An Uncommon Grace

by Serena B. Miller

  She came right back at him.

  “Think about who you’re talking to, Levi,” she said dangerously. “I’m not some prom queen trying to decide what fancy dress to wear. Until a month ago, I was a career military nurse. I wore a uniform. I was told when to go to sleep and when to wake up. I was told what to eat and how to make a bed. On your strictest, most Ordnung-fearing days, you have more freedom to choose than I have had over these past several years. But my commanding officer never, ever asked me to put myself in harm’s way—unless it was to save the life of another soldier.”

  “Or to kill some other country’s soldier,” he shot back.

  “Oh, that’s right, buddy. Go ahead and pull out the pacifist card. You and your people allow other people to lay their lives on the line keeping this country safe so that you can enjoy the right to live like you want to, and wear what you want to wear, and drive what you want to drive. If it weren’t for the men and women in uniform who protect our country, you wouldn’t be worrying about whether or not your buggy had a stupid orange triangle on it—you would be trying to figure out a way to keep your children from being forced to bow to Mecca!”

  “The Bible says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”

  “Then why the heck was the warrior David a ‘man after God’s own heart’? Good grief, man. God was talking about murder in the Ten Commandments, not war.”

  Levi had never had a conversation like this. He was hurt, he was angry, but he was also exhilarated by the rush of intellectual battle.

  “If all men lived as we do, there would be no more wars. There would be no need for armies or soldiers. There would be peace.”

  “You make a good point, Levi—except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If all men lived as you do—burning your libraries because you’re afraid some bishop will disapprove—there would be no hospitals to save the lives of people like your mother. There would be no doctors to save the life of little Daniel. And if all men lived as you do—bathing only once a week—the world would smell a whole lot worse than it does.”

  Now that stung.

  “Are you telling me that I have a bad odor?”

  “Not right now. Presumably you bathed before you left for worship this morning. But, Levi, I hate to tell you this, but the last time I was there, your house stunk.”

  “It was Daniel’s diapers. There has been too much rain recently to do laundry.”

  “Don’t blame it on your baby brother.”

  “Well—your Haus smells stuffy and close. There are too many things in here. I can barely breathe.”

  There was a hesitation—and he thought he might have dealt the final blow—but Grace surprised him by bursting out into a belly laugh. “Boy, you got that right! I’m afraid my grandfather never saw a fishing lure he didn’t fall in love with, and I don’t think my grandmother ever laid eyes on a butter dish she didn’t buy.”

  The fact that she was laughing at her family’s possessions was something he had not expected. He had assumed that Englisch people were attached to every knickknack in their homes. Evidently she wasn’t.

  She grinned at him mischievously, in spite of the shiner she was developing. “That was a great argument, Levi. I enjoyed it. It’s the kind of argument that friends might have. But we’re not friends, right?”

  “No—we are not friends.”

  “Good,” she said complacently. “Because I would hate to have said all those awful things to a friend.”

  Just then, Sarah tiptoed into the room and whispered into his ear.

  “She needs to use the toilet,” Levi said.

  “Sweetie, just go to the last door at the end of the hall,” Grace told the little girl.

  “I will have to take her. She won’t know how to use an indoor bathroom by herself.”

  “Go ahead, Levi. Knock yourself out.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Take your little sister to the bathroom,” Grace said. “While you’re gone, I’m going to think up some better arguments.”

  “Please don’t,” Levi said, ushering his little sister out of the room.

  chapter NINETEEN

  Levi took Sarah to the bathroom. The commode frightened Sarah and he had to help her hold on. While doing so, his mind raced with arguments to counter anything else Grace might want to bring up. No one had ever talked to him in such a way before, although he suspected a great many Englischers thought the rude things that Grace had said.

  The thing was, Grace was not trying to be rude. She cared about his family and was genuinely puzzled by the things they did.

  It felt strangely exhilarating to use his wits to argue with her. But he knew that in spite of his people’s attempts to be godly and separate from the world, they were far from perfect. They worked hard and helped each other. They endured long worship services sitting on hard benches in the name of Jesus. But they were not perfect. There was sometimes much gossip and smallness of mind during their get-togethers. Not all of them were honest. Not all of them were kind.

  Could it be possible that what he had been taught was the only way to heaven—wasn’t true? Could it be that the restrictions under which he lived were not necessary for God’s approval? One thing he did know, and it bothered him, was that it was nearly impossible for an outsider to become Amish, and the few who tried seldom went the distance. After a few years they gave up. It was just too hard.

  Had God truly made it necessary to live exactly as he and his family lived in order to be saved?

  He didn’t know. He only knew that the preachers said that the path to heaven was narrow and few would achieve it. And yet could women as fine as Grace and Elizabeth—both believers in Jesus—miss heaven because they did not live exactly as he lived?

  “I’m done,” Sarah said.

  “Good girl!”

  She was fascinated with what happened when he flushed, and he had to stop her from putting her hands into the swirling water.

