by Mary Ellis
Caleb accepted the phone from his outstretched hand. “Danki. I’ll give your idea some thought.”
Eli poured a glass of tea and headed to the front room. “You can charge yours in the barn with the generator. The outlet has room for another plug.”
Caleb walked outside and punched in a number he still remembered a year later. Maybe Pete has a new phone or a new number. But just as the thought occurred, Pete Taylor answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
The familiar voice filled Caleb with guilt. “Pete? It’s me, Cal Beachy.”
“Wow, you must be able to read minds. Michelle was asking about you today, whether or not I’d heard from you.” Pete laughed in his easy, relaxed manner. “I told her not a word, so you’d better have plenty of news that I can relay.”
Just like that...all those months with no communication fell away. Pete sounded as though only a week or two had passed since they’d last talked.
“I’m working for myself these days, so I’ll keep my cell phone turned on. But first I want to hear about you and Michelle. Tell me about your wedding, and the honeymoon vacation, and your new home. How is construction going in Cleveland? Have you been to the beach at Edgewater Park lately?”
Laughing, Pete launched into a male abbreviated version of major life transitions—those that a woman could talk for hours about. All in all, Pete was a happy man. And that mitigated some of Caleb’s shame in being such a poor friend.
“I’m glad you’re both well and that your wedding was...exactly how Michelle dreamed it would be. I wish you both all the best.” For a moment Caleb had been at a loss how to describe the expensive, over-the-top extravaganza. “I’m embarrassed I didn’t send a card or gift or acknowledge your marriage in some way.”
“According to Michelle’s bridal magazines, you’ve got a full year. And she takes those magazines very seriously.”
They both laughed, alleviating the last of Caleb’s discomfort. “Josie—she’s my fiancée—told me about the time limit. She’s working on a quilt for your wedding gift. We’ll send it to you when she finishes it.”
“A real, live Amish quilt?” Pete asked. “Do you know how much those things cost in a gift shop?”
“No, I don’t, and please don’t tell me.”
With more laughter and each passing minute, their friendship and familiarity with each other returned. Pete described his tribulations as a new project manager for a large construction firm.
“You had to turn in your union card?” said Caleb.
“I did. I’m considered management, for better or for worse.”
Caleb relayed the course of events during the Ashland strike, followed by the renovation of the Sidley homestead and finally, his recent partnership with Albert.
“You’re the owner of your company? That’s quite a step up from a plain old carpenter, my friend.”
Caleb hooted. Pete’s excitement was infectious. “We’re a pair of Amish handymen, trying to scratch out a living with household repairs and small additions. A businessman I am not, at least, not yet.”
“It’s good to start small and learn as you go.”
“That’s true. We’re learning plumbing and heating systems so we can do more than work with wood or install a new roof.”
“Did I hear you correctly—you have a fiancée? Good for you, Cal. Since I broke the ice, you’re the second of my friends to get engaged.”
“I’m not officially engaged yet. In fact, we’ve been going through a rough patch.” He waited a moment to see if Pete would comment, but he remained silent. “I can’t seem to live down the mistakes I made in the city. I’ve told Josie more than she ever wanted to know.”
“And she’s throwing it back in your face?” Pete asked.
“Not at all. I’m the one who can’t seem to forget and move on.”
Again Pete didn’t comment, perhaps bewildered by the change of topics. Men could discuss work endlessly, but relationships? Those conversations usually lasted a scant sixty seconds.
“I know I have no right to ask for more favors, but you might be best suited to help.”
“Sure, what can I do?” Pete replied without another thought.
“Josie watched her Englisch friend get baptized in a pond a couple years ago. She thinks that kind of baptism could...get rid of my guilt. Isn’t that what you did after you met Michelle and joined her church?”
“Whew.” Pete whistled through his teeth. “For a moment I thought you wanted me to be some kind of counselor. I can’t even remember to take out the trash without constant reminders.”
“Would your preacher be willing to baptize someone about to join an Amish church?” Caleb held his breath, waiting for the answer.
