An Empty Cup

by Sarah Price

  The funeral was on Friday. After a two-hour service, twenty-seven buggies—each marked with a number written in chalk—had followed the wagon carrying the coffin to the graveyard. Rosanna had stood quietly by Reuben’s side watching as the coffin was lowered into a freshly dug hole. One of the preachers spoke while the bishop and the two remaining district preachers stood behind him.

  Beside her, Cate shuffled her feet, her shoulder bumping into Rosanna. Her daughter was restless. Who could blame her? Three days of mourning seemed long to a child. It seemed long to Rosanna, too. All she could think about was finding the opportunity to speak to the bishop. That thought, and that thought alone, raced through her head, again and again.

  On the road a car slowed to gawk at the gathering of so many Amish people, all dressed in black, standing in the cemetery. Without looking, Rosanna knew that they were snapping photos. A few mourners shifted their stance so that they could not be photographed. Rosanna hadn’t moved although Reuben had lightly touched her arm so that she might turn to escape the intruding lenses. He didn’t notice that she remained standing in the same place.

  Now, once again, the g’may was gathered. Everyone but Rosanna listened intently to the bishop. Her mind continued to focus on speaking to him afterward. All she needed was just a few minutes of his time. A chance to tell him what had happened three years ago and confess her role. Just a few, short minutes . . .

  “And now we will vote,” the bishop announced.

  Everyone walked outside while the bishop and the preachers set up two tables, one for the women and one for the men. Then, two by two, with the eldest going first, a man and a woman entered the kitchen. Each one approached his or her designated table and leaned down to whisper the name of the man he or she wanted to nominate in the ear of the preacher who sat at the table. The bishop stood in the back of the room, observing while he prayed.

  “So awful,” someone behind Rosanna said.

  The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t make out the name or place the face. Instead of responding, she stared at the open door, watching for the two people to exit so that another two might enter.

  “And the responsibility is now to weigh heavy on someone else’s shoulders,” another voice responded.

  Elizabeth Esh reached for Rosanna’s hand. “Are you praying, Rosanna?”

  At the sound of her name, Rosanna looked up.

  “I’ve been praying since Tuesday that we make the right choice,” Elizabeth continued nervously, still holding Rosanna’s hand. “Not just for the man but for his family, too.”

  Someone called for Elizabeth and motioned her toward the house. It was her turn to enter and cast her vote. Rosanna suddenly realized that she would have her chance to approach the bishop in just a few short minutes. Once Elizabeth walked back through that door, it would be Rosanna’s turn to vote. Her palms were sweaty, and she felt herself growing light-headed once again. Confess your sins. Clean your soul.

  Entering the house, she glanced around and saw one of the preachers gesture to her. The bishop wasn’t watching; his eyes were closed. She needed to catch his gaze and ask to speak to him afterward. But the opportunity didn’t come. Instead, she shuffled across the off-white linoleum floor of the Peacheys’ kitchen and stopped before the table.

  “Have you decided on your choice, sister?”

  Rosanna blinked twice, still looking at the bishop. Her hands were clenched into fists, the nails digging into her palms. This time it was not to keep herself awake but to keep from acting out inappropriately. She wanted to call to the bishop, to tell him she must have his counsel. But the casting of the vote outweighed her needs, no matter how insufferable her pain.

  “Sister?”

  She turned her eyes to look at the preacher. He was waiting for her. Swallowing her disappointment, she finally leaned over and whispered a name into his ear. Unlike Elizabeth, she had neither given it much thought nor prayed about it. She merely mumbled the first name that came to her head. The preacher nodded and wrote something down on a piece of paper, which he then folded and pushed to the side of the table.

  Rosanna’s vote was cast.

  Another thirty minutes passed before the remaining members had entered the house and whispered their nominations to the preachers. Standing under a tree near the driveway, Rosanna paced and wrung her hands. Every once in a while she sighed and lifted her eyes to the sky, watching the sun as it slowly etched its way from east to west.

  “Rosanna!” Katie called her name and, with her sister Fannie in tow, hurried over to her. “Meant to ask you about that clothing drive.”

  Rosanna looked up, confused. “The what?”

  “The clothing drive. We’re to meet next Saturday for cutting the fabric into squares,” Katie reminded her. Although she was a year younger than Fannie, in their black dresses and white prayer kapps, the two women could have been twins. Both had large stomachs, a testimony to bearing many children and having a few too many desserts.

  “Oh, ja, ja.” Rosanna nodded as she remembered. Had Cate distributed the flyers? Rosanna’s memory was fuzzy. Frowning, she tried to think back to the previous week. She recalled making the flyer with Cate after that incident with Gloria and Camille. “I asked Cate to hand out flyers last week,” she said, suddenly remembering and hoping Cate had done so. “I asked for the clothes to be dropped off this week by Wednesday.”

  “Gut! I knew we could count on you,” Katie said with a small smile.

  Before Rosanna could respond, the gathering began to walk toward the house. Someone must have indicated that the voting was over and the leadership of the church was ready for the next part of the process: calling those nominated to the front of the room. Each man would select a Bible from a bench and, one by one, open it. If he had selected the Bible with a small slip of paper in it, then he would become a preacher—and perhaps a future bishop—of the g’may for the rest of his life.

