He pushed his chair away from the table, causing it to screech against the linoleum floor. Significant in its absence was the silent table grace that always followed the meal. With a grunt, he shuffled into the living room. Eli and Benjamin disappeared into a far corner of the house, as if grateful to escape the shameful scene.
Under a ring of light, mother and daughter sat worlds apart. Rebecca willed her trembling to cease, relieved that her daughter’s outburst had nothing whatever to do with the past—that dreadful secret that could swallow them up. Every last one of them.
Still, as she sat beside her only daughter—the child of her dreams— there was one consolation. This predicament could be remedied easily enough. A sigh escaped her lips, and with eyes closed, she breathed a prayer of thanks—for Katie’s confession of sin. For having had twenty-two blessed years with this precious child.
She looked into Katie’s eyes and wiped tears from her cheeks, resolving to pay a visit to the attic just as soon as the dishes were done.
Quietly, with Katie’s help, Rebecca set to work clearing the table. She heated the water brought up by the battery-operated well pump and began rinsing the dishes. Then into the same hot water she added the dish detergent. Swishing it around, she lowered a fistful of silverware into the foamy suds, allowing the warmth to soothe her. Things’ll be fine, she told herself, once the wedding’s behind us.
The two women made quick work of the dishes, rinsing then drying each plate and cup, without their usual lighthearted conversation. Deliberately, Rebecca put away the few remaining leftovers before finding the courage to speak. “So you’ll be thinking things over, then . . . about talking to the bishop?”
Katie swept the crumbs from the floor. “Don’t you understand, Mamma?” She turned to face her. “I don’t want to back out on the wedding. I’m just wondering if I’m the best choice for a bishop’s wife.”
Rebecca’s eyes searched her daughter’s. “The time for wondering is long past, Katie. Your wedding day’s nearly here.”
Katie’s lip quivered uncontrollably.
“What’s really bothering ya, child?” She reached for Katie and drew the slender form into her arms.
Long, deep sobs shook Katie’s body as Rebecca tried to console her. “There, there,” she whispered. “It’s just the jitters. We womenfolk all get them, but as time passes, you’ll get better at hiding them.” She paused for a moment. Then, attempting to lighten the mood, she added, “Why, I ’spect you’ll feel this way before the birth of your first little one, most likely.”
Rebecca felt Katie pull away, a curious expression on her face replacing her tears. “What, Katie? What is it?”
Katie straightened, adjusting her long apron and dress. “I almost forgot to ask you something.”
“Jah?”
“Mamma, who is Katherine Mayfield?”
Rebecca felt weak, as if her limbs might no longer support her. This cannot be, she thought.
“I saw the name stitched on a baby dress . . . up in the attic. Ach, it was so pretty. But where did you come by such a thing, Mam?”
Without warning, the strength left Rebecca’s legs entirely. She stumbled across the kitchen toward the long table bench.
Katie reached out to steady her. “Mamma!”
Rebecca dropped onto the bench and tugged at her apron. Then she pulled out a white hankie and with short, jerky motions began to fan herself. Everything came home to her at that moment—the worry of the years, the long-kept secret. . . .
Katie ran to open the back door a crack. “There, Mamma,” she called as frigid air pushed through the utility room and into the kitchen. “That’s better, ain’t?”
In spite of the draft, Rebecca felt heat rush to engulf her head. She tried to look up, to catch one more glimpse of the beloved face.
Only a deep sigh emerged. Katie, my girl. My precious girl . . .
Through blurred vision, she could see Katie closing the door, shoving back the wintry blast, then hurrying toward her, all concerned and flustered. But try as she might, Rebecca Lapp could not will away the peculiar, prickly sensation creeping up her neck and into her dizzy head.
She slumped forward, aware of nothing more. . . .
Three
Dat, come quick!”
At the sound of Katie’s frantic voice, Samuel, along with Benjamin and Eli, rushed into the kitchen.