“I don’t know why not. I’ll call the church office when we hang up. Our minister would want to meet you to make sure you understand what this entails. And he’ll ask you plenty of questions.”
“I’ll do whatever is necessary. I had planned to do this for Josie’s sake, but the more I think about it, I’m doing this for me.”
“I’ll be in touch after I set up the preliminaries,” said Pete. “Do you still have the same cell number you did before?”
“Yes. Today I used my father’s because mine wasn’t charged. But I’ll plug it in as soon as we get off the phone. Call me any time, night or day.”
“Sounds like you’re taking some big steps—starting a business, joining a church, getting hitched.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not getting any younger. Thanks, Pete.”
“You’re welcome. It’s a small favor in exchange for a handmade Amish quilt.”
“Thanks, Pete.” After clicking the phone shut, Caleb gave thanks for his friend. Once again Pete had come through for him. Another flicker of light appeared at the end of a long, dark tunnel. And he thanked God for lighting the match.
Eli awoke with a start and glanced around. He’d fallen asleep in his chair while studying the Book of Peter to prepare his next sermon. Now his notes and papers were scattered across the floor, his tea was ice cold, and he’d developed a crick in his neck. His fraa had dozed off in the rocker, her needlework abandoned in her lap. On the other side of the room sat his son, neither reading nor napping. Caleb seemed to be studying them.
“Have you taken up the exciting pastime of watching your parents sleep?” Eli kneaded the tight cords at the back of his neck. “I’d better wake your mamm and help her upstairs. Sleeping upright isn’t good for our old bones.” He slowly rose from the chair to loosen his tight vertebrae.
“Daed, I’ve been waiting to talk to you. I didn’t want to wake you after a tiring day at work.” Caleb flexed his fingers.
“Can this wait until tomorrow, son? You could probably use a good night’s sleep too.” Eli shook Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Come to bed, fraa.”
“It can, but if you don’t mind, I would really appreciate getting something off my chest.”
Eli remembered how problems seemed immediate and crucial when one was young. “Let me take your mother upstairs and then I’ll come back down. Why don’t you fix me another cup of tea? This one is cold.”
Elizabeth staggered from the rocker. “Don’t stay up too late, Caleb. You look as exhausted as we feel.” She clung to Eli’s arm as they limped stiffly from the room.
Ten minutes later Eli found Caleb on the back porch, gazing at a clear sky studded with stars. A steaming mug of chamomile tea sat next to his usual chair, along with a can of Coke next to the swing. “Nice night,” he said, joining Caleb at the rail. “It’ll be gut for sleeping. Time to get the heavier quilts out of the trunk.”
His son turned from the awe-inspiring view and handed back his cell phone. “Danki for letting me use yours. And I think you’re right. I’ve plugged mine in and will use it for construction purposes.” Caleb sat down next to his can of soda. “I wanted to talk about my phone call.”
Eli slumped into the chair, eager for his tea, not late-nig
ht chitchat. “I don’t need to hear your business. I trust you.”
“My call wasn’t work related. I owed my friend, Pete Taylor, an apology for dropping off the planet after his and Michelle’s visit here. That had to have been April, maybe even March, before their wedding. I never congratulated them on their marriage, despite everything Pete did for me in Cleveland. I’ve been a terrible friend.”
Eli took a sip of tea, having burned his tongue too many times to count. “How is the young couple faring? Is Pete working steadily now that he has a wife to support?”
“Pete’s job is secure and so is Michelle’s, but I didn’t call solely to express congratulations. I called to ask him for another favor—number 879, if anybody’s counting.” Caleb leaned back in his chair and released a hollow-sounding laugh.
Eli tried to concentrate despite his fatigue. “You’ll soon join our church and accept our way of life. Your contact with the Taylors will be minimal, although they’ll always be welcome here. What favor could you possibly need from them that your family can’t provide for you?”
