Forty minutes later, Abbie pulled up to the Chupp property, swinging wide away from the cobbler’s workshop and instead aiming for the house. Sarah Chupp was in the yard hanging the sparse laundry she had indulged in washing. In a household with seven children, a certain amount of water had to be allotted to washing. At Sarah’s feet, her youngest child pushed a fist-sized rock around in the dirt. What would Little Abe Miller do without his favorite playmate?
With a dark brown dress slung over her shoulder, Sarah turned toward Abbie. Taking in a deep breath, Abbie stepped down from the buggy’s bench in no particular hurry.
“Hello, Abbie.” Sarah took a clothespin from a basket and used it to hang a towel. “I suppose you’ve heard the news.”
Abbie nodded. “I’m sorry that I didn’t notice you were unhappy before it came to this.”
“It hasn’t come to anything. We made a decision, that’s all.” Sarah pinned up a tiny white shirt.
“I hate to see you go. You are a precious family. The church loves you all.”
Sarah lifted her basket and moved it down the line. Abbie picked up a damp towel and two pins.
“There really isn’t a church, now is there?” Sarah’s tone was soft, but her words stung Abbie.
“ ‘Where two or three are gathered,’ ” Abbie said. “We could be the kind of church we all want if your husband were the minister.”
Sarah sighed and scratched the top of her head just in front of her prayer kapp. “Noah made up his mind.”
“You’re his wife. He would listen to you.”
“You presume I would want him to change his mind.”
Abbie forced down the lump forming in her throat. “Your families have been Amish for two hundred years.”
“I know.”
“Then you know what it means to belong, to help each other through hard times, to care for each other.”
“We have seven children to think of.” Sarah bent for a moment to run a hand through her son’s hair, smoothing it out away from his face.
“I am sorry we failed you,” Abbie said. “I hope you will accept my apology on behalf of the whole church.”
“Don’t be silly, Abigail. No one failed us.”
“But you want to leave us.”
“It’s not anybody’s fault, Abbie. We made a choice to move out here three years ago, and now we have made a choice to try another place.”
“But to leave the Amish church—is that not extreme?” Abbie fought the lines forming in her face.
Sarah reached out and took Abbie’s hand. “You’re very kind. No one is more committed to this settlement than you are, and if it succeeds I suspect it will be because of you.”
Abbie’s shoulders fell. “But you do not believe we can succeed.”
“Gottes wille. But no, Noah and I both feel it is only a matter of time before the families of the settlement will face the same decision we faced. We simply have chosen to decide sooner.”
Abbie failed to stifle her gasp. “Do you really think others will leave?”
“Abigail, you’re an intelligent young woman.” Sarah raised her palms toward the blistering sun. “You know about the drought. You know the damage the hail did. You know that everybody owes money to the bank. You know that not everyone will have any crop to sell this year.”
“But your husband has a trade,” Abbie protested.
“And no money to buy hides to make leather, and nine mouths to feed. Our own people cannot even ask him to make shoes because they have nothing to pay him with. We did not come all the way out here to make shoes for the English. Noah can do that in a place where we can join a church and teach our children the life of faith. We’ve made our decision, Abbie.”
Sarah put her empty laundry basket on her hip, reached for her son’s small hand, and began to walk toward the house.
By the time Abbie reached the Millers’ house, she made sure her to banish her tears. Mary met her at the door with her quilt project bundled in her arms.
“Little Abe is down for a nap,” Mary said, “but he should wake up in about half an hour. Thank you for coming!”
Mary left, and Abbie moved to the doorway of the room where Little Abe slept. She leaned against the doorframe with her hands behind her waist and watched the little boy’s chest rise and fall. He was too little to know he was losing a playmate whom Abbie had hoped he would know for his entire life, too innocent to realize how precarious his own family’s existence was. Abbie’s mind drifted to her own quilt, the one she worked on in the evenings. Twelve trees of life were to represent the twelve founding households of the settlement. Eleven would be all wrong.
The evening cooled, though the air remained arid. Willem rode over after supper, as he often did, to see if Abbie would like a walk. One look at her face told him that Noah Chupp’s decision still crushed her.
“Gottes wille,” he said. “We will be all right.”
“It’s wrong, Willem.” She paced so briskly that Willem expended more energy than he wished to keep up with her. “Can’t you talk to Noah again? It’s been a few days. Maybe he would be ready to listen to reason.”
“Each man should follow his own conscience.” Willem reached for her hand, trying to slow her down. “You know Noah is a man of prayer. He did not make the decision on a whim.”
“But what about our community? It is the way of our people to have a commitment to one another. We all knew that a new settlement would face challenges. We must face them together, not surrender to our individual interests.”
He took her by both shoulders now, stilling her and turning her to face him. “Abbie, can you honestly say that your family’s life has been as you pictured it when your parents began talking about moving to Colorado?”
“That is not the point I’m trying to make.” She tried to worm free, but he would not release her. He held his gaze steady until hers settled and she looked him in the eyes, unblinking.
