The Tinderbox

by Beverly Lewis

  She had been working to peel two quarts of ripe tomatoes, preparing them for a tomato corn relish recipe Mammi Riehl had given her as a newlywed. As she worked, she recalled the Scripture verse that Bishop John must have written down for her husband, one that she’d seen lying on Earnest’s bedside table that morning. First John, chapter one, verse nine: If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

  It was hard to know the condition of one’s heart—certainly for the purpose of judging. She felt called to pray for her husband, hoping that he was still open to accepting valuable spiritual input from the brethren.

  He hadn’t made any negative remarks to her, but it was still early in the Bann, and already she sensed his restlessness and his low spirits. He had, after all, worked more than two decades to establish his excellence as a clockmaker, trusted friend and confidant, and all-round good man. She couldn’t know for certain, but she was starting to think her husband’s business was at risk. For one thing, only two Amish customers had dropped by since the bishop had declared him shunned, and there’d been no sales. And Adam had mentioned to Rhoda privately last evening that he’d seen an Amish neighbor up the road hauling a grandfather clock—one Adam was certain had not come from his father’s shop—in the back of his spring wagon. Rhoda wouldn’t think of bringing this up to Earnest, of course, but she assumed it indicated at least one lost sale.

  This troubled her. Typically during a temporary Bann, church members were encouraged not to “starve out” the shunned person. But Rhoda wondered if because Earnest had been looked up to, perhaps even erroneously put on a pedestal, some folk were uncomfortable doing business with him now. She just didn’t know what to think.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-One

  The last Sunday in June arrived, hot and sultry, and with it Dat’s required attendance at Preaching, the first time since the bishop declared him excommunicated.

  When Sylvia and the other baptismal candidates were dismissed to join the congregation downstairs after class, she spotted her father in the second row, behind where the ministers went to sit, bowed low. She felt overwhelmed with sadness and embarrassment to see him up front, sitting that way to show humility.

  She hoped her brothers weren’t feeling as gloomy as she did just now.

  Before this, Sylvia had had no firsthand experience of a shunning, although she’d heard about Katie Lapp, a young woman who had been shunned decades ago. She knew, though, that just like at home, Dat was not allowed to sit with anyone for the common meal today after Preaching. Rather, he was expected to stand on the porch or out on the lawn, available for the other men to talk with him and hopefully encourage him. To think he has a whole month more of this! thought Sylvia, her heart going out to him, even though, according to the way of the People, the discipline was considered essential.

  The Ordnung teaches us how to live, she thought where she sat next to Mamma. Sylvia had learned in baptism class that it was not a list of rules to follow but rather a set of expectations for conduct. And while the Ordnung was unwritten, it honored the memory of older folk in the community . . . the source of the wisdom in the long-held tradition.

  Sylvia’s brother Ernie dropped her off at the Sunday Singing that evening. And as she entered the barn for the gathering, she suddenly felt self-conscious. Oddly, if it was not her own imagination, she could feel the glances of the other youth.

  Is everyone staring at me?

  She tried very hard not to let it bother her, spotting Andy Zook smiling across the haymow at that moment. He waved, seemingly unfazed by her presence, and she waved back. Then she happened to see Mel Kauffman looking her way—Titus’s close cousin who’d double-dated with her and Titus a while back. At first, he seemed to study her, but then, when he noticed her looking at him, he turned away. Trying not to take this to heart, Sylvia walked toward Linda Mast, one of Uncle Curtis’s teenage cousins, who blinked her eyes awkwardly at Sylvia and turned her fair head.

  This ain’t going so well.

  Taking her seat with Cousins Alma and Jessie, she assumed that most of die Youngie had either seen or heard that her father was seated up front during Preaching that morning, bowed over in contrition. The grapevine has spread this, if not the fact that Dat deceived about his past, she thought, heartsick that some were likely gossiping about her father . . . and their family. Me included, she thought, not looking for Titus, who she assumed was sitting with the other young men, not far from her.

