The Shunning

by Beverly Lewis

  Rebecca should have felt relieved. Instead, she felt curiously unsettled.

  ————

  Katie stood at the tall window in her bedroom, looking out. The best times of her life had been before she’d learned that she was the only adopted child in Samuel and Rebecca Lapp’s household. Maybe the only adopted child in all of Hickory Hollow. The best times had been the carefree days of her childhood.

  Blinding hot summer days . . .

  She and Mary Stoltzfus—two little Plain girls—running barefoot through the backyard, Mamma’s white sheets flapping on the clothesline, past the barnyard to the old wagon road connecting Dat’s farm with a wide wooded area and a large pond that lay sparkling in the sunlight.

  Two little Plain girls, telling secrets as they worked the oars of the rickety old rowboat, on their way out to the island in the middle of the pond.

  Two little Plain girls—birds swooping overhead, oars splashing, sending lazy ripples through the water—laughing and chattering away the sun-kissed summer hours. . . .

  In those days Katie was simply . . . Katie. Not Katherine. Not someone sophisticated. Just Plain Katie, inside and out. At least, as Plain as she could be in spite of the constant inner tugging toward fancy things. Still, she did try to follow the rules—what was expected of the People, according to the Ordnung.

  But things were changing. Had already changed—overnight, it seemed. And it appeared that they would keep on changing—just like the ripples on the pond, ever circling out and away into the distance. Far, far away.

  She was not Katie inside or outside, neither one. The girl with autumn brown eyes and reddish hair had come to see herself as a different person. Someone she didn’t know, didn’t recognize. Someone with a mother who had given her an English name. A fancy, worldly name.

  Katherine.

  The name did not sit well. She fought the fog of numbness, attempting to sort out her feelings, to push resentment aside. The growing resentment she was feeling for her parents, the adoptive parents who had kept their secret locked up for more than twenty-two years.

  For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder about her real parents, especially her birth mother. Who was she? Where was she? And why had she stayed away for so very long?

  ————

  The first thing Katie wanted to do when she saw Mary coming through the back door was to take her aside to a secluded corner of the old farmhouse and tell her the secret. Instead, she greeted her calmly and ushered her into the kitchen, along with about ten of her cousins. Then she rounded up extra chairs for the nut crackers as Mam put on a kettle of water to boil. There would be hot chocolate and marshmallows for everyone and slices of cheese, fresh bread, and melted butter. Apple butter, too, and pineapple preserves for those who preferred a tart topping on their warm bread.

  Katie went through the motions, performing her duties like a sleepwalker, barely registering the chitchat and laughter swirling around her. She made it through—without a soul suspecting that anything was wrong—all the way to the end of the day, when Eli and Benjamin hauled her cedar chest off to the bishop’s house along with several suitcases, the satin baby dress hidden inside one of them.

  That evening, five men arrived to help Dat and the boys move furniture out to the barn for storage, to make room for the long wooden benches that would accommodate two hundred wedding guests indoors.

  Early Wednesday morning, John Beiler and his son Hickory John arrived to help set up the benches when the two bench wagons arrived—one from the Hickory Hollow church district and one from a neighboring district. Several uncles and male cousins, as well as close neighbors, assisted in unloading the benches, unfolding the legs outdoors before taking them in the house and setting them up, following a traditional plan—the way it had always been done.

  Since John Beiler, at his first wedding, had observed the customary ritual of chopping off the heads of thirty chickens needed for the wedding feast, he delegated the task to three of his brothers and other close relatives, out of respect for his deceased wife.

  Rebecca, along with her two married sisters, Nancy Yoder and Naomi Zook, and their husbands, began to organize the workers, including those assigned to peeling potatoes, filling doughnuts, making cole slaw, roasting and shredding the chicken and adding the bread mixture, cleaning celery, baking pies and cakes, and frying potato chips.

  Twenty-two cooks—eleven married couples—had been assigned their duties, as well as the four wedding attendants, including Katie’s bridesmaid, Mary Stoltzfus, who arrived just after seven-thirty.

  “You seem awful quiet again,” Mary said as they escaped to Katie’s bedroom for a reprieve.

