Only this morning there wasn’t a new page to turn. Instead there was a new calendar on the kitchen counter, and she was supposed to place it on the hook on the wall. The calendar was filled with pictures of puppies and kittens. Her dat must have bought it at the store in Cashton while he was Christmas shopping.
She picked it up and slipped the hole at the top of the calendar over the hook on the wall.
January 1.
Letter day.
Her heart tripped a beat, and she almost dropped her Bible.
When she turned back to the table, she expected to see her mother sitting there, right beside her dat.
Of course she wasn’t.
Her dat was alone, as always—his old mug clutched in one hand and the breakfast rolls Abigail had sent over on the table, warmed up already.
Sitting between them, though, was the letter.
She slid into the seat beside him, bowed her head, and they each silently prayed—or they were supposed to pray.
Not a single word came to mind.
Grace’s mind was blank. She didn’t know what to say to Gotte. What could she possibly hope was in that letter? She kept last year’s in the little box where she put all of her special things. She read it, but not too often. She was afraid if she read it too often the words might lose some of their specialness.
“Want to eat first?”
Grace shook her head. She knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow a single bite.
“Grace, do you remember why your mamm wrote you these letters?” Her dat’s voice was low and gentle.
“Ya.”
When he didn’t say anything else, she closed her eyes and swallowed. “Mamm wanted me to be able to hear her voice and her words. She wanted to leave me notes.”
“That’s right. And she wanted you to start each year—”
“With my heart full of her love.” Grace wasn’t sure if it was love she was feeling right at that moment. It sort of felt as though something else was twisting inside of her.
Gabe reached for the letter. His fingers traced the handwriting on the front of the envelope, and then he handed it to her. “Your mamm didn’t realize how sick she was, or maybe we didn’t want to admit it. She thought she had more time. This is the last letter.”
He cleared his throat, but Grace didn’t look up. She didn’t want to know if he had tears in his eyes, because then she’d be crying and they would both be a puddling mess. “Do you want to be alone while you read it?”
“No, dat.” Grace scooted her chair closer. “She loved both of us. I’m sure she wanted us to read it together.”
She carefully tore the seal on the envelope and pulled out the single sheet. Did she smell her mother when she opened the letter? Certainly she recognized the handwriting, even though she had to keep blinking back tears. She would recognize her mamm’s handwriting if she lived to be one hundred.
Dearest Gracie,
Another new year and you are eight years old now.
What a lovely girl you must be. It’s not possible for me to put on this single sheet of paper how proud I am of you.
You are the best thing Gotte has ever given to me.
I pray for you always, my dearest Grace.
Never doubt my love for you—it is strong like your dat’s love for you, like Gotte’s love for us.
Laughter, love, mercy, and grace—these are all gut things He has given us, Grace. I pray this year and all your years are filled with them.
With many hugs and kisses,
your mamm
Grace folded the sheet of paper, placed it carefully back into the envelope, and then she crawled into her dat’s lap.
Chapter 39
Gabe was more surprised than anyone when his name was mentioned in the vote on Sunday. He’d been well schooled in gelassenheit, so he didn’t ask for it to be removed. To do so would have drawn attention to himself.
As he drove toward the meeting on Wednesday evening, it occurred to him that possibly Joshua or one of Miriam’s brothers had mentioned that he had experience with situations similar to Amish Abbey while living in Indiana.
He was uncomfortable in a leadership role. He had been in his old life and would be here. That wasn’t the point, though, as his parents had often reminded him. When he was baptized thirteen years ago, he’d promised to serve as a leader if ever elected to do so. At the time he’d envisioned that being as a bishop, minister, or deacon, and he hoped it would never happen. He truly didn’t believe it would happen. He had enough trouble stumbling his way through each day, and God was his witness to that.
His father was fond of saying that many a man with the very same thought had been called to serve.
Gabe had only shaken his head and said, “Ya, dat. Let’s agree Gotte knows what He’s doing and leave it at that.” The drawing of lots had happened twice in his old district, twice since he’d been baptized and married. The first time he was only twenty and his name wasn’t mentioned. The second time he was in the midst of Hope’s illness. Though his name had been whispered to the bishop by two members, he’d counted it a blessing that three votes were required to be included in the lot.
Pulling up in front of Bishop Beiler’s home, he was grateful that this time he was only serving on a committee and not for life. The responsibility was still great but not overbearing. Maybe his dad had been right. Maybe God knew what was best.
Eli pulled up in his buggy as Gabe was securing his horse.
“Gut to see you, Gabe.”
“Ya, it’s been a long time.”
“At least two hours.” The older man slapped him on the back as they walked toward the bishop’s front door.
Gabe hadn’t been to Beiler’s house yet, but he was impressed by it. Unlike Schmucker’s, it was modest. Unlike his, it wasn’t falling to pieces. Instead, it was well kept but unassuming, with acreage bordering on two sides. Woods shouldered up to the back of his property, but he could tell by the power lines that an Englischer was his neighbor in that direction.
“Beiler doesn’t have much land?”
