She quietly considered that, feeling nervous as Dat studied her and surprised by how much she wanted to go. When she’d told Lila that she would ask Dat about going, she had fully expected him to refuse outright, which she was sure he was about to do. But oh, she longed to see why Lila had been so enthralled. “I’m not baptized just yet, Dat,” she said quietly, wondering if that was the right thing to say.
“And that’s another worry,” he said with a tug on his auburn beard.
“No need to fret,” she said. “I’m planning to join church come September. Honest, I am.”
“Why go to the tent meeting, then?” Dat peered at her, his blue-gray eyes somber. “Curiosity?”
“Jah,” she said. “Only that.”
Her father cleared his throat. “Always remember that contentment with the life the Lord has given us is the godly path—not chasing the notions of the English,” he said.
“Don’t ya want me to go, Dat?”
He frowned again. “Just think long and hard ’bout what I just said.” With that, he turned to carry the empty water bucket out of Buster’s stall.
Silently, Maggie accepted his final remark, very surprised he had not forbidden her to go to a religious gathering that was anything but Amish.
5
Early before breakfast the next morning, Rachel let sweet little Miriam gather the dry ingredients for bread making. Meanwhile, Rachel dissolved the yeast and sugar in water warmed on the cookstove, then reached in the cupboard to take down their largest bowl.
When they’d added the flour to the yeast mixture and blended it thoroughly, they gradually mixed it until it was ready to knead. Once done, Rachel set the dough aside to rise while she turned her attention to cooking breakfast with Maggie and Grace’s help—Maggie stirred the eggs and milk for scrambling as Grace pricked the sausage links with a fork before transferring them to the black skillet for frying. All the while, Grace hummed the melody to “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” a hymn Rachel assumed she’d sung at the recent Singing.
As Maggie was cooking the big batch of eggs, Rachel glanced over at her and noticed how flushed she looked. Was she running a fever again? Her beautiful face was ever so pained; she seemed to be worse off than she had been lately.
Then and there, Rachel decided that this was a good day to go over and visit with Joseph’s aunt Nellie. The woman might have useful insight on how others in the family had dealt with this confounding disease. Maggie seemed to be almost well one day and then awful sickly for days on end. Had it been like that for other relatives, too? Rachel wished she could depend on Joseph’s eldest daughter to help more consistently, but the erratic nature of Maggie’s condition made that hard. And Rachel didn’t want to cause friction between them by expecting too much from her.
She found it almost shocking that Joseph hadn’t told Maggie that she couldn’t go to the tent meeting, as he had shared with Rachel last night in the privacy of their bedroom. More of the People were beginning to talk about the meetings, including Ruth Zook yesterday morning. Folk from all walks of life were literally packing the tent, many going to the altar at the end of each service to proclaim their faith. Rachel had to admit that she shared Maggie’s apparent interest in attending a service. Of course, she wouldn’t think of asking to go, as well, but she would like to hear Maggie’s account of it, if she actually ended up going tonight. Frail as she seems today.
“Knock, knock,” Rachel said as she tapped on the screen door of Nellie’s Dawdi Haus instead of going through the shared interior hallway.
She waited, but there was no answer.
Rachel wondered if Nellie was out walking, perhaps, as she sometimes did after an early breakfast.
She rapped again, and it dawned on her that Nellie might be sitting on the front porch. So she made her way around the side of the house and, coming upon her, called, “Hullo, a real perty mornin’, ain’t?”
Nellie grinned. “Well now, I thought I heard someone at the other door.” Nellie’s cheeks were rosy as she motioned for Rachel to join her in the spare rocking chair. “A body can see so much goin’ on from right here,” Nellie said, waving toward the road. “Why, I just saw Leroy take the pony cart and go somewhere mighty fast.”
“He’s headed down to Witmers’,” Rachel explained, “to let them know to pick up Maggie this evening.”
“Where are they takin’ her?”
“To the tent meetin’ so many are talking ’bout,” Rachel replied.
“Ah, that’s somethin’.” Nellie didn’t frown, but she looked surprised.
