• • •
“So,” Elizabeth said, as he came through the door, “did you bring me any leftovers of Maddy’s fudge? I’ve been thinking about it ever since you left.”
“Fudge?”
“That’s why you walked down to Claire’s,” she said. “You were going to get some fudge at Amy’s store. I know I didn’t make that up.”
The last thing on his mind when he’d been talking to Claire was fudge.
“What happened down there? Were they out?”
“I have no idea,” he confessed. “It was too early for Amy to be up, and Claire was hanging out wash when I got there. She brought me some water, and we sat on the porch and talked awhile.”
“Really,” Elizabeth said. “You and Claire. Sitting on the porch. Talking.”
“Yes.” He didn’t know why he should feel defensive about such an innocent act—but as Elizabeth turned her laser beam of attention on him, he was distinctly uncomfortable.
“Good heavens,” she said.
“What?”
He expected for her to say something about how he had spent the morning, but she didn’t. Instead she got up and went back to her Daadi Haus, shaking her head the whole way. Before the screen door slammed behind her, he distinctly heard her say, “Uh-oh.”
chapter EIGHT
Claire nervously plied her crochet hook. It was a no-church Sunday. This was a day she usually enjoyed, what with the tradition of visiting friends and relatives, or simply resting and doing small chores. But this particular no-church Sunday was different.
Bishop Schrock, their two ministers, and the deacon were meeting to talk about . . . her. It felt so strange to know that the leaders of her church were meeting specifically to discuss her request for a pager. She knew there were a few in the Old Order church who privately bent the rules a little and owned cell phones. One was a mother who bought the phone to keep track of her four children, who were all on Rumspringa and all owned cell phones. If it was done quietly, there were seldom ramifications.
But even if Claire wanted to, she couldn’t “cheat” and then hand out her cell phone number to all her expectant mothers. She was a professional, and she had a business. The point was for people to be able to get hold of her. She wouldn’t have done such a thing, even if she thought she could get away with it.
She knew there was no chance that her leaders would or could approve a cell phone, but she thought they might allow her a pager, so a desperate mother or father could contact her.
This was not a decision for the church to take lightly. The leaders were concerned that allowing her to openly carry a pager would be a slippery slope that would lead to others wanting the same convenience. There was a danger it would eventually lead to all their congregation feeling free about openly carrying cell phones in their pockets. If that sort of thing happened, their church might as well join those liberal Beachy Amish and start driving cars and using computers!
“Don’t worry,” Maddy said, as she kneaded the rolls they would have for dinner. “I think they will allow it. It is a reasonable request.”
“The Lord’s will be done.” Claire glanced at the clock. Her statement, she knew, was a little hypocritical. On this issue, she didn’t want the Lord’s will to be done unless it mirrored her own. A pager was not for her own selfish purposes—it was for the good of her mothers and their babies. Recently there had been two instances when a young husband had the options of staying with his laboring wife, leaving a message on Claire’s answering machine and praying she heard it, or streaking out on a horse to bring help, leaving his wife alone and untended.
The pager could save lives. It could also save a nine-year-old from having to help her mother deliver a baby, a regrettable situation that had happened a few months ago. Children, in Claire’s opinion, should be shielded from such things until they were old enough to understand. An innocent childhood was a gift she wished all children to have.
She glanced at the clock. The men should be finished with their discussion by now. She hoped one of them would ride over and let her know what they had decided so she wouldn’t have to wait on pins and needles any longer.
As the soft wool slipped through her fingers, she thought about how there had seemed to be a swell of births among their Amish community lately. She had almost run out of these tiny newborn hats that she liked to personally crochet for each of her babies. The Mueller girl was due to deliver anytime now, and it would be a sorry thing if Claire didn’t have a tiny warming cap ready.
Some midwives simply bought the caps, and there was nothing wrong with that, but Claire’s grandmother had been the one who had trained her and given her the skills with which she now supported her family. It had been her grandmother’s habit to crochet these little caps, and doing so now made her feel as though her grandmother was still with her.
“Someone is coming.” Jesse stopped playing checkers with Albert and went to the window to look.
Claire heard them now, too. The sound of buggy wheels on gravel.
Jesse craned his neck to look down the driveway. “It’s the bishop.”
Claire had just enough time to put away her crocheting before Bishop Schrock was knocking at their door.
Their church was blessed to have a godly and kind man as their bishop. She not only respected him, she liked him, and his wife was a good friend.
No matter how kind a bishop might be, however, friendship took a backseat to the good of their religious community. As logical and rational as she felt her desire for a pager was, there was still a good chance that it would be turned down.
“Please come in, Bishop.” Claire hoped that she did not sound too nervous.
“I can make tea, Bishop,” Maddy offered.
“Denki, but I can’t stay,” the bishop said. “Two of my sons have gone over to Pennsylvania to visit family, so I have extra chores this evening. Still, I thought you would like to know our decision before you sleep tonight.”
