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The Tinderbox

Page 22

by Beverly Lewis


  “That’s ridiculous.” He sounded perturbed.

  “I’m not sure it is. Please . . . I need time to think things over,” she replied, the words spilling out now. She remembered what the Wise Woman had said about giving her long-ago relationship space to breathe. “Wouldn’t it make sense for us to step back from seein’ each other . . . ’specially with so much focus on my father right now?”

  Titus nodded. “I believe you’re right,” he said, not putting up any kind of argument.

  Her mind was in a whirl as she recalled what Titus had said weeks ago about nothing but death keeping them apart. Yet she had been the one to bring this up tonight. Even so, the fact that Titus was so quick to agree meant he must have been thinking similarly. “All right, then,” she said at last.

  He signaled the horse to turn into Dat’s driveway, where their good-byes for the night felt more like good-bye forever.

  Even before Titus came around to offer to help her down from the buggy, Sylvia got out, lifted her skirt, and ran up the long driveway and into the house.

  Rhoda wasn’t necessarily alarmed the next day when Sylvia slept in and didn’t join her brothers and Rhoda at breakfast. But when Sylvia finally did come dragging downstairs in her bathrobe and slippers, looking like she hadn’t slept all night, Rhoda was terribly concerned.

  As the day progressed and Sylvia was too tired to go visiting with the family, Rhoda felt certain that something had happened between Sylvia and Titus. Have our worst fears come true? she worried. She even mentioned it to Earnest after they arrived home from Rhoda’s parents’. “This isn’t like our girl to burrow away.”

  Earnest nodded. “She was fine yesterday . . . as fine as any of us are these days.”

  “I thought so, too,” Rhoda agreed.

  They didn’t say much more, and after a time, Rhoda excused herself to go for a walk. Once more taking Ella Mae’s good advice to heart, she headed out to the meadow, her favorite place to pray these days. Our poor Sylvie . . .

  Earnest watched Rhoda hurry across the side lawn, past the stable, and up toward the grazing land. He wanted to walk with her, but the wall between them discouraged him. He feared it might become all the more fortified if he imposed himself in hope of breaking it down.

  Opening the Good Book on his lap, he believed that it was his duty—if he could—to do whatever it took to help ease Rhoda back into the way things used to be. It was one of the main reasons he had been rereading certain passages from Bishop John’s list of recommended verses, also taking the time to read the chapters around them.

  But the verses he kept going back to were found in Psalm thirty-one: In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust; let me never be ashamed: deliver me in thy righteousness. Bow down thine ear to me; deliver me speedily: be thou my strong rock, for an house of defense to save me. . . .

  “How wrong I was to think the Amish life, or any lifestyle, could be my strong footing,” Earnest whispered as he sat there on the porch in July’s oppressive heat. It was as if a new understanding had emerged in his heart. His yearning to turn over a new leaf more than two decades ago had not led him to the peace his soul longed for—that was too much to expect of Hickory Hollow and its Amish tradition.

  He recalled all the years Papa Zimmerman had taught him Scripture, and bowing his head, Earnest began to pray. “O Lord, lead me through to my public confession next Sunday. Help me stay on the path so that I hear the bishop’s words of restoration.”

  Sitting there, Earnest watched the sunlight play on the trees nearest the meadow, his eyes trained on the return of his wife. My darling bride . . .

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-Five

  The following morning, after Sylvia helped pin the washing to the clothesline, she assured Mamma that she was well enough to take Lily and the carriage over to the General Store to stock up on sugar and spices for the canning coming up.

  Mamma agreed but tilted her head, seemingly scrutinizing her. Sylvia hadn’t talked about the painful conversation with Titus just yet, but she would very soon. Some secrets aren’t best kept, she thought, heading to the stable to get Lily out of her stall.

  Dat must have noticed, because he came out of the shop to help her hitch up. She could tell he was as worried about her as Mamma seemed to be. But he didn’t say much other than “I’m glad to see you must be feeling better.”

  “I believe I am.”

