by Sarah Price
“Kate,” Samuel began. “I never knew . . .”
She nodded her head. “No one knew, Samuel. I confessed my sins to the bishop before my baptism, but I reckon I have more to confess. My sins are too deep for someone as good as you. And for that reason,” she choked back a sob, “I dare not go riding with you anymore.”
“Is that what you think, Kate Zook?” Rather than reject her, he reached out and touched her chin with one finger, tilting her head so that she had no choice but to look at him. “That you did not do what is right and, therefore, God is no longer with you?”
With confidence, she nodded. “I don’t think it. I know it.” How could she explain to him that, despite knowing that God forgave all sins, it was she who found it hard to accept the proffered forgiveness? “Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.”
He seemed to consider what she said, reflecting on the Bible verse for a moment. Then, without warning, he dropped his hands and took a step backward, giving her space as he nodded his head. “I see,” was all he said. His eyes flickered over her shoulder once again, this time focusing on something that she could not see. Within minutes, she realized it was her daed and Miriam.
“Well,” Samuel said. “We still have some stacking to do, then. Best get to it and we can continue this conversation later, I reckon.” He reached for her hand to help her get down from the back of the wagon, but once she was on the ground, he turned back to his work, the discussion over. Samuel returned his concentration to work, and away from her.
The conversation, however, was never rekindled. Instead, Miriam and Daed helped to unload and stack the rest of the hay while Samuel and Kate picked at the food on the plate prepared by Maem. As usual, Kate had no appetite but, to her astonishment, Samuel seemed unaffected by their exchange.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After two days of rain, Kate was relieved to see the sun beginning to rise on Sunday morning when she awoke. The growing fields glistened with sunlight reflecting off the raindrops that lingered on the plants. While she knew that rain made the crops and flowers grow, it had done nothing to improve her mood. She hoped that a day of sunshine might improve her state of mind.
“Hurry up, girls!” Maem called from the bottom of the stairs.
Becca struggled to put on her cape and apron while Kate pinned a black heart-shaped head covering over her bun. When she centered it on her head, Kate turned her attention to Becca. Patiently, she knelt down and straightened her sister’s apron properly.
“There you go,” she said.
“Danke, Kate,” Becca mumbled. “Never will figure that out!”
Kate patted her arm as if to reassure her.
Worship service was being held down the road at the Millers’ house. While not a farm, the property did have a large outbuilding that John Miller used for carpentry. Once a year, when it was their time to host the worship service, the Millers cleaned out the workroom on the second floor, sweeping all of the sawdust and removing all of the tools so that service could be held there. With big windows that looked out over the neighbor’s fields of corn, it was a pleasant place to honor God.
Today, Maem accompanied her three daughters to worship. Since the service was being held so close to home, they walked instead of taking the horse and buggy. Kate walked beside her maem, neither one talking during the fifteen-minute walk. Becca, however, lagged behind, tugging at her white apron and grumbling about how the cape itched the back of her neck.
Even with the windows open in the room, the air felt stuffy and warm to Kate. On several occasions during the worship service, she felt her eyelids grow heavy as she listened to the deacon’s words. She could hardly wait until the service ended, wanting to slip outside to get some fresh air before it was time for the fellowship meal.
After the final silent prayer, the bishop stood before the g’may and cleared his throat. “I must now ask for a sitz g’may,” he said.
Kate glanced at Verna who looked as surprised as she was. A members’ meeting was often called to discuss matters of importance among the church district. They were usually planned in advance. This one, however, appeared to take everyone by surprise.
The bishop waited until the nonmembers left the room, the younger children being led into a side room by the older, unbaptized girls while the boys went outside to wait in the sunshine until the conclusion of the meeting. Kate sat on the bench next to Verna and stared at the floor, wondering what needed to be discussed. She knew of no one in the hospital needing financial support or any rules that needed adjusting. Why hadn’t the bishop told the community about this meeting? she wondered.
“We have a matter to discuss today regarding a confession,” the bishop began. Immediately, Kate looked up and paid attention. Public confessions were not that common, and she wondered what on earth had happened to warrant such a display of remorse from someone in the g’may.
She noticed a few heads turn as if looking around the room to identify the person in question. Clearly, other people were as curious as she was.
“Samuel Esh,” the bishop called out. “Please step forward.”
Kate felt Verna grab her hand. Kate, however, couldn’t keep her eyes off his rising figure as he stood from where he sat and walked to the front of the meeting room. Her heart pounded and her blood raced. Samuel had something to confess? In public? Her mind could think of only one thing and, in that brief moment, she felt faint at the thought.
The bishop said something to Samuel that she couldn’t hear. Samuel, however, dropped to his knees and lowered his head.
“Samuel came to me, begging to be heard on a matter that is most disturbing.”
Kate shut her eyes, wishing that she could stand and leave. The last thing she wanted to hear was anything that Samuel would say. A kneeling confession? She didn’t want to imagine what he might confess. She only knew one thing: surely it had to do with the abrupt ending of his courtship with Ella. She only hoped it had nothing to do with Ella’s unexpected and extended trip to Ohio.
