A Baby for Hannah (Hannah's Heart 3)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  The song was ending, and Mr. Brunson pulled his eyes away from Will and Rebecca. The song leader gave one last wave of his hand before taking his seat in the front row.

  Almost at once a young man came up and gave a brief testimony of finding salvation through the evangelist’s previous meeting in a neighboring county. That was followed by two more such testimonies. Then a man got up and walked to the pulpit. He carried his Bible with him and had a grim look on his face. Obviously this was the evangelist, and he seemed ready to launch into a fiery sermon.

  Mr. Brunson smiled. Let the man preach. It would be good to hear fire-and-brimstone preaching again. Not since his youth in summer camp meetings had he heard much passion in a preacher’s voice.

  “Good evening,” the evangelist began. “If you will open your Bibles to Luke chapter three, verse three, I would like to speak on my message tonight that is called ‘The Conditions for Revival.’ ”

  Mr. Brunson heard the rustle of Bibles opening all around him. He glanced at the older couple on his right. The man shrugged and Mr. Brunson smiled. He was not the only one who hadn’t brought a Bible to the meeting. Apparently the Mennonites in attendance knew to bring theirs. Across the tent Will looked to be in the same state, glancing around nervously. But Will might be nervous because he wasn’t supposed to be at the tent meeting. Rebecca was looking at the floor. The poor woman. She looked like she had no desire to be here.

  A heavy burden settled on Mr. Brunson’s heart. Was this what all Amish women thought of Mennonites and Mennonite revival meetings? If so, Mary Keim would never consent to becoming one.

  Forcing himself to listen, Mr. Brunson turned toward the speaker. The evangelist had already stirred up a fiery passion just from reading the selected verse.

  “John the Baptist went forth preaching repentance, and now the church of our day thinks they have found a better way to experience revival. They have cut out repentance preaching. When all the time this is still one of the conditions God uses to bring revival. A man or a woman must repent of their sins.”

  Mr. Brunson glanced around again. Then, shaken by what he thought he saw, he sat forward, hardly daring to breath. Was he really seeing what he was seeing? In front of him a Mennonite lady had risen to her feet, taking her small child outside. Between the gap, his view was unhindered of the bench in front of her and of an older, obviously Amish woman. It almost looked like it could be…of all people, Mary Keim! Surely he was seeing things.

  Desperately Mr. Brunson shook his head, forcing his eyes back to the evangelist.

  “Any man who refuses to repent,” the man was thundering, “is a man or a woman who will not experience the revival of God. We must be open to correcting our ways. We must not think we know it all, no matter how long we have lived or what we have been taught. God is drawing near to us in these meetings, and He wants us to be open to correction and to a fresh direction from His voice.”

  Mr. Brunson brought his eyes back slowly, letting them settle on the familiar head. It had to be Mary Keim, the tendrils of hair peeping under her head covering were unmistakable. But what was Mary doing at a Mennonite revival meeting? Was she here with friends or visiting relatives? Was she acquainted with the evangelist who was now pulling out a white handkerchief to wipe his face?

  “Revival is not renewal,” the man said, barely whispering now. “Much of the church wants to be renewed but not revived. Renewal is like rebooting your computer, but you only work with the information you have. Revival is receiving fresh data from God and changing your life accordingly.”

  Mr. Brunson watched the back of Mary Keim’s neck, his heart pounding. Jake had said nothing about any of the Amish people being allowed to attend the meetings because of relatives. Mary must be here for her own reasons, whatever they were. If it really is Mary Keim…

  Doubt flooded him. It was not possible. Mary would not attend a Mennonite revival meeting. She was too decent, too righteous a woman, too obedient to the faith to defy the edicts of her church leaders. Soon the woman would turn her head, and he would see she was a stranger.

  “Who will repent tonight?” the evangelist thundered. “Who will come to the altar and ask God to give him fresh revelation on what is the will of God and what you can do to obey Him?”

  From his side vision Mr. Brunson saw the woman returning with her child. Soon his view would be blocked again. He would wait until the service was over to find out for sure. He must know. If Mary were here, and there was a chance to speak with her, there would be no leaving until he had done it.

