Their collective sigh wafted like a breeze around them, welcome relief from the heat of a day that had troubled them and made them cry out, like the Psalmist, when it seemed the very basis of their lives—their daily bread—was about to be taken from them. But that hadn’t happened yet, had it?
“Your Jesse knew how to pick them,” Naomi remarked quietly.
“Jah. And I’m hopin’ he’ll stand by me when Hiram takes me to the bank. Can’t think Tom or Reuben talked him outta that.”
“Well, at least we can keep doin’ what we do best ... thinkin’ of ways to work outta your kitchen if it comes to that.” Naomi ventured. “We do have a good followin’ built up, with lots of standin’ orders and folks who ask us to do their receptions and whatnot.”
“Could be, too, that since property’s not sellin’ so fast nowadays, the bad economy’ll be in our favor,” Micah remarked. “A lot of our carpentry jobs now are for folks who’re fixin’ up what they have or addin’ on, rather than buildin’ new homes and offices.”
They sat in the deepening dusk, with only the creak of the swing punctuating the silence while they watched the flame flicker in Rachel’s lamp ... maybe deciding whether to voice more doubts or to keep their complaints about this situation to themselves while the Bible reading still held sway over them.
“Any idea how Hiram’s horse business is doin’?” Miriam asked quietly. “Haven’t been to an auction in years.”
Micah seemed to follow her train of thought: his lips lifted at one corner. “Read in The Budget not long ago that he’s now considered the top draft horse breeder in Missouri, Iowa, and Illinois. His stallions go for a hefty price, and Plain folk as well as English come from miles around to bid on them.”
Naomi took Miriam’s hand with a sigh. “Are ya thinkin’ he’ll hand over the cash when he takes ya to the bank, then? Just sign the new papers, and it’s over and done with?”
“I don’t know what to think. I guess we’ll find out when God says it’s time,” she replied. “And meanwhile, like ya said this mornin’, Naomi, the Lord still helps those who help themselves, ain’t so?”
They nodded somberly.
“We’re followin’ the order of things, kneelin’ before the People this Sunday to confess so’s we can start with a clean slate,” Miriam went on. “From there, we—”
“And just what have ya done, Miriam? Taken back a daughter ya thought was dead? Kept your other two fed—and employed?” Naomi demanded. “What do ya have to bring before anybody for doin’ what any mother would’ve done?”
“Our way calls for obedience and submission ... patience to wait on God’s will for our lives, like the Psalm said,” Miriam replied quietly. “We promise to put Christ and His church ahead of the world, includin’ our own flesh and blood. So insteada turnin’ this matter over to Hiram Knepp, I’m gonna entrust it all—my lost-lamb daughter and my bakin’ business—to the Lord. The bishop answers to Him, too, ya know.”
She smiled as an inner peace settled within her, recalling how often this simple, Plain plan had gotten her through the toughest times in her life. “Now—who’s gonna join me while I help myself to those stuffed peppers Rachel warmed?”
“Been quite a day,” Rachel murmured. “Just when we were havin’ such a gut talk with Tiffany—hearin’ her call our mother ‘Mamma’—the walls came crashin’ down.”
Micah slipped his arm around her. It was a fine night for a moonlight ride, but even though they’d left the yard—and prying eyes—far behind to sit in the buggy, in their favorite spot, he seemed in no mood for kissing or cuddling. “Jah, I was surprised to see Tiffany. Knew somethin’ had changed, when she came to visit again,” he said with a sigh. “Poor timin’, far as the bishop’s decision about sellin’ the buildin’. Mamm’s fit to be tied and Dat’s none too happy, either. While we all know your mamma’s right about submittin’ to God’s will and obeyin’ it, it’s a lot easier said than done.”
For several moments, the cicadas and crickets sang around them, but for Rachel, the summer serenade lacked its usual note of peace and contentment. Nothing seemed to match up right after Hiram Knepp had stepped in and decided their future: she wasn’t so sure God had been given much of a say here. “So ... what’ll ya do if the bishop puts the ban on ya?”
