by Nancy Mehl
Cherry Bear, you have no idea how right you are. “We’re almost there, honey. If you look out your window you’ll soon see the town just over that big hill.”
I glanced back at her in the rearview mirror, taking only a quick look, since watching the road was vital to our safety. The snow began to drift down from the sky again, and I feared that our journey would soon become even more treacherous.
Although the ground was now white, I could remember walking down this path in the spring, wild flowers covering the ground below the tall trees. Purples, blues, yellows, and reds had anointed the area like colorful patchwork quilts. I’d pick the flowers and bring them to my mother, who put them in a jar, decorating her drab kitchen with various shades of the season. Even Father seemed to like them, though he was opposed to almost everything beautiful or colorful. This attitude especially applied to our clothing. Our dresses had to be dark blue or black, with aprons in the same shades. In the winter we wore dark bonnets, and in the summer, black prayer coverings.
Not long before I left, Pastor Mendenhall introduced the idea of pastel-colored dresses for the women and white prayer coverings for the unmarried girls. The young women in Kingdom buzzed with excitement about the idea, but a few weeks later, the elders, under the direction of my father, quashed the notion. “This is the beginning of the world’s leaven,” Father had said in response to the pastor’s suggestion. “It will introduce vanity and encourage impure thoughts in the minds of our young men. This idea has no place in Kingdom, and we will not have it.”
The kind pastor, not wanting to start strife in the church, backed off. However, the pastor’s wife, Bethany, quietly got up and walked out of the meeting when the elders’ decision was announced. Since I took Charity and ran away not long after this incident, I never heard what fallout resulted from her rebellion, but her bravery helped me to make the decision to leave.
Although Kansas was known for its flat plains, the terrain around Kingdom was very hilly. The large hill that hid the town from prying eyes also made the last mile of our trip somewhat dangerous. My tires slipped and skidded up the sharp incline. As we finally made it to the top, the snow was falling more heavily, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of the car. We were almost at the edge of town before the place I’d known as home so many years ago became visible through the misty white veil of winter.
“What’s that, Mama?” Charity called out. She pointed to the large white structure on the corner as we approached the heart of the town.
“That’s the church, Cherry Bear,” I said. Kingdom Mennonite Assembly Church looked exactly as it had when I’d left. It was as if I’d only been gone a few days. The surprise came as I drove farther into town. Several of the shops on Main Street had been painted. Charity asked about almost every building we passed, so I tried to tell her about them.
A few of the businesses I remembered were gone, and there was at least one new sign painted on the front of another building, but the snow prevented me from reading it. The quilt shop was a lovely blue, and the café was crimson with white trim. Eberly’s Hardware was yellow, and Menninger’s Saddle and Tack, although it was still white, was trimmed with green. Green shutters, a green door, and green window boxes. The blacksmith shop, where my father worked when he wasn’t at the church, looked exactly the same—bare wood weathered by time, and it still leaned slightly to the right. Some of the men in our church used to tease Father that in a strong wind the entire building would fall down. However, offers to help rebuild the structure were turned away. Father always said he would do the work himself, but somehow it never got done. Obviously nothing had changed. The large wooden sliding door was shut, meaning he wasn’t there. I sighed with relief, since I really wasn’t ready to deal with him yet.
“Mama, is this Kingdom? I think it’s pretty.”
I had to agree with her. But the biggest shock of all was the discovery that I wasn’t driving the only vehicle in Kingdom. There were four others parked amid the horses and carriages hooked up to hitching posts in front of various stores. I saw two pickup trucks and two cars. One dark-colored car with its bumper painted black and another car that was bright yellow with shiny chrome bumpers. It was parked right in front of Cora’s Corner Café. Some brave soul had certainly broken ranks with the status quo. I pulled over and gazed at the brightly colored restaurant.
