“ ‘Wherefore lay apart all filthiness and superfluity of naughtiness, and receive with meekness the engrafted word, which is able to save your souls. But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.’ ” He read the text from the epistle of James, chapter one. The doctor’s son went on to say it was “high time for men and women to stand up and be counted for the Lord. We are called to do His work.
But in order to make our bodies a living sacrifice to this high calling—to be used of Him in the harvest fields of souls—we must first present ourselves to the Most High God. Do not wait until it is too late to ‘Give of your best to the Master. Give of the strength of your youth.’ ” Mary Ruth intently listened to words and phrases from sections of the Bible she was completely unfamiliar with, and she hungered for more.
The engrafted word, which is able to save your souls . . .
The young preacher continued. “We—all of us— are lost, and we’re inclined toward sin and the self ruin that follows. From our birth onward, we yearn to be set free. We long for someone to take away our burden of sin and sadness. Our sin-sick souls crave to be reborn, renewed.”
She felt a strange tugging in her heart, something ever so new. She had been taught there was no assurance of salvation in this life. A person had to die first and then only on the Judgment Day could the words— “Well done, thou good and faithful servant,” or “Depart from me, ye workers of iniquity”—ever be spoken.
But evidently the Bible stated your soul could be saved here and now, while you were still alive and breathing; the verses just read confirmed this clearly.
She had thought of asking someone about the Scriptures that had been read in High German at Elias’s funeral. Now that she was here, inside a church building, of all things—her first time ever—she wished there was someone to help her understand.
“O Lord,” the young speaker began to pray, “look into our shattered hearts this night. Heal our brokenness and soothe our sorrow. Let us understand fully the price you paid for our salvation, for each of us assembled here. You have redeemed us for yourself with your precious blood spilled on Calvary’s tree, and we are forever grateful. In Jesus’ blessed name. Amen.”
Those gathered in this most reverent place began to sing softly a hymn Mary Ruth had never heard before, yet the words tugged at her heart. “Fightings and fears within, without . . . O Lamb of God, I come, I come.” The heartfelt song so perfectly described this night and clinched her longing for the Lord Jesus.
All the way home, Mary Ruth chattered to Hannah, who wasn’t at all interested in discussing “forbidden Scriptures,” as her twin put it. “But didn’t the preacher’s words stir up something in you, sister . . . didn’t they?”
“The young man speaking tonight killed Ezra’s brother” was Hannah’s harsh response. “That’s all I could think of, though it’s not my place to judge. I’m surprised it’s me thinkin’ this and not you!”
Mary Ruth was suddenly outraged, though she’d felt the selfsame way as Hannah at Elias’s funeral just days before. “I happen to believe Elias died as a result of an accident, pure and simple. An accident. Why do you question the sovereignty of God?”
Hannah shook her head, glaring at her. “The young preacher-man slaughtered your beau with his automobile, that’s what. Such modern things are of the world and are therefore a sin. That’s how I see it. So should you.”
Mary Ruth felt as if she might burst out crying again, reliving the shocking news of that horrid night, but she wouldn’t give in to the grief she had endured.
Besides, Hannah had redirected her thoughts with her comments. Truly, Elias’s death was a woeful thing and the reason she would wear her long black cape dress and apron for as long as they felt right to her. Yet tonight she had stumbled onto something amazing: the renewal of life and the spirit. Hers. This renewal was something altogether foreign to her, yet she yearned for it like someone dying of thirst yearns for water.
“You saw him, Hannah. . . . Did Robert Schwartz look like a man who would intentionally run his automobile into a pony cart? Did he sound like it as he read the Word of God?”
“Ach, you talk nonsense,” Hannah said. “What’s got into you?”
She ignored her sister’s barbed remark. “Best keep your thoughts to yourself, ’cause I have no intention of staying home tomorrow night. If the meetings continue on, I’m gonna be there.”
“Best count me out. I made my vow to God and the Amish church. Ain’t no room for Mennonite gatherings in my future.”