  The woman with the child was at the end of the aisle, and people turned their knees to allow her to pass. Mr. Brunson kept his eyes on the gap.

  “Turn,” he said to himself. “Turn your head just a little.”

  In a quick motion, at the last minute, the white head covering turned upward with a smile, and Mr. Brunson could see the full side of her face. It was Mary! There was no doubt. The next thirty minutes were torture as he alternated trying to pay attention to the evangelist and mentally rehearsing what he could say to Mary after the meeting.

  When the evangelist finally wore down, he opened the altar area by saying, “Let everyone come down here in front who wishes to experience the revival of God. Come and give your heart to what God is speaking today. Come!”

  Mr. Brunson’s thoughts were jerked away from Mary as he noticed across the tent that Will Riley got to his feet and walked forward to kneel.

  “God be praised,” the evangelist said. “There is at least one man here who wishes to make his life right with God. Now let more come as I pray with him.”

  The evangelist stepped down from the platform to whisper into Will’s ear with a hand on his shoulder. Rebecca broke out into loud wails as a hush settled over the tent. Two women, apparently Mennonites, approached Rebecca from either side and draped their arms over her shoulders in support. Slowly the sobs lessened.

  For the next several minutes a few others came forward. Again the evangelist greeted each one and apparently took a moment to pray for some needs mentioned. Mr. Brunson noticed that all who went forward after Will were Englisha. That would be a relief to Jake, no doubt.

  “Now are there more people who wish to come?” the evangelist asked as Will walked soberly back to join his wife. The two women nodded to him and left as he sat down beside Rebecca. Her loud sobs resumed, and Will pulled her into a tight embrace.

  “Perhaps we can have a song,” the evangelist said, and the song leader jumped to his feet to lead a rousing rendition of “God Be with You Till We Meet Again.”

  Will walked out with Rebecca before the song was over, holding his arm around his wife’s waist, their three children tagging along behind. Mr. Brunson watched them cross the open field and walk into the parking lot, where Will helped Rebecca climb into the buggy.

  Obviously trouble had come to Amish country. Mr. Brunson’s heart pounded as the service concluded and Mary rose to quickly walk across the field to her buggy.

  Twenty-Six

  Mary Keim’s quick steps were taking her rapidly across the grassy field, while Mr. Brunson stood at the edge of the small crowd beneath the tent awning trying to catch up with her. But from where he stood, the people were thick, and by now it would be hard to reach her without running. That would surely draw unwanted attention to them both.

  “Good evening, sir,” the evangelist said, interrupting his thoughts and sticking out his hand.

  “Good evening,” Mr. Brunson said, watching Mary out of the corner of his eye as she reached her buggy. Perhaps if he made a dash for it he could still cut her off at the road. But that would be unseemly and others would be watching.

  “I’m glad you came out,” the evangelist said. “Byron Mast is my name. And yours, sir?”

  “Norman Brunson,” he said. “I live back up the mountains a bit.”

  “Oh, Mr. Brunson. Yes,” the evangelist said with a smile. “Ben Stoll told me about you. You’re a very interesting character.”
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  “Really?”

  “Oh, not in that way,” the evangelist said with a laugh. “As in a nice gentleman, and I understand you live close to one of the Amish preachers.”

  “I do,” Mr. Brunson said. “Hannah and Jake are a very nice couple.”

  “So I’ve heard. I was hoping they would come out tonight. Ben said he thinks he’s almost persuaded Jake to attend the meetings.”

  Mr. Brunson chuckled, a pained look crossing his face as he glanced toward the road where Mary Keim’s buggy raced past. Why was the woman driving so fast? Had she been sorely offended by the meeting? Had there been any reason to read hope into her attendance?

  “Do I take it you think Jake’s not coming?” the evangelist asked.

  “I think I’d leave the Amish alone,” Mr. Brunson said, his eyes following Mary’s buggy out to the main road. “It looked to me like there was at least one here tonight who left a bit upset.”