  Oh, Sylvia thought, I should’ve stayed home!

  It was clear to Sylvia that Titus was taking the long way to her house, slowly trotting the horse past the General Store, where a low-spreading mimosa tree would soon produce bright, rosy pink blossoms. As a girl, Sylvia had marveled that the tree could rain down powdery blossoms at the slightest breeze. Now in the darkness, she saw only the outline of its delicate branches.

  Oddly, she felt relaxed, even though Titus had yet to mention anything about her father’s temporary shunning. Titus did glance at her every few minutes, the driving lines taut in his hand, and she felt sure he had other things on his mind. Or does he expect me to bring it up?

  Drawing a deep breath, she said at last, “I’m glad this week’s nearly over.”

  Titus looked at her and nodded. “But tomorrow’s a new beginning, my Mamm always says.”

  I wish that were true at our house, she thought. What with the Bann underway, every time one of the ministers arrived to admonish Dat, it was a reminder to the whole family of what he had done.

  “I’m glad we’re together tonight,” Titus said, disturbing her musing.

  Not in the mood for romance, Sylvia could not dismiss the thing that had nagged at her since the morning Deacon Peachey came rushing into the driveway to see her father. “Titus, did ya spend most of your time in Maryland with my Dat?”

  He turned to look at her. “Like I wrote in my early letter, we partnered on the rebuilds. We even shared a room.”

  She was conscious of a shift in his tone as he seemed to stiffen, his arm still around her. “Just curious.”

  He nodded, mum.

  She held back a moment and wondered if she dared stick her neck out. But then curiosity overruled, and she asked, “Did ya happen to know that my Dat was spending evening hours with his great-uncle?”

  Titus was quiet for a moment. “The retired Mennonite preacher?”

  “Jah.”

  He removed his arm from around her and held the driving lines with both hands now. “I enjoyed spending time with your father, Sylvie,” he said, changing the subject. “I’ve always liked bein’ around him—you know that.”

  That’s not what I asked, she thought, fixing her gaze on the back of the horse and the occasional carriages coming toward them.

  “Speaking of your father, I noticed he was absent from Preachin’ two weeks ago,” Titus said unexpectedly.

  “Jah.”

  “And there was a members meeting afterward.” Titus glanced at her. “Do you know why the meeting was called?”

  What’s he doing? she thought. Surely he saw Dat bowed during Preaching this morning!

  “We’re not members, are we, you and I?” she replied, her answer as vague as he’d been earlier.

  “Not yet.”

  She refused to say that a Bann had been put on her father. While the excommunication was temporary, it was a shunning all the same. Thankfully, Titus didn’t ask anything more about that, and she had decided not to talk about it with him anyway, wanting to act like she was already a baptized church member. If the members aren’t permitted to discuss it, she thought, irritated, then the daughter of the shunned man shouldn’t, either.

  Just then, Titus mentioned a hike the youth were planning at Landis Woods next weekend. Sylvia merely listened, finding it strange that he had changed the subject so drastically.

  And when he kissed her good-night while they sat on the shoulder of the road in front of Sylvi
a’s house, she could think only about getting back to her wounded family.

  “What’s the hurry?” Titus asked, reaching for her hand.

  “Oh, just tired, I guess.”

  “Well, would ya like to go on that hike with me, and with Alma and Danny, too?”

  Sylvia looked at him sitting there in the dim light of dusk, the driving lines lapped over his knees, and she really just wanted to ask him straight out if he had been the one to tell the brethren about her father’s meetings with his great-uncle. It wasn’t his fault that her father was being shunned, of course, but she felt Titus should have been honest with her.

  But she wouldn’t let on how angry she was. Furious, really. “I know for sure I’m gonna be busy this week,” she said, wanting to stay close to Mamma, helping around the house and at the roadside stand.

  Titus seemed to take this in stride, which was a relief. Then he mentioned a few other activities coming up, including a volleyball game and that some of the youth were getting together to go fishing in the Susquehanna River. He seemed to want to keep her from leaving, talking on about all the fun they would have together the rest of the summer.