“I don’t know what on earth happened!” Katie’s heart was pounding. “We were just talking—Mam and me—and—” Her mother was as physically fit as any farmer’s wife in Hickory Hollow, certainly plump and hearty enough to ward off a mere fainting spell. “I’ll get some tea leaves.”
Reluctant to leave her mother, Katie hurried downstairs to the cold cellar, where neat rows of cabinets stored canned fruits and vegetables. She found the dried mint leaves in a jar and quickly pinched some into her hand, still puzzled over what had caused her mamma to faint.
Katie had mentioned speaking to the bishop. Had the idea of not going through with the marriage troubled her mother enough to make her ill?
She returned the jar of mint to its spot on the shelf and closed the cabinet door, pondering the strange circumstances. “Katie, are ya coming?” Benjamin called out.
“On my way,” she answered, running up the steep cellar steps.
In the kitchen, Katie brewed some mint tea, glancing repeatedly at her mother, who had come to and was leaning her head on one hand, while Eli fanned her with the hankie.
Dat stood at Mam’s side, pensive and silent. He seemed shorter now, his wiry frame bent over his wife. Katie wondered if he was still vexed over her awkward yet truthful admission at the table. Still, she was glad she’d told on herself. At least one aspect of her sinfulness would be dealt with. And if she was to go through with the wedding, she’d be offering her first private confession tomorrow or the next day.
Katie stirred the hot water, hoping to hurry the tea-making process. She stared at Rebecca apprehensively. Spouting off those careless words—that she’d better have a talk with Bishop John—had wreaked such havoc! She hadn’t meant to upset anyone unduly; now she wished she’d kept her thoughts to herself.
“Hurry it up, Katie,” Benjamin said, coming over to see what was taking so long.
She moved quickly, spooning honey into the hot water. But by the time the leaves had steeped long enough to embrace the soothing mint taste, Rebecca had gone upstairs to lie down.
When Katie stepped into the room a bit later, she found her mother still fully dressed but covered with the warmest quilts from the handmade cedar chest at the foot of the double bed. She held out the teacup on its matching saucer, and her father took it from her with a curt nod of his head.
“Is there anything else you need, Mamma?”
Dat answered for her. “That’ll do.”
Katie left without another word.
Rebecca settled back against the bed pillows with a slight smile on her face as she accepted the cup from Samuel and took a sip. “Des gut.”
He reached for the kerosene lamp on the bedside table. “I’ll go on down and stoke up the stove a bit. Can’t let ya catch a chill, not with daughter’s weddin’ day a-comin’.”
“No need to worry.”
Samuel shook his head thoughtfully. “A body could get right sick in a cold snap like this.”
Rebecca forced a chuckle. It caught in her throat, and she began to cough—as if in fulfillment of his prophecy.
Samuel Lapp was a dear and caring husband. A good provider of the basic needs—an abundance of food from their own land, a solid roof over their heads. . . . Gas furnaces, electricity, telephones, and such luxuries were for the English. Amish folk relied on horses and buggies for transportation, propane gas to run their camper-sized refrigerators, and a battery-operated well pump in the cellar for the household water. In fact, the Lapp family held tenaciously to all the Old Order traditions without complaint, just as generations before them.
“How can ya miss
whatcha never had?” Samuel often asked his English friends at Central Market in downtown Lancaster.
Rebecca watched her husband, expecting him to slip out of the room without further comment. She was a bit surprised when he hesitated at the door, then returned to her bedside.
“Are you in poor health, then? Shall I be fetchin’ a doctor?” His concern was genuine. “Wouldn’t take but a minute to hitch up ol’ Molasses and run him over to the Millers’ place.”
Peter and Lydia Miller—Mennonites who indulged in the “English” lifestyle—lived about a mile down Hickory Lane and had offered their telephone in case of emergency. On several occasions, Samuel had taken them up on it. After all, they were kin—second cousins on Rebecca’s side—and modern as the day was long.