Micah tensed beside her. “Oh, I’m havin’ my thoughts about that, for sure,” he muttered. “Jah, I went to Tiffany’s, knowin’ the consequences, but Hiram’s seein’ a lot more sin than was there. Not like I even kissed her, or touched her—or so much as thought about her that way. Told her I was givin’ all of that to you, Rachel. You believe that, don’t ya?”
She smiled sadly in the seclusion of their favorite little grove. “Jah, I do now. If it weren’t for you goin’ there, she wouldn’t’ve come back, most likely. Still wearin’ the dark eye-paint and dyed hair, but ... well, she’s not so stiff and standoffish now.”
Micah sighed, fingering the long string of her kapp. “And what if I said I was leavin’ this church? Goin’ in with the Mennonites down the road, where our plumbers and electricians live?”
Rachel sat bolt upright, staring at him. He’d talked about branching off into his own shop, but never too seriously, on account of how it might split up his family. “Ya can’t mean it, Micah!”
“I’d have to start up on my own—unless Seth and Aaron wanna come work for me there,” he mused aloud. “Wouldn’t wanna leave Mamm and Dat here in Willow Ridge, though—especially considerin’ how sellin’ your mamma’s buildin’ means such a cut in her income. Or, truth be told ... the parents might go, too, if they see I’m leavin’.”
Micah watched her reactions closely. “Hiram’s never been high on Dat’s list, but this decree today made him really itchy. He’s not wild about Mamm confessin’ on Sunday, either—confessin’ to nothin’, to keep the peace with the bishop, he says. I’m thinkin’ that’s why his pain’s so bad tonight.”
Rachel swiveled her head, forcing herself to breathe. She could not face one more life-changing decision today! Especially one that might put the brakes on her upcoming wedding. If she married a man who’d left the Old Order, even to follow a different branch of Anabaptist Christianity, she, too, would be cast out of the fold. Shunned and avoided by her own family—in public, anyway. So she thought of something else to talk about. “Kinda calls a halt to your apartment in the smithy, too, ain’t so?” she offered in a faltering voice.
“Not keen on buildin’ it all sleek and perty—and then havin’ the bishop forbid your mamm to live there.” Micah sighed and forced a smile. “But we’re puttin’ the cart before the horse, assumin’ the worst. That’s not usually my way. Sorry I’m so glum, honey-girl.”
As this situation sank in, Rachel’s hands went clammy. She shivered despite the July heat and the warmth of Micah’s sturdy body against hers. He was speaking more slowly than usual, which meant he was building up to a point that might upset her even more than his talk of leaving the church.
“Would ya come with me, Rache? Would ya still be my bride if I jumped the fence?”
There was a question she’d never thought to face! From childhood they’d been taught that obedience to God and the church came before love of family ... yet the man she’d always loved was asking her to choose. “Not wild about leavin’ my mamma here, either, ya know,” she whimpered.
What would she do? All her life she’d pictured herself living in Willow Ridge, and now she dreamed of raising Micah’s family and relying on Mamma for advice and support while she and Rhoda worked with their mother at the Sweet Seasons. Maybe they’d even see Mamma remarry someday. “I ... that’s not an easy question, Micah.”
“And not a fair one, expectin’ a decision point-blank like that.” He buried his face in his hands and sighed tiredly. “I’m sorry, Rache. Didn’t mean to upset ya.”
“Most of what we heard today wasn’t fair,” Rachel echoed. She rested her head on his shoulder, wondering bleakly how she’d decide whether to st
ay or to renounce her vows. If she left Willow Ridge with Micah, it meant being shut off from regular contact with her mother and Rhoda—unless they, too, did the inconceivable and decided to leave the Old Order.
“Jah, well, let’s handle one thing at a time, shall we?” He kissed her temple and sat absolutely still beside her as he inhaled the night air and released it. “I thought it was so gut when you girls invited Tiffany to your party,” Micah remarked quietly. “And I was proud to see ya treatin’ her like a sister, too, Rache. Hope today’s talk didn’t scare her away from gettin’ to know all of ya.”
“Can ya imagine havin’ birthday parties all your life ... and findin’ out they’ve been on the wrong day?” she mused in a faraway voice. Then she chuckled. “Hard to think of somebody who looks so steely and tough bein’ afraid of Plain folks like us, ain’t so?”