  But Sylvia’s mind wasn’t on any of that.

  Did you report my father? she wondered when they said good-night at last. And even worse, not tell me the truth about it?

  Ten days passed, and once the house was clean that Wednesday, Sylvia sat down at the kitchen table to study for her classes, wanting to be as conscientious a candidate now as she had been each day since the first Sunday.

  Mamma was just across the kitchen, rolling chicken pieces in a mixture of flour, seasonings, and butter before baking.

  “Mamma, do ya remember this from your baptism instruction?” she asked, then read aloud Ephesians, chapter four, verses twenty-three and twenty-four: “‘And be renewed in the spirit of your mind. And that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.’”

  “I do remember.” Mamma turned to look at her, shaking the pieces of chicken in a bag filled with the coating mixture.

  “I’m curious ’bout the meaning of ‘be renewed in the spirit of your mind.’ Do ya know?”

  Mamma set down the bag of chicken and walked toward the table. “You’re a thinker, Sylvie. Des gut.” She smiled. “I think the Apostle Paul meant that we aren’t able to separate ourselves from sin and live a holy life on our own strength. The only way is to surrender our hearts and minds to our Savior. If we do that, God renews our hearts and makes us more like Him.”

  Sylvia listened and wondered if the brethren were encouraging Dat to do what the verse instructed. “I s’pose we can encourage each other best when we remind each other of this, jah?”

  Mamma nodded. “And we can be thankful for those who come alongside us when we’ve fallen.” She returned to the counter and picked up her brown bag and began shaking it again. “We’re a community of believers who lift each other up, remember.”

  Sylvia was glad she could talk with Mamma about the things she was learning, but she also wondered why a wayward person like her father had to be put through such a tough time before being accepted back into the membership.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-Two

  A week later, after Thursday breakfast, Earnest hitched up and headed over to the hardware store. His wife and daughter had gone to a spaghetti sauce–making bee around the same time he’d left the house. They’ve become very close, he thought, glad Sylvie was such an attentive daughter.

  He thought of how often she had come over to spend time with him in his shop, prior to his secret being exposed. Those days were distant now in his mind as he poured his energy into following through with the Bann. Six weeks felt like an eternity, but he was determined not to resent the brethren. I had it coming. . . .

  A black-topped carriage was heading this way, and Earnest recognized it as an Old Order Mennonite buggy, like his Zimmerman grandparents’. As he liked to do, Earnest waved at the elderly couple, his former customers.

  To his surprise, neither returned his wave and, all the more astonishing, the man and woman quite noticeably turned their faces away. This knocked the air out of Earnest, and he wondered if word hadn’t gotten out that his was not meant to be a permanent Bann—ousted for life. What if folks are talking behind the bishop’s back?

  He observed the familiar expanse of cornfields, trying to pull himself together, his horse moving at a steady trot.

  At the store, Earnest took out his list of hardware items, and one by one quickly located what he’d come to purchase. While folding his list and stuffing it back into his pocket, he was suddenly aware of two men talking on the other side of the aisle. He couldn’t see them from his location, but their voices were clear enough, especially when his own name was spoken just then.

  “Such a fine, upstanding man we all thought Earnest Miller was. The best clockmaker in all of Lancaster County, and honest as the day’s long,” a man was saying. “’Least, we thought so.”

  “Jah, to think he kept it from his wife for that long,” the other man said.

  “And those Millers were such a wunnerbaar-gut family, too,” came the reply. “All those fine young sons . . . and Earnest’s daughter, always so kind.”

  “Ain’t that the truth . . . so well thought of all these years. ’Tis a horrible shame that everything he’s worked for has been ruined.”

  Mortified, Earnest leaned closer to the shelves, unable to lay eyes on these men. Neither voice rang a bell for him, and he stood there, dismayed. Given the bishop’s warning, it was horrible to realize that news of his excommunication had spread to another Plain community. It was all he could do to hold himself back from hurrying up the aisle and around to confront the men. And, had he not been an Amishman for two decades, he might have done just that.

