d prayed silent rote prayers.

  After a few excruciating moments of this, Rhoda sensed she was finally growing more comfortable telling the Lord everything troubling her. And somehow, He was there in the gentle breeze, listening to every word she whispered. He was also there in the fragrance and the cascading beauty of the blooming wisteria growing along the horse fence in the pasture where Earnest and little Sylvie had planted them years ago.

  But most of all, His presence was firmly rooted in her heart. This spoke volumes to her pain, encouraging Rhoda to pour out her sadness, her anger, and her deep frustration. “Help me love Earnest the way You do, Lord,” she prayed, thankful the dear Savior was a friend to the brokenhearted.

  The walk was a long one, but when she finally reached home, Rhoda hoped she would not need to cry again tonight.

  Thinking about his arrival home at the end of the week, Earnest headed over next door to talk with Martin. He’d gone with Martin last Sunday afternoon to visit his grandparents’ graves, and the experience had affected him differently than he had anticipated. Standing by the small white matching headstones, he’d felt a sense of peace rather than sadness. Were they rejoicing in heaven, as Grandpa Zimmerman had often said he looked forward to doing one day?

  Now seeing Martin at the back door, waving him inside, Earnest greeted him and thanked him again for going to the trouble to take him by horse and buggy to the old cemetery.

  “Mighty glad to do it,” Martin said as he poured some coffee for both of them. “Most younger men stay as far away from a graveyard as possible.”

  Earnest nodded slowly.

  Martin cocked his head sideways. “Ya look like you’re carryin’ the weight of the world on your back.” He put the two coffee mugs on the table.

  Earnest picked up one of the mugs and went to sit down. “There’s no way out, that I can see.” He sighed. “After running away from my former English life, I’m afraid it’s finally caught up with me.”

  “Well now, when ya run away, you never really escape, do ya? You only fail to deal with whatever made ya run in the first place. Ain’t that right?”

  Earnest knew that was true.

  “Have ya considered confessin’ your shortcomings to God?”

  Earnest acknowledged that he’d tried.

  “Listen, son.” Martin headed for his rocking chair there in the kitchen, where he sat down with a great sigh. “God doesn’t love you ’cause you live a good life. He doesn’t even love you because you’re generous with your time and money.” Martin drew a deep breath, eyes softening. “God loves you, Earnest Miller, because He’s your heavenly Father . . . and it’s His nature to love.”

  Earnest had heard words like this before from Papa Zimmerman—so long ago, he’d forgotten.

  They talked further, and Martin said he wondered if Earnest hadn’t been hungry for God when he joined the Amish church. “More so than just for a new way of living.” Martin studied him. “Have ya ever considered that?”

  “I was raised to believe that a person needs faith, but it never really took.”

  Martin nodded. “But why do people need faith, do ya think? Do you understand what it means to have a heart made new by the Lord himself?”

  Earnest listened, but there were other things on his mind. “I’m concerned that if I were to confess my wrongdoing to the deacon, it would turn my family’s lives upside down.”

  “It seems as if things are already topsy-turvy,” Martin suggested. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen if ya told the truth?”

  Earnest thought on this. “I really don’t know. But it could affect my daughter’s chances to marry her fiancé,” he confided. “He’s an Amish preacher’s son, a highly respected young man. I wonder if he and his family could look past it.” He took a sip of coffee.

  Martin Zimmerman was slow to respond, his brow deeply furrowed. “Well, is her young fella a man or a mouse?”

  Earnest was captivated once again by Martin’s frank approach.

  “You wouldn’t want your daughter with a man whose love is shallow or dependent upon things goin’ smoothly, jah?”

  “I doubt Sylvia would see it that way. . . . She’s quite taken with him.”

  “That may be so, but you’re not doing her any favors, Earnest, by postponing your confession only to protect her. You don’t want this fella to someday regret marrying your daughter.”

  Earnest could see the wisdom in Preacher Martin’s perspective, yet part of him still warred against that.

  “Besides, is it Sylvia you’re concerned about harming . . . or is it yourself?”

  Earnest’s conscience was pricked, to
be sure. The old minister’s words were worth pondering seriously.

  Martin continued, now rocking in his chair. “Are ya familiar with this verse in the Psalms? ‘I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.’”