Rachel changed the subject. “It’s gonna be warmer today than yesterday, and the bumblebees are already flyin’ every which way. I do love summertime round here.”
“Where else have ya spent summers?” Nellie asked, a sparkle in her light brown eyes.
Rachel smiled. Nellie was a good one; you never knew what she might say. “Oh, back home, ya know. Ain’t been out travelin’ anywhere else.”
Nellie nodded and rocked harder. “What brings ya over?”
Rachel dove right in. “Joseph and I were discussin’ Maggie’s health . . . that arthritis runs in the family.”
Nellie’s face turned serious. “Jah, Joseph’s grandmother suffered so from her thirties on till she passed away in her mid-fifties. Same thing struck two of his great-aunts and a cousin, all gone to Glory now.”
Rachel was saddened to hear this.
“Thankfully, so far Maggie is the only one in the youngest generation to get it.” Pausing a moment, Nellie glanced at Rachel. “Of course, most of the other grandchildren are still young, so it’s hard to know just yet.” She placed her hand on her chest and shook her head. “I hope an’ pray that none of the rest of them come down with it. Such an awful disease ’tis.”
“Might there be something I could do to help Maggie?” asked Rachel. “Home remedies, maybe?”
“That’s real kind of ya, but Maggie’s quite aware of the most useful of them,” explained Nellie. “Most of all, Maggie needs to rest when she can, ’specially when she’s running a temperature. The pain takes so much out of her.”
A silence ensued, other than the gentle sound of the rockers and bees buzzing in a nearby flowering shrub.
Then Nellie asked, “Might ya be worried your own children with Joseph will be afflicted with it?”
A jolt hit Rachel. Goodness, she hadn’t even considered such a thing! And she certainly wanted babies with Joseph. “Nee,” she was quick to say. “Never crossed my mind. But should I be worried?”
“Oh now, I wouldn’t fret over it. Even if a wee one comes along with health problems, we can count on the Lord above to supply patience and wisdom when needed.” Nellie reached to clasp Rachel’s hand.
Rachel appreciated the woman’s kindheartedness. And she caught herself pondering what Nellie had shared. So, while there was no easing up on chores, Rachel considered how best to show more understanding to Maggie, poor thing, while they shelled peas that afternoon.
The evening’s breezes were warm, and it was still quite sunny when Maggie’s cousins Luke and Lila Witmer picked her up in Luke’s automobile—a black-and-white Buick with white sidewall tires. In the car, Lila explained that, since Luke needed to be there early, their parents and the rest of the children would meet them at the tent.
The car’s interior smelled of new upholstery, and sitting in the back with Lila on the cushy seat, Maggie smiled when Lila teased her brother about being their private chauffeur. Luke merely bobbed his head and chuckled up there in the driver’s seat. Maggie, however, clutched the armrest, not having ridden so fast in a long time, far more accustomed to the trotting of driving horses!
She stared out the window as they went, eventually noticing a billboard featuring Maxwell House Coffee . . . Millions of tiny Flavor Buds. For a split second, she wondered if Dat would ever succumb to the quick way some of their English neighbors made coffee. Nee, Dat wants a rich, dark brew, she decided, the way Mamm always made i
t. In his opinion, nothing was better than coffee percolated atop the cookstove.
When they arrived at the tent’s site in Lancaster, Maggie was surprised at the size of it and the vast field it was pitched in, as well as the hundreds of automobiles, nearly a sea of them. “Never saw so many in my life,” Maggie whispered as she reached for her cane before Luke came around and opened the car door for her. Lila got out on the opposite side of the four-door sedan.
Maggie thanked Luke for driving. “It was a much smoother ride than Dat’s buggy,” she said, taking solemn note of the distance between their parking spot and the tent. She told Lila she’d have to take it slow.
“Of course! We’re so glad you’ve come along,” Lila said and offered her arm.
Luke excused himself, needing to go on ahead.
