by Gayle Roper
The man walked to the trunk of the car and Becky and Sam followed. They stood quietly while he raised the lid. He reached inside and emerged with a small coffin in his arms. He began walking toward us, bearing his little burden. Becky and Sam, hands linked, followed.
When I saw the man lift the little coffin from the trunk, my heart stopped mid-beat. I gasped at the unexpected sight, my breath catching in my throat and becoming a sob. So small. So very small! The man could carry the coffin by himself!
Jake clasped my hand, and I hung on as the burial party approached. I could hear Esther’s sobs and saw Elam standing shoulder to shoulder with her, offering his comfort.
Becky and Sam took the two folding chairs set beside the grave. The man bent and laid Trevor on the straps suspended over what I now saw was a very small opening. The man backed away and stood quietly to the side.
Everything was quiet for a few minutes. I gazed at Trevor and his parents through a haze of tears. I kept hearing Becky’s words: “He was my baby, mine and Samuel’s. It didn’t matter when or how he was conceived. He was mine, ours. I talked to him and prayed for him. I gave him to Herr Gott…And if I ever start to get mad at Herr Gott for letting Trevor die, I will remember that He let His Son die, too.”
Sam stood, his hand still linked to Becky’s, and turned to face all of us.
“It was difficult for us to know how to plan a service for Trevor,” he said, strain and sorrow evident on his face. “Pastor Adam has helped us, and he will say some words and pray, but I’ve got to say something too.”
He swallowed convulsively and looked at Becky. She turned her tear-stained face to him, and I could hear her say softly, encouragingly, “Go on, Samuel. You can do it.”
He took a deep breath and looked back at all of us.
“We are so thankful to God for our son. Becky got to enjoy him for two wonderful months. I only knew him one day.” His voice wobbled on the last two words. He stopped and took a deep breath before he could continue. “How I thank God I met him and held him and loved him.”
I put my hand to my trembling lips in an unconscious gesture. Maybe to contain my sobs?
“Becky and I know we were wrong to sleep together before we were married. We confess that to you as we’ve confessed it to God. But like Pastor Adam told us, our God is a redeeming God. He took that bad situation and used it to bring Becky and me to Him. We’ve committed our lives to God. We love Him, and we’re going to honor Him. That’s Trevor’s legacy. He made his mother and father realize that rebelling isn’t the answer. Believing in Jesus is.”
With a sound halfway between a sigh of relief and a sob, Sam took his seat and slumped forward, his head in his hands. Becky immediately slid her arm around his shoulders and leaned in to speak to him. Her words were soft, private, unheard by the rest of us. He listened, nodded his head, and sat up straight. She lowered her arm and wound it around his. Their fingers threaded.
Pastor Adam stepped forward. “What more can anyone ask of his life than that he turn hearts toward God?” he asked quietly. “Trevor did exactly that. We must thank God for this little boy, this redeeming child.”
Soft sobs and sniffles mingled with the gentle rustling of clothes as people searched for tissues to mop cheeks and blow noses. Pastor Adam led in singing “Jesus Loves Me,” and I was only able to sing half the words because my throat kept closing.
Suddenly John began praying in High German, his voice sonorous and urgent. I had no idea what he was saying, but I was blessed by the fact that he had chosen to participate in this unique service with its unusual band of mourners.
When he finished, there was a time of silence. Then Pastor Adam said, “And all God’s children said—”
And we supplied, “Amen.”
Becky and Sam were the last to leave the grave.
Davy and Lauren Stoltzfus came to visit Jake after they took Annie home from the funeral. At Becky’s request there had been no funeral meal. “Too awkward,” she said.
We sat in Jake’s living room, Davy and Lauren on the sofa, me in the glider/rocker, and Jake in his chair. It took a while for the melancholy of the funeral to dissipate, but soon Lauren and I were listening to old war stories as the men recounted tales of growing up Amish. We rolled our eyes as they relived tomato wars, the beheading of chickens and the fun of watching them run around headless, the bounty of the groaning tables at church socials, the raising of a new barn for Big Joe Lapp when lightning burned his to the ground. We even listened tolerantly to their tales of courting in buggies.
