by Kelly Irvin
Zechariah repeated the verse in his head again and again.
Cyrus turned and faced the gathering.
One by one they were called to the front of the room. First, Ivan Stutzman. Zechariah’s stomach flip-flopped. A tiny gasp from Ivan’s wife, Nadia. Her hand went to her mouth. Ivan’s stoic expression didn’t change as he tromped through the narrow aisle between benches.
Abraham Kauffman.
Laura’s son. His wife began to cry. Abraham’s stoicism matched Ivan’s. A man submitted to the Lord’s will.
Aidan Graber. Another good choice. A man who did what was right rather than what came easy. He was younger than bishops usually were, but his nomination signified the respect his church family accorded him.
Silence simmered as he strode to the front to stand next to the other men, who schooled their faces in neutrality. Not a single noise, not even from the babies held in their mothers’ arms.
Andrew Miller. He had his hands full with his son Kenneth’s cerebral palsy, but a good choice otherwise.
Cyrus cleared his throat and hitched up his pants. “Josiah Ropp.” Mary Katherine’s son. Not a bad choice. “Thomas Ropp.”
Mary Katherine’s oldest son. Another stubborn man not capable of compromise. Surely that was it. Two sons from the Ropp family. The odds went up of them having a new bishop in their midst.
This was not about odds. Zechariah forced himself to breathe. Gott, Thy will be done in all things. Guide us and direct us. Show us Your will.
Cyrus cleared his throat. “The final name is Ben Stutzman.”
Zechariah jerked his head up. Had he heard right? Ben was too young. He had so much responsibility on his shoulders now. Burdens. Other members of the Gmay respected him, no doubt, for how he handled his burdens.
Zechariah respected him. But to add to those burdens now? He peeked at the women’s side. Nadia’s cheeks were apple-red, her face white. She managed a quivering smile. Her husband and her son. His son and his grandson. The Stutzmans had as much chance of having a bishop in their family as the Ropps.
One Stutzman was sitting on the front bench weighing the results of this lot by how it would impact him, instead of relying on God’s plan to do what was best for the entire Gmay.
Thy will be done. Thy will be done. Thy will be done.
One of the twins began to cry. From the sound of it, fussy Mary. Laura’s voice gently shushed her.
“You may kneel now.”
Cyrus asked each man to affirm his beliefs. That done, the congregation knelt for silent prayer. Grunting, Zechariah eased from the bench, hand on the solid wood, and managed to hit his knees without a mishap. Thank You, Gott. So did Freeman, but with a lot more grunting. Abel popped down as if ready to do handsprings.
Gott, we yield to Your will. You hold this Gmay in Your hands. We submit to Your will for its future. And for mine.
Zechariah tacked on that last bit as people scrambled to their feet. They were anxious for the final step. So much rode on it. For the Gmay, for the man God appointed to His service, and for the man’s family.
His life would no longer be his own. Weddings, funerals, Communion, every individual problem in the Gmay became his problem. He would preach. He would mediate disputes. He would run meetings. The stakes were high.
Looking as if he’d rather pat a rattlesnake, Andrew’s hand wavered over one book, then snatched up the one next to it. Ben didn’t hesitate. His expression grim, he took the one directly in front of him.
Then Cyrus started down the row. He opened each book. The naked look of relief on Ivan’s face quickly disappeared, hidden behind a solemn look of solidarity for his fellow candidates.
No slip of paper in Aidan’s book. An audible sigh of relief from Bess.
Next Ben. A little older than Aidan, but one with greater responsibilities at home.
Cyrus opened his hymnal. He picked up the small piece of tablet paper.
Proverbs 16:33.
A gasp ran through the crowd. Quiet sobs followed.
Of relief, no doubt, from some wives, but also in tearful recognition of the importance of what had just occurred. Zechariah craned his neck to see Rosalie. She handed a twin to Tamara and began the trek to the front of the room as the other men, now free of the ritual, made their way to their seats. She wasn’t one to like attention. At their wedding, she had been green around the gills with nerves, not about marrying Ben, but about standing in front of two hundred guests to do it.