“We all came out here not just to begin a new church,” Willem said, “but because we believed we could have a more prosperous life. More land, lower prices. We have to be honest about our motives before we judge Noah Chupp.”
“Of course the men must make a living and provide for their families,” Abbie said. “Life here on the plains is a great deal of work for the women, too. But how can we so easily lose sight of the church? If everyone gives up and moves away, what will these years have been for?”
“God has His purposes. Even suffering forms us into His image.” Willem moved one hand up to the side of Abbie’s neck, and he felt the tension ease beneath his fingers as he knew it would. “Abbie, no matter what happens, we will be all right.”
“You always say that.” Her lips pouted, but the fight had gone out of her tone.
“Because it’s true. If it is God’s will for our settlement to succeed, then it will. And if everyone moves away, God will not care for us any less.”
Her lips moved in and out, but Willem could see Abbie had no argument against the simple truths of his statement. He raised a thumb to her face and gently drew it across her lips before covering her mouth with his and feeling her remaining resistance dissipate.
They jumped apart at the sound of a throat clearing.
Willem peered over Abbie’s shoulder. “Jake.”
Abbie exhaled and took a farther step back.
“It’s a lovely evening for a long walk, don’t you think?” Jake smiled at both of them.
“How is Eber?” Abbie asked.
Jake tilted his head. “Today has not been as bad as many.”
“Has the doctor been back out to their place?” Willem asked.
“Several times. He does not seem to have anything new to say. It may be a disorder of the stomach.”
“Eber is under too much stress,” Willem said.
“How much longer will you stay?” Abbie asked.
“A few days.” Jake ran one finger around the rim of his hat. “I will let you know, Willem, so you and the others ca
n sort out what to do about the chores. I don’t want Ruthanna left with the heavy work.”
“Of course not.”
Abbie raised a hand to adjust her prayer kapp. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight. I’ll see Ruthanna in the morning.” She turned to go.
“I’ll walk you back,” Willem said.
“That’s not necessary. There’s plenty of light left. You two must have things to talk about.” Abbie had already recovered her brisk pace of earlier in the evening.
Willem watched her go but made no move to follow.
Jake’s mouth twisted in a smile. “Where’s your horse, Willem?”
Willem dipped his straw hat. “Outside Abbie’s front door.”
“She’s a woman with a mind of her own.”
“That she is. She’s worried about the church more than anything.”
Jake nodded. “I heard about Noah Chupp. I would offer to try to help folks, but I suspect I would only feed the discord in the council right now.”
Willem swiveled his head to look at Jake. “Discord in the council?”
“My presence suggests that some believe true faith is possible outside the Amish church,” Jake said. “Is that not what causes the bishops to refuse to come to your congregation?”
Willem scratched his forehead. “It would certainly be an explanation, though not one that I have heard.”
“Then I hope I have not spoken out of turn.” Jake lifted his own hat off his head in a farewell gesture. “Keep your distance. Don’t let her catch you fetching your horse.”
Standing in the Chupps’ barren yard two weeks later, Abbie refused to let tears well. Noah double-checked the harness that strapped two horses to an overloaded buggy while Sarah kept the youngest two children where she could reach them easily. Abbie stood with Rudy Stutzman apart from the mass of families who had come to bid the Chupps farewell.
“They aren’t taking very much with them,” she observed.
“An English family came in and bought it all for half what it was worth.” Rudy kicked a pebble back and forth with one toe. “Noah wanted every penny he could scrape up for traveling costs.”
“Will they drive the buggy all the way to Nebraska?”
“I believe that is his plan. Nine train tickets would be costly, and he wants the horses.”
“What will he do for work? Do the English in cities even use cobblers anymore? Don’t they have factories for things like that?”
Rudy shrugged. “Noah is not afraid of hard work. He will find something.”
“But they cannot even go to their families if they are still intent on leaving the Amish church.”
Rudy turned to look at Abbie. He gestured toward the buggy. “They are truly leaving, Abbie. You have to put them in God’s hands.”
“If they were in need, the rest of us would do anything we could to help, just as they would have for us. A family with seven children—they have to know what a loss this is for our community. Why should they leave when the rest of us are here? I had hoped they cared more than that.”
“Your own love for the church cannot force anyone to stay.”
“You stayed,” Abbie said. “That day at the depot, you were thinking of leaving, but you are still here.”
Rudy said nothing.
“Rudy, you’re staying, aren’t you?”
“I don’t want to quarrel, Abigail.”
Her heart raced. “We are not quarreling. We are talking about the good of the community, about not thinking only of ourselves but how our choices will affect many other people.”
Rudy gave the pebble a swift kick with the side of his shoe. “You should talk to your own Willem about that. He will do anything it takes to save his farm. Surely you know that.”
“We all share that goal. If we save our farms, we save our settlement, and if we save the settlement, we save the church.”
“In your mind everything is tied together like so much string in a ball. Willem doesn’t see it that way.”
“Who are you to say how Willem sees our life here?” Abbie ground her teeth together. Who was Rudy to think he knew Willem better than she did?