  Her father led the mare into position, then backed her into the parallel shafts. Sylvia helped hook the tugs and traces, still reeling from the events of Saturday evening.

  When Lily was hitched up and ready to go, Dat said, “Be careful out on the road.”

  “I will,” she promised and thanked him for helping her. Then, turning back to him, she said, “Dat?”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “Are you sure you’re up to going on your own?”

  “Jah,” she assured him, “but I just wanted to say that . . . uh . . .” She’d lost her courage. Why was it so hard to talk to him anymore?

  “What is it, daughter?” He pulled on his beard, concern in his eyes.

  “I still feel bad . . . for opening the tinderbox,” she said, wanting to be honest.

  Dat went over to double-check the horse’s harness, like he was contemplating what she’d said. Is he upset? she wondered as she watched him run his hand over Lily’s mane, then pull a sugar cube out of his pocket to give her. Maybe I shouldn’t have dredged this up.

  “Just wanted ya to know,” she added softly.

  “You might find this hard to understand,” he said, walking back to Sylvia, “but I’m glad you opened it.” He paused and held the buggy door for her. “It gave me the very push I needed . . . the kick in the pants, really.” Dat’s brow creased as though there was more on his mind, but then he simply nodded. Before she discovered the pocket watch, he would likely have engaged her in a short conversation, but Sylvia reckoned those days were over. He was never one for many words, anyway. . . .

  She climbed into the carriage and picked up the driving lines. “I won’t be gone long,” she said.

  Dat took a step back. “Don’t forget, Sylvie, you’ll always be my little girl,” he said before closing the door securely.

  Encouraged, Sylvia signaled Lily to move forward, down the long driveway. At the corner, where Mamma had planted lavender years before, Sylvia noticed a big black barn cat rolling around in the middle of the bushy shrub. The animal’s frolicking brought a smile to her face.

  “At least Dat doesn’t hold a grudge toward me,” she murmured, her heart lighter.

  On the way, Sylvia tried to focus on the summertime landscape. The Amish neighbors’ yards were all mown and edged meticulously, the flower beds well cared for. Coming up on David and Mattie Beiler’s, she enjoyed seeing Mattie’s many petunias—white, pink, and burgundy—spreading cheer along the opposite side of their house from Ella Mae’s small abode. And, passing by the Wise Woman’s place, Sylvia was tempted to stop in and see her on the way home.

  I wish I had the time. . . .

  During the noon meal, not only did Adam go out on the porch to eat with Dat, but Ernie also joined them, which made it strange for the four of them left inside. If we all went out there with Dat, poor Mamma would be left alone, thought Sylvia. Like we’re choosing sides.

  “Your brain’s workin’ on something,” Mamma said with a glance at her.

  “Oh . . . I’m all right.”

  “If you’d like to walk with me after the kitchen’s redded up—”

  “Nee, I’m fine,” she replied. Calvin and Tommy were sitting across from her at the now sparsely occupied table, obviously all ears.

  “If ya change your mind,” Mamma said, “you’re welcome to join me.”

  Her brothers glanced at each other, and Sylvia guessed they were wishing to go walking with Mamma, instead of stacking wood with the older boys.

  During the rest of the meal of baked ham, chow chow, scalloped potatoes, and corn on the cob, Sylvia real
ized how thankful she was for her parents’ kind consideration of her and her well-being. Truth be told, she was counting the hours till Dat’s public confession before the church membership. The Bann had been difficult for the whole family, but soon they would be back together at mealtime. And hopefully, life would be peaceful again.

  Saturday afternoon, Sylvia hurried out to get the mail, fleetingly wondering if she might hear from Titus. She recalled again how silently they had ridden to her house a week ago this very night. Of course, it really wasn’t his place to contact her first, she knew, given how she’d left things. But they’d never even talked about how long this time apart should last, and the way Titus had so quickly agreed to it still troubled her. I suppose I should reach out to him. If so, what would I say?

  There was a collection of letters for Mamma. But as anticipated, there was no letter from Titus. The world around Sylvia had spun apart last Saturday night, and as each day passed, it seemed like even the landscape looked less bright, less green . . . less appealing.

