Please, Lord, I just want to get through this meal without Ira or Hiram or Jerusalem or Preacher Tom lecturing me about Andy or what we did in his car—or what might come of it after I confess next Sunday.
Rhoda sighed. God deserved a better prayer from her. Yet, as much as it had thrilled her when Andy and his family came to the café yesterday, his visit only added fuel to the fire: even a blind man could have seen the way the Leitners welcomed her into their company and the way she wanted to be with them. The Christmas season would shine so much brighter if only she could be eating dinner with Taylor and Brett teasing her right now, or with Andy making much of the seasonal foods she wanted to cook for them.
But that’s not going to happen. Better get on with your Plain life . . . if only ya could figure out what to do with yourself.
“We’ll bow for a word of thanks now,” Preacher Tom intoned from his end of the long table.
As they bowed their heads for a silent grace, Rhoda swore she felt Ira Hooley gazing across the table at her. And was Hiram glaring at her from behind? He had balked at the small table Mamma had set for him, but the alternative would’ve been for him to leave and fix his own food. Patience had never been Bishop Knepp’s strength, and a week remained before he knelt in front of the congregation to implore their forgiveness.
Would Hiram order her to her knees the minute his confession was accepted, to interrogate her about her involvement with Andy? Or would Bishop Shetler and Bishop Mullet, assisting their church from Morning Star and New Haven, allow her to confess first, before they took up the matter of Hiram’s reinstatement? Rhoda’s stomach twisted. She’d never had to endure a kneeling confession, and this final week of waiting would be the most difficult yet . . .
“Seems Rhoda has a lot to pray on,” Ira teased from across the table. “Or maybe she’s really daydreamin’ about that Leitner fella.”
Heat flared in Rhoda’s face. She glared at Ira as she accepted the bowl of broccoli from Rachel, but before she could reply to his remark, Jerusalem Hooley smacked the tabletop loudly enough to make them all jump.
“That’ll be enough of your smart remarks, Nephew,” the middle-aged maidel warned as she glared at him from the opposite end of the table. “Frankly, I wonder why your parents didn’t steer ya into joinin’ the church. You’re twenty-eight, Ira. Long past the time where ya can point a finger at Rhoda, who became a member years ago.”
The kitchen got quiet. Both Ira and Luke knew better than to sass their aunt, so they focused on passing food: a bowl of bright red apples cooked with cinnamon imperials . . . a basket of Mamma’s oatmeal rolls . . . the pan of scalloped potatoes . . .
“We’ll most likely start up an instruction class after the holidays, for young folks wanting to join in the spring,” Tom remarked. His tone was matter-of-fact, not pressuring the Hooley brothers or Annie Mae, but the three of them began to eat as though they wanted to keep their mouths too full to respond.
“And what do you have to learn to become a member?” Rebecca asked. Her face, framed by chestnut hair that had grown enough since summer to reach her collar, shone with sincere interest. “It seems, from what I’ve seen, that you Amish are trained in the ways of your faith from the cradle.”
Preacher Tom smiled at her. “Jah, that’s right. But once our young folks have had a chance to explore the English world during their rumspringa, they concentrate on becomin’ committed members of the faith—members of the community who see to each other’s needs, ready to follow God’s will for their lives. Most take their instruction when they’ve picked out somebody to marry.”
“So . . . are ya thinkin’ about joinin’ us, Rebecca?” Mamma asked. Her voice vibrated with hope, and as she slipped her hand into the crook of Rhoda’s arm, Rhoda felt her mother’s pulse thrum. “I’m not expectin’ ya to, understand. I know ya have your own life and plans for your computer business—”
“As it says in the Scriptural story about the rich young ruler,” Hiram chimed in when he rose to fill his plate, “it’s easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than for a wealthy man to enter the Kingdom of God. The same could be said for English thinking they want to be Amish. It’s too difficult for them to give up their worldly possessions and habits to follow the narrow road to salvation.”