“Then I discovered cars and you discovered motorcycles,” Davy said. “And the troubles began.”
“How old were you?” I asked.
“Seventeen or eighteen.” Davy said. “Old enough to drive. Old enough to rent garages for our vehicles. My father didn’t catch on for three years.”
“I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t gone through our rumspringa together,” Jake said. “All we ever did was dare each other to try some new outrage. Would we have become such reprobates alone?”
“Hey,” Davy said. “I’m not a reprobate. I’m a married man.” He grinned at Lauren.
“You may not be a reprobate now, but you certainly were when I met you,” she said. “You had a chip on your shoulder big enough to weigh down the whole state of Texas.” She grinned at her husband. “I still thought you were the cutest guy I’d ever seen.”
“What happened to the chip?” I asked with interest. It was obvious that it had somehow disappeared, unlike the chip of someone else I could mention.
“Now there’s a story,” Lauren said.
“Well, tell us,” I said.
Jake groaned.
Davy started. “I met Lauren when she was working her way through college as a waitress at a restaurant I often went to. I kept asking her out, but she wouldn’t go anywhere with me but church.”
Jake laughed. “I bet you loved that! I know your tolerance level for anything religious was zero after the shunning fiasco.”
Davy nodded. “But look at her.”
Jake and I did, and we saw a lovely woman about my height with brown curly hair and a wonderful smile.
“Isn’t she worth going to church for?”
“Us Texas girls have standards,” Lauren said. “Especially us Southern Baptist ones. And if you could have seen him, Rose, you’d have known he was one dangerous man to a virtuous little girl like me.”
“So after six months—” Davy began.
“Six months!” Jake looked incredulous. “She stood you off for six months? You, Mr. Ladies Man?”
I studied Davy’s fair hair, strong jaw, and devastating smile. I could imagine a younger version wowing the girls right and left, especially in his Stetson.
“Six months,” Davy repeated, smiling wryly. “Finally I bit the bullet and went to church with her. Scared me to death!”
“We sang in English and at fast tempos and with guitars and drums.” Lauren grinned at Davy. “Talk about culture shock.”
“And the pastor preached grace and forgiveness, not law and judgment. Let me tell you, Jake, it threw me for a loop. Here I was, this rebellious little Amish boy pining for this Texas lady who believed in a very personal God and a personal Jesus. I didn’t know what to do.”
He shook his head and reached for Lauren’s hand. Their affection was real and mutual, and I ached for the same thing.
“Since church was the only place she’d go with me, I kept going. Next thing I knew, I was in Mexico on a missions trip with about seventy singles in their early twenties who all were as enthusiastic about Jesus as Lauren.”
“He didn’t know it at the time,” Lauren said, “but everybody on the trip met regularly in small groups to pray for him. I’m sure the groups I wasn’t in prayed for me too because it was obvious that I loved him, sinner that he was.” She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.
“Basically they loved me to Jesus,” Davy said. “Life has never been the same.
”
“And you think God forgave you for all those secret sins I know about?” Jake asked. “The ones you haven’t told Lauren about?” There was an edge to his voice that indicated he was spoiling for a fight. The last thing he wanted to hear was that his fellow rebel was now a Jesus follower.
Davy nodded. “I do think that, and for two reasons. One, the Bible says He forgives us and does so freely when we believe. Secondly, I’m free. The bitterness is gone, Jake. So’s the anger.”
Jake’s face wore a look of disgust. “I’m surrounded.” He glowered at me like it was all my fault.
“He is,” I said cheerfully. “There’s me. There’s his brother Andy. There’s Sam and Becky. And now there’s you.”
“And you all think I’m going to believe it’s all free?” He looked at the three of us with a fierce scowl. “You all think I’m going to fall on my knees and repent?”