“Won’t be needing any doctor. I’m wore out, that’s all,” she said softly, to put his mind at ease. “And it’d be a shame if Cousin Lydia had to worry over me for nothing.”
“Jah, right ya be.”
Shadows flickered on the wall opposite the simple wood-framed bed. Rebecca stared at the elongated silhouettes as she sipped her tea. She sighed, then whispered the thought that tormented her soul night and day. “Our Katie . . . she’s been asking questions.”
A muscle twitched in Samuel’s jaw. “Jah? What questions?”
Rebecca pulled a pillow from behind her back and hugged it to her. “I have to get up to the attic. Tonight.”
“You’re not goin’ up there tonight. Just put it out of your mind. Rest now, you hear?”
Rebecca shook her head. “You’re forgetting about the little rose-colored dress,” she said, her words barely audible. “A right fine baby dress . . . made of satin. Katie must’ve found it.”
“Well, it’ll just have to wait. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“We daresn’t wait,” Rebecca insisted, still speaking in hushed tones, reluctant to argue with her husband. “Our daughter mustn’t know . . . she’s better off never knowing.”
Samuel leaned down and gave her a peck on her forehead. “Katie is and always will be our daughter. Now just you try ’n rest.”
“But the dress . . .”
“The girl can’t tell nothin’ from one little dress,” Samuel insisted. He took the pillow Rebecca had been clutching and placed it beside her, where he would lay his head later. “I best be seein’ to the children.”
He carried the lamp out into the hallway, then closed the door, leaving Rebecca in the thick darkness . . . to think and dream.
The children . . .
There had been a time when Rebecca had longed for more children. Many more. But after Benjamin was born, two miscarriages and a stillbirth had taken a toll on her body. Although her family was complete enough now, she wondered what life would’ve been like with more than three . . . or four children growing up here. All her relatives and nearly every family in the church district had at least eight children. Some had more—as many as fifteen.
It was a good thing to nurture young lives into the fold. Didn’t the Good Book say, “Children are an heritage of the Lord; and the fruit of the womb is his reward”? Children brought joy and laughter into the home and helped turn work into play.
And there was plenty of work in an Amish household, she thought with a low chuckle. Cutting hay, planting potatoes, sowing alfalfa or clover. Families in Hickory Hollow always worked together. They had to. Without the convenience of tractors and other modern farm equipment, everything took longer. But it was the accepted way of parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents before them.
In the early 1700s, William Penn had made all this possible for Samuel and Rebecca Lapp’s ancestors. Close-knit Amish communities were promised good land and began to form settlements in Pennsylvania. She thought again of Samuel’s great-great-grandfather who had built the very house where Rebecca lay shivering in the dark, cold bedroom.
After a time, she felt the warmth rising through the floorboards, from the woodburning stove directly below. Samuel’s doing, most likely. Ever kind and thoughtful Samuel. He’d been a good husband all these years. A bit outspoken at times, but solid and hardworking. A godly man, who held to the teachings of the Amish church, who loved his neighbor as himself . . . and who had long ago agreed to keep her secret for the rest of his life.
“How’s Mamma?” Katie asked as Samuel emerged from the bedroom, holding the oil lamp aloft. Evidently, she’d been hovering there at the landing, waiting for some word of her mother’s condition.
“Go on about your duties.” Samuel gave no hint of a smile, but his words were intended to reassure. “Nothin’ to worry over. Nothin’ at all.”
He headed for his straight-backed rocking chair, pulled it up nearer the woodstove, and dropped into it with a mutter. Pretending to be scanning a column in the weekly Amish newspaper, Samuel allowed his thoughts to roam.
What had Rebecca said upstairs—something about Katie finding the infant dress? He’d always wanted to get rid of that fancy thing. No sense having the evidence in the house. ’Twasn’t wise—too risky— especially with that English name sewed into it the way it was.
But he’d never been able to bring himself to force Rebecca to part with it—not with her feeling the way she did. As for himself, the grand memory of that day was enough, though he hadn’t laid eyes on the infant gown even once since their daughter had worn it home from the Lancaster hospital.
