As their neighbors contemplated what Andy had said, their restless silence became even more difficult to bear. Rosalyn bowed her head, because she could no longer meet the gazes of the women around her. Lord, now that the truth is coming out, she prayed, give us all the grace to accept it and move forward in Your will for us. You’re the only one who can help us fix this mess Dat’s gotten us into.
“Are you saying we’re broke—that all of the aid fund is gone?” Josiah Witmer asked in a strained voice.
“How could this happen?” his wife Lena asked with a puzzled shake of her head. “There isn’t a casino anywhere near Willow Ridge.”
For several moments Dat didn’t respond. Rosalyn wondered how long these folks would put up with his refusal to speak of the details. Dan Kanagy, who was married to Miriam’s sister, Leah, stood up in the center of the men’s section. The expression on his ruddy face was troubled.
“Although your prostrate position might symbolize your remorse, Cornelius,” he said brusquely, “I, for one, prefer to see your face when you answer these questions. You have a lot of explaining to do!”
“Jah,” Adam Wagler chimed in, “God already knows what you’ve done, so you might as well tell us. If it involves gambling and casinos and such, most of us have no idea how you’ve gotten us into this situation—”
“Or how you propose to get us out of it,” Dan continued sternly. “We’re talking about a lot of money.”
“I agree,” Bishop Tom said with a nod. “Your neighbors deserve your direct response, Cornelius.”
Rosalyn’s stomach churned. If her father couldn’t pay his bills at Zook’s Market, how could he possibly repay what he’d lost from the district’s aid fund?
Very slowly Dat lifted his head. His face was as pale as poached fish. His graying hair and beard looked unkempt, and he was so rumpled, Rosalyn suspected he’d been wearing the same clothes for two or three days.
Was Dat truly distraught? Or was he playing upon these people’s sympathy? She was appalled that such questions even occurred to her—but her world had been overturned like the proverbial apple cart when she’d learned the extent of her father’s deceit. By the time he’d struggled onto his knees, with Tom and Ben standing on either side of him to help him up, Rosalyn was struck by how much he’d aged. Dat looked quite different from the Deacon Cornelius who’d read the past Sunday’s Scriptures with such gusto.
Rosalyn’s heart grew painfully still when Dat finally stood at his full height and then gazed reproachfully at her, Loretta, and Edith.
“My family has abandoned me in the hour of my greatest need,” he muttered, turning his head to include Drew and Asa in his accusation. “If they had been more supportive—more understanding of the depth of my grief after my beloved wife passed—perhaps I wouldn’t have succumbed to the siren call of the casino.”
Rosalyn’s mouth went dry. Her sisters tensed on either side of her. Across the room, Asa and Drew rose to their feet with identical frowns on their faces.
“Your girls have taken gut care of you, Cornelius,” Asa countered.
“Jah, let’s not lay the blame for your gambling on them—or on my brother and me,” Drew insisted. “We weren’t the ones who called a driver to take you to the casino in Kansas City so many times.”
“And we had no idea you were gambling on a computer in your workshop after you promised Bishop Tom you’d give up your habit,” Asa added. “You’ve deceived your family every bit as much as you’ve betrayed your neighbors.”
As folks took in this new information, they gawked at Rosalyn and her sisters—but their expressions hardened when they focused on her father again. What must these people be thinking now that the head of their family was admitting to heinous thievery only because the church leaders had compelled him to confess?
“Now that those two have spelled it out, what more do I need to say?” Dat spat.
“How much?” Dan quickly demanded.
“Jah, we have a right to know how much of our money you lost!” Ezra snapped. “Seems we’d have been better off entrusting our funds to an English bank.”
“But we didn’t find out about this—this astounding betrayal by our deacon until it was too late to bank the money!” Adam pointed out as he stood up to glare at Dat. “Bishop Vernon and Bishop Tom, if you know these details to be true, I’m ready to vote on shunning Cornelius.”
“Jah, what more do we need to hear?” Gabe Glick asked with a disgusted shake of his head. “I’ve witnessed a gut many confessions in my lifetime, but this beats all the previous ones rolled together.”