“Samuel, please confess your sin to the members of our church,” the bishop instructed.
Opening her eyes, Kate willed herself to stare straight ahead, despite her desire to glance in the direction of Ella Riehl’s maem who sat on a bench two rows in front of her. She also fought the urge to look at Samuel. She could not, however, help but hear his words, despite the fact that his voice was low as he began to speak.
In the silence of the room, Samuel’s words rang loud and clear. “I am a sinner,” he began, his voice heavy with emotion. Whatever he had to confess, Kate knew that he must have been struggling. “I have broken the Great Commandment.”
At his announcement, Kate blinked her eyes, repeating the words he had spoken in her head as if she hadn’t heard him properly. The Great Commandment? She felt Verna loosen the hold on her hand as if she, too, were perplexed.
The bishop took a deep breath, his hands behind his back as he stared over Samuel’s head at the back wall. The blank expression on his weathered face indicated that Samuel had already confessed in private to him. Certainly, whatever Samuel had done must have been very grave for the bishop to require a kneeling confession. “As is proper during a confession, I ask that you explain your sin.”
Samuel hesitated. Kate couldn’t stop herself from staring at him, wondering what would come from his mouth. How could Samuel have broken the Great Commandment? Had he betrayed his love for God or neighbor? She couldn’t imagine that he would have done either one.
“I want to confess that I have failed to follow not just our ordinances but God’s Word,” he started. “I wish to make right with my sins so that I may continue serving God and our church.” A soft murmur fluttered through the crowd, more people looking at one another, questioning the person seated next to them with raised eyebrows and confused expressions on their faces.
Ka
te felt the heat rise to her cheeks. While she knew that the confession could not be about her, her fear was that others might think it was. After all, surely he was to confess to something of an intimate nature with Ella. Since they had not courted for a while, it would be only logical for people to suspect his confession involved Kate. With dread, she waited as the bishop prodded Samuel to continue.
“A member of our g’may was in need and, even though I knew it, I did not extend a neighborly hand to assist,” he finally said.
The bishop nodded his head, a stern look on his face as he listened to Samuel’s words. “Why not, Samuel?”
“I . . . I wanted to help this person,” he admitted, his eyes still downcast and staring at the floor. “Instead, I allowed myself to be swayed into inaction and neglect by listening to another person.”
The bishop reached up and pulled at his white beard. He tended to do that when he was deep in thought, reflecting on what people said.
Samuel continued talking. “I looked the other way and remained silent rather than doing the right thing.”
When he said that, Kate suddenly sat up straighter on the bench. Had he just said that he didn’t do the right thing? She leaned forward as if trying to better hear his words.
“And did this happen just once, Samuel?”
“Nee,” he responded. “More than once.”
The murmur in the room grew louder now.
“When did this happen?”
“Months ago,” he said, and then paused. Samuel moistened his lips and took a deep breath. “I witnessed a young man from our community when he was intoxicated and said nothing. He was not baptized, and I did not extend my hand to him for that reason.” Kate’s eyes widened as she listened to Samuel speak. Surely he was talking about David! Stunned by this admission, she stared at Samuel, even though he could not see her. “On multiple occasions, I saw this man drinking alcohol.”
The bishop contemplated this and paced before Samuel. “Is there more?”
“Ja,” Samuel responded. “One night, I saw that he was intoxicated when he arrived to pick up his schwester.” Kate caught her breath. “When she confronted him, he fought with her. I could have intervened.” He paused. “I did not, however.”
“And what happened?” the bishop prodded.
“There was an accident. The man was injured, his companion killed.”
“And the schwester?”
Samuel swallowed. “She walked home . . . in the snow . . . and found the accident scene.” A few heads turned to look at Kate and she felt the color drain from her face. “I wanted to offer her a ride home, but I allowed myself to be talked out of it.” He lifted his head and stared at the bishop. “I’ll never know if my decision not to intervene could have saved Ruth Stoker’s life or prevented David Zook’s injury. But I do know that, by not stepping forward, another person has borne the brunt of guilt needlessly since the accident last December.”
The members of the g’may began to murmur louder, their eyes traveling not just to the Stoker family but also to the Zooks. Kate didn’t need to see her maem’s face to know that she, too, was pale. Daed had stayed home with David, so Maem faced the scrutiny on her own.
The bishop nodded his head. “You understand that Jesus commanded us to love one another as He loved us. He shared the parable of the Good Samaritan with his disciples and followers to demonstrate the love of God for His people, a love that Jesus commanded we follow: ‘A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.’ Ministering to each other in a time of need is one way to follow this commandment that Jesus gave to us. Extending a hand to help others is another way.”
The bishop paused, reaching for a glass of water that rested on the windowsill. Everyone watched as he took a sip, his eyes flickering over the congregation, before he set the glass back in the same place and returned his attention to Samuel. There was no noise or movement in the room as they waited to hear what the bishop would say next.