Minutes ago, it had come to his attention that Katie had stumbled onto the tiny garment—had found it in the attic. How, on God’s earth, after all these years? Had Rebecca ignored his bidding? She was a good and faithful wife, his Rebecca, but when it came to Katie, there was no reasoning with the woman. She had a soft place holed up in her heart for the girl. Surely Rebecca had obeyed him and at least done her best to hide the dress away. Surely she had.
Now that Katie had discovered the dress, though, he would remind Rebecca to find another hiding place. First thing tomorrow. Jah, that’s what he’d do.
Eli and Benjamin weren’t too worried over their mother, Katie observed as she wandered into the kitchen. They’d started a rousing game of checkers on the toasty floor near the woodstove and had barely glanced up at her approach.
She went to the cupboard where the German Biewel and other books were kept. Reverently, she carried the old, worn Bible to Dat and set it down in front of him, then seated herself on the wooden bench beside the table. She picked up her sewing needle and some dark thread.
Would Mam mind having company? Katie wondered as she threaded the needle. She’d feel better if she saw with her own eyes how her mamma was doing after the fainting spell a few minutes ago.
With threaded needle poised near the hemline of her wedding dress, Katie gazed at her brothers, unseeing. She’d always insisted on knowing things firsthand. And that stubborn streak in her had caused more grief than she dared admit.
For a good five minutes she sat there, sewing the fine stitches, hearing the steady purr of the gas lantern while a forbidden melody droned in her head. She suppressed the urge to hum.
Looking up from her work, she got up the courage to speak to Dat. “I want to go up and see Mamma, jah?”
Samuel lifted his eyes from his reading corner. “Not just now.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Jah, tomorrow.” With an audible sigh, he picked up the Bible for the evening Scripture reading and prayer.
Without having to be told, Eli and Benjamin put aside their game and faced their father as he leafed through the pages. He knew the Good Book like the back of his hand, and from the firm set of his jaw, Katie suspected he had something definite in mind for tonight’s reading.
He read first in High German, then translated into English out of habit—and, probably, for emphasis. Katie put down her sewing needle and tried to concentrate on the verses being read. But with Mam upstairs recovering from who knows what, it was mighty difficult.
“Romans, chapter twelve, verses one and two.” Dat’s voice held the ri
ng of authority they had all come to respect. He began reading: “‘I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.
“‘And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”’
The perfect will of God. The words pricked Katie’s conscience. How could God’s good and perfect will be at work in her? She was harboring sin—continual sin—and with little regret at that, even dragging her feet about the required repenting.
After the incident in the attic, she knew without a doubt that she was spiritually unfit to nurture John Beiler’s innocent children . . . or, for that matter, to bear him future offspring. What had she been thinking? How could she stand beside him on their wedding day and for all the years to come as a godly, submissive wife, an example of obedience to the People?
The questions vexed her, and when Dat finished his short prayer, Katie lit a second lamp, headed for her room, and undressed for the night. Before pulling down the bedcovers, she resolved to pay Mary Stoltzfus a visit instead of Bishop John. First thing tomorrow after the milking, she’d talk things over with her dearest and best friend. Mary would know what was right.
That settled, Katie congratulated herself on this decision as she slipped between the cold cotton sheets and blew out the lantern.
————
Around midnight, muffled sounds were heard in the attic. At first, Katie thought she must be dreaming. But at five o’clock, when Dat’s summons to get up and help with chores resounded through the hallway, she remembered the thumping noises overhead. Her heart leaped up at the prospect of investigating the attic—an unexpected opportunity to hold the beautiful satin fabric, the feel of it against her fingertips like forbidden candy. Perhaps one more delicious taste would satisfy her cravings.
Just once more, she thought while brushing her long, thick hair by lantern light. From sheer habit, she twisted the hair near her temples into a tight row on both sides, then drew the mass of it back into a smooth bun.
The Shunning Page 3