After a sip of Coke, his son launched into a convoluted story about Josie’s former employer, Michelle Taylor’s preacher in Lakewood, the lake at Mohican State Park, and the burdens of sin. When Caleb concluded, he sat staring into space for almost a full minute.
Eli rubbed his eyelids, confused. “Why on earth would you need to get baptized at a swimming hole when it will be part of our fall communion service? You’ll invite the Holy Spirit into your heart when you join the church.” Unwittingly Eli gripped the arms of his chair as though in danger of falling.
Caleb finished his soda and locked eyes with him. “I intend to get baptized twice. Although I know you probably wouldn’t like the idea, I wanted to tell you anyway. The Englisch way will help me break free from my old life.”
“Ridiculous.” Eli punctuated his single-word summation with a stomp of his foot. “You left on rumschpringe to see how the rest of the world lived. You went to Cleveland, you realized it wasn’t for you, and you came home. End of story. I’ll admit you stayed longer than most during your running-around, but when you walked through our door on Christmas Eve you broke clean from your past. You are home with a family who loves you, Caleb. No one holds anything against you because you left. If a district member still snubs you that is their problem, not yours. You will answer only to God for your sins.”
Caleb stared into darkness so long Eli thought their conversation might have ended. “I understand what you’re saying and I respect your opinion, but I intend to take this step before committing to our faith.”
“Then you are willful,” snapped Eli. “No different from your insistence on using a Sawzall on that roof. As your bishop I forbid you from pursuing this nonsense.”
Lifting his chin, Caleb turned to face him. “Who I used to be has driven a wedge between Josie and me. Not because she won’t forgive me, but because I can’t forgive myself. She suggested this idea, and I want to take her advice. Otherwise, she won’t believe that I want our relationship to work.”
His words were as soft as a cat’s purr, but Eli wasn’t moved by his son’s eloquence. “Then Josie Yoder is behaving as willfully as you. Make our relationship work—that’s how an Englischer talks. That’s how an Englischer thinks. You two should forget this nonsense, finish your membership classes, and take the kneeling vow next month. You’re making this complicated when it’s really very simple: Submit, and give your life to God.” Eli pushed himself to his feet, wearier than he thought possible. “You’re welcome to consult the other district ministers on this matter if you like.”
Caleb reached out to lend support as Eli crossed the porch. “No, I realize you’re instructing me in accordance with our Ordnung. The other elders will offer the same advice. But I’m planning to do this soon, and follow through with my remaining classes. I invite you and Mamm to witness, but I understand if you choose not to come.”
Shrugging off his son’s hand, Eli braced himself against a post. “I can walk on my own accord; I’m no cripple. And I suggest you pray long and hard about jumping into a lake with a bunch of strangers.” Exhaustion was rapidly turning him mean-spirited, not an enviable trait for a bishop.
“I won’t be jumping. I will walk slowly with my eyes fixed on the future and the man I want to be. Gut nacht, Daed.” Caleb pulled open the screen door and entered the kitchen. On the table the kerosene lamp threw off a pool of yellow light, its wick turned low.
Eli remained on the porch, reflecting on what had transpired. Just when he thought his son had turned the corner, Caleb pulled this stunt. Would he ever become a simple Plain man? And that Yoder gal must have rocks in her head or she wouldn’t lead him down this path. But the bishop could no longer think straight. He was even too tired to pray.
Tonight, he would rest. Tomorrow he would bow his head and seek divine guidance for another baffling conundrum with his firstborn. Then he would do what had always served him well for the last twenty years: He would talk matters over with his fraa.
18
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace
Elizabeth punched the pillow a second time and pulled the covers tight beneath her chin. It was too early to get up and too chilly to do anything but bury her head and catch another forty winks. Digging the heavy quilt from the cedar chest had been a gut idea on the part of her ehemann. If this cold snap continued, she would have Caleb build a fire in the living room woodstove, besides the one in the kitchen. They’d already put that one to use weeks ago. Heat from the front room’s stove would drift up to their bedroom through vents cut in the floor, while the kitchen’s woodburner warmed her kinners’ bedrooms. Elizabeth shifted again, looking for a comfortable position for her stiff back.