“Ah, but in the next verses Jesus’s disciples ask Him who could possibly be saved, if not that wealthy fella who’d kept all the commandments,” Ben said, continuing the familiar story. “And Jesus said that for people it was impossible, but that all things are possible with God. So, jah, Rebecca, while we’ve been raised up with our Plain values all along, we still rely on the Lord to accept us into His Kingdom. And I believe that applies to English wantin’ to become Amish,” he went on with a glance toward Rhoda. “It’s not an easy road, but with God’s help it’s possible.”
Rhoda’s cheeks prickled. Mamma had apparently filled him in on her situation. Was Ben telling her not to give up on Andy? Or was he merely deflecting some of Hiram’s harshness?
“Well, it’s not like I’m wealthy enough to worry about that part,” Rebecca said with a laugh. “And, like Mamma said, I’m not ready to give up my computer business, either. I was just curious. Interested.”
Ah, but the bishop’s the wealthiest fella in Willow Ridge, Rhoda pondered. I wonder if he would give up those magnificent Belgians he raises, and the modern barn he keeps them in, to enter the Kingdom? She watched as Hiram stood at Tom’s side, dishing up potatoes and cinnamon apples. Something about the bishop’s expression hinted that he wasn’t finished with this lesson yet, and that he was about to use her as a main point.
“As Jerusalem has said,” Hiram remarked, his gaze sweeping the side of the table where his daughter Annie Mae and Ben’s brothers sat, “it’s past time for some of our young people to get off the fence and come into the fold. Perhaps taking instruction would be more meaningful if the three of you attended together—and invited Millie Glick to make it a foursome. There comes a time to be fruitful and multiply, to become productive families in our community.”
Annie Mae’s face turned the color of the cinnamon apples, while Ira nearly choked on his food. Luke, however, was studying Rebecca’s face with an expression Rhoda found . . . interesting. It was a good thing Annie Mae couldn’t see him, as she’d confided to Rhoda that she’d stopped dating Yonnie Stoltzfus and other fellows to concentrate on this handsome, adventurous newcomer. Rhoda felt bad for the slender girl across the table: what fellow would court Hiram Knepp’s daughter, knowing he’d have to toe a stricter line while all of Willow Ridge speculated about them?
When Hiram came around to stand behind her and Mamma, Rhoda sat absolutely still. He reached between them to stab a few slices of pork roast. “And just as there is a time to embrace our faith and marry, there is a time to refrain from embracing,” he paraphrased pointedly.
Beside Rhoda, Mamma stiffened. Bad enough that they all felt a lecture coming on, but Hiram also dripped meat juice on Mamma’s shoulder—not once but twice—as he brought the pork roast to his plate.
“Must we discuss this at the table, Hiram?” Mamma demanded in a strained voice. “It’s common knowledge what Rhoda has done. Nothing’s to be gained by goin’ over it again.”
“No point in ruinin’ this fine meal, either,” Nazareth Hooley added. “Miriam was nice enough to ask us all over to celebrate the birth of Jesus—”
“Who died for our sins,” Hiram pointed out. He stood so close behind Rhoda, she wondered if he might rest his plate on her head to humiliate her further. “And the part of our faith most English and our Mennonite friends find impossible to accept is our belief in shunning, Rebecca. Has your sister told you about how she might be forced to eat at a table alone and avoided by her friends in public—the humiliations I have endured these past five weeks—if the members vote to put her under the ban? And has she told you about the sins she committed with Andy Leitner?”
Rhoda wanted the floor to open up and swa
llow her. Beside her, Mamma felt so tightly wound she might just spring up like a jack-in-the-box—except that Hiram still stood close enough that she would send his plate flying if she did that. Rachel, on Rhoda’s other side, reached for her hand under the table.
Poor Rebecca looked sorry she’d asked her innocent question. “No, sir,” she murmured, sending Rhoda an apologetic, flummoxed look. “And it’s really none of my business.”
“Ah, but the Amish consider a member’s sin everyone’s business,” the bishop replied. He chuckled, as though Rebecca had played right into his little drama. “That’s why she’ll kneel before us next Sunday and confess the evil of her ways, and then she’ll leave the room while the rest of us vote on her punishment. Were you there to witness that event, Rebecca, you would think very, very hard about becoming one of us. The Plain life’s not for the faint of heart.”