“I thought we weren’t going to quarrel.” Rudy spoke softly.
Abbie swallowed. “We’re not.”
“Ask Willem yourself, unless you are afraid to hear what he would say.”
“Of course I am not afraid to ask Willem.” Abbie flipped a palm up. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Ask him what choice he would make between his farm and the church.”
“Why should he have to make that choice?”
Rudy was not looking at her any longer. “The Chupps are ready. We should go wish them Godspeed.”
“Does Mamm know you are taking salt pork?” Levi Weaver raised his blue eyes with the question.
Abbie put the lid back on the wooden barrel outside the Weaver back door and made sure it was closed tightly. “Yes, she does.”
“Is she sure we have enough food for you to take some?” Levi thumped the barrel lid himself.
Abbie carried a hunk of pork into the kitchen, where she had left a knife on the butcher block. Levi followed. “As you can see, I am only taking a little bit.”
“But Mamm always says every bit of food counts.” Levi’s tone carried no accusation.
“And she is right.” Abbie drew the knife through the pork and carved off five modest slices. She held one out to Levi.
The boy shook his head. “I wouldn’t feel right.”
“I am sure Mamm would want you to have it. She said only yesterday that she doesn’t believe you are eating enough.”
“I’m fine.”
Levi was such a serious child, Abbie thought. He was not anything like the two brothers in between the family bookends that Abbie and Levi formed. Daniel and Reuben were hardworking and respectful, but they did not carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.
“Levi, we have enough food. It probably feels like we eat the same things all the time. I suppose that’s true, but we have enough.”
“It can’t last forever.”
“We have to eat, Levi. That’s what food is for.”
“But you’re taking a picnic for Willem. Is he running out of food?”
Abbie wrapped the pork slices in a flour sack towel. “I don’t think so. But he’s a bachelor. We often share food with him and the others. You know that.”
He shrugged one shoulder and looked at his feet.
She sat in a chair and pulled him onto her lap. “God will provide, Levi. You must believe that. God gives us food to nourish us, and when we eat it we show that we are grateful for God’s gift. Do you understand?”
Levi dragged his bare toe in a circle on the floor. When had he gotten tall enough to still reach the floor when he sat in Abbie’s lap? He was going to be lanky like his brothers.
“I hope Willem is grateful for the food you’re taking him.”
“I’m sure he will be. Now help me pack the picnic. Get me a jar of apples from the back porch, will you?”
“We didn’t grow those apples,” Levi said. “Mamm had to buy them from the English.”
“They were too small for the English to sell in their market, and she got a very good price on the whole bushel. Now go get me a jar.”
Abbie ran down the mental list of foods she would use to entice Willem on a midday picnic. She had fresh bread, egg salad, spiced apples, half a sponge cake, and salt pork. And she would be sure to take plenty of water. It would be an act of faith that surely God would soon send rain.
Abbie smiled down at Willem from the buggy bench, and he leaned on the fence post with both arms.
“You must have driven halfway around my farm to find me out here,” he said.
“I very nearly gave up and thought perhaps you had gone into Limon and didn’t mention it to me.”
“Now why would I do that when you make such fine company?”
“What are you in the middle of?”
Willem l
iked the way her nose scrunched when she asked questions instead of coming right out with what was on her mind.
“I can’t seem to grow anything,” he said. “But I’m thinking of marking off a road from the back side of my property.”
Abbie smiled. “We go that way all the time anyway. Might as well make it a faster way.”
“I was pretty sure you would figure that out.” Willem raised his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Why have you tracked me down out here in the far corners?”
She brightened further. “I packed a picnic. Let’s drive somewhere and find a nice spot.”
“A picnic? For no reason?”
“Your favorite cake. Admit it. You can’t resist.”
Willem looked over his shoulder in the direction of his future road. He had wanted to pace off his planned route and begin calculating how many stones he would need to line the edges for the entire length. If conditions persisted, dry soil would blow off toward Kansas and leave stones uncovered. He would rather have had a good crop and have to dig rocks out. Willem looked again at Abbie’s face shining under the brim of the bonnet she wore over her prayer kapp and admitted what he was doing did not qualify as urgent. And a man did need to eat lunch, after all.
“All right, then.” He brushed his hands together to clear them of dirt. “But I want you to let me drive.”
“Of course.” Abbie slid over on the bench.
Willem hoisted himself into driving position and signaled the horse to make a wide turn. Abbie was a good driver but too slow. She would wander all over searching for the perfect spot—which of course did not exist. A picnic called for temperate weather, not oppressive heat. A picnic called for shade, not one exposed field after another. A picnic called for a cool breeze off a lake or river, not dust blowing in their eyes. Had Abbie even thought about these realities, or did she see in her mind’s eye the river and oak trees of Ohio rather than the dried creeks and half-dead scrub oak of Colorado? Willem wondered how long it would take to grow a decent shade tree in this part of the country. Maybe their grandchildren would be able to sit under one.
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