Cora Menlo. I’d forgotten how kind she’d been to me. It had been very hard for her to get the approval of the elders to open her small business. In Kingdom, the elders basically ran everything. No one could make a move without first getting their permission. And anyone who wanted to become a part of our community had to seek an audience with the elders before putting down stakes. Of course, not everyone was considered holy enough to join our ranks. And God help the citizens who displeased them. Even though Cora had lived in Kingdom since she was very young, I could still remember how she trembled the day she petitioned my father all those years ago. Just as the elders could vote to allow someone to live in Kingdom, they could also vote to expel them.
“Women should stay home and feed their husbands,” Father had insisted. “We have no need of a restaurant in this town.”
“My husband is dead, Elder Engel,” she’d said, standing in the kitchen of our small home, addressing my father. “I have no way to make a living.”
“The church provides for you, Sister,” he’d replied gruffly. “That should be good enough.”
“But I’m a good cook, Elder. As you know, many of our men are without wives. They work in their fields but have no one to come home to. No one to cook them a good meal. This would be a service to the community. A ministry. I . . . I think there are a lot of lonely people in Kingdom who need companionship. And a place that feels like home.” She’d cast her eyes to the floor. “And when a wife is sickly or with child, I could assist them. I see many ways my restaurant could benefit our people.”
“Our people are benefited through the church, Sister. This is God’s way. If you want to help our community, you may do so by joining the other women from our congregation who cook for others without expecting to be paid. I find it sad that you will only do a good deed if you are given money for it. Surely this does not please God.” Father’s dark, bushy eyebrows had knit together in anger. He wasn’t used to being challenged, especially by a woman.
I’d watched Cora’s expression as she faced my father. She jutted out her jaw and met his eyes without fear. Something I’d never been able to do. “Pastor Mendenhall said he thought it was a fine idea.” She spoke these words quietly but with obvious strength, knowing the effect they might have on my father. He was frequently at odds with the pastor he and the other elders had elected. Our pastor, in my father’s opinion, was trying to mix the world’s leaven into the church by talking too much about love and forgiveness. Father saw these as bywords of the world, using them as excuses to wink at sin.
In my mind’s eye I could still see his face as he glared at poor Cora. “I see you have already gone over my head. Why come to me then? Is it your plan to stir up strife so we will give in and agree to your proposal?”
Cora continued to meet Father’s furious expression. “No, Elder Engel. I came hoping to receive your blessing. I have no desire to create strife in the church.”
My father had taken two steps closer to the frightened woman. She immediately moved back. “I will take the Christian way and be a peacemaker,” he’d thundered. “I will not contest this plan of yours. But do not expect to see my family cross the threshold of this . . . this restaurant.” He spit the last word out as if it were rancid food.
Cora, obviously feeling as if she’d won the battle, scooted out of our house before her victory, albeit small, could be snatched away. I happened to catch my mother’s quick smile as she returned to stirring a pot of beef stew simmering on our stove. That smile bothered me for a long time. It had never occurred to me before that my mother might actually disagree with my father about anything.
/> Cora got her restaurant. At first only single farmers and widows came to eat. But eventually, families drifted in and Cora’s business was a success. True to my father’s word, our family never stepped foot inside Cora’s Corner Café.
I looked around at a place where change had always been unwelcome. But something had obviously happened in Kingdom. Change had come, welcome or not. Two women hurried out of the quilt shop, capes protecting them from the cold. The dresses that peeked from underneath their winter cloaks were adorned with colorful printed flowers. One dress dark green, the other a deep pink.
“Mama,” Charity said rather breathlessly, interrupting my musings, “this place looks like it’s been here forever.”
I laughed. “It hasn’t been here forever, but it sure has been here a long time.” After living in Kansas City, my daughter was certainly taking a step back in time. The buildings in Kingdom were old. Some of them going back to the very foundation of the town. The first settlers who called the area home were part of a thriving settlement called Mason City, named after its founder, William Mason. Mason had been instrumental in bringing the railroad to Kansas. Unfortunately, many years later the route was changed, leaving Mason City miles away from the railway line. That decision eventually turned the city into a ghost town.