  Katie spread her wedding attire on the bed, leaving it out to be inspected one last time. She had starched her white apron and cape and ironed the wedding dress until there was not a wrinkle anywhere. From the sound of the hustle-bustle going on below, she knew there were only a few minutes left to tell her friend what she wanted to say. If anyone could understand, it would be Mary. “You might be surprised at what I’m going to say now,” she confided.

  Mary listened, her eyes darkening with concern.

  “I’m thinking that I might not be able to love John as much as I should,” Katie whispered. “Might not be enough to make a gut marriage, but I’ll do my best. I’ll do my very best.” Having admitted this, she felt a weight lift from her heart.

  Mary spoke tenderly. “I know ya will. And you might even surprise yourself and fall in love with the bishop. In fact, I’m sure of it. It’ll happen, sooner or later.”

  “He’s been awful kind, deciding to marry me.” Katie touched the white cape, a symbol of purity. “I might’ve been passed over if he hadn’t—”

  “Now, listen,” Mary interrupted. “That kind of talk won’t get you anywhere. You got a lot to be thankful for, that’s true, but when it all boils down, Katie, you are supposed to be marrying the bishop and don’t ya ever forget it. He’s a wonderful-gut man.”

  The way Mary said wonderful-gut made Katie wonder. Was her friend harboring some secret interest in the bishop? “Just what are you thinking, Mary?”

  “Well, I guess you haven’t been paying much attention,” Mary said, dumbfounded. “Don’t you think John’s nice-looking?”

  “Well, I guess I never thought of him that way, really.” Not after staring into Dan’s face the way I used to, Katie thought, wondering how on earth the Lord God could make such a handsome fellow. . . .

  “Well, you oughta be taking another look,” Mary advised, slanting Katie a curious look. “You’re lookin’ through tainted glasses . . . and I know why. It’s because of Dan, ain’t? He’s clouded everything up for you. But you’re supposed to marry the bishop now.”

  Supposed to? If she only knew the truth. I’m not even supposed to be living here in Hickory Hollow, Katie thought, let alone marrying a forty-year-old Amish bishop. I’m supposed to be Katherine Mayfield, whoever that is!

  But she didn’t dare reveal Mam’s secret—even to Mary. An unspoken pact had been made. Mam had suffered more than enough already. Now, faced with the opportunity to pour out her soul to her dearest friend, Katie had better sense than to add insult to injury.

  She hid the numbness away, as deep inside as she could push it, just as Mam had pushed the baby dress deep into the white vase. If she did not suppress the pain, Katie feared it would surface to wound her mother yet again and tear savagely at her own future. And so she did what Mary would call “the right thing.” She kept her secret safe— buried in her heart.

  Fourteen

  On her wedding day, Katie was up before four-thirty. It was so important for everything to go well that Dat had called a family meeting the night before to rehearse last-minute instructions. “A sloppy weddin’ makes for a sloppy bride,” he’d said.

  Now, as Katie dressed in choring clothes by lantern light, she resisted the temptation to brush her hair down over her shoulders and play with it—arranging it this way and that�
�wondering how Katherine Mayfield might have looked on her wedding day.

  Only in her mind, though, did she try on a satin wedding gown trimmed in lace . . . and discarded the kapp, replacing it with a shimmering white veil. So now she understood why she’d been drawn to lovely things her entire life. Understood—but didn’t know what to do about it.

  Katie’s wedding would have none of the modern trappings such as flowers or wedding rings. The bride was to be content with her hand-sewn, homespun dress, apron, and cape. And since the day had turned out rather warm, she wouldn’t have to fuss with a heavy shawl.

  Won’t Ella Mae be mighty glad about the weather? Katie thought, remembering how the Wise Woman had mentioned it on her most recent visit. And out of the blue came the thought that her great-aunt was probably one who suspected Katie’s true origins—worldly Englishers, people outside the Amish community.

  But the thought passed as quickly as it had presented itself, and Katie went about preparing for her wedding day, feeling neither pain nor joy. This numbing indifference to the shock of her mother’s announcement carried her through the hours before she would answer “Jah” when Preacher Zook asked her if she would accept her brother in Christ, John Beiler, as her husband, and would not leave him until death separated them.