“No. He had to sell it off to pay taxes. He’s doing better since he opened the buggy shop attached to the west side. He taught young Aden the trade. Now Beiler’s sons tend to the fields, and he tends to the buggy work.”
Gabe processed that as they climbed the two steps of the modest house.
“Where’s Grace?” Eli asked.
“I took her to Abigail’s. I believe she’s learning to make apple pie tonight.”
“Sounds like you’re going to win out there.”
“Ya. I think so too. I don’t know what I’d do without Abigail and Joshua.” The words were barely out of his mouth when they again heard the sounds of a horse and buggy. Miriam pulled up in front of the house, followed by Samuel Gingerich, one of the school board members.
Gabe hadn’t had a lot of interaction with Samuel. He’d spoken with him a few times at church meetings—never at length. The man seemed to be sour, and his sentences tended to be short and declarative or long and heavy on Scripture. Gabe could read Scripture as well as the next person, so he didn’t feel the need to have it recited to him. The short and declarative statements always left him feeling restless and that he should go and chop some wood.
Still, Samuel was one of the four elected, probably because he’d been on the school board so long. Miriam was also there to represent the school. Eli was there to stand for the community as a whole, and Gabe was there—well, he supposed he was there because he could offer an outside view.
Jacob Beiler opened the door and invited them all in, though there was no smile on his face. At least he didn’t treat one man, or woman, different than another. He simply took life very seriously. It hadn’t occurred to Gabe until he’d walked into the house that perhaps he had cause to do so. There was nothing there to indicate a woman’s touch.
No shawl hung by the door. No sewing basket in the corner. No smell of fresh baked bread.
Was their bishop
a widower like himself? Searching his memory, Gabe tried to remember if he’d met Beiler’s wife. There were many woman and children at church meetings, and Gabe still hadn’t sorted out who everyone was.
Why hadn’t he thought to ask?
“Danki for coming,” Beiler said. “I know you all are tired after a hard day’s work, so we’ll keep this brief.”
No refreshments were offered, but at least he suggested they sit down at the table. For a moment Gabe had the idea they would be forced to speak standing near the front door.
“I asked you here because you will be representing our district to the Englisch in the matter of the hotel renovation. I spoke with the bishop of the western Pebble Creek district. For now they prefer to allow you four to represent both districts. I don’t need to tell you it is not our policy to interfere, and we will not interfere in this matter. It is one thing to state our concerns. That is enough. That is more than enough.”
Having expressed his opinion, he sat back and waited. Because Gabe had no idea what he was waiting for, he glanced across the table at Miriam, who looked to Eli, who scratched his beard and stared at the ceiling.
Samuel broke the silence. “I will speak plainly, Jacob. Myself, I would not have voted to form a group or to meet with the village board.”
“But he’s going to use the school. We’ll become a stop on their tourist—”
“I heard your arguments on Sunday, Miriam.” Samuel hushed her with a glare. “I was saying I would not have voted to form this group, but since we did…” He paused to study each person at the table. “Since we are going to meet with the village board, I consider it my responsibility to be sure we do not intervene. To be sure that we do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of our minds. Then we will be able to test and approve what God’s will is–His good, pleasing, and perfect will.”
Samuel’s voice rose as he quoted the passage from Romans.
Gabe stared down at his hands, sure that if he glanced at Miriam he’d find her eyes laughing.
Jacob finally cleared his throat. “Danki, Samuel, for focusing us on the Scripture. I was going to suggest that someone make a short list.”
“I would be happy to do that,” Eli said. There was a small notepad and pen in the middle of the table, and Eli pulled them toward him.
“Gut. As Miriam pointed out, our members’ main concern is the children. Although we will not be rude to visitors, we’d rather the school not be a regular stop on any guided tours. Their education is important, and it’s best if that is not interrupted.”
Samuel grunted as Eli made notes.
When he’d finished writing, Eli turned the pad where Miriam could read it. “Are you satisfied with the way that’s worded, Miriam?”
“Ya. The children are my main concern.”
“It will help to have you there,” Jacob said. “In addition, I believe that because the village president is a woman, perhaps she will respond more favorably to you.”
Gabe noticed Miriam didn’t react to this, but she did meet his gaze, a smile tugging at her lips.
“The second concern among our members is about the name.” Gabe noticed that Beiler, who had rarely shown any emotion, actually had a tic above his left eye. “If there is a way you can gently point out we have no affiliation to the Catholic church, that would be gut.”
“Okay. No school tours, and we don’t meet in an abbey for church.” Eli was the only one having any fun at this meeting, but then Gabe had never known the man when he didn’t see the humor in a situation.
Beiler’s left eye twitched again. “The rest of the concerns expressed on Sunday can be summed up into one other category, I think.”
He pulled out the sheet of paper which David, Miriam’s brother, had given to Joshua—and Joshua had given to the bishop. The paper bore the marks of having been folded again and again. More than that, it had been passed from hand to hand until in places the letters were worn nearly off the sheet.