“Luke’s gotten acquainted with the evangelist and his family,” Lila commented now, looking nice in her long floral print dress and its matching cape as they picked their way between the many vehicles. “They’re really somethin’.”
After a couple minutes of walking, Maggie stopped to rest, there in the midst of the great number of automobiles. Many people were streaming across the parking lot toward the tent. Now that they were nearer, the height of the temporary structure dwarfed her with its magnitude, and she felt terribly out of place.
Though all of the side tent flaps were rolled and tied up, Maggie could easily imagine how hot it must be inside. “Let’s sit toward the back, where there’s more fresh air,” she suggested, still questioning her decision to come.
“My parents like to sit up front, but we can sit wherever you’d like,” Lila said, staying right beside her.
Slowly, they made their way inside, where Maggie chose a spot on the far left, ten or more rows from the back and away from the heat of the sun. She removed the cardboard fan from the folding chair, a flower garden printed on one side and the name and address of a Lancaster insurance company on the back, very glad for it.
The lights inside the tent were quite glaring, and she wondered why they had to be this bright at six-thirty on a summer evening.
A group of older women came and sat in the chairs in front of them, two wearing cup-shaped Mennonite head coverings and black dresses with capes over the bodice. Once they were seated, one of the women began to fan herself with short, erratic motions while she looked around nervously, as if this might be her first time at such a meeting, too.
A tall young woman wearing a brightly striped cotton vest over a short-sleeved white blouse took the end seat on the middle aisle as two younger girls in their early teens wandered in with tan pants rolled up to just below the knee. Although Maggie didn’t want to be critical, she wondered what the Good Lord thought of such casual attire for church. She also noticed that families were sitting together, not men on one side and women and children on the other, like at Amish services. The whole atmosphere was disorienting, and Maggie felt uncomfortable.
Steadily the seats filled up, and right at seven o’clock, a stout, middle-aged man clad in black trousers and a long-sleeved white shirt walked out onto the front platform and began to pray into a hand-held microphone. He invited the Holy Spirit to rest upon the meeting and on all who were seeking the truth of God’s Word.
Maggie couldn’t help but take notice of the way the man prayed so loudly, far different from what she was used to.
Soon after, a song leader began to lead them in hymns and gospel songs, some of which Maggie had never heard. She listened, amazed by the blending of so many voices at once—in four-part harmony—just as Lila had described. Unison singing is what’s expected at Preaching, she thought. Maggie found the music to be lovely, and after a while, she shyly joined in the melody, looking around at the faces of others as they sang.
But it was the evangelist who really commanded Maggie’s attention. The gathering fell quiet as Lloyd Brubaker stepped up to the wooden pulpit, attired in a plain suit with a standing collar and no lapels. He began his sermon by asking the crowd, “Do you believe that God has ordained this tent crusade? Yes or no?”
A resounding “Yes!” came from the gathering.
“Is your heart open to hearing the Word of the Lord?”
“Yes!”
Maggie was startled by the back-and-forth interaction between the dramatic preacher and the enthusiastic crowd, never having witnessed such a thing. Lloyd Brubaker spoke boldly, certainly seeming to believe he was God’s messenger, “appointed for this hour,” as he stated.
Preacher Brubaker opened his large black Bible. “In the book of Acts, chapter two and verse twenty-one, we read: ‘And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’”
Maggie sat straighter, paying close attention. She had believed in the Lord as her Savior since she was a little child hearing Dat read the Bible aloud. But to declare that one was saved was something different, wasn’t it? The People certainly didn’t talk like this. The Amish bishop had even once stated at a Preaching service, “If you are so haughty and high-minded as to say that you’re saved, you certainly are not!”
Yet, according to this preacher reading from his open Bible, there it was, written right there in the New Testament.
Suddenly wanting to see it for herself, Maggie made a mental note to look up the verse at home—in fact, the entire chapter. The words of the Scripture continued to ring out in her mind as the minister preached.
“Whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord . . .”