  “I may have read it,” Earnest said, wishing he had read the Good Book more often for himself . . . not just to his family.

  “During difficulties, it can be hard to imagine that a deep flood will retreat, given time. Or that in a dark night, the way forward can be found by simply puttin’ one foot in front of the other.”

  Preacher Martin offered to pray for Earnest, and bowing his head, Martin asked God to make him willing to be corrected with grace and to accept healing for his wounded spirit, as well as for the Holy Spirit to give him courage to do the right thing—come clean before the Lord and the Hickory Hollow brethren. “No matter how it impacts Sylvia and her fellow.”

  At Martin’s amen, Earnest knew that it had been Providence that brought him to this out-of-state job, where he had become reacquainted with this old sage and brother of his grandfather Zimmerman.

  “One last thing,” Martin said, leaning forward. “I encourage ya to pray for Rhoda. The upheaval over whatever it is you’ve done has certainly spilled onto her. She is, after all, heart of your heart.”

  Earnest nodded, eager to include an apology to dear Rhoda in the letter he had already begun writing that evening. He would also do his best to pray for her. Talking man-to-man with Martin had given Earnest some solid direction, and he shook his hand firmly, thankful beyond words.

  On the way out the door, Earnest noticed Titus Kauffman eyeing him from the walkway over near the woodshed. He must wonder why I spend so much time conferring with a Mennonite minister, thought Earnest, hurrying his steps.

  It crossed his mind that consulting with someone outside Amish circles was frowned upon, but he dismissed the possibility of being reported to Deacon Peachey. There were more important things on Earnest’s mind this night.

  That evening, after the children were in bed, Rhoda sat upstairs in her room and offered thanks to God for breathing life into Ella Mae’s words. She prayed for Earnest, too, having reread through each of his letters. It was curious, really, how much time her husband seemed to be spending with this Mennonite relative of his, and how comfortable he seemed in taking advice from him. True, the man was his great-uncle, but he was nonetheless an outsider, and that, along with everything else, made her feel nervous.

  She wished she had written at least one letter to Earnest while he was away. Still, she hadn’t known what to say . . . till now.

  Last of all, she prayed that the Lord might plant the seed of a forgiving love in her spirit, the kind of love He extended daily to His children, wayward or obedient.

  Dear Lord, soften my heart toward Earnest.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Five

  By Earnest’s best estimate, he and the other men would arrive back in Hickory Hollow by eleven that Friday night. He had no reason to expect Rhoda to wait up for him, given the way things had stood when he left, and since she hadn’t replied to his letters.

  Riding in the passenger van with the other men, Earnest noticed how quiet Titus seemed to be, even withdrawn. Having Titus as his roommate for their time in Maryland had been a good experience, and Earnest had come away with the impression that Titus would be a good husband for Sylvia. Now, though, when he tried to engage Titus in conversation, the young man acted strangely distant, unlike the Titus he had come to know over the years.

  He might just be worn out, Earnest thought, staring at the dark landscape, the twinkling lights of the small town vanishing as they rode toward Pennsylvania. His thoughts drifted to some of Uncle Martin’s remarks during the numerous visits. “God knows everything about ya, Earnest . . . even how many hairs are in your beard. You don’t have to figure out how to reveal yourself to the Maker of heaven and earth. He already knows what makes ya tick. . . .”

  During his final meeting with his great-uncle, Earnest had come to an important conclusion—his twenty-year-old secret was going to tear him and Rhoda apart. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but eventually.

  Even worse, the possibility of being nominated for Mahlon’s vacancy hung over his head. It’s too dangerous to allow my name to be included in the lot for preacher!

  If ever in the future the People became aware of his deception—and if they knew that both Rhoda and Sylvia had harbored his dishonesty—the consequences would be much greater than if he came forward now.

  But will Rhoda agree? he wondered.

  Heavyhearted, he considered what might lie ahead for him. What sort of church discipline might he face? He’d heard of Katie Lapp’s severe shunning. And what about dear Rhoda, and the probable loss of her good standing amongst the People? Would her family and friends stand by her? And poor Sylvia, as well, how would she suffer?

  Shifting in his seat, he squinted at the cars racing past on the opposite side of the road, their bright headlights shining into the passenger van. Sighing wearily, he knew that no matter the kind of misery he and his family might have to undergo, he had to do the right thing.