Gabe didn’t doubt for a second that every person attending church three days ago had seen the marketing poster for the new facility, the one Jacob stared at now. The words “Amish Abbey” were typed in large letters across the top, and in the bottom right-hand corner was the contact information—funded by the CEO of Chester Entertainment, Mr. Byron Drake.
“This is no concern of ours,” Jacob said slowly. “What the Englischers choose to do within their own business, inside their own building, is not our…”
Beiler’s mistake was in searching for a word to express the degree to which they needed to remain separate from Chester Entertainment’s doings.
While he ran his finger over the spot above his left eye, attempting to locate the phrase that would convince them of the gravity of this point, Eli doodled on his pad, Gabe and Miriam once again exchanged pointed glances, and Samuel saw his chance to jump in.
“It is not our place to be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?”
Gabe had to cover his mouth to keep from chuckling. No doubt Samuel meant well, but he sounded like a cantankerous old bull. Who was he to remind Jacob Beiler of the Scripture? No doubt the bishop quoted that very verse to the congregation several times each year. And how did such a grumpy old guy father the sweet little girl he saw playing with Grace and Sadie each Sunday?
Gabe decided to stare at Eli’s writing, which was when he saw that he’d drawn lightning bolts in the margin of his notes.
Fortunately, Miriam started coughing, and that seemed to bring them all to their senses. “Excuse me. I believe I need a glass of water.”
She stood and helped herself in the kitchen.
“Well,” Jacob said. “My point was that some of these suggestions, as they relate to us, may be in poor taste.” He pushed the paper to the middle of the table.
“Amish Acoustics, Amish Afghans,” Gabe said, running his finger down the poster.
“What do you suppose an afghan is?” Miriam asked from the kitchen.
“I believe it’s a blanket, like what you knit or crochet.” Eli turned his page over to a fresh sheet.
“Then why not call it an Amish blanket?” Gabe asked.
“Apparently Mr. Drake is fond of alliteration.” Miriam returned to the table with her glass of water.
When they all stared at her, she cocked her head to the side in disapproval. “Apparently English wasn’t your favorite subject. Alliteration, as in—”
“Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells, shattering and avalanching on the snow crust.” Jacob’s expression hadn’t changed at all, but his eyes had softened, and Gabe saw him for a moment as he must have been.
Before what? Before life had rubbed off the soft edges. Before he’d learned to keep himself apart emotionally.
“Yes.” Miriam actually clapped her hands. “That’s right, and those are beautiful lines from Robert Frost’s poem ‘Birches.’ He uses the S sound to give us the delightful sense of the snow melting and falling away. I’m afraid Mr. Drake hasn’t been quite as successful with his A’s.”
“What is an Arcade?” Eli asked.
Surprisingly it was Samuel who answered, and not with Scripture this time. “I saw one at the bus stop in Madison. It’s a room crammed full of game machines. There was lots of noise and shooting.”
“Pretend shooting? The children were doing this?” Miriam took another drink from her glass.
“Ya. Even the little ones. Parents too. Booster seats for the youngest ones so they could see the screens. Terrible things.”
Eli shook his head and dropped the pen on the table. “When they say Amish Arcade, you don’t suppose Mr. Drake means to develop games with Amish people inside of them, do you?”
“We can’t know.” Jacob pressed his hands flat against the table. “You four will go to the meeting, listen, and present them with our first two points. The third point—Eli, you may
write this down—can simply be that we are concerned about the presentation of our Amish lifestyle within his business.”
Eli began to write, but stopped when Miriam stayed his hand.
“That’s it?” she asked Jacob.
“Ya, and I doubt that will do any gut. He’s there to make money, and he won’t be caring if it hurts our feelings or not.”
Gabe cleared his voice. He’d been silent for most of the meeting, but he sensed it was nearing the end and they were about to be dismissed. While he didn’t relish stirring up a storm, he also felt the responsibility of having been chosen by the people of his church—the parents of Grace’s friends.
That was what he’d thought on the most as he’d driven from home. His daughter would be growing up in this community. His neighbors and their children would be living in the midst of whatever was built. They had chosen him to do something, not to simply go with defeat as a foregone conclusion.
It was time for him to step forward and say something, even if it meant the disapproval of Samuel and Jacob. Gabe didn’t do so lightly. Though Samuel was cantankerous, he was on the board where Grace attended school. He was influential in the community.
And Jacob was his spiritual leader for as long as he lived here in the Cashton district.
Gabe didn’t see himself moving and uprooting Grace again.
So when he made his mind up to speak, it was no light decision. There was an important lesson he had learned from his daughter, though, and it was worth remembering.
He had learned that staying silent came with a price.
Chapter 40
Miriam knew Gabe well enough to understand when he was struggling. No doubt he’d been trying to keep quiet, to let remain unspoken those things Samuel and Jacob would be reluctant to hear.
When he began to speak, she realized he was once again taking a step forward—as he did on Christmas afternoon before her family. The step forward this time appeared to be just as difficult. She now realized that the first day he walked into her classroom, holding on to Grace’s hand, he must have been determined to remain apart.
A Promise for Miriam Page 23