Davy grinned at him. “I know just how you feel,” he said. “But it’s not us you have to wrestle with, guy. It’s God. He’s the one who made the decision that forgiveness and salvation are free.”
“At least free to us,” Lauren said “Very costly to Jesus.”
We were all silent for a minute. Then Jake said, “When do you two go home?”
“Now there’s a subtle topic change if I ever heard one.” Davy laughed.
“We’re not sure. Sometime next week.” Lauren shifted her position, tucking her legs under her and leaning her shoulder against Davy’s. “We want to stay for Becky and Sam’s wedding.”
“We’ll probably be the only immediate family there.” Davy shook his head. “Poor kids. At least people came to the funeral.”
“Mom’d come to the wedding if she could,” Lauren said. “She loves Becky, and I think she likes Sam in spite of him being meidung.”
Davy grinned. “She’s a wonderful lady is my ma.”
“She likes you in spite, too,” Lauren said, patting Davy’s knee.
“She loves me in spite,” Davy corrected.
“I like Annie,” I said. “She gave Becky a decent room.”
The three of them looked at me to explain my non sequitur. I just held up my hand and shook my head. I couldn’t explain without making Davy’s father look the hard man he had been.
Davy looked at the gun cabinet Jake had against the far wall. “Do you still do much shooting?”
“Not too much. I’d do more if I had more time. How about you?”
“Not nearly as much as I’d like.” His eyes fogged with memories. “Do you remember how worldly and mature we felt the day we bought our first handguns? I don’t know about you, but when I held that thing in my hand, I felt like I had finally found a way to get even with my father.”
Lauren winced. “You sound like you planned to kill him.”
Davy looked startled. “No. Never. It was more knowing that a personal weapon was something he’d never, ever approve of. It was worse by far than a car.”
“The ultimate rebellion for a pair raised to turn the other cheek,” Jake said. “We’d go to the target range in our Amish clothes, feeling so sophisticated that we were breaking out of the mold.”
“That’s because we always left our hats in the car. Bareheaded was sophisticated.”
Lauren and I looked at each other in amazement.
“They seem so normal now,” she said.
“We should be glad we didn’t know them then,” I said.
“We got to be pretty good with the pistols.” Jake defended the two of them. “And we soon got ourselves jeans with zippers and belt loops and leather patches at the waist. And boots. Black motorcycle boots. We weren’t country bumpkins, you know.”
“Just pistol-packin’ papas,” Lauren said.
“There’s a gun club just down the street from my mother’s,” I said. “We hear the guys down there practicing all the time.”
Jakes eyes grew speculative. “What are you doing this afternoon, Davy?”
He shook his head. “Nothing special.”
Jake looked at me. “We’re going down to Rose’s mom’s this afternoon.”
It didn’t take many brains to figure out what Jake wanted. “Why don’t you two come down, too,” I said like the cooperative little girl I could be. “The guys can go target shooting, Lauren, while you and I visit with my mother and help decorate her Christmas tree.” I had a new thought. “Or would you rather go target shooting? I don’t know about Texas girls.”
Lauren beamed. “I love decorating Christmas trees.”
I thought it only fair to warn her. “Mom’ll change everything you do the first time you leave the room.”
Lauren shrugged. “I just won’t leave the room until it’s time to go back to Texas. Then I’ll never know.”
We made arrangements for Davy and Lauren to drive down to Mom’s on their own, arriving about three. That would give the guys an hour or so to shoot before it started getting too dark.
Jake and I left for Mom’s right after lunch. It was nice to be alone with him with both of us feeling well. It was also awkward. I kept remembering my confession of affection made as I lay in a weakened condition, unable to think straight, unable to exert my normal self-control. I would take back what I’d said if I could, though not because it wasn’t true. It was. I’d take it back because it propelled us to a level I knew would force decisions I didn’t want to make.
As I sat beside him and watched a pair of tethered sheep crop the grass along the road while a flock of chickens ran free in the middle of a field, all I could do was wonder what in the world was going to happen to us. He wouldn’t love me, and I shouldn’t love him, even though it was more than obvious that both of us were fully heart involved.