Twenty years later, a disgruntled group of Old Order Mennonites, uncomfortable with what they saw as worldly and unrighteous changes to their faith and not willing to unite with their Amish brothers, discovered the abandoned city. They decided to build their own “Kingdom of God,” the first name they gave their new town. Eventually, it simply became Kingdom. The aim was to mold the place into their vision of what God’s kingdom on earth should be. They developed a sanctuary, hidden from the unwelcome attention of a sinful world.
Although people in nearby towns knew about Kingdom, almost everyone left them alone. Kingdom residents preferred anonymity, as did their neighbors. Folks who lived in the reclusive town weren’t known for their welcoming attitudes. As a girl I recalled several occasions when a hapless fisherman or hunter accidentally wandered into town. None of them stayed long after being greeted by a resolute committee of Mennonite elders, dressed in their plain clothes, wide-brimmed hats, and obligatory beards, demanding to know their business.
A couple exited the hardware store carrying satchels and wearing the darker and more traditional clothing that I was used to. They got into a buggy and headed down the street toward the residential part of town. The business area was very small, but many of the people who live in the area were farmers, so the actual vicinity designated as Kingdom stretched out for several miles all around.
I drove to the middle of town and turned down Paradise Road, toward my family home. Apprehension caused my heart to beat wildly inside my chest, but, as I watched the houses pass by me, memories of childhood friends and fun times began to come alive in my mind.
Two blocks away from my house, a group of small children ran around in the front yard of a home where the Hoffmans had once lived. Their daughter, Callie, had gone to school with me. But these children couldn’t be hers. Most of them looked several years older than Charity, and when I left, Callie had still been single. As I drove past they stopped their playing to stare at me. There might be a few cars in Kingdom now, but it was obvious they were still a novelty.
Several of the houses on Paradise Road had been painted colors other than white, the only shade once approved by the elders. I was seeing the seeds of a revolt. It was certainly about time.
My house finally came into sight—still white, of course, and looking in need of some attention. There was peeling paint, and a screen was off one of the front windows. The two-story structure was only a shadow of what I remembered, and I was amazed by how much smaller it looked.
I pulled the car over and stared at the place where I’d been born, trying to gather courage to go inside.
“I want outta the car, Mama,” Charity whined. “I need to go potty.”
“Okay, Cherry Bear. But wait just a minute, okay? I have to make sure Grandma and Grandpa are home. I’ll be right back.”
She wasn’t happy about it, but my daughter nodded her assent. I wasn’t being totally honest with her. I could see our horse in the corral and the buggy in the shed. But until I knew we wouldn’t be turned away, I didn’t want Charity anywhere near my parents.
I left the car running, even though the heater was almost useless, and I hurried up to the front door, dreading the response that might be waiting for me on the other side. I knocked lightly, and a few seconds later the door swung open. My mother’s face registered shock.
“Hello, Mother. I—” was all I got out before she threw her arms around me.
“Lizzie,” she said between sobs. “Lizzie, you are home.”
I hugged her back, trying to blink away tears that sprang into my eyes. “I . . . I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me. . . .”
She put one hand on each of my cheeks. “You are my daughter, Elizabeth Lynn. There will never be a day when I do not want to see you.” She studied my face as if trying to memorize it. “Are . . . are you home for good?”
“I don’t know, Mother. I lost my job, and I need a place to stay for a while.”
She bit her lip, and her already pale face turned even whiter. “Your father . . .”
“I know. But I had nowhere else to go.”
“Shush.” Mother took her hands away and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. “Your father is not at home now. We will talk and try to find a way.”
“But the buggy . . .”
“He has ridden with Elmer Wittenbauer to a special meeting. He will not be back for a while.” She looked out toward the street. “Is Charity . . . Is she with you?”
I smiled. “Of course she is. I’ll get her.”
“Oh my. Yes, please. I want to hold my granddaughter.”