His shoulders hunched, Ivan passed by. His gaze connected with Zechariah’s and his eyebrows lifted and fell. What must he be thinking? Relief at dodging the bullet, or a tiny germ of pride that the congregation had seen fit to nominate his son for the position? Pride shouldn’t enter into it, but a man was only human. Along with the knowledge that Ben now faced a lifetime of service with no remuneration and no training.
With a solemn face Cyrus ran through Ben’s new duties. Ben’s shell-shocked face was reminiscent of the one he had the day he came to tell them about the twins’ birth and his wife’s condition. He could be the last one in the room to think he might end up as bishop of one of half a dozen church districts in the Jamesport area.
“Be faithful to your new calling, Ben Stutzman.” Cyrus shook Ben’s hand and bestowed on him the holy kiss. “Godspeed.”
The flood began. Freeman Borntrager and his wife went forward to do the same, with Rosalie receiving the holy kiss from Dorothy. Solomon Weaver and Diana were next, followed by the other nominees, and then the rest of the Gmay. No smiles, no congratulations, a simple salutation that reflected respect for the responsibilities that now rested on Ben’s shoulders.
Zechariah edged toward the front door. A breath of fresh air might blow away the intense sense of sorrow that inundated him.
His steps took him to the porch. A fierce wind blew through his wool coat and froze his ears and nose. To be numb from head to toe seemed preferable to the sense of emptiness that made his body feel hollow.
“Daed.”
He turned. His heavy steps thudding on the damp wood, Ivan joined him.
His son’s face said it all.
Zechariah’s days at Ben’s house were numbered.
EIGHTEEN
EVEN THE TWINS WERE QUIET ON THE RIDE HOME FROM the ordination. Laura kept one hand on each blanket in their baskets. It warmed her fingers and gave her a sense of comfort in their blissful assurance that someone else took care of them.
Ivan had taken the boys in his buggy, making the silence more pronounced. Tamara went to supper with her parents. Her brother would bring her to the house later. Zechariah sat on the other side of the babies’ basket. He leaned back, eyes closed, as if sleeping or praying. Occasionally he shook his head as if having a conversation with someone Laura couldn’t see.
It didn’t strike her as odd. She often caught herself doing it. That he hadn’t uttered a single word during the entire ride bothered her a little more. Was he thinking about his comment that she looked good? She tried not to obsess about it. Surely his thoughts were of issues more substantial. Her thoughts scurried hither and yon, like squirrels gathering acorns before the arrival of a long, frigid winter. She wanted to gather them and examine each one. She wanted her questions answered. Most likely Zechariah did too.
By the time they arrived at the house, Laura’s nose felt like an icicle and her toes ached. Anxious for a hot cup of peppermint tea with lemon and the warmth of the kitchen stove while she cooked supper, she hopped from the buggy in the gathering dusk and helped Rosalie down. The white puffs of their breaths mingled in the icy air. The sleet turned to snow clothed the grass, the corral fence, the porch railings, and the windowsills in a lacy, crystalline covering as if God had taken up embroidery.
Rosalie took Mia and Laura clutched Mary to her chest, her crib quilt covering the baby from head to toe. Ben hoisted Delia, who’d passed out the second they left Cyrus’s, to his shoulder and trudged along behind them. No one spoke. Rosalie’s face reflected th
e same shock and disbelief as her husband’s. Ben was a good man, solid in every way, but this would take adjustment—both mentally and emotionally. And physically. He had to take care of his family and meet his new obligations as bishop. Starting immediately.
His boots making a shuffling sound in the snow, Zechariah brought up the rear.
Laura tried to corral her thoughts. So she had an inside track, staying at the bishop’s house. She couldn’t take advantage and bend his ear about Hannah’s situation. Could she? And then there was Tamara. She might come back. Or she might sneak away to start her new life early. Another thought Laura refused to entertain.