“I’ll go with or without you, then,” Mary Ruth said, surprised at Hannah’s outburst; wasn’t like her twin to give voice to such frustration and so strongly, too. She, on the other hand, had been venting her thoughts far too often. “If I have to get the Nolts to drive me in their car, I’m goin’ back. I’m empty in my soul, Hannah, ya hear? The Amish church can’t even tell me Elias is in heaven. I want to know God the way the doctor’s son described Him. I may not always have known it, but I’ve been lookin’ for this my whole life.”
That hushed Hannah up quicklike, for which Mary Ruth was ever so glad; she’d had about all she could take. The hour was awful late, and she felt nearly too limp to attend to the reins. Yet such a hankering she had to know and hear more of God’s Word.
I will return tomorrow night, she promised herself. No matter.
Chapter Thirteen
Mary Ruth stood in the shadow of the springhouse, waiting for Dat to head to the barn. She knew he was indoors talking up a storm to Mamma, probably saying how the twins had come dragging in mighty late last night. Maybe, too, he was letting off steam about the many Gobbler’s Knob young folk “out lookin’ for the Lord God in all the wrong places.”
She wouldn’t put it past her father to say something like that. Then Mamma might speak up and say how she felt, or simply nod her head and remain quiet this time.
It certainly didn’t matter to Mary Ruth whether or not Mamma voiced her opinion. Truth was, she felt strongly enough about what she’d heard at the church in Quarryville to convince her entirely. Scarcely could she wait to speak to Dat, who was just now hurrying out the back door and making a beeline for the barn.
She waited a bit, then took out after him, willing her feet to walk not run. Slow down, Mary Ruth . . . take your time.
Once inside the barn, she sought out her father, noting his disheveled appearance—hair mussed and oily from a week of hard work. He pushed his tattered black work hat onto his head, securing it with dirty and callused hands.
She called to him and, getting his attention, hurried in his direction. “I best be talkin’ with you, Dat.”
Quickly she began to share those things she’d heard from the Mennonite pulpit and had been pondering overnight.
As soon as her comments focused on the assurance of salvation, a change came over her father’s countenance—a hardening in his eyes, a frown on his face.
“I have no time for such talk!” he replied.
She fought hard the urge to holler out her aggravation in the stillness of the barn. “Don’t you see, there are Scriptures to help us get to heaven? We can know we’re goin’ there! We’ve been kept in the dark all these years.”
Dat was just as adamant. “It smacks of pride for a person to say they’ve received salvation. You know the story of creation by heart, Mary Ruth. The all-powerful, all-knowing God fashioned all things, both on the earth and in the heavens. Then the evil one, Satan, was cast out of heaven for the ultimate sin of pride, and tempted Eve into thinking she could be ‘better than God,’ which is exactly what you’re sayin’ when you claim salvation.”
Here Dat paused a moment, then went on. “Must I take you to the bishop himself to discuss these things you know already?”
She decided then and there, Bishop Bontrager ought to be told the truth of the Holy Scriptures. After all, he was the chief authority and responsible under God for the Gobbler’s Knob church district. “That’s a wonde
rful-gut idea,” she shot back. “We could open the Bible to the selfsame verses preached on last night.”
Dat’s eyebrows came together in a dark ripple. “Then you knew all along where you were headed—to the Mennonites.” He shook his head in disgust. “You cause strife in our midst, daughter.”
She felt the hot stain of embarrassment on her cheeks, yet she would not submit; she had absolutely nothing to lose. She must fight for what she believed the Lord God had allowed her to hear and witness in a strange church, because in the span of a single night, her world had been altered more than she could say.
As much as she respected her Amish upbringing, and as much as she missed her dear Elias, Mary Ruth now realized she must follow her heart to higher education, that one thing the Lord had implanted deep within her.
“Dat, I don’t mean to cause trouble. I’ve waited a full year—and more. Why should I wait any longer to go to high school? I’m old enough to do as I please; anybody knows that.”