  If Rhoda agrees, all the better, he thought. At least we’ll be unified in that.

  Sitting in her room, Sylvia nervously realized that her father was returning sometime that night. She had grown so close to Mamma these weeks, feeling sorry for her as she was. Never before had she shared her heart like she had on the morning of Ascension Day—asking such direct questions. Yet Mamma had been the best listener, almost reminding Sylvia of the Wise Woman.

  She reached for her Bible and read two psalms, hoping the words and the inspiration might calm her before going to bed. She’d wanted to stay up, just to hear the van pull into the driveway and Dat arriving home, knowing it meant Titus was home safely, too, but she had to be out at the roadside stand early tomorrow morning. It was her turn, and Ernie was going to market with Aunt Ruthann and one of her boys to help set up for the day. Sylvia had been invited to go, as well, but declined, wanting to be close to Mamma since Dat would be back. The peace of the house was at stake, and even though she was only one of the children, she needed to know that Mamma was all right.

  It was much later than Earnest had predicted when he arrived at the farmhouse. A small lantern was lit on the kitchen table, and seeing it gave him a ray of hope. Was it there to welcome him home?

  A note caught his eye, and he saw that Rhoda had suggested that he not sleep on the floor in his shop tonight. Surprised but pleased, he carried his suitcase of laundry down to the wringer washer, then returned to the kitchen and put out the lantern. His heart pounded as he headed up to his and Rhoda’s room. If she was still awake, he wanted to talk about his decision to confess.

  The sky was beginning to grow light just as Earnest rolled over and looked at the clock on Rhoda’s dresser at five-twenty the next morning. He dozed another minute or so and was suddenly aware of Rhoda’s hand gently resting on his arm. Turning to face her, he smiled sleepily into her beautiful face. “I missed you,” he whispered.

  “When did ya get in?” she asked.

  “Close to midnight.”

  “Willkumm home, Earnest,” she said sleepily.

  “My home is where you are, love.” Oh, he wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t dare. Not yet. Not till he knew she would accept his affection again. “I have a lot to share with you.”

  “I do, too,” she said, pulling the lightweight blanket up over her arm.

  He was curious but forged ahead. “As you know from my letters, I spent a lot of time talking to my Mennonite uncle.”

  Her eyes widened suddenly.

  “And I have no right to ask this of you. . . .”

  She smiled, which gave him the courage to simply lay it out. “I’m worried our secret keeping is going to tear us apart,” he said.

  Her face softened with tenderness. “And I believe the Lord wants us to confess, too,” she said, explaining that she had been w
alking and praying every afternoon. She paused and looked at him. “I believe we’re s’posed to make things right before the Lord and the brethren.”

  He sighed, deeply relieved.

  “You don’t know how much better that makes me feel,” he said, struck that they’d both come to the same conclusion while apart.

  “But what’ll happen to Sylvie . . . to her and Titus?”

  He remembered Martin’s encouragement regarding this and shared some of their conversation. “If Titus Kauffman is anything like his father, he’s a strong young man and will be true to his engagement.”

  “I’ve wondered if Titus could stand up to Amos, if he’s told to back away from her.” Tears came to Rhoda’s eyes. “It hurts me to think how sad Sylvie would be if . . .”

  “Let’s not borrow trouble,” he said, wiping her tear away with his thumb.

  She blinked and looked at him for the longest time, as she often had before his secret was laid bare—back when she’d trusted him without reservation.

  “I understand how hard this is,” he whispered. “I’ve wronged you in many ways.”

  “You’ve apologized repeatedly,” Rhoda reminded him. “Now it’s time for us to find a way to move past all this pain . . . with God’s help.”

  “Jah,” he said, still holding back from taking her into his arms.

  “Whatever happens, we must trust God to help us, Earnest.”

  Sunlight flooded the room, and a robin began singing at the top of its little lungs. In that moment, he couldn’t imagine loving her more.

  Rhoda smiled and breathed a sigh of relief, he felt sure. “Ernie’s headed off to market to help Ruthann, so I’d best be gettin’ up and cookin’ some breakfast for him . . . and for you.”

  Earnest was reluctant to leave his close proximity to her but rolled out of bed nevertheless. “After breakfast, I’ll hitch up, and we’ll head over to the deacon’s.”