A wave of sadness washed over Rosalyn. She’d known this moment would come, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the animosity some of her neighbors displayed. Ordinarily these folks took life’s unpleasant surprises in stride, but as the enormity of Dat’s betrayal sank in, fear and loathing hardened their expressions.
“Let’s vote,” Lydia echoed. “We have a lot of work ahead of us, figuring out how to rebuild our aid fund. Cornelius obviously can’t pay us back.”
Bishop Tom surveyed the agitated crowd before focusing on Dat again. “Cornelius, you know how this works. We’ll call you back inside after we’ve voted.”
With a dejected sigh, Dat hung his head. “I’ve been cast out into the cold—into the outer darkness,” he lamented as he shambled toward the front door.
Rosalyn scowled when he left it open so that Preacher Ben had to shut it. The coldness that filled the Hooleys’ big front room came as much from folks’ chilly attitudes as from the brisk, wintry wind, however.
“Tom and Ben are recommending the customary six-week bann for Cornelius,” Bishop Vernon said somberly. “I’ll remind you that as he seeks to reconcile himself with God—and with you—you’re not to deal with Cornelius except to encourage his repentance and return to the path of salvation. You cannot give him anything or accept anything directly from his hand,” he continued in a hushed voice. “He will cover his face with his hand during church, and he’s not to share the common meals after the services. He’s to eat at a separate table in his home, as well. I ask your special consideration for his family, as these restrictions place a particular burden upon Rosalyn, Loretta, and Drew.”
Asa stood up. “Bishop Vernon, because of the strain Cornelius’s attitude has already caused in our family,” he said sadly, “Drew and Loretta are now living in the apartment above our furniture shop and Rosalyn has moved in with us. Cornelius is now alone in his home.”
Folks gazed at Rosalyn and her sisters with wide eyes. It was unheard of, to move out of a home rather than settling the differences between family members.
“Well, if his own family can’t stand him, maybe we should send him back where he came from,” one of the men muttered.
Bishop Tom raised his hand to still the whispering that filled the room. “I’ve already relieved Cornelius of his position as our deacon, and the vault has been relocated, so it behooves us to follow the Ordnung—to first prescribe a six-week separation,” he reminded them. “Then, if Cornelius has shown penitence and he sincerely asks for forgiveness at the end of his bann—or if he does not—we’ll proceed from there. Are we ready to vote?”
Everyone around Rosalyn nodded. The vote proceeded quickly along the rows of the men’s side, each aye resounding clearly. As the older women in front of Rosalyn voted to shun her father, a sense of dread filled her soul. It was one thing to acknowledge that Dat had committed an unthinkable crime that affected the entire district of Willow Ridge. It was another matter entirely to cast a condemnatory vote as his eldest daughter. The Ordnung required a unanimous decision to shun a member, however.
Her sisters’ hands tightened around hers as the vote continued down the row in which they were sitting. “Aye,” said Lena and Savilla Witmer. Rachel and Rhoda’s affirmative votes quickly followed theirs.
Edith sighed but then sat up straighter. “Aye,” she said.
Tears slid down Rosalyn’s cheeks. “A
ye,” she murmured, before Loretta added her muted affirmative vote. Annie Mae Wagler and her sister, Nellie Knepp, along with Ira’s wife, Millie, completed the process.
“You have declared your unanimous decision,” Bishop Vernon said. “Ben, if you’ll ask Cornelius to come inside, we’ll inform him of his bann. Then we’ll proceed with Tom’s confession and yours.”
Rosalyn’s heart clenched as Ben went to the door. Would Dat accept his fate, or would he make further accusations and excuses? He would know that his daughters and their husbands had voted to put him under the bann, so she couldn’t imagine Dat hearing Bishop Vernon announce his punishment without taking a final verbal shot.
As Rosalyn braced herself for Dat’s rebuke, she glanced over at the men’s side—and felt grateful for the compassion that shone on Marcus’s face as he gazed at her.
At least I have one friend who understands my difficult situation, she thought. Maybe, with Marcus’s help, I’ll get through this. Maybe someday he’ll want to be more than just my friend . . .