  She plodded back to the house and placed the mail on the kitchen counter, then returned to weeding and hoeing the vegetable garden while Mamma took her daily walk. Sylvia also weeded the flowers surrounding the house and along the walkway to the back-porch steps.

  When her mother returned to help take down the washing and fold it, Sylvia noticed her wiping her eyes with a hankie.

  I should’ve gone walking with her.

  The next morning, Sylvia felt uncertain enough about seeing Titus at baptism class that she sat at the far end of the row of other young women, so as not to be in his line of vision. It was far more important to concentrate on the ministers and not be distracted.

  When the morning’s session was over, she made her way downstairs with the other youth and joined the congregation, suddenly feeling nervous. Following the service today, her father would kneel before the bishop and openly confess his sins to the membership. She had felt this same knotted, tight feeling before Bishop John Beiler’s pronouncement six weeks ago—at least she hadn’t had to suffer through hearing that. Necessary though the Bann was as part of Dat’s restoration, it was enough to have endured its restrictions and seen its effect on her family.

  Dear Mamma, she thought. Will today open the wound all over again?

  After the children and youth left to go outdoors, the membership meeting began. Rhoda wasn’t the only one silently weeping as Earnest knelt and confessed his sins before the People. Sniffling came from many on the women’s side. And if Rhoda wasn’t mistaken, there was a catch in Bishop John’s voice as he asked the first question. “Earnest Miller, do you believe that your discipline was rightly deserved?”

  “I do,” Earnest replied.

  “And do you honestly ask for patience from the Lord God and this church?”

  Just as after the first question, Rhoda held her breath.

  Earnest nodded. “I do.”

  Bishop John looked pale as he asked the third question more slowly. “Finally, is it your sincere desire to promise to live an exemplary life, with God’s help, as you vowed to do at your baptism?”

  Earnest said with apparent confidence, “I do.”

  The bishop wiped his eyes with his white handkerchief, then stated that he believed the Lord above had pardoned and removed Earnest’s sins. He asked that the congregation “be kindly encouraging and caring toward Earnest and his family in the coming days and weeks.”

  Then, extending his hand to raise Earnest from his knees, the bishop offered a kiss as a sign of peace and reinstated relationship. Various ones in the congregation shed tears, but Rhoda did not let her gaze linger long. It was a precious time of purification—and healing—for the entire membership.

  Everyone seemed to go out of their way to welcome Earnest back to the table at the shared meal; sitting amongst so many friends and relatives, including brother-in-law Curtis Mast, was something he had greatly missed. He nodded politely at Judah and Edwin Zook as they leaned over their end of the table to make eye contact with him and smile. Judah was known to have a perpetual twinkle in his eye, and it was there for Earnest now.

  These are my Amish brothers. . . . With a grateful heart, he pondered the process that had led to his restoration to full membership and to such good fellowship with those around him. But his dearest thoughts were of Rhoda.

  While checking on the livestock that afternoon, Earnest was pleased to see Adam coming to join him—the first of his sons to change clothes and venture out to help water and feed.

  “Looks like I’m your right-hand man again,” Adam declared as he removed one of his work boots and emptied the dirt out of it before putting it back on.

  Sensing what he meant, Earnest smiled and patted his son’s shoulder. “You always were,” he insisted. “Nothing could ever change that.” He noticed the stable door opening and the other boys walking in.

  “Many hands make light work,” young Tommy called out, all smiles.

  And Earnest could feel that a change had taken place—the church discipline had not only restored him in the eyes of the community . . . but in his own sons’ eyes, too.

  Instead of spending time upstairs in her hot room, Sylvia went out walking in hope of visiting Ella Mae Zook, who had invited her to drop by anytime.

  “’Tis so nice to see ya again,” the Wise Woman greeted her. “My peach pie’s coolin’ on the counter, so if you’d like some with your iced peppermint tea, that’d make my heart ever so glad.”

  “Sounds delicious, but I really didn’t come for a dessert.” Sylvia smiled and pulled out a chair at the table, where Ella Mae motioned for her to sit.