“I am anxious to hear,” Claire said.
“It was not a decision easily made.”
His expression was so solemn, she felt her heart plummet. The leaders were going to turn her down. She would have to continue to rely on her answering machine for word from her clients. That meant she would continue to nervously make a dozen or more trips out to her phone shanty every day for fear there would be someone who needed her and she would not know.
Still—if that was the decision of their leaders, she would accept it. At least they had heard her out and given it consideration. In her old church, the Swartzentruber church, she would never even have broached the subject.
“There are many small businesses within our church, as you know,” the bishop said. “Many of our people are self-employed and would enjoy the freedom that a cell phone or a pager would give them to allow customers to contact them.”
Claire knew for certain now that she would be turned down. They could not prioritize her needs over the others, even if her work was not like theirs. It really wasn’t fair. An order for lumber could wait a day. A question about a quilt was not a matter of life or death. But her women had no control over when a baby would decide to come.
She did not protest, but bowed her head to await the verdict.
“Yours is a special situation,” the bishop said. “There is a chance that a baby or a mother’s life could be lost if a mother has no way to reach you. We value our families too much to allow that to happen. God has given you a special gift, Claire. We have come to the conclusion that it would not be wise or in the best interests of our church to quench that gift.”
She could hardly believe her ears. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?
“It was unanimous,” the bishop said. “You may have your pager. We will let our church know our reasoning on the matter during church next Sunday.”
Claire felt her heart lift with this good news. Oh, God was so good!
“Thank you,” she said. “So very much.”
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�Your faithfulness and devotion to the Lord, in addition to your work, has been noted. We know you will use it wisely.” The bishop rubbed his hands together. “Now, while I am here, are you and the children doing all right? Are there any needs that have not been met that our church needs to see to?”
Claire knew this was his way of asking her if she had enough money for herself and her family.
“We are by necessity frugal,” she said, “but we are able to care for our needs. Levi, of course, shares a portion of the income from the farm with us, and with my work, and the children’s store, we are all right.”
“You are a wonderful good steward,” the bishop said. “But you will let me know if things ever become not ‘all right’? The Bible teaches us to take care of our widows and orphans. That is our first financial responsibility as a church. You know this, Claire.”
She lifted her chin, and looked him straight in the eyes. “By the grace of God, I am able to provide for my family.”
The bishop smiled. “I am pleased with your strength.”
Six words that meant the world to her. Such high praise from their bishop.
“Have you written any more poems?” he asked Amy, who, along with the other children, had been listening wide-eyed to the conversation.
Amy put her hand on a stack of small notebooks. “I have so many poems,” she said. “I can hardly make cards fast enough to use all of them.”
“That reminds me,” the bishop said. “My wife asked me to pick some more cards up for her since she knew I would be stopping by here.”
“She’s out already?”
“My wife loves sending them to people. She says they are like mailing a piece of art to someone. Do you have any left?”
“Oh!” Amy started gathering up several that had been scattered around her little worktable. “These are the ones I finished this week.”
Claire’s heart smiled as she watched the bishop get down on one knee beside Amy’s craft table. Soon, his and Amy’s heads were close together, bent over the small stack of cards, discussing the merits of each one.
Claire knew that it would never occur to Amy that men his age would not really be interested in her little poems. This man who had been chosen by God to be their bishop was a true shepherd to their church and he had the heart and wisdom to care about something so important to one of the church’s children.
After he had carefully selected five cards, he stood and drew out a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet. Amy happily made change from her money box.
“Your wife might like to have some sassafras tea, too,” Jesse pointed out.
“And some fresh eggs?” Albert added helpfully.
“I am so grateful that you pointed these things out to me,” the bishop said. “I am quite sure my wife is in need of these things—and a jar of honey, too.”
“I make pot holders,” Sarah said, shyly.
“Oh, little one,” the bishop said. “I’m sorry. How could I have overlooked such fine pot holders? I know my wife would want me to bring her a couple.”
“Does she like fudge?” Maddy asked.
The bishop laughed out loud. “Yes, as a matter of fact, she likes fudge, and Maddy, unless I miss my guess, she’s probably in need of a new head covering as well.”
“I just finished two new ones.”
After paying for the other items, he told Jesse and Albert that the bass were getting big over in his pond and invited them to come catch some. Then he put his packages in his buggy and drove on. Claire marveled at the feeling of warmth and security he left behind. He had stayed no more than fifteen minutes, and yet the whole atmosphere in the room had changed. Their church was blessed indeed.
chapter NINE
Elizabeth was at church. Grace was working a double shift at the ER, and he wasn’t sure where Levi was. What he was sure about was that it was time for him to leave.
The old adage that fish and guests start to stink after three days was one he had seen played out in more than one culture. This morning would make three and a half days that he had stayed with these good people. It was time to go.
He found an envelope, put three hundred dollars in—a hundred for each night—and wrote a heartfelt thank-you note to go with it. Leaving would be easier this way. He did not want to go through the awkwardness of their polite insistence that he stay.