  He adjusted the faucets until the water temperature was just right, and then he held Sarah up by her waist while she played with the soap and water. This was a new experience for her, and she drew out the moment as long as she could.

  It felt strange being in Grace’s bathroom. There were too many women things and fancy bottles in here for him to feel comfortable. He had to admit, it certainly smelled a whole lot better than his family’s outhouse.

  “Are you finished?” He turned the water off and helped his little sister dry her hands on a fluffy pink towel.

  She held on to his finger as they went out the door, but he saw her glance back over her shoulder at the bathroom.

  “I like that place,” Sarah said.

  Her innocent comment hurt. This Sunday was turning into a day of hurts.

  All thoughts of bathrooms and arguments left him when they entered the living room. Standing in the middle of the floor looking down at Grace was one of the largest men he had ever seen—dressed in a sheriff’s uniform. He recognized him immediately as Gerald Newsome, the man who had talked with him up in the hayloft the day his stepfather was killed.

  His two little brothers were sitting close together on Elizabeth’s other couch. Their legs stuck straight out, and their hands were clasped tightly together upon their knees—as though to make certain they stayed absolutely, completely out of trouble.

  The sheriff shook his head when he saw him. “Sure would help everyone out if you people would just put that orange triangle on your buggies.”

  Levi was sick of hearing this. It wasn’t as though he had any control over what his church’s leaders had decided. He waited stoically for Newsome to say whatever it was he was going to say.

  “At least this time I don’t have to take anyone to the morgue—but from the looks of that car it’s a wonder you didn’t get killed, Grace.”

  “It wasn’t Levi’s fault.” Grace, who ten minutes earlier had been giving him grief about the issue, now flew to his defense. “I should have known better
than to drive that fast on a rainy Sunday night. I should have realized there would be buggies returning from church.”

  “If you say so,” the sheriff said. “Well, that pretty much wraps things up. I’ll call a wrecker for that car of yours.”

  “Thanks.”

  Levi’s little brothers’ eyes were nearly popping out of their heads being so close to this big sheriff again, close to his uniform and his gun holster. He knew they would not soon forget this moment. Why did the world have to infringe so harshly upon their family? All his people had ever wanted was to be left alone to make a modest living off the land and to worship God as they deemed best. His little brothers had not needed to see that gun on the sheriff’s belt.

  The sheriff shot a glance at Levi. “It’s dark. I’m headed out past your house. Why don’t I follow you? It might help us avoid another accident tonight.”

  As soon as she was alone, Grace lifted herself off the couch and limped over to the window where she watched the sheriff slowly following Levi’s buggy down the road. He had turned his flashing lights on, but no siren. If only she had come home a few minutes earlier, she could have avoided this whole thing.

  It seemed as though even thinking about it made her head ache. In fact, everything ached. Her face throbbed, and her eye was swollen completely shut.

  Grace turned out the lights and made herself as comfortable as possible. She wanted to wait up for Becky, to make certain she got home safe.

  A half hour later, she heard her sister’s car pulling into the driveway. Becky came through the door, not turning on any lights, feeling her way along the wall and toward the stairs.

  “Hi,” Grace said from the recesses of the couch.

  Becky jumped and gave a little squeal. “You scared me!”

  Grace turned on the lamp beside the couch.

  Becky gasped when she got a good look at Grace. “Now that really is scary. What happened to your face?”

  “I wrapped my car around a tree.”

  “Are you okay?” Becky dropped onto the couch opposite Grace. “You look awful.”

  “I’m alive—and so are Levi and his brothers and sister.” She told her the whole story.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Becky asked.

  “It would be heaven to soak in Grandma’s big old clawfoot bathtub upstairs.”

  Becky jumped up. “I’ll go start the water running.”

  Grace gritted her teeth and managed to get up off the couch again. She limped over to the stairwell, grasped the banister, and began to pull herself up step by step. Everything hurt. Everything ached. She wanted to soak in that tub for about a month. She hurt so badly that she broke out into a cold sweat just trying to get her bruised body up to her room. Perhaps she should have asked the sheriff to drive her to the ER.

  After all that effort, she managed to make it up only four steps. The long stairwell seemed to stretch on for miles. It would take her forever to go to the top. She was just starting to consider giving up and simply going to bed on the couch when Becky appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I don’t think I can make it up there alone.”

  Becky hurried down. “Put your arm around my shoulders and I’ll help.”

  When they got to the top of the staircase, Becky prepared an Epsom salts–infused bath and stayed with her until Grace was soaking in it. She set a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol beside her on a chair.

  “Do you want me to stay with you?” Becky asked.

  “I’ll be fine. Nothing’s broken, just very bruised.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight instead of you,” Becky said. “You’re in no shape to help Grandma if she calls out.”

  “You have school in the morning.”

  “So? If Grandma has a bad night, I’ll sleep during first period study hall.” She grinned. “It won’t be the first time and it probably won’t be the last.”