“We had this all worked out, Mary Ruth. You agreed to stay home with your mamma and help . . . till you married, whenever that time came.” Dat’s voice sounded nearly breathless.
“But all that’s changed . . . don’t you see? Everything’s different now.”
“Just ’cause Elias died?”
“Since my beau was . . . taken from me.” Mary Ruth was angry and sorrowful all mixed up together.
“Nobody knows this, but Elias and I were goin’ to be wed . . . one day.”
“I’m awful sorry ’bout his death, daughter. Truly, I am.”
“Oh, Dat!” she sobbed. “If you mean it, then won’tcha give me your blessing to get my education?
This is the only thing I really want now in life.”
A long silence ensued. Sadly she knew pursuing the dream would eventually lead her away from her parents’ church. Unknowingly she had been searching for something deeper her whole life . . . for true wisdom.
Losing Elias had uncovered the emptiness in her spirit, and the obvious lack on the part of Bishop Bontrager and the brethren to fill it.
When Dat did not respond to her fervent plea, she spoke again. This time with an even more fiery edge to her words. “Blessing or not, I’m goin’ to get my high school diploma . . . as soon as I can get myself enrolled.
Even if I have to do it by correspondence or whatnot, I must follow God’s bidding.”
“How on earth can ya know such a thing?” Dat asked.
“Can’t explain it, really. All I know is the Almighty put it there . . . my desire to teach young children.” She paused, contemplating what she must say next. “And I want to read and study the Bible.”
“Study, ya say?”
“Jah, and no wonder the Quarryville church has room only to stand at the back. The place is packed, and you and Mamma . . . you should go and see for yourself. Hear the words of the Lord God preached in such a way as you’ve never known.”
She knew her father faithfully read Scripture, but he did not pause and ponder any of it or ask questions of anyone about what he read. Usually he did so silently in High German, seven chapters at a time, and, when asked, he would read in Pennsylvania Dutch to the family. But at no time would he have admitted to formally studying the verses. That was thought to be haughty and high-minded . . . and far from the ways of the People.
No wonder Mamma had been opposed to the library books once hidden beneath Mary Ruth’s bed. Was she worried Dat might discover Mary Ruth also desired to study the Holy Bible, perhaps in English? Begin poring over it the way she did every other book?
“Mamma reads the Bible for herself, even says some of the verses over and over again. I know she does.” Mary Ruth said it too quickly, and she worried she may have mistakenly pulled her mother into the center of the storm.
“Ain’t your concern a’tall.” Dat turned away, removing his black hat and raising it ever so high off his head, as if preparing to shoo a fly, but there was no fly in sight. Downright mad he was, and she knew it.
Then, nearly as swiftly as he’d lost his temper, he somehow managed to regain it and pushed the hat back square on his mashed-down hair. He turned to face her.
“I’m tellin’ you this here minute, if you are so schtarrkeppich as to insist on your way—to ignore my rightful authority as your father—I’ll have no choice but to go to the brethren about this matter.”
“What can they do?” she retorted. “I’m not baptized.” “No . . . but Hannah is, and the two of you are bound by unbroken cords of blood and spirit.” He was surely grasping at straws.
She felt put upon, as if she’d done something terribly wrong against her twin. Bound by unbroken cords . . . well, for pity’s sake. Baptism was up to the individual, not a mandate of the People.
Dat shrugged, then walked away.
She could see it was no use trying to continue the heated debate; Dat’s mind was made up. Now she would have to follow his wishes or suffer the consequences—rumschpringe or not.
Still, she could not squelch the hankering to know more. She despised the feeling of having been kept from things that truly mattered—essential truths found in the Holy Bible. After all, there must be some important reason why folk called it the Good Book. Mary Ruth didn’t rightly know how she would get to Quarryville again, but one way or another she was going tonight. If she had to run down the road to the Nolts’ place, she would.