“What has you tossing and turning?” Eli’s question floated through the air in the dark. Not a hint of dawn showed beneath the muslin curtains.
“I’m thinking this frost will put an end to my garden. And I haven’t picked the last apples from our trees near the pasture fence.”
“Ach, leave those for the birds. You’ve canned enough to make pies all winter long.” Eli shifted closer beneath the covers.
“The temperature is another thorn in my foot. If it’s this cold in October, what does this bode for January? My joints are already complaining about the dampness.”
“What would my bride have me do?” he asked. “Pray for balmy weather for Wayne County this winter?”
She smiled at his affectionate moniker. “Jah, or buy us a nice retirement home someplace warm. I heard that Pinecraft, Florida, is mild year-round.”
Eli snorted. “Big talker. I can’t picture you moving that far from your children. At least, not until we get all four married—and Katie isn’t even thirteen.”
Elizabeth settled her head against his shoulder. “I can dream, can’t I? Now go back to sleep. Caleb has been doing barn chores every morning. You have plenty of time before Jack picks you up for work.”
“I don’t need more sleep. What I need is advice from someone with a level head.”
“That counts me out.” Elizabeth pulled the covers over her head like a turtle into its shell and produced a very believable snore.
Eli yanked down the quilt. “You’re my best available choice. Help me, fraa, before I do something wrong with Caleb. I need a mamm’s point of view.”
That got her attention. She boosted herself higher against the pillows. “Tell me what happened. You two have been getting along well for months. Is this about you not calling a doctor for Sarah? No one blames you, Eli—not Sarah and not Adam.”
Eli struck a match to light the kerosene lamp next to their bed. The wick produced an amber glow that visibly warmed the room. “No, this isn’t about Sarah. I thank God she’s recovering nicely. This is about something our son brought up after you went to bed. I was so tired I couldn’t see any logic to his idea. Now that I’ve slept and prayed on the matter, I still
think it’s a harebrained notion.”
Elizabeth reached for his hand. “Let’s go downstairs to the kitchen. Caleb is outside in the barn and the girls aren’t up yet. We can talk while the coffee brews and keep our ears open for Sarah and Rebekah. I’ll need caffeine if I’m to be any help at all.”
Eli slung his legs out of bed. “I hope you bought plenty of Folgers. This might take more than a single pot.”
Fifteen minutes later they were bundled in thick bathrobes at the table, sipping their first cup. Eli hadn’t taken time to build a fire. “Tell me, ehemann. What’s got you troubled?” she said.
Eli sighed and repeated last night’s conversation with Caleb. “Can you make sense of this? Caleb wishes to get baptized twice—once in a river or pond with a bunch of Englischers, and a second time with the young people at our communion service.” Glancing at the stairs, Eli lowered his voice. “Have you ever heard such gibberish? All the water in the Atlantic Ocean can’t wash away that horrible tattoo. He needs to keep his sleeves down and forget about it.” Eli hissed the words through his teeth, his vehemence revealing a man deeply distressed.
Elizabeth swallowed another mouthful of coffee and set her cup primly on the saucer. She had to choose her words carefully to be the voice of reason, even if she had no experience with the situation. “John baptized Jesus in the waters of a river. No cup of water had been poured over his head. Instead, the Jordan River washed away dust from the road because our Savior was sinless. If Caleb wants to be washed clean in the Mohican River or Killbuck Creek or in somebody’s farm pond, what could it hurt?” She lifted the coffee carafe to refill both cups.
Eli stared, transfixed, as though she’d grown a third ear. “What would it hurt?” He repeated her question. “I am the bishop of our congregation, the man charged with upholding the Ordnung and maintaining the old ways that have served us for hundreds of years. When change comes to our district, it’s after much prayer, many discussions among the ministers, and sometimes even a vote by the membership. Our son wants to casually throw the practices of another Christian sect into our worship. And you think it’s a practical idea?”