  In the morning, Grace was too sore, at first, even to get out of bed—but after a great deal of willpower, a hot shower, and a little more Tylenol, she was able to go downstairs and fix herself some toast and juice. Little by little, she began to feel better.

  Becky wandered in from the living room.

  “How did Grandma do last night?” Grace asked.

  “She was up a lot. Nothing major, just couldn’t seem to settle down until about four o’clock. My guess is that she’ll be asleep for a while.”

  “Thanks for taking care of her for me. I should be able to handle it tonight.”

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Becky said. “Do you think you’ll be taking your jog?”

  “Do I look like I’m up for a jog?”

  Becky laughed. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “I’m going to need to get around today and deal with my car situation. I’ll have to use Grandma’s car. Could you take the school bus?”

  Becky wasn’t enthusiastic, but she agreed. After she hurried off to catch the bus, Grace eased herself out of the chair. If she still felt this bad tomorrow, she really would go get some X-rays.

  With her grandmother still asleep, she went out to the back porch to enjoy the early morning. She glanced over at the little shoe box Becky had fixed for the kitten to sleep in. She decided that having a little kitten to pet was entirely too nice not to take advantage of.

  “How are you doing, little one?” she crooned as she lifted it from its box. “Do you mind if I borrow you for a while? You sure did land on your feet when you came to this place.”

  She couldn’t help but think, as she relaxed in the swing, looking out over the beautiful, misty countryside, that in many ways she, too, had landed on her feet in coming here. In spite of all that had transpired, Holmes County, Ohio, was about as close to heaven as Grace thought was possible on this earth.

  chapter TWENTY

  Six weeks after the killing, there was still some conjecture among the Swartzentruber congregation about who had killed Abraham Shetler, but for the most part, Levi’s people did not dwell on such things. Levi decided it was probably because the Amish had endured too much over the centuries not to have learned the wisdom of accepting harsh reality and then moving on. Instead of pondering whether or not justice would be served, they worked. Always they worked. There were fields to plant, livestock to care for, children to tend, and quilts to sew.

  Life went on. And those like Levi and his family, who had experienced great loss, were expected to do exactly what everyone else did in the Amish community who faced hard things—endure.

  It would be a waste of time, in their minds, for Levi to attempt to investigate on his own, because there was no recourse even if he did discover who had violated his family. The Amish did not go to court. They did not seek vengeance. They did not retaliate.

  Instead, they scratched out a living with horses and hand tools . . . and they went to church.

  If the law officials never found out who it was, even if the murderer went unpunished, Levi knew that he and his family would go on just as they always had.

  In many ways it was best. Ignoring the evil in the world helped a man focus on what was truly important: getting the best yield of corn, weaving his baskets just a little tighter than others, and taking the time to rub linseed oil once again into his mother’s wooden floors.

  When everyday life was a study in weather patterns and survival, there was not much time left over for vengeance.

  After processing the milk from this morning, he planned to get ahead on cutting out the wooden bottoms and lids that they used in the larger baskets. These could hold two or three quilts apiece and were favorites among the tourists.

  It was raining again. He had never experienced such a wet spring. His cousin Timothy had walked from the third farm over to keep him company. Two sets of hands made his work that much faster. Tomorrow, he would go help Timothy clean out his gutters—and so would continue the back-and-forth that made it possible for them both to make a living without
having to hire help.

  They were making great progress, and the stack of wooden lids was nearly high enough to begin the sanding and staining, when he glanced out the workshop window and saw a familiar buggy and horse trot up his driveway.

  He was surprised to see the bishop so early in the morning. Whatever Ezra Weaver had come for must have great importance. As the bishop’s buggy got closer, he saw that Zillah was with him. Could it be an early social call to see his mother?

  “Have you done anything else wrong lately?” Timothy teased. “Something bad enough to cause Bishop Weaver to leave the comfort of his home this rainy morning?”

  “Perhaps the bishop is coming to see you,” Levi shot back. “With Zillah along, it could be anything. That girl would tattle on the rain for making too much noise on her rooftop.”

  The bishop drew his horse to a stop in front of the workshop.

  Levi stepped outside to see what the bishop wanted, but he stayed beneath the eaves so as not to get wet.

  The bishop’s face was grim and Zillah wouldn’t meet his eyes, which was ominous. He searched his mind for something that his family or he might have done wrong, but his conscience was clear. He had confessed everything and made amends in front of the church. His poor mother certainly had not done anything except try to recuperate and care for the children.

  The bishop got out of the buggy and went around to the other side, where he helped his daughter down. Levi wondered about this. Zillah was healthy enough to spring out of the buggy by herself and always had as far as he had seen.

  “Come in out of the rain.” Levi held the door open for them.

  As they entered, even though there were always a few chairs scattered about for visitors, neither Zillah nor her father sat down.

  The bishop did not bother to even glance at Timothy. Instead, he focused his formidable gaze on Levi.

  Zillah still would not meet his eyes, even though she was standing only a few feet away. This definitely did not bode well.