Chapter Twenty-Three
Marcus longed to rush over and take Rosalyn in his arms, to kiss away her tears—but such behavior would be improper during this solemn public meeting. He held her gaze, however, while most folks were focused on her father’s return.
“Cornelius!” Preacher Ben called as he stepped outside. “Where are you? Come inside now!”
Had the errant deacon left the premises rather than face his fate? All around the room, folks were craning their necks as they watched for Rosalyn’s dat.
Marcus hoped life would be easier for the Riehl girls now that they no longer lived under their domineering father’s thumb—and he vowed to see that Rosalyn and her sisters suffered no backlash from these neighbors who’d learned about Cornelius’s gambling. It was highly unusual for Amish daughters to leave their father to fend for himself, so some of the more traditional folks in town—especially the men—might view the girls’ departure as disrespectful.
Commotion at the doorway drew Marcus out of his thoughts. Because Cornelius had foolishly gone outside without his coat, Ben was brushing a lot of snow from his slumped shoulders. Had Cornelius burrowed in a drift or caught some snow as it slipped off the roof?
Why would he do that, unless he was trying for folks’ attention—their sympathy? Marcus wondered. He hadn’t known Cornelius long, but he was tired of the games Rosalyn’s dat played—as well as the way he manipulated his daughters’ emotions.
“Cornelius, the members have voted on a bann for a full six weeks—which is customary for an offense of such magnitude as yours,” Bishop Vernon said. “Meanwhile, we’ll be praying for your soul’s recovery—and encouraging you to find a way to make restitution.”
Cornelius’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Did our Lord not teach his disciples to ‘forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,’?” he demanded sourly. “I’ve been dealt a harsh blow by folks who claim to obey the Bible—”
“‘Thou shalt not steal! ’” Ezra exclaimed. “That’s in the Bible, too.”
“‘Thou wicked and slothful servant! ’” Gabe chimed in vehemently. “Why wouldn’t we punish your crime?”
“You got off easy, Cornelius,” Dan Kanagy put in with a shake of his head. “You’ve bankrupted our aid fund, and you don’t even seem sorry for cheating us.”
“You should go home now, Cornelius,” Bishop Tom suggested quickly. “We have other matters for members in gut standing to decide—”
“You’re not going to reprimand Rosalyn and Loretta for abandoning me?” Cornelius demanded. “They’ve repeatedly defied me by working in Nora Hooley’s store amongst English, too—clearly going against our Old Order ways—yet you’re allowing them to get off scot-free?”
Bishop Tom and Preacher Ben exchanged a look that suggested they were both tired of dealing with Cornelius. When Lydia Zook stood up, Marcus hoped she wouldn’t suggest that Rosalyn, as the unmarried daughter, should return home to look after her dat. Rosalyn’s tight-lipped expression told him that she, too, expected conservative Preacher Henry’s wife to speak in favor of a Plain daughter’s traditional role.
“Seems to me, Cornelius, that you should be grateful to your daughters and sons-in-law for paying off your bill at the market,” Lydia said boldly. “I certainly am.”
“Jah,” red-haired Atlee Glick joined in. “The Detweilers paid off your horse feed bill at the sale barn yesterday, too. Seeing’s how they were making the rounds, asking if you owed anyone else money, I’m convinced they had no idea you’d been gambling at a casino—and on a computer after that.”
“Asa and Drew paid your bill at the mill, as well,” Ira Hooley said as he rose from his pew bench. “Seems you dug yourself into this hole, Cornelius, so maybe it’s best you dig yourself out—or at least show a little remorse for the way you’ve hoodwinked everyone in town. Frankly, I can’t blame your girls for moving out.”
Marcus relaxed. He’d been ready to defend the Riehl girls and their husbands, but it seemed everyone had figured out the truth.
Cornelius scowled, his fists clenched at his sides. “So that’s the way of it?” he scoffed. “Why do I suspect that at the end of my six-week bann, not a one of you will believe I’m sorry and repentant? I might as well—”
“Actions speak louder than words,” Atlee piped up again. “When the bishop tells us you’ve begun paying back the church’s money, maybe we’ll believe your plea for forgiveness is sincere.”