  Delicious smells filled the house as each detail was checked off the list. At six-thirty, the assigned helpers began to arrive, and by seven o’clock, John, Katie, and their attendants were eating breakfast together in the summer kitchen, a long, sunny room off the main kitchen.

  “What a heavenly day for a wedding,” Mary Stoltzfus whispered in Katie’s ear.

  “You’ll be the next one getting married . . . and soon,” Katie predicted.

  Overhearing the comment, John smiled. “It’s a right fine day for our wedding,” he said, stroking his beard. “May the Lord God bless His People.”

  Katie nodded, smiling back. For just an instant, a vision of Dan’s face seemed to blot out John’s, and she blinked in amazement. Then, rubbing her eyes, she glanced away. Would she never stop thinking of her first love?

  “What’s-a-matter?” John frowned, leaning toward her.

  “Ach, it’s nothing.” She waved her hand the way her mother often did. “Nothing at all.”

  “Last-minute jitters often play tricks on people,” John’s brother Noah spoke up.

  Katie opened her eyes wide, trying to erase the mirage. Mary had told her to forget about Dan Fisher, to put aside the past lest it poison the future. Mary was always right. But she’d failed to offer a suggestion as to how one did away with cherished memories.

  Marrying John Beiler—putting him first—maybe that was the answer. Maybe that was why Mary had insisted that this marriage was supposed to be.

  After breakfast, Katie went with John and the attendants through the kitchen, stopping to inspect dozens of pies that had been brought in. From the bounty harvested from their land, the good cooks of Hickory Hollow had baked up peach and apricot and cherry pies, apple and mincemeat and pumpkin.

  Cakes, too. Five-pound fruitcakes and layer cakes of every variety. Later, after the wedding sermons and the actual ceremony, when Katie and John came back downstairs as husband and wife, they would see for the first time the two lovely wedding cakes decorated with nuts and candies. For Katie, who was known for her sweet tooth, there would be a wide array of other desserts to be sampled at her table—tapioca pudding, chocolate cornstarch pudding, and mouth-watering jellies, of course—Rebecca had seen to that.

  In fact, the very best of all the foods was to be reserved for the Eck—the bride’s table—a corner section placed so as to be most visible to the wedding guests. Ten twenty-foot-long tables, adequate for seating two hundred people, would be set with the best china in the house, including the dishes borrowed from Katie’s sister-in-law, Annie, and others.

  When it came time for members of the bridal party to change into their wedding clothes, the women—Katie, Mary, and Sarah Beiler, John’s grand-niece—stepped into Katie’s bedroom; the men, into Eli and Benjamin’s room.

  Outside, in the side yard, five teenage boys—cousins or nephews of the bride and groom—helped unhitch the horses as each carriage arrived and parked. It was an honor for a young man to be asked to be one of the Hostlers, who would care for the horses during the festivities.

  Upstairs, Katie waited patiently as her mother fastened the white wedding apron and cape with straight pins at the waist, the bridesmaids looking on. When it appeared that Katie and Rebecca were ready to talk privately for the last time before the service began, Mary and Sarah discreetly left the room, waiting in the hallway as far from Benjamin’s bedroom door as possible.

  “I’ll always love ya, Katie,” Mam said, embracing her. “Always and forever.”

  “And I’ll love you, too, Mamma.”

  “I wish we hadn’t had to talk . . . things . . . over so close to your wedding day,” Rebecca said as they drew apart, looking at each other fondly.

  “Ach, it’s over and done with.” Katie brushed the painful thought aside.

  “Over, jah.”

  “I’m just Plain Katie, ain’t?” Even now, she was thinking of the satin baby dress, resisting the thought of its splendid feel beneath her fingers.

  “Plain through and through” came the fervent response. Rebecca reached out and gripped Katie’s wrists. “You do love John, now, don’tcha?”

  “I love him . . . enough.”

  The words were hollow, and Rebecca pulled Katie to her. “You’re not still thinkin’ of someone else, are ya?”