———
After the hour-long sermon, which to Maggie seemed anything but lengthy, thanks to Lloyd Brubaker’s earnest and compelling approach, the evangelist called for the listeners to bow their heads. He prayed for the lost to repent, then raised his eyes to look again at the crowd. “Each person who hears my voice, here in this tent or outside, come to the Lord . . . receive your Savior and make Him Lord of your life.” He also urged those who had gone astray to return to the fold. “Do not delay—there may not be another opportunity. Come back to your heavenly Father, Who created you and is calling you now, this moment, to live all the days of your life for Him.”
The song leader returned to the pulpit, and everyone began to sing in that glorious four-part harmony again. In a few minutes, the preacher took the microphone and spoke over the song. “Salvation is the Lord’s work and not man’s. I urge you not to wait another day . . . another moment.”
Maggie had heard of an altar call, but she hadn’t pictured the dozens of people that now got up from their seats to walk down the sawdust-covered aisle toward the platform. She was awestruck by the number, some with tears trailing down their cheeks, some with serious expressions, and others with little ones in their arms. The sight touched her deeply.
Yet, in spite of how inspiring it all was, there was much that still seemed foreign. She began to feel feverish again—and very tired. “I ought to get home,” she whispered to Lila.
“Maybe you can come with me another time,” Lila said as she reached for Maggie’s cane and handed it to her.
“We’ll see,” Maggie murmured. “Right now, I just need to rest.”
“I’ll drive ya home, then come back later for Luke,” Lila said, grabbing her small purse from beneath her seat. “First, though, I need to let Luke know. . . . I’ll try to find the evangelist’s son. Glenn Brubaker will know where Luke is. You can just wait here.”
“All right,” Maggie agreed.
Lila gave Maggie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then headed forward along the outside aisle.
Maggie sat there waiting, observing the people still flocking toward the front, her heart so tender she thought she might cry.
6
Maggie was relieved when Cousin Lila returned after a few minutes.
But Lila was not alone. She was accompanied by a wavy-haired blond man who introduced himself simply as Glenn. “I’m glad you came to the crusade,” he said, offering to shake her hand. “What’s your name?” He smiled broadly, his broad
, sharp shoulders evident beneath his crisp navy suit coat.
Maggie suddenly felt shy as the good-looking young man took the chair next to her, where Lila had been sitting. “I’m Maggie Esh,” she replied.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Maggie.” He paused. “I hope you’ll come again.”
She thanked him quietly.
“Is this your first time at one of these meetings?” His green eyes twinkled.
She admitted it was as Cousin Lila lowered herself onto the chair opposite Glenn, not looking Maggie’s way. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap.
Glenn smiled, his gaze not wavering from Maggie. “Well, I’ll be happy to talk with you anytime, if you have questions,” he said, his smooth hand resting on his brown leather Bible.
“I appreciate that,” Maggie said to be polite. After all, the preacher’s own son was here seeking her out, and yet, if Glenn hadn’t been so convincingly sincere—and strikingly handsome—she might have said that wasn’t necessary. She was that ready to return to the comfort and security of her father’s house.
The sun was close to setting when Rachel looked at the day clock high on the kitchen shelf. She had already written a circle letter that would be read by her older sisters in Myerstown. She had also read from the King James Bible that Joseph used for his personal devotions. Her own Mamm preferred the English Bible, as well, and Rachel remembered being read to from its version of Genesis, back when she was just seven years old and learning to speak English in the public schools. Mamm was determined for me and my sisters to be able to read both German and English, she thought with a smile.
At times, Rachel felt downright homesick for Myerstown, and with the house so quiet, this evening was one of those. Grace and Miriam were outdoors catching lightning bugs. While helping them poke holes in the lids of two Mason jars earlier, Rachel had recalled chasing the twinkling bugs all over her father’s meadow with her own sisters. Those days were long past, but flickers of happy remembrances like that had a tendency to catch her off guard. It wasn’t like she could just go on foot to visit her parents and sisters, like most married Amishwomen. Being this far away from home had its drawbacks, but it was worth it to be with Joseph, the answer to her many heartfelt prayers.
The First Love Page 4