She sighed and tugged the sagging blanket over Mary’s cherubic face. The baby’s cheeks were pink and her nose scrunched up. Her mouth moved as if sucking. Eating even in her sleep. The girl had a voracious appetite.
Inside the house, it wasn’t much warmer. Ben began to light lamps, while Laura and Rosalie headed to the bedroom to put the babies down for the night. Zechariah’s footsteps disappeared to parts unknown.
“It’ll be all right.” Rosalie’s words were more a question than a statement. “We’ll be fine.”
“Of course. Gott makes no mistakes.” Laura laid the baby in the cradle next to her sister. “The lot has been cast.”
“Ben will be a gut bishop.” Rosalie’s round face colored. Her plump fingers fluttered to her lips. “I don’t mean that in a prideful way. Just that he’s fair and even tempered. He never loses his sense of humor either.”
She spread her hands out as if to encompass everything in their world that required a good sense of humor. And a sense of equilibrium. God controlled all things.
“Agreed.”
Rosalie slipped from her black wool coat and hung it on the hook next to her small wardrobe of dresses in dark blue, lilac, evergreen, and chocolate brown. “One gut thing will come of it, I reckon. Zechariah will move in with Michael and his fraa.”
“What’s so gut about that?” The words escaped more sharply than Laura intended. “I mean—”
“I thought you’d be happy.” Rosalie’s forehead wrinkled. A smile spread across her face, still round from childbearing. “He makes a lot of extra work, but then maybe you don’t mind that.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Laura edged toward the door. “I’ll start supper.”
“No hurry. The kinner filled up on cookies and peanut butter sandwiches. I think Samuel ate four of them. Zechariah has his moments, I guess. When Ben and I were first married, before Marian passed, Zechariah was the storyteller and could he tell some whoppers. His grands loved it. Ben and I would go visiting and stay past sundown, listening to him fill up the kinner with stories of the whale he caught at Stockton Lake or the five-hundred-pound grizzly bear that invited him to dance. Silliness, but he told the stories with such a solemn tone and straight face, they believed every word.”
Laura could imagine it. She’d caught him a time or two with that twinkle in his eye paired with a solemn look that said he was pulling Delia’s leg. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”
“Because I hate seeing folks alone who could be together, giving each other company in their old age.”
“I’m not old.”
“That’s the part of my statement you want to argue over?” Rosalie chuckled as she folded blankets around the sleeping babies and straightened. “If you don’t think it’s a gut idea for Zechariah to move, say so.”
“It’s not my place.”
“You’re taking care of all of us right now. That makes it your place.”
“I’ll make the tea and get supper started.” Laura trotted from the bedroom like that grizzly bear was chasing her and not because he wanted to dance. Rosalie saw far too much.
Ben stood in the kitchen, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of aspirin in the other. “Bit of a long day.” He tossed two pills in his mouth and took a long draught of water. “Delia went to get her doll. She wants to help make supper.”
“It has been a long day. I’ll make something simple so everyone can get to bed early.” Laura opened the refrigerator door and peered in. She closed it. “We all have faith. You’ll do fine.”
Ben set the glass on the counter. His back to her, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Gott’s will.” He turned. His face was lined with doubt. “I’m twenty-eight years old. A lot of years ahead, Gott willing, to figure it out. A man hopes he doesn’t make too many mistakes before he knows what he’s doing.”
“You’ll have Cyrus and Solomon to help. They won’t leave you dangling in the wind.”
“You’re right. It’s a sin to worry.” He burped. A look of pain came and went. “Indigestion. Headache. I think my mind is bleeding over on my body.”
“Gott will give you all the guidance you need.”
She pulled leftover ham from the refrigerator and a bowl of boiled potatoes. Fried hash for starters.
“I get the sense you might have something to say about it too.”
“Not my place.”
“That’s what Rosalie says right before she jumps in and meddles.” The lines cleared and he smiled. “I’m your bishop. If there’s something on your mind, get on with it. Time’s a wasting.”
A good start. Very stern and stout. Smiling, Laura set out the cutting board and began to cube the potatoes.