  Katie’s voice sounded thin and desperate, even to her own ears, when she answered. “He was everything I ever wanted, Mam. Dan knew my heart. No one can ever take his place. No one.”

  Rebecca fluttered her lashes, and a deep worry line creased her forehead. “Himmel . . . you’re in love with a memory!”

  “I love Dan’s memory, jah. I won’t deny it. But there’s more to it.” She walked to the window, not wanting to hurt her mother by mentioning the music she and Dan had shared. Rebecca did not press the issue further, and Katie was relieved.

  Below, gray-topped carriages were rolling down the long lane out front. Some of the young people were arriving in black open buggies. And there were a few cars—Mennonite relatives and friends, probably.

  It was nearly seven-forty-five. At eight, the ushers would begin bringing guests indoors, seating them according to a prescribed order. First came the ministers, Preachers Yoder and Zook, followed by the parents of the bride and groom, and other close family and friends.

  The haze that had carried Katie through the rituals of the past two days began to lift. She stared at Rebecca, not comprehending, and trembled. Who am I, really?

  Planting a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek, Katie hurried to meet Mary and Sarah in the hallway, in time for the bridal party to take their places downstairs on a long bench in the kitchen. The bench was set up near the stairway so that female guests could pass by and greet the bridal party on their way upstairs to deposit bonnets and shawls.

  Bishop John sat between Katie’s youngest brother, Benjamin, and John’s own brother, Noah. He looked fit in his new Multze, a long frock coat with a split tail, and his black bow tie. He and his attendants wore high-topped shoes and wide black hats with a three-and-a-half-inch brim. His untrimmed beard was frosted with touches of gray, and although he needed reading glasses more often than not these days, he had come to his wedding without them.

  Farther down the bench, Katie sat between Mary and Sarah, preparing to shake hands with the female guests. The men would assemble outside—in or around the barn—waiting until the ushers, Forgehers, brought them inside to be seated—men in one section, the women in another—same as Sunday Preaching.

  Katie felt her stomach knot. She felt as though she were sitting on the middle plank of the rickety old boat, rowing toward the island— her secret childhood escape. In her mind she rowed faster and faster, energized by the
sweeping pace of the oars in the water, yet feeling trapped between the shore and the longed-for hideaway. Trapped between two worlds—her place with the People, and her hunger for the modern outside world, forbidden as it was. The world of her biological parents had always beckoned to her, the world of the young woman who had sewn a satin baby gown for her infant daughter, lovingly dressed her in it, then given her away.

  You got a lot to be thankful for. . . .

  Katie stole a glance at John. Only two hours separated them from spiritual union. Man and wife . . . forever to live among the People, carrying on the Old Ways. She remembered her promise to him, the one she had made last Saturday—now broken. How many promises did one dare to break?

  Like a sudden wind chasing wispy clouds, her thoughts trailed away and she could not recapture them. She began to greet the women, many of whom she had known since early childhood. She shook hands with Mattie Beiler when the time came, and watched as Mattie went back to help her aging mother, Ella Mae, move down the line. Katie thought of her deceased grandparents and wished Dawdi David and Mammi Essie had lived to see this day.

  When Ella Mae stopped to offer Katie her thin, wrinkled hand, she felt an urge to hug the old woman. People always do what they wanna do, Ella Mae had told Katie once. Even if a person sits back and does nothing, well, not doing somethin’ is a decision in the end.

  Next came several of Katie’s first cousins—Nancy, Rachel, and Susie Zook—followed by Naomi, Mary, and Esther Beiler, and the girls’ mothers, Becky and Mary—Ella Mae’s married daughters.

  Many more women came through the line. One of them was Lydia Miller—her mother’s Mennonite cousin—the woman who talked to God as though He were really listening.

  Lydia’s handshake was warm. “May the Lord bless you today, dear,” she said briefly, then went on to greet Mary Stoltzfus.

  The Lord exalts those who humble themselves. . . .

  If anyone was humble, it was Lydia Miller. She always dressed Plain—in long print dresses—and wore her hair tied back in a bun. Humility was written all over her round face. Love was there, too. You could see a singular compassion for the world in those eyes.