“Told ya she was hidin’ behind that getup,” Micah murmured. “She’s not half so strong as you, Rache.”
Pleased at his remark, Rachel recalled their morning conversation around the table at the café. What she wouldn’t do to turn back the day’s clock, to before their scene with the brethren. “Tiffany thinks the bishop’s gonna buy the buildin’. As a way to pull Mamma’s strings.”
For the first time all evening, Micah chuckled. “Somethin’ tells me your mamma’s gonna get around that, honey. She didn’t build up the bakin’ business she has by bein’ flaky.”
“Like her pie crust?” Rachel giggled and snuggled closer to him. “I’m thinkin’ Hiram doesn’t really wanna close down a gut place to eat his breakfast—and Mamma’s pies. I just don’t like all this nasty back-and-forth between them. Especially knowin’ he’ll always have the upper hand.”
“That’s the sum total of it, right there. For all of us.” Micah scooted lower in the buggy seat, resting his head against hers. “Your mamma’s got the right idea, though, gettin’ back to total trust in how God’s gonna handle all this. Did ya see how much calmer she looked when she went inside to eat?”
“Jah. She’s stronger than we know.”
Micah kissed her softly on the cheek. “She passed some of that on to you, too, honey-girl. I ... I feel a lot better about all this now, just talkin’ things out, nice and quiet-like.”
Closing her eyes, Rachel willed her whirling thoughts and earlier objections to settle with the peace of this summer evening. If this man loved her and believed in her, what else mattered, really? “So ... if the bishop calls for a ban after your confession on Sunday, what’ll ya do, Micah?” she asked quietly.
He exhaled and paused for a long moment. “We’ll know the answer to that when God reveals it, ain’t so?”
Chapter 20
Even though they scheduled the summer services in homes with basements to provide some relief from the heat, Rachel squirmed: the pews were tightly packed with the members of Willow Ridge’s twenty-six families. She had the feeling Preacher Glick felt inspired to talk longer than usual on this day when three confessions would be heard during the members’ meeting that followed the service.
“Let’s not forget the Bible’s warnin’ against keepin’ company with those who would stray from the path of the righteous,” he droned. “Even as God placed Adam and Eve, the first man and woman, in a garden paradise, the Devil slithered in to whisper temptation! Eve fell prey to that silvery tongue, and by her original sin we’re all condemned to repeat her mistake.”
From across the crowd, Rachel met Micah’s gaze: his green eyes lacked their usual shine. He always sat on the end of a pew, where he could maneuver his dat’s wheelchair—and Ezra Brenneman looked more peevish than usual as this service wore on. Micah’s lips tightened in a straight-line smile that told of his resignation to accept whatever punishment the bishop delivered. Most Sundays they played a silent game of peekaboo or sent discreet air-kisses from their opposite sides of the room, but not today.
“And in the same way, the people of Israel railed against God while Moses led them out of bondage in Egypt, toward the Promised Land!” Preacher Gabe continued in a higher pitch. “Manna from heaven He sent them, providing for their every need! Yet they disobeyed like naughty children, clamoring for their own way and making idols!”
Beside her, Rhoda shifted. They shared a silent glance: How much longer?
Rachel shrugged wearily. If Preacher Gabe was only in Exodus now, it could take him another half hour to recount the Bible’s examples of God’s children falling short. Again she glanced at Mamma and Naomi, who sat among women older than she and her sister. From behind, their mother appeared as relaxed and still as she always did, while her best friend’s shoulders slumped forlornly.
How would this day turn out, after Mamma, Micah, and Naomi made their confessions? What if Bishop Knepp insisted on even harsher punishment than making Mamma sell the Sweet Seasons building? Would Micah bring more discipline on himself by sounding resentful and angry as he spoke before the People? Or would he declare he was jumping the fence and taking her with him? If he didn’t seem truly repentant, the members might vote that he deserved to be shunned.
But thinking such bothersome thoughts would only make her squirm more. Rachel studied the weave of her plum-colored dress fabric, telling herself not to close her eyes even for a moment, or the heat and Gabe’s tedious sermon would make her doze ...