“Tamara or Hannah?” The sharp nudge in his voice mingled with amusement. “Or Zechariah?”
No doubt, Ben would be a good bishop. He already had his finger on the Gmay’s pulse.
Where to start?
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you speechless, Laura.”
“Not speechless, weighing my words. Each person you mentioned is important to me and important to their families and to the Gmay.”
“I know that. Be assured that no snap decisions will be made.”
“You know about Hannah.”
“Things like that spread like poison ivy in a community like ours.”
“And Tamara?”
“Only bits and pieces, enough to know her life in faith is at risk.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. Suddenly, he looked older and wiser than his years, as if the bishop’s yoke had wreaked its havoc in a few short hours. “Maybe it’s better to talk of Zechariah’s future. That decision affects my family and I could use some words of wisdom.”
“Even from a woman?”
“Especially from a woman who is of age and who has lost her mann and a suh and knows what infirmity can do to mind and body.”
Laura dropped the knife on the cutting board and faced Ben. “Don’t make him move. It will only serve to worsen his malaise.”
“What is his malaise? He’s never been one to shy away from his burdens. After Groossmammi died and he got the diagnosis of Parkinson’s, he changed. He shriveled up.”
“He feels unwanted, unneeded, and no longer useful. He has nothing to contribute. Handing him around from family to family isn’t helping.”
“He is wanted. Michael and Robert are arguing over who gets him next.”
“He doesn’t see it that way.”
“He’s determined to take the low road. That was never him before. He told tall tales and jokes and played practical jokes on the kinner. Now he’s contrary all the time.”
“There’s a strong spirit under the rust and the corrosion of feeling sorry for himself.” Laura diced thick slices of ham and tossed the pieces in a skillet with melted lard. The scent of ham frying made her mouth water. “Give him a job to do. Make him feel useful.”
“This isn’t bishop business. It’s family business.” The slightest quiver in his voice gave him away. His grandpa’s hurt was Ben’s hurt too. “Don’t tell anyone this, but Groossdaadi was my favorite. I wanted him here. I argued for it. The decision to move him won’t be mine alone.”
“But you have no objection to him staying here.”
“None, but that may change as his disease worsens and my duties multiply.”
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“Give it time. You may find he can be helpful around here while you’re busy with those duties.”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
A very bishop-like answer. Ben, the farmer, father, and husband, seemed to turn into the bishop before her eyes.
“I reckon you’ll give Hannah’s situation thought as well.”
His expression bleak, Ben smoothed his beard. He shook his head. “Hers is a sin I cannot speak to you about.”
Heat rushed through Laura. She ducked her head and dumped the chopped potatoes in with the ham. The stove’s heat warmed her face and hands. “I know it’s delicate. I only wanted to say that she’s welcome to stay in the dawdy haus for the bann that will surely follow her confession. I’m here and if you don’t need me here, I can stay with Ruby and her mann.”
“Understood.”
The pause lengthened. Ben cleared his throat. Laura concentrated on stirring the hash. She added salt and pepper with a liberal hand. “She’s not a bad girl.”
“Nee.”
“The boy is leaving her to face her punishment alone.”
“His parents spoke with Cyrus last week. He shared the conversation with me briefly this afternoon. I’ll be meeting with them as well.”
“You’ll do what’s best for them and for the Gmay.”
“I will do my best.”
“I should get some canned corn and green beans from the cellar.”
“Do you smell smoke?” Sniffing, Ben straightened. He frowned. “It’s getting smoky in here.”
Gray, hot smoke rolled through the doorway. Laura inhaled and coughed. Seasoned oak. “The fireplace!”
NINETEEN
LAURA BOLTED TOWARD THE DOOR, BUT BEN’S YOUTH won out. He shot across the hallway ahead of her toward the front room.
Acrid smoke choked the living room. One hand over his mouth, Zechariah squatted by the fireplace. He held a poker in the other hand. Flames crackled and popped. Sparks and flames shot embers like Roman candles around him. Some landed on his coat sleeves and glowed as they tried to take hold and burn.