  Rosanna followed Katie and Fannie, searching the gathering room until she found Elizabeth among the women and assumed her place beside her.

  “As you know,” the bishop said, standing before the bench against the back wall, “we have asked each of you to nominate a man that you feel is worthy to lead this church. Through action, word, and silence, this man should exemplify his understanding of the Ordnung.”

  Rosanna barely heard what he was saying. Her thoughts drifted back to how she could get his attention after the lot was selected.

  “Will the following men please step forward?” The bishop glanced around the room, once in the direction of the women, but his attention was mostly focused on the men. “Adam Mast.”

  A hush fell over the group at the announcement of the first name. A man stood up and walked slowly to the front of the room, his eyes downcast and a solemn expression on his face.

  “Reuben Troyer.”

  Elizabeth reached out and clutched Rosanna’s hand. Rosanna frowned and looked up just in time to see her husband stand. The color was drained from his face, and he had to steady himself against the shoulder of the man seated in front of him. Reuben? Reuben was nominated? She had never remotely considered that possibility. Only married men with family were nominated, and they usually had a lot of pull in the community. They were the go-to men when there were issues. Rosanna felt an all-too familiar tightening of her chest as she watched Reuben make his way to the front of the room. She realized that, indeed, Reuben was that man.

  “John David Miller.”

  Rosanna didn’t even bother to look for John David. Instead, she stared at her husband. He had joined Adam at the front of the room. His eyes remained fixed on the back wall, his glasses tipped down to the very edge of his nose. She knew that he couldn’t see anything without his glasses. Clearly he was staring at nothing, his mind in a whirl over the nomination.

  Three other men were called to the front before the bishop indicated that they should select a Bible from the bench. The room remained silent as the first man quickly selected the B
ible closest to him without giving it any thought. Reuben, however, took a very deep breath, his shoulders rising before he exhaled. Although his back faced Rosanna, she knew that he was praying. He reached for one Bible then paused and moved his hand to the right to take the next one instead.

  No one moved or shuffled their feet as the rest of the men stepped forward to take their Bibles. The entire congregation sat completely still, staring at the men expectantly. One of them would leave the meeting as an ordained preacher for their g’may. It was a job that paid no money but took up so much time for the preacher and support from his family—time that Reuben did not have to spare and support that Rosanna wasn’t certain she could give.

  “Are you all right?” Elizabeth whispered. An older woman seated in front of them turned her head and scowled at them.

  Rosanna wasn’t all right. None of this was all right. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that the lot would fall to another man, any man, just not Reuben.

  Adam opened his Bible first. He stared at the book in his hands for a moment before he looked up at the bishop. He exhaled, most likely in relief, and shut the Bible once again.

  Everyone turned their attention to Reuben. Rosanna kept her eyes shut, praying as hard as she could that God would not give her husband this cup. She heard him clear his throat and the very soft sound of a book opening. There was a moment of silence before a collective noise came from the congregation. Elizabeth squeezed her hand, and when she heard gentle weeping, Rosanna knew exactly what had happened.

  She didn’t need to open her eyes to see that a small slip of paper had fallen from the book in Reuben’s hands, floating to the floor and now lying at his feet. She didn’t need to see that Reuben had tears streaming down his cheeks, the heavy responsibility that now rested on his shoulders more than he could bear. She also knew that the other men and their wives were watching with a feeling of relief and prayers of gratitude that the lot had fallen to someone else.

  Gesturing with an outstretched arm, the bishop did not delay in directing the other men to return to their seats. They walked quietly, their heads bent as they left Reuben standing next to the bishop. Silence fell over the room once again. There was no shuffling of feet, no clearing of throats.

  The bishop guided Reuben to the front of the room. “Please kneel,” he said in a quiet voice.

  Rosanna lifted her head and stared. Her eyes were dry, but her head was spinning as she watched her husband of not even a year kneel before the bishop and accept the duty that was given to him on account of a single slip of paper between the pages of the Bible—the choosing of the lot. Her ears tuned out the words spoken by the bishop and affirmed by Reuben. She’d witnessed many ordinations over the years. The words never changed. This time, however, they directly impacted her and her family.

  When the ordination was complete, the bishop placed his hands on Reuben’s shoulders and helped him to his feet before giving him a holy kiss. She watched as Reuben walked back to his seat with downcast eyes and pale cheeks. Clearly he felt just as stunned at how their lives had just changed.

  One of the other preachers reached out and touched his arm, nodding toward the empty seat in one of the front rows, the place where the g’may’s leadership sat. Reuben would no longer sit on the hard bench next to his peers. He would sit in the front. As for Rosanna, she would no longer sit next to Elizabeth. Her place would be in the second row facing the men, Cate by her side.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Their whispers carried in the quiet of the house. They were not intended to be overheard, yet the muffled sound reached her ears as if the walls were thinner than paper. In her mind, Rosanna saw their heads bent, their eyes staring at the bedroom door as they suppressed their voices. She knew they were talking about her. She shut her eyes and pulled up the sheet so that it covered her chest. The room was too warm for a blanket. Even with just the sheet she felt hot. The dark-green shades covering the two windows kept the room in semidarkness. She wondered if it was dawn or dusk. Or maybe, she thought, it was somewhere in-between.