“And meanwhile, not a one of you will buy my clocks or ask me to do repairs so I’ll have an income, right?” Cornelius shot back. “I might as well go. I sense no Christian charity at all in this crowd.”
When the door slammed behind him, everyone winced—and then remained very quiet. Bishop Tom walked to the center of the space between the men’s and women’s sides and went to his knees. As he clasped his hands in a gesture of prayerful entreaty, not a soul made a sound.
“I want to confess that I have failed,” the bishop began softly. “I want to make peace and continue in patience with God and the church, and in the future to take better care.”
“And I belong on my knees right here with Tom,” Preacher Ben said as he knelt beside the bishop. “I have also failed, and I want to make peace and continue in patience with God and the church—with all of you folks who look to us for guidance—and in the future take better care.”
Preacher Henry, alone on the preacher’s bench, appeared self-conscious about being the only church leader who remained unscathed by this unusual situation. Marcus didn’t know Vernon Gingerich very well, but he was glad the bishop from Cedar Creek had stepped in to assist them. Henry Zook was clearly more comfortable running his store than he was with the leadership role his neighbors had nominated him for, and for which God had chosen him by the fall of the lot.
“How about if you tell us why you feel compelled to confess, Tom,” Bishop Vernon suggested. “I perceive some puzzlement on the faces of your church members, concerning your connection to what they’ve learned about Cornelius.”
Bishop Tom nodded. “Nora Hooley told me in early September that she and Drew had become suspicious of Cornelius’s frequent trips to Kansas City, so they’d followed him and seen him going into a casino,” he explained. “When Ben and I went to the Riehl house to quiz him, we took Cornelius to task for having an air conditioner in his shop, and for placing his workbench across the doorway to the vault—”
“Because we’d asked him earlier to move it, in case we needed emergency funds and he wasn’t at home,” Ben added in explanation.
“When Cornelius finally admitted that he’d gambled away a chunk of the church’s money,” Bishop Tom continued ruefully, “he promised he wouldn’t go near a casino again, and he agreed to some grief counseling and a repayment plan. He pleaded for a second chance—”
“Begged us not to tell anyone else about his habit,” Ben added with a shake of his head. “Cornelius insisted that he could get beyond his grief
and his gambling—”
“—and he asked us to forgive him, to have mercy because his wife’s absence had gotten the best of him.” The bishop closed his eyes in utter desolation. “I told Cornelius that confession would be the better path for him, but in the end I gave in to his plea for forgiveness . . . because we Amish believe so firmly in forgiving and moving forward in faith.”
Bishop Tom paused, exhaling. “I should’ve listened to Ben. I should’ve insisted that Cornelius come before all of you back then—when most of our money was still in the safe,” he added wearily. “I have failed you miserably. I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you shunned me and asked me to step down as your bishop.”
“And I was right there with him, knowing that Cornelius should be on his knees,” Ben said earnestly. “But I wanted to believe that our deacon would change his ways and choose the right path.”
Bishop Vernon nodded, observing people’s reactions. Marcus was impressed by his air of patience and wisdom—his inclination to listen rather than to speak out in stern admonition, as the bishops in Pennsylvania tended to do. When Vernon’s gaze lingered on Marcus, and his mouth curved in an approving smile above his snowy-white beard, Marcus felt he’d received a blessing directly from God.
“Ben and I agreed that Cornelius’s confession would only be valid if he made it of his own free will,” Bishop Tom explained further. “So here we are, in the week before Christmas, with scarcely a dime in the aid fund after paying off the hospital expenses for Miriam’s family. The crime belongs to Cornelius, but I enabled him—when I should’ve followed the prescribed path and brought him before you earlier. I’m sorry, my friends,” he murmured. “I accept whatever chastisement you choose for me.”
“I do, too,” Ben said as he looked out over the crowd. “I’m sorry I’ve let you all down—and that my lack of judgment has cost you so much of your hard-earned money.”
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