It wasn’t so much that Jake wouldn’t love me. What he actually meant was that he wouldn’t marry me. It was a commitment issue, but not the normal kind. It was his legs, I was sure. For some reason he felt they precluded his marrying. I’m certain he saw himself as noble and self-sacrificing, but I saw him as foolish. Even if his injuries meant we could never have children, he could still love me. And we could adopt children.
And what I meant was that until he was a believer, I couldn’t marry him no matter how much I loved him. And I had to admit that I loved him with all my heart.
The only answer to our quandary I could think of was for me to leave the farm as soon as I found another place to live. The very thought of saying good-bye caused intense pain to explode in my chest, emotional distress so strong that it produced a physical ache.
“Well, Tiger, what do you think?”
I jumped. “About what?” Certainly he wasn’t reading my mind.
“About the best kind of tree stand. What else?”
What else indeed.
“I have no opinion on that subject,” I said somewhat primly.
He glanced at me as we drove past the People’s Place and the Kitchen Kettle in Intercourse. The usual couple was standing in front of the Intercourse sign having their picture taken, totally ignoring the true meaning of the town’s name, social interaction and conversation. I sighed. What a difference two hundred-plus years makes in meanings of words. Now this wonderful little town was the butt of hundreds of unpleasant jokes.
Jake slowed for a buggy that wanted to turn left to drive back to the new, modern Zimmerman’s hardware store located behind the historic Zimmerman’s. “Somehow I don’t think tree stands are on your mind.”
“They aren’t,” I agreed. I looked out the side window at the military museum across the street from Zimmerman’s. A military museum in the middle of Amish/Mennonite country. I loved the dichotomy.
Jake followed the buggy back to Zimmerman’s and pulled into a parking slot. He made no move to get out of the van, so I sat quietly too.
“I hurt you yesterday,” he finally said, looking straight ahead. “When I said—”
I looked at him in surprise. “When you said you wouldn’t love me? No, you didn’t.”
“Are you su
re?” It was as if he couldn’t decide whether he was glad he hadn’t offended me or upset that he hadn’t.
I took care to frame my thoughts as clearly as I could. This wasn’t the time for my usual tendency to blurt. “I understand what you’re saying about refusing to love me. I think you’re foolish to feel the way you do, but I understand what prompts you.”
He made that deep-in-the-throat noise. “Believe me, Rose, you haven’t got a clue.”
“Not about how you feel, the actual emotions,” I agreed. “But about why you feel that way, yes.”
A scowl darkened his face. “You are the most frustratingly empathetic person I’ve ever known. You drive me crazy!”
I scowled right back. “Like you have room to talk. You are the proudest, most obstinate man I’ve ever met. And you drive me equally crazy!”
We frowned at each other, pure venom leaping from our eyes, until suddenly the absurdity hit us and we began to laugh.
“I’m sorry I’m so empathetic,” I said, grinning broadly. “I’ll try to be nasty and spiteful from now on.”
“See?” He pointed an accusing finger at me. “You’re agreeing with me again.”
I grabbed at his outstretched digit and missed as he pulled his hand quickly back.
“Ha! I’ve still got some moves.” He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.
I shook my head and opened my door. “Tree stand.”
On one shelf near the artificial trees sat several types of tree stands. I studied them and tried to think like my mother. I picked up an old-fashioned tree stand with the green water container for the tree at its center and four spindly red metal legs jutting off it. Screws stood out like instruments of torture all around the stand. It was just like the one Mom now had but needed to replace since it had rusted through. I would go with this tried and true model. After all, it had lasted for years.
I looked at Jake. He was reading the label on another box. “This one tilts so you can straighten the tree without having to tighten all kinds of screws. You get the tree straight, lock the tilt, and there you are. Perfect tree. Let’s get this one.”
“But it costs a fortune.” Relatively speaking. “Mom’ll never be happy forking over that kind of cash.”