  “How long has she been like this?” Reuben’s deep voice was easily recognizable. Rosanna couldn’t hear who responded, but she knew the answer: all day. Mumbles. That’s all she heard now. A voice, maybe Aaron’s . . . maybe Cate’s . . . mumbling. There was a delay, a moment of hesitation, before she heard Reuben again. “Best be calling the doctor.”

  She rolled her head to the side and exhaled. Her breath came out in a deep sigh. She didn’t want to see the doctor. And she didn’t want to see the bishop. Not here. Not now.

  The feeling of hopelessness had begun Monday morning, just after Reuben left for the shop, before the sun rose. He hadn’t slept much the previous night. He had tossed and turned for hours, eventually getting up to pace the floor before wandering into the kitchen.

  For the first few hours, Rosanna had kept her eyes closed, listening to him turning in the bed, the sheets pulled away from her with each movement. Then she’d heard him moving about the kitchen and sitting rooms. Even with just his slippers on, he made noise as he paced.

  When he finally returned to pull his clothing from the hooks and get dressed, obviously giving up on any sleep, she allowed herself to open her eyes. One of the shades was not closed all the way, and the light from the moon shone through, creating a glow on the floorboards. It was too early for morning chores.

  “Reuben?” she whispered.

  The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ve kept you awake,” he said directly.

  She didn’t respond.

  “I’m sorry, Rosanna.”

  Covering his hand with her own, she pressed gently against his warm flesh. “Truth be told, Reuben, I haven’t slept much, either.”

  “I just can’t wrap my head around this.” He ran his hand through his hair. Even in the shadows of the room, she could see that this left it bedraggled. “Why me? I’m not a preacher!”

  Reuben paused, and Rosanna remained silent. She knew that he needed time to work through this.

  “A preacher! Why, I never considered such a possibility.” He laughed, a soft noise under his breath. “A preacher . . .”

  A preacher gave sermons on Sundays—sermons that could range from thirty minutes to well over an hour. A preacher met with the members of the congregation who were in need of spiritual guidance. A preacher needed to study the Bible, memorizing verses and talking about them in the context of how to live a life true to the Ordnung, the unwritten rules governing each church district. In some cases, a preacher helped modify the Ordnung by providing Biblical references and interpretations of specific verses either for or against suggested changes.

  “Why, just yesterday morning,” Reuben said, “I was a simple Amish man, taught all my life to be quiet and not express my opinions. Now I’m expected to lead the church?” He stood up and paced a few steps. “All of this while maintaining the shop?”

  “People will help you,” Rosanna said, but her offer of comfort sounded meek the moment the words slipped from her lips.

  “Help me?” He spun around and stared at her. He looked annoyed. “With the sermons?”

  “With the shop.” She knew that her voice sounded terse. His tone had hurt her, wounded her already fragile feelings. This is about him, she reminded herself. Not me.

  “Oh, Rosanna, you just don’t understand. It’s so busy, and I don’t have enough help as it is! These men keep coming in from all sorts of towns, and I can hardly keep up with their repairs.” He pressed his palm against the wall and leaned into it. “I’m already working sixty-plus hours a week. Now I’m to be a church leader? Counsel people? Write sermons? Develop my own theology to deliver to the g’may?” He turned his head to look at her. In the blue-gray light of morning, he looked tired and worn out. “It’s too much to bear.”

  “God will help you,” she offered, hoping that her words would soothe his nerves. “And so will I.”

>   “Rosanna . . .”

  She knew what that tone meant. But she wasn’t going to give up so quickly. Not this time. “Listen to me, Reuben,” she said. “Recruit farms in different areas where the people can drop their goods and have a driver bring them to you. That saves them the trip to the shop and saves you from having to visit them.”

  He didn’t respond, but his silence was an indication that she should continue.

  “Martin and Daniel have worked with you for a long time,” said Rosanna. “Let them lead the program. Ask both of them to find three drop points in three specific towns. The logistics would run so much smoother. And give them the chance to lead it—not Nan, who has only been there a few weeks. You’ll make it easier on them and have more time for studying Scripture. And Cate will have to help Aaron, whether she likes it or not. I’ll manage . . .” She pushed the thought of the garden out of her mind. She couldn’t go back there, not even for Reuben. She hadn’t been there since the day Elias Beiler died. Just the thought of going there made her feel sick and caused her heart to race.

  “I reckon I have more pressing things to do today,” he said, staring at the wall. “This is a time that requires prayer and patience, Rosanna, not reorganizing the structure and logistics of my business.”

  The reprimand stung, and she recoiled. She had prayed for him; she had prayed most of the night for him, indeed! The fact that her idea was so easily dismissed—again—wounded her. She offered no further comments or suggestions. It didn’t matter. Shortly after their discussion, he left the house. Alone in the bedroom, she fought the urge to cry. She knew that tears would do the situation no good.