  “Oh,” the evangelist said, following Mr. Brunson’s gaze to Mary’s retreating buggy. “That’s regrettable. We’re not here to upset people. We’re here to help straighten people’s lives out, but sometimes it tends to get a little messy before all is said and done.”

  Mr. Brunson was silent, his eyes on the now-empty road and staring off into the distance.

  “Do you know the Amish lady?” The evangelist turned toward where Mary’s buggy had last been seen.

  Mr. Brunson nodded. “I buy eggs from her, and I thought it strange that she was here tonight.”

  “Perhaps she’s looking out for the good of her soul.” Mr. Brunson swallowed hard. “These are pretty solid Christian people from what I’ve seen, and I’ve lived among them for over ten years.”

  “I suppose some of them are,” the evangelist said. “But we all have issues in our lives that need to be straightened out from time to time.”

  When Mr. Brunson didn’t reply, the evangelist said, “Again, I thank you for coming. I must greet some of the others as well.” And with that, the man was gone.

  Now what was he supposed to do? Mary Keim had left, and he had not been able to speak with her. Tonight had turned out to be possibly the only grounds for him to have the kind of conversation he desired with the lady. Now that had been squandered because he’d been ashamed to run across an open field in front of a crowd of people he didn’t even know. Mr. Brunson took a deep breath. No, it wasn’t just that. He had been afraid of making things worse for Mary. Wasn’t that the truth? It was and so he had nothing to be ashamed of. Mary would likely have enough to answer for when Bishop John inquired after her attendance tonight. How much harder it would be with a story circulating that she had been speaking with an Englisha man while here.

  Slowly Mr. Brunson walked back to his pickup truck. He got in, started the motor, and drove up the blacktop road past Steve and Betty’s place. Gas lights burned in the downstairs windows, but the yard was dark and empty. No doubt the family was gathered in the living room, enjoying each other’s company, catching up on the day’s events. All of which was something he would never get to experience again.

  Bernice had been that kind of woman, even though their lives had been much busier than the Amish lived. She had found time to make supper at least one night a week. On Saturdays they had the day to themselves, traveling on short trips into the surrounding countryside of Boston or taking a jaunt on a rented pontoon boat if the waves weren’t too rough. Now Bernice was gone, and God had seen fit to stir love in his heart again. Was it all to be in vain? Was that how God worked?

  Slowing down for the graveled lane back into the mountains, Mr. Brunson suddenly pulled his foot off the brake pedal and hit the gas pedal instead. Determination flashed over his face. Tonight was the night to walk through the door that had been opened or it might never be opened again. Mary might slam her front door when he knocked, but he would always know that he had tried, that he had taken every opportunity offered him. Wasn’t it amazing that Mary had attended the meeting tonight? Yes, it surely was, and love needed to be pursued, no matter how it might appear to anyone else.

  Minutes later, as he approached Mary’s house, he wavered…but only briefly. Would he face rejection in moments? Could he bear it?

  Yes, it had to be tonight. He had to know. He pulled slowly into her driveway and parked to the side of the house. He stepped outside quietly and closed the truck door with a soft whoosh. Still, the sound was way too loud for the stillness of the farm. No noises of running motors came from anywhere—no hum of electric lines—only the soft grunts of the animals in the barnyard and the rustle of the wind in the grass.

  The porch floor squeaked under his foot as he approached the front door, and the swing moved gently in the night air, groaning as if in pain. Would Mary even answer if she had a chance to see who had arrived?

  He knocked and waited for long moments. He knocked again. Soft footsteps sounded, and the door cracked open.

  “Oh, Mr. Brunson!” Mary said, not opening the door any further.

  “Yes,” Mr. Brunson said. “I hope I haven’t startled you.”

  “A little,” Mary said. “But in a gut way. I hadn’t quite dared hope that you would follow.”

  “Follow?” Mr. Brunson said.

  “Oh,” Mary said, her eyes darkened in the shadow of the door. “I didn’t mean to imply anything, Mr. Brunson. I wasn’t being inappropriate.”

  “Mrs. Keim, I’m curious. Why did you attend the tent meeting tonight, if I may ask?”