“You also understand that God loves us and forgives us our sins, ja?”
Samuel nodded, the despondent look on his face indicating how strongly he felt about his sin.
The bishop exhaled and gestured with his hand so that Samuel arose from where he knelt. “I will ask that you leave the room to allow the rest of the members to discuss the matter further.”
As Samuel started to turn and walk toward the exit, from the back of the room, another young man stood up. Kate leaned to the side, trying to see who it was. To her amazement, she saw Isaac. He hung his head, staring at the floor as he faced the front of the room.
“Bishop,” he said, his voice catching the attention of those in the room who had not seen him stand. “If Samuel is to leave to receive punishment by the g’may, I shall go with him, for I, too, knew about David’s drinking of alcohol.” Isaac looked up, his face white and worried. “I . . . I never once thought to speak to him of his sins. Mayhaps, if I had, I could have prevented the accident.”
Kate gasped, lifting her hand to cover her mouth. Another flurry of murmurs arose from the seated members.
To her surprise, there was movement on the women’s side of the room. Kate’s eyes widened as she saw an older woman, Martha Stoker, stand up. Ruth’s maem. Kate felt her blood rush to her head, wondering what Martha had to say. Surely she would express her disappointment in Samuel and Isaac. Surely she would mention her heartache over the death of her dear dochder. Surely she would offer them forgiveness.
To Kate’s surprise, just as Samuel and Isaac had done, she, too, lowered her head. “Bishop,” she started, her words shaky and strained. Kate knew that she fought tears in her eyes by the sound of her voice. “I listen to these young men confessing their sins and it causes me great apprehension.” Kate shut her eyes and stared at the floor, her heart breaking for Ruth’s maem. But Martha’s next words stunned her. “I, too, must confess.”
At these words, Kate immediately opened her eyes and stared at the back of Martha Stoker, seeing the hunched-over shoulders and realizing that it was not from age but from angst. “I knew that my Ruth was running with David and that they were drinking that alcohol. She came home intoxicated one night. I said nothing, Bishop.” She paused. “If anyone should feel guilt, it is me. I, and I alone, could have saved my dochder’s life. But it was God’s will that she was taken from us so soon.”
The bishop looked bewildered, staring at the three people before him. The rest of the members were openly mumbling, breaking the stunned silence that had previously held sway.
And then, one more person stood.
Kate squeezed Verna’s hand. A hush fell throughout the room as Maem stood up, facing the bishop in silence for a few long, drawn-out moments. Kate wondered what Maem would say, worried that the pain of what had just been said about her son would break her maem at last. Indeed, as Maem stood there, the eyes of the other members upon her, she wrung her hands and bowed her head before she took a deep breath and finally spoke.
“I, too, Bishop, must confess.”
Catching her breath, Kate’s eyes darted over the heads of the women seated before her to look to where Samuel stood. He remained still, his eyes downcast. She wished that he would look at her. Even more importantly, she wished that she understood why he had done this.
“When my son Jacob died,” Maem continued, “I . . . I didn’t accept God’s will. I questioned His reasons for taking Jacob.” Jacob? At the mention of her deceased brother, Kate returned her gaze to her maem’s back, her heart aching for the pain she knew Maem must surely feel. How does Jacob play into this? she wondered.
“Rather than deal with my grief,” Maem said, her voice quiet and barely audible. “I . . . I hid in my root garden, nurturing the last gift my son gave to me. Rather than admit my own fault a
t not being there to watch the kinner that day, and leaving an eight-year-old in charge of their care, I permitted my son David to harbor ill will toward his schwester over Jacob’s death. When David began to drink, he did so continue without either of his parents addressing the problem.”
Fighting the urge to gasp at her maem’s words, Kate pressed her lips together and swallowed. Her parents knew? Maem blamed herself for Jacob’s death? The revelation left her breathless and, for just a moment, Kate felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
But Maem wasn’t finished. She choked back a sob. “After the accident, I realized alcohol was involved. His daed found a whiskey bottle in the wrecked buggy and asked me to discard it so that the Englische authorities would not know.”
The bishop gestured to Samuel to remain standing, rather than leave the room. Kate saw his chest rise as he inhaled, breathing deeply as he contemplated the scene unfolding before him. He stared at the people who stood before him, the expression in his face softening as he did so.
“No matter what we feel or think, we must remember that denying another person help is indeed wrong. However, it does not negate the fact of the original transgression.” He gestured for everyone to sit down in their seats. Kate watched as Samuel made his way back to his place among the young unmarried men. He continued to stare straight ahead, never once looking in her direction.
“We are all sinners,” the bishop said, his eyes scanning the room. “That is why God sent His son to save us.” He nodded his head at Samuel. “Samuel Esh has spoken of his sins. In doing so, it is apparent that many others, perhaps even some who have not spoken up, made the same error of judgment in a similar situation. But we must remember one thing . . .” He glanced around the room again, this time letting his eyes rest on Kate. “God forgives even the worst sinner,” he said at last. “All we have to do is ask.”