When the sermon was over they fell to their knees for the final prayer. Then came the benediction and the final hymn chanted from the Ausbund. While the age-old order of their worship had taught Rachel a sense of patience, on this Sunday, when those she loved most would confess and then await the members’ verdict, her heart beat in double-time to the unaccompanied hymn. A short silence reverberated in the airless room.
“Members, please be seated. We will tend to the business of the People and hear confessions from three among us who have professed a need for repentance.” Bishop Knepp stood with his hands clasped while those who had not yet joined the church left the room with the small children in tow. Mamma and Naomi moved to sit on the pew at the front of the women’s side while Micah shifted forward, as well.
As silence fell, the bishop’s gaze swept the congregation. “Word has spread amongst us concerning the reappearance of Miriam Lantz’s daughter, who, as a toddler, was washed away in the flood of ’93. Three of our members wish to confess behavior contrary to the Ordnung and thus unpleasing in the sight of God,” he began in a solemn voice. “As this situation developed, I saw the flaw in my own earlier decision: by allowing Miriam to build her café and partner with Jesse’s Mennonite cousins, I enabled her to connect too closely to the outside world. Upon meeting her English-raised daughter, the other elders and I saw that immediate correction was necessary. I insisted that Miriam sell her building, and this provoked reactions from Micah and Naomi Brenneman, and Miriam herself, that we shall consider here today.”
Those in the room exchanged glances. How would they cast their votes, when it came time to agree upon punishment? The story of Tiffany’s outlandish behavior and looks had spread like wildfire in Willow Ridge, and while few had actually seen her sister that day, even fewer knew how difficult Rebecca’s emotional situation was. Rachel forced herself to inhale deeply. She felt Rhoda do the same.
“Naomi Brenneman,” Hiram went on in a stern voice, “when I spoke of selling Miriam’s building last week, you became distraught about how this would affect your family’s income. You then apologized for the tone you used with me, and I believe you are sincerely concerned for Miriam’s welfare, and for the future of your sons’ carpentry business, should the People bring the ban upon your Micah.”
The bishop paused. The room got very quiet, as it always did when the subject of a shunning came up. “A sitting confession will suffice. Have you anything to say, Naomi?”
Mamma’s closest friend covered her eyes with her hand. “I appreciate your understandin’, Bishop,” she said in a halting voice, “and I’m sorry I got so high-toned the other day. I—I confess that I have failed—s
hould believe that God knows what’s best for me and that He’ll take care of my family. I want to make peace and continue in patience and faith with God and the church, so I can do better in the future.”
A sitting confession ... the most lenient type. As Rachel watched Naomi leave the basement, and then voted in turn with the others to accept her confession, she felt better. It was good to see Micah’s mamm smiling again when she was invited back inside for the verdict, knowing she was right with God and with the other members.
When the bishop called Micah’s name, however, Rachel slipped her hand into Rhoda’s. The man she loved approached the center of the room, between the men’s side and the women’s, to kneel on the floor before Hiram and the other elders. When he bowed his head, his blond hair covered his eyes like a curtain.
Please, dear Jesus, lend him Your strength and wisdom, she prayed. Help him keep his temper if the bishop says things that upset him.
“Micah, because I learned of your transgressions with Miriam’s English-raised daughter from someone other than yourself, you now kneel before us.” Hiram’s solemn voice carried to the corners of the basement. “You are confessing of your free will—the same free will God gives you, which can be as much a bane as a boon. Did you indeed ride in this Tiffany’s automobile, on a Sunday afternoon? Knowing this goes against the Ordnung?”
“Jah, I did.”
“Would you explain what led you to seek out the company of this brazen-looking young woman? To the extent that you also entered a pool hall on the Lord’s day?”
When Rachel stiffened, Rhoda gripped her hand in warning. It wouldn’t do to blurt out that Tiffany didn’t know how Micah’s troubles would snowball if he responded to her invitations.
Micah cleared his throat. “She was born Rebecca Lantz,” he replied matter-of-factly. “While it’s true Rebecca’s looks startled us all durin’ that first visit—not to mention findin’ out that she was Miriam’s long-lost daughter—I felt I should know more about her, rather than sit in judgment.”
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