  Eventually, Earnest managed to recover his composure sufficiently to push the cart over to the cashier, hoping the gossiping men had left the store.

  Rhoda was delighted Sylvia had come with her to Hannah’s, where Ella Mae Zook and some of the other older women, including Rebecca Lapp and Mamie Zook, were present for the sauce-making bee.

  It was heartening to see Hannah looking so refreshed while at her kitchen table mincing garlic cloves. On the stove simmered several large kettles of tomatoes and homemade tomato soup, filling the air with a delicious, homey smell.

  During their midmorning break—an excuse for some treats—Hannah served fresh cherries, pretzel sticks, cookies, and sweet breads. Thankfully, Hannah’s past sorrows seemed far from her mind. Like the other older women there, she was lavishing attention on Sylvia, who was the only young woman present. And thinking of all the stress her dear family was currently enduring, Rhoda was glad. This time is really good for her, dear girl.

  Once everyone was seated at the tables set up in the large sunny kitchen, where every window was pushed wide open, Hannah shared her hope to crochet baby afghans to give to expectant mothers in the area. “Wouldn’t that be a nice fall project for us, after the harvest?” Hannah asked, her eyes shining.

  Rhoda was a bit surprised her sister was up for something like that. “That’s a great idea,” she said, the first to speak up.

  Ella Mae raised her hand, then put it down and looked around, her eyelashes fluttering. “Ach, I forgot we ain’t in school.”

  The women laughed, including Sylvia.

  “So I take it you’re interested in makin’ a cradle afghan, Ella Mae?” Hannah asked from where she sat across from the Wise Woman.

  “You saw my hand go up, jah?”

  Another wave of laughter skittered around the room.

  “’Tis a gut idea, Hannah,” Ella Mae said at last. “One we can all help with.”

  Rhoda nodded and agreed to make one, as well, hoping that one day not too far off, she would be crocheting afghans for Sylvia’s babies.

  When they stopped that afternoon for some lemonade and cookies, Ella Mae walked outdoors with Sylvia, who wande
red over to the shady side of the wraparound porch. “How are ya doin’?” she asked.

  Sylvia suspected she was referring to her father’s shunning, so she was glad they could talk privately.

  “I’m tryin’ to be strong, mostly for Mamma,” Sylvia confided, realizing she must have attracted Ella Mae’s notice due to her sad countenance today. “And for my brothers, as well.” She didn’t mention how seemingly miserable Adam had become, hardly speaking two words when Dat was present in the room.

  Ella Mae nodded. “’Tis awful hard on a family when one member suffers.” Her eyes welled up. “I went through the temporary Bann, too . . . years ago.”

  “Oh?” Sylvia had never heard this.

  “Scarcely anyone remembers now . . . most of my immediate family has since passed on.” Ella Mae shared that she had fallen for a young man who hadn’t yet joined church and didn’t seem interested in doing so. “This fella was later known as Ol’ Isaac Smucker . . . the elderly man who sold his clock business to your Dat. But back when he was a teenager, Isaac got to runnin’ with a wild bunch, and I liked goin’ with him in his fast car—even though I was already baptized. Imagine that!”

  Curious to hear more, Sylvia motioned to two rocking chairs, not wanting Ella Mae to have to stand for too long. “How’d he get straightened out?”

  “Well, if ya really wanna know, after a time, I insisted he settle down and heed the Lord’s call on his life. And since I had gone through a six-week Bann because of my association with him, he perked up his ears and did just that.” Ella Mae chuckled. “Guess I played a small part in getting him right with God and the church.”

  “Dare I ask if you two courted after that?”

  “Ach, we nearly got ourselves hitched, but we parted ways after my father took me aside and suggested I step back and give the relationship some breathing room.” Ella Mae smiled. “Thank goodness I listened, ’cause later I met the man I was s’posed to wed.”