Leah was out searching and calling for a wayward cow, up in the high meadow and clear back toward the woods on the north side. She couldn’t help but think as she wandered the field that the cow was truly the smart one. The day was awful pretty, what with the skies as blue as one of her for-good dresses, and not a single cloud. Such late autumn days wouldn’t stay nice like this much longer. It was highly unusual for the twenty-seventh of November to be this mild.
We’re having us a fine Indian summer, she thought, tramping through the tall grass, wearing shoes for the first time that autumn on feet swollen from months of going barefoot.
At long last Leah located Rosie under a stand of trees, the boughs void of leaves now but still sturdy enough to provide a bit of shade. Munching away and minding her own business, the cow appeared to be content this far from the bank barn. “I’d say you went explorin’ today, didn’tcha?” Leah slapped Rosie’s hindquarters playfully. “Let’s go on home now.”
On the walk back, Leah spoke coaxingly to King and Blackie, who ran together more often now that the pup, Sassy, had come to live with them. Three’s an odd partnership, Mamma liked to say. Leah was seeing it firsthand, for the younger pup preferred to stay close to home, begging for handouts at the back door. It was easy to see Mamma was spoiling that one.
“When will the first snow fly?” She reached down, petting King and Blackie both as they went. Then she had to direct the cow away from the temptation of going belly deep in a clear creek nearby. “Can you sniff the air and forecast a change in weather like Aunt Lizzie does?”
She had to smile. Her blood mother, bless her heart, was the sweetest, dearest Aendi she had, and there were plenty on both sides of the family. Leah was looking forward to seeing more of Mamma and Lizzie’s sisters again over in Hickory Hollow come next Saturday. It had been a good long time since Dat had actually consented to take the family to the old Brenneman homestead, where Dawdi John and Mammi—gone to heaven—had lived and raised their brood of children.
This visit they planned to see Aunt Becky and Uncle Noah Brenneman, the man Dat had often tried to avoid at all costs, before the truth of Lizzie’s past had finally come to Leah’s ears.
“Nearly time for milkin’,” Leah said, nearing the corral and following Rosie into the barn. She was eager for winter weather, because once the windmill started clanging its tinny song and strong gusts of cold air swept up from the distant hills, piling snow up high against the north side of the barn, Dat wouldn’t need her so much outdoors. No, Dat was awful kind that way, and he was beginning to be even more considerate these days,
now that he suspected Leah was seriously seeing Gid.
Funny how that is, she thought, preparing the cows for milking. When Dat’s happy, everybody else is bound to be, too.
She wondered how things would go when the smithy’s son asked Dat for her hand. That day couldn’t be too far off, and she felt almost breathless with excitement. She looked forward to long winter days of quilting, when she would once again be included in the community of women folk, something she enjoyed more than ever.
Is it because I am soon to become a wife? She didn’t quite know why her attitude toward work frolics was changing. Scarcely could she wait to see what pattern and colors would be used in sewing the next quilt. This one, she knew, was meant to be given to Deacon Stoltzfus’s wife for her birthday, come Christmas. Everyone knew the reason behind the gesture was to bring a bit of cheer to the grieving woman. She had looked awful peaked last Sunday at Preaching service, Leah recalled, her heart going out not only to Elias’s mother but to the whole family.
When Dat came shuffling into the barn, she greeted him. “Just in time for milkin’,” she said. But he surprised her by heading right back outside without saying a word.
Something’s awful wrong, she thought, hoping it wasn’t more bickering with Mary Ruth. Still, she couldn’t help wondering, because just before she’d gone looking for missing Rosie, Hannah had dashed through the barnyard, running hard down the lane after Mary Ruth, hollering, “Come back, sister. Won’tcha please come back?”
She pressed the cow’s teat, milking by hand as she always did, and was nearly startled at the strength of the first spritz of creamy milk. “Good girl, Rosie,” she said softly. “Glad someone’s content round here.”
Robert Schwartz held the obituary in his hands—a paper memorial. He had cut out the small square of newsprint last Wednesday, tucking it in his personal possessions to take back to college. Something tangible to forever remind him . . .
The Sacrifice Page 10