I hurried back to the car and helped Charity out of her car seat. “That’s your grandma, honey,” I told her. “And she can’t wait to give you a big hug.”
Charity looked past me and saw my mother standing in the doorway. She stared up at me, her eyes big. “Mama, why does Grandma look so funny?”
I knelt down next to her, pulling her red wool coat tight to protect her from the cold. “People dress a little different in Kingdom, honey. But it’s okay. Your grandma knew you when you were just a baby, and she has always loved you.”
Charity gazed silently at me for a moment. Something in my expression must have reassured her, because she suddenly beamed. “Okay, Mama. If she already loves me, then I should love her back.”
I shut the car door and took her hand. As we walked up the stone path to the house, she suddenly let go of me and ran to my mother, her little arms flung out wide. Mother knelt down and waited for her, wrapping her up in a big hug.
“It’s really cold out here,” I said when I reached them. “Let’s hug each other inside, okay?”
My mother nodded and stood up. “Please come in. I will heat up some cider.”
Charity and I followed her into the house I’d left behind so long ago. It looked the same but shabbier. The wood floors were scuffed, and the furniture was in need of refinishing. My mother had obviously re-covered the couch and a chair. But a rocking chair that had once belonged to my grandmother sat broken and pulled to the side of the room. And an ancient bookshelf where religious books were kept was short one of its shelves.
“Why hasn’t Father taken care of the house or fixed the furniture?” I asked. My father was a harsh man, but he’d always been faithful to keep our home and furnishings in good repair. He had prided himself on being able to fix anything that was broken, although he would never admit he had any kind of pride. Instead, he considered himself to be a good steward of the blessings he believed God had bestowed on him.
Mother gently removed Charity’s coat and hat and held her hand out for my jacket, not meeting my eyes. “Things are a little different from when you left,” she said quietly.
“I definitely noticed some changes in Kingdom, but that doesn’t explain why Father has neglected our home.”
Mother took our coats over to the coatrack on the wall near the door and hung them up. Then she pointed toward the kitchen. “Let us go into the kitchen, where it is more comfortable.”
I glanced over at the fireplace. It was cold, and the wood basket kept nearby was empty. In the winter, it had always been stocked with wood.
I took Charity’s hand and led her to the kitchen, where an old woodstove provided needed warmth. Mother’s carved oak table and chairs, also once my grandmother’s, looked the same. The tablecloth my grandmother had made for her beloved daughter was slightly more threadbare, but the stitched flowers were still vibrant. The middle of the cream-colored tablecloth contained a ring of blossoms in light pink and blue with yellowish green leaves, thin vines connecting each flower. All four corners were decorated with small bunches of blossoms, and on each end, hanging over the side of the table was a big blue flower.
Mother loved it so. When Grandmother Bessie Lynn passed away, it became even more special to her. Every stitch had been done with love, and I’d always been very careful not to spill anything on it. Right after Grandmother died, Mother tried to store the precious cloth in a trunk in an attempt to preserve it, preferring to use the old oilcloth covering we’d had on the table for many years. But my father had forbidden her to put it away. “Tablecloths are to be used, Anna. It is pride that makes you want to ignore the reason it was created.” As was always the case, Mother didn’t argue, just left it on the table. But every time a stain appeared, I watched her cringe.
I ran my hand lightly over the old tablecloth, wishing Grandmother were still here. She’d died a couple of years before I left Kingdom. I’d been named after her. Even though everyone called her Bessie, her actual name was Elizabeth Lynn. Frankly, I was surprised my father had allowed Mother to pass down the name to me. But she’d told me once, in a moment of unusual candor, that Father hadn’t always been the harsh authoritative figure I’d only known. He’d actually been close to my grandmother at one time. I could still see Grandmother’s kind smile. She was the one who nicknamed me Lizzie when I was a child. Mother and most of my friends called me by that name, but Father refused to call me anything except Elizabeth. He never explained why, but to me it was just one more sign of his contempt for me.