  “Well, I’m not much one for eatin’ pie alone . . . are you?”

  Sylvia had to grin. “Nee, not really.”

  They talked about the fact that her father had been restored to a right relationship with God and the church. “I’ve already noticed a spring in Dat’s step,” she confided. “But he’s not the same.”

  “No matter how short or long it is, excommunication is stressful, even frightening. But in the end, confession’s mighty gut for any soul. . . . I certainly know this to be so.” Ella Mae stood at the counter cutting her pie into six large slices. “You remember what I told ya ’bout my own Bann as a teenager.”

  “Jah, I do. But I’m looking forward to, well . . . for things to return to normal.”

  “Well, things’ll never be exactly like they were, I’m sure ya realize. How can they be?” She paused, blinking and pulling out her hankie from beneath her sleeve. “When hurtful things are revealed, it leaves a wound that only the Lord, and time and tenderness, can heal.”

  “So are you sayin’ I should be patient?”

  Ella Mae turned to glance at her. “That’s exactly what I mean.” She brought over two pretty dessert plates with very generous pieces of pie on each. “Here we are, Sylvie . . . I’ve always liked your nickname.”

  “My father gave it to me when I was little.”

  “Well, it suits ya.” With a little bob of her head, Ella Mae sat across the small table from Sylvia, looking over the top of her spectacles. “Your father’s always been real fond of ya. I remember when you were born, he carried you around every chance he could, whenever your Mamma needed extra rest.”

  Sylvia loved hearing this, even though Mamma had told her the same thing years ago.

  “Oh, and when you were toddlin’ about,” Ella Mae continued, “he would lift ya high on his shoulders, holding on to your little dimpled hands while you just giggled up there . . . his little girl.”

  “I can almost picture that,” Sylvia said with a sigh. “I’ve always felt close to Dat. But not since I got all of this started . . . with his excommunication an’ all.”

  “You, dearie?”

  Without telling everything, she explained to Ella Mae about finding the heirloom tinderbox full of her father’s memorabilia. “One of those items was something Dat never expected anyone to discover.”

  Ella Mae seeme
d to take this in, tilting her head as if in deep thought. “Well, since the dear Lord has forgiven your father’s sins, isn’t it time you forgave yourself?”

  Sylvia swallowed hard. “I can forgive others, but it’s harder to forgive myself.”

  Ella Mae nodded. “I want to share somethin’ with you. In the book of Micah, the prophet writes, ‘And what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?’”

  Sylvia felt as if Ella Mae were searching her heart with her eyes.

  “Tonight, before ya slip into your bed, will ya talk this over with the Lord?”

  Sylvia wanted to—in fact, she’d tried to repeatedly. The pressure was ever so burdensome, but she hardly knew how to answer.

  “Remember, we can shine the brightest in our suffering an’ pain,” Ella Mae said quietly.

  She’s right, Sylvia thought as she watched her pour more cold peppermint tea.

  “You did want more, ain’t so?” Ella Mae asked, smiling broadly.

  Later, during her walk home, Sylvia looked forward to helping Mamma make supper and to sitting down at the table, all of them together once again.

  Things will be better now, she thought. Surely they will.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-Six

  Four days passed and, from what Sylvia could tell, her family was slowly but steadily returning to their previous routine, even though Dat’s inventory of beautiful clocks was not selling quite as quickly as was typical. The consequences of her father’s past deceit, and his tarnished reputation, had caused deep scars amongst the People.

  Just as Ella Mae predicted, Sylvia thought.

  As before, Preacher Kauffman and Deacon Luke resumed their social visits with Dat, both men taking turns coming over and chewing the fat, especially during these hot and humid evenings. Sylvia brought out homemade ice cream and ice-cold root beer—the best ways to keep cool—then left the men alone to talk, having noticed Preacher Kauffman somewhat less engaged, seemingly standoffish, maybe feeling awkward. She couldn’t be sure, but she guessed there were some fences to be mended where Preacher Kauffman was concerned.

 

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