  Mary hesitated. “It’s not appropriate to say, so I would rather not tell.”

  “But aren’t your people forbidden to attend the meetings?”

  “Jah, but I went anyway because my heart wanted to go. Perhaps I was too forward in obeying my heart.”

  Mr. Brunson took a deep breath, “I must say, Mary, that I don’t talk your talk very well, so none of this is making much sense. But I really would like to know why you attended the meeting tonight. Could it possibly have anything to do with me?”

  Mary was silent. An owl hooted softly in the trees. Finally Mary spoke. “It has everything to do with you. And even now I’m sure Bishop John will have much to say about it.”

  “You went because of me?”

  “Jah. I asked Da Hah for a sign that my heart was not leading me astray, and He gave me one. You were there tonight. That is why I am speaking to you now instead of asking you to leave.”

  “So is it possible you know that I went to speak with Bishop John about asking for your hand in marriage?”

  “Jah. Didn’t you know that I knew?”

  Mr. Brunson laid his hand on the side of the house, leaning against it. “How would I know that you knew, Mary? I spoke to the Bishop in private.”

  “Oh, he didn’t tell me,” Mary said quickly. “So please don’t be angry with Bishop John. In fact I don’t know how the person who told me got the information, but our people have few secrets. You must understand that.”

  “I see. Would it be all right if I came inside to talk about this? I think I need to sit down.”

  Mary laughed, the soft sound tinkling in the darkness. “Of course, Mr. Brunson. I don’t have much to offer, and the chickens haven’t laid any eggs yet tonight.” She opened the door wider and he entered. She shut the door and led him into the dining room.

  Mr. Brunson searched her face in the light of the kerosene lamp. “So you knew why I stopped by to buy eggs so often?”

  “One man can never eat so many eggs, Mr. Brunson. Not even if he eats them in cakes, pies, and for breakfast.”

  “But I did,” Mr. Brunson said, sitting down on the chair she offered him. “Not one of them was wasted.”

  “Did your dog enjoy scrambled eggs?”

  Mr. Brunson laughed. “No, I ate them myself. I’m not that kind of man.”

  “I know you’re not,” Mary said, gently touching his shoulder. “I especially knew when you went to the Bishop and asked his permission to join the church. Were you really serious about that?”
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br />   “Yes, I was, and I still am.”

  “But you wouldn’t go out to Indiana and follow the Bishop’s advice?”

  “No, there are limits to what a man can do, and that was one of them. And there was no guarantee that you would still be available when I returned. I’m also getting old. I know that I love you, Mary. So what am I supposed to do about that?”

  “I think you are doing quite well about that,” Mary quipped. “That’s why I decided to do my part. Isn’t that what a wife—even a future wife—is supposed to do? Help pull her share of the load?”

  Mr. Brunson let out a breath in astonishment. “Mrs. Keim, I hardly know what to say. I certainly wasn’t expecting any help from you. It’s not your place at all.”

  Mary laughed. “You sure do speak like a man—always wanting to be in charge and doing all the work. Well, the Lord didn’t quite leave things like that, now did He? He made the woman for a helpmeet, and that’s what I always tried to be to Bert while he was alive.”

  “So you took it upon yourself to attend the meeting. But I still don’t understand.”

  “‘It will be a sign,’ I told myself. ‘If I attend the meeting on the first night, and you also do, then perhaps it’s possible between us.’”

  “You would base so much on so little?”

  “It’s not little to me, Mr. Brunson. I know we are a simple people, but when we talk to the Lord it is a big matter to us.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But would you leave the Amish then?”

  “Not to be Englisha,” Mary answered. “But would you consider joining the Mennonites? You were offering to join the Amish, and this should be much easier.”

  “But what about you and leaving the Amish faith?”

  “I’m not that young anymore, Mr. Brunson. My children are mostly raised, except the youngest, Henry. He’s dating Betty’s girl. He will be fine.”

  “Mrs. Keim…Mary…I can’t tell you…” Tears formed in the man’s eyes. “If I seem startled it’s because of the suddenness of it all. I never expected this of you. And to think I almost didn’t go to the tent meeting tonight!”