He still had unfinished business here in Mt. Hope, but he could do it just as well from Hotel Millersburg. He would stop back in a few days.
There wasn’t anything to pack. He was on his way to throw his duffel bag in the trunk of his rental car when he heard a loud yelp and a metallic thunk coming from a small barn. That did not sound good, and he hurried there as fast as he could.
He slid open the door and found Levi sitting, dejected, on a bale of hay, nursing one bloodied hand against his chest. Both hands were also stained with black grease, as was his shirt. Levi did not look happy to see him.
“What happened?”
“I just broke off a spark plug trying to remove it from the block. The motor has a bad miss and I’m trying to get some new spark plugs and wires on this motor. The man I bought it from said it ran good, but it might need a tune-up. But now I’ve got a major problem with this plug broken off in the block.”
“What’s that?” Tom pointed to a book lying open beside him.
Levi glanced down at bright-colored book. “How to Rebuild and Restore Ford Tractors.”
“You’re trying to learn tractor mechanics from a book?”
“How else am I going to learn?” Levi said, with a touch of bitterness. “The only people I know are Grace, Elizabeth, and some Swartzentruber men who will no longer speak to me.”
Tom’s heart melted. How he identified with the young man! He’d been in his nephew’s boots before, trying to enter the Englisch world with only 1800s technology knowledge to draw from. At seventeen, when Englisch boys were busy fixing up old jalopies, he was shoeing horses. Strangely enough, in spite of that, he had somehow scored high in mechanical ability on the aptitude test he took upon entering the Marine Corps. The mechanics of a tractor were nothing compared to the mechanics of a helicopter. He could help Levi, and he wanted to.
“How bad is that hand?”
“I don’t know. I just now hurt it.”
“Let’s get it cleaned up and tended to, and then I’ll help you fix that tractor.”
“You can do that?”
“Yes.” He dropped his duffel bag on the ground. “If you don’t mind.”
Once they got all the grease off Levi’s hand, the injury turned out to be not much more than some badly skinned knuckles. He felt bad for Levi, who he soon discovered had no working knowledge of combustion engines at all.
“How on earth do you keep your car running?” he finally asked.
“Grace takes care of that.” Levi sounded a little embarrassed. “Grace takes care of a lot of things.”
“I’m sure having a competent wife is a good thing.”
“Oh, it is,” Levi said. “But it is hard to figure out how to be the leader in my home when my wife knows so much more than me that she has to teach me how to change a lightbulb.”
“I’m sure there are things you could teach her.”
“Like what? How to weave a basket? How to harness a horse? How to fix a buggy wheel?” Levi’s voice rose and Tom could tell that he had been distraught over this for a long time. “These are not skills that Grace needs or wants. I even had to depend on her to teach me how to take her out to a restaurant and how to purchase tickets at a movie house.”
“Does she mind?”
“She says she doesn’t. But she complains about other things.”
Tom didn’t ask what, but Levi seemed determined to tell him.
“She says I compare her cooking to my mother’s.”
“Do you?”
There was a long pause. “Maybe.”
Tom tightened a screw on the motor. “Perhaps you could buy her a cookbook.”
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“Have you seen Grace angry?”
“Not yet.”
“Then don’t suggest she buy a cookbook. I already tried that. It did not go well.” Levi shook his head. “She talks about not having gotten a necessary gene to make her as good a cook as the Amish, but when I tried to help her by buying her a cookbook for our anniversary, she blew up.”
“I’m sorry, Levi.”
“If I would allow it, she would live in jeans and T-shirts. She says they are comfortable, but I think she does not know how much they show off her body. I do not see a need for other men to see that. I think it is not unreasonable for me to ask her to wear dresses. After all, I don’t dress the way I used to either. And it is my job as head of our home to take care of the finances. I am very good at figures and she is not. But will she accept my headship? No. She insists on paying bills, and makes a mess of our checkbook.”
Evidently Levi had been building up a head of steam for a long time. Tom was not enjoying this conversation, but he thought perhaps he was helping Levi depressurize a little.
“She wants to fight me on not going back to work after the baby is born—but everyone knows a woman should not work after she has children.”
Tom thought about all the women he knew who managed to balance both—including Levi’s own mother—but thought better of it. Let Levi get it all off his chest.
“And even though we agreed before we got married that we would not watch television, now she complains about missing it. She says she just wants to watch a program every once in a while. Sometimes I know she sneaks over to Elizabeth’s Daadi Haus to watch it there. I love her, but I do not know what to do with her.”
Tom couldn’t help but think of the men who would think that they had died and gone to heaven if they had a wife like Grace, but telling Levi that would do no good. In fact, he had no idea what to tell Levi. But in all the things he had told him, there was one he thought might be an easy fix.
“I know how to fix this motor, and I can teach you—but do you want some advice about your marriage from a man who doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about?”
Hidden Mercies Page 8