Rhoda could barely breathe. Every face around the table looked tight with sympathy for her and aversion to the bishop’s tactics. She dared not move or speak. She sat looking down at her dinner, which was growing cold along with everyone else’s.
“And because I take my duty as the spiritual leader of Willow Ridge very seriously,” Hiram continued, “I must insist that Rhoda have no further contact with Mr. Leitner. And if he expresses an interest in becoming Amish, I will refuse to let him take instruction or to join our community of faith. His professional training will only provoke the brightest of our youth to jump the fence and pursue more education. And his presence will lead Rhoda into further temptation. Perdition rather than redemption.”
Hot tears stung Rhoda’s eyes. She looked at Preacher Tom, wondering how much he had influenced the bishop’s edict, but Tom’s startled scowl suggested he’d had nothing to do with it. Again the kitchen went silent. Her mother’s eyes took on a defiant shine. The others around the table masked their initial shock by resuming their eating—except for Ben, who held his fork like a pointer.
“You’re assumin’, Bishop, that at the preachin’ service this Sunday you’ll be voted back into your duties,” he said in a low voice.
“Once the lot falls to a preacher or a bishop, he retains that position for life,” Hiram shot back. “The moment I chose the hymnal with the slip of paper in it, God’s choice became clear. And irrefutable.”
Oh, how Rhoda wanted to lash out. Instead, Rachel squeezed her right hand and Mamma gripped her left, the sign of solidarity that had gotten them through many a trial these past couple of years since Dat had died. Never had she felt so humiliated . . . so angry and frustrated. Here she sat, in front of Ira, who had initially reported her and Andy . . . and across from Annie Mae, whose whispering in the pantry had led to Jerusalem’s hearing the story, as well . . . and with Tom, to whom she had confessed. With Hiram standing behind her chair, there was no escaping those who already knew firsthand of her activities, yet she would have to endure this sort of scrutiny all over again when she confessed on Sunday before the entire district.
Now Rhoda fully understood what Mamma, Naomi, and Micah had endured when Hiram had insisted they confess last summer, when Rebecca’s return had sparked such controversy. For the first time ever, she questioned the faith she’d been baptized into: If she obeyed the bishop—never saw Andy again—would she regret remaining Amish? Would she live out the rest of her life in mourning for the family, the love, she’d given up?
Or is it time for ya to leave? Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she hung her head. How she hated this tug-of-war going on in her heart right now.
“You’ve made your point, Hiram,” Jerusalem remarked tersely. “Please sit down and eat so the rest of us—”
“Jah, Pop, we wanna be gettin’ out of here!” Joey piped up.
“Wanna go sleigh ridin’ this afternoon!” Josh added gleefully.
Between them, Annie Mae dropped her fork to hook an arm around each twin. “That’ll be enough out of you two—”
“For interruptin’ me, and for sassin’ your father,” Jerusalem continued as she rose to her feet, “you’ll be standin’ with your noses in the corner while the rest of us finish our meal and dessert.” Her expression grew ominous as she pointed toward two corners of the kitchen. “Nazareth brought that strawberry rhubarb crisp ya like so well, too, but you’ll be havin’ none of it, boys. Move along now.”
“There’ll be no sleigh riding, either,” Hiram added sternly. “You boys are not to take the sleigh out by yourselves—ever—and nobody else will be going with you today, either. Understand me?”
“Jah, Pop,” the boys murmured in unison.
As Joey and Josh went to stand in their corners, Rhoda felt secretly relieved that they had misbehaved, distracting their dat from his lecture. This discussion had embarrassed their guests and spoiled the visiting Mamma had been looking forward to—especially since Rebecca had joined them for this holiday dinner. The pork roast was especially tender and tasty, seasoned with garlic powder and dill, the way Mamma baked it in the café. Jerusalem had brought the pretty cinnamon apples and the fresh broccoli, while Nazareth had provided dessert and their relish tray, all prepared yesterday so they would do minimal work on the Sabbath.
But Rhoda had lost her appetite. She laid her fork on her plate and sat with her hands in her lap. Now that Hiram was returning to his table, however, everyone else seemed to be eating faster, the sooner to be finished so they could escape the table and the unpleasantness he had created.
Bless her, Rebecca broke the uncomfortable silence while she spooned up some of Mamma’s strawberry jam to spread on her oatmeal roll. “This food is so good, and I think it’s so cool the way you aunts brought some of these dishes with you,” she said with a grin for the Hooley sisters. Then she took a huge bite of her soft, warm roll, closing her eyes as though she’d never tasted anything as delicious. “I can’t wait to move into the apartment with Rhoda, and I’m hoping all of you wonderful-gut cooks will share your know-how with me.”
“And I can’t wait to have ya close by, honey-bug,” Mamma replied softly.
Seeing how she’d made everyone smile again, Rebecca continued in a rising voice. “We could put recipes from local ladies on the Sweet Seasons website. And any dishes that use the specialty grains Ira and Luke will process in their mill could be put up on the site, too—with photos, so folks will taste how good your food is just from looking at it. They’ll have to come here to enjoy some or to get the ingredients from the Mill at Willow Ridge!”
“I like the sound of that,” Luke said with a nod.
“Jah,” Ira agreed, “folks who’ve never cooked with quinoa or millet are more likely to try those grains if they have recipes—especially if they can sample them when they come to check us out.”
“We could host a grand opening, with a tasting table,” his brother chimed in. “We were going to try that in Lancaster, but we never got around to finding gals who would bake up what we needed.”
“What a gut idea!” Nellie Knepp exclaimed. “I could do that bakin’ for ya! And if ya need somebody to work in your shop, I’d be able to help out most any day, after school.”
Behind them, Hiram loudly cleared his throat. “Are you not listening to yourselves, my friends? And have you not heard my warning to Rhoda?” he demanded in the voice he used when he was preaching. “Sounds to me like Willow Ridge will soon be on the level of Bird-in-Hand or Paradise, in Lancaster County, where the traffic is bumper-to-bumper and the shops teem with people. It’s not our mission to create such a tourist trap. We would become far too worldly with so many English traipsing through our shops.”
Once again Rhoda bit back a retort. Hadn’t the Hooley brothers built their mill with just such a shop in mind? And wouldn’t every business in Willow Ridge benefit from the attention the new websites would generate? As she noticed how Mamma’s eyebrows rose and Ben pressed his lips into a tight line, Rhoda wondered how the folks around this table would vote, come time to accept Hiram back into good standing.
What happens whe
n a bishop loses the approval and trust of his flock, Lord? Seems Hiram has peeved several members today—and this after he shocked us all by ownin’ a car. Yet Ya chose him to serve us for the rest of his life.
These were issues few Plain communities ever faced, because following the leadership of the bishop and the other preachers was a basic tenet of their faith. Yet as serious as this issue was, it gave Rhoda a moment of hope. Maybe folks’ll be so concerned about him that my confession will seem like small potatoes next Sunday.
Chapter Seventeen
On Friday afternoon, Rhoda lettered and hung the sign Mamma had asked her to put on the door:
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
CLOSED DECEMBER 20TH–JANUARY 11TH
FOR MIRIAM AND BEN’S WEDDING
She finished wiping down the tables and then gazed out the café’s front window. It was blessedly quiet in the Sweet Seasons after a mighty busy day. It seemed as though all the locals were getting in a few last meals today and tomorrow before the place closed on Monday for a couple of weeks. The morning snowfall had wrapped Willow Springs in a fresh white blanket, adding to the hush . . . a sense that once she wasn’t waiting tables, her life would be very, very quiet even with the excitement of Mamma’s wedding preparations.
Naomi and Hannah had headed home. Rachel had left with Micah for another weekend of collecting wedding gifts, this time visiting kin near Richmond and Carrollton. Mamma was in the kitchen baking a special order of pies and treats for an employee Christmas party at the regional hospital.
Winter of Wishes Page 16