A Simple Autumn: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel (24 page)

“You were rude. She needed help, and you walked away.”

Growling to himself, Gabe rubbed his forehead, pushing back the brim of his hat. In
trying to dodge Emma, he’d scorned Elsie—kind, good-natured Elsie, who always had
a smile for everyone. Guilt throbbed, a raw ache that penetrated his soul.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll speak with her.”

Gabe wanted to make things right with Elsie. He wanted to go to her now—right away—and
beg her forgiveness. But this was not the
time. The men were filing into the barn, and Jonah and Gabe followed in turn. They
hung their hats along the granary and filled in the benches on the left side of the
barn. The women and children would be coming in behind them. The service would start
soon, and then it would be hours until the end—longer than usual on account of the
baptism.

For now, all he could do was pray. Ask for Gott’s forgiveness and pray that Elsie’s
forgiveness would follow.

As the
Vorsinger
began to lead the first song, the bishop, preachers, and deacons left the barn to
meet with the baptismal applicants one last time. Gabe joined in the singing, letting
his voice drain from his body. If only the heavy burden of guilt and anger could drain
out, too. Such a tangled knot of pain from his parents’ death, love for Emma, passion
for motorbikes … and now he could add guilt to the crippling mountain of glowing embers.

It was probably a sin to come to church with such a heavy heart, but this was who
he was now, and rumspringa or not, he knew he needed to keep coming to church. Even
though he was enjoying his taste of the English world, it was good to be reminded
of the faith he shared with his family and with the community. Motorbikes and loud
music sparked excitement in his heart, but church brought him comfort. That was what
he needed.

Peace in his heart.

The smell of the haymow was sweet. Insects buzzed around the open door and over in
the women’s section, children fussed. At times like this, Gabe wondered why he was
leery of making a baptismal vow. This was where he belonged. But how could he make
such a final choice when part of him was like a bird that had already flown away from
the nest?

He wished he could talk to Emma about it. She had been the one person who would listen
when he talked, without judging or teasing him. She tried to understand and she never
told him how he should
be feeling or thinking, like a lot of folks tried to do. Especially the older members
of the congregation who seemed to think that everyone should act the same, never drawing
attention to themselves. Maybe that was okay for them, but Gabe didn’t mind rattling
a few buggies now and then.

The second hymn was slow and thick as molasses, and Gabe’s mind drifted to Emma. He
had spent the past few days coming up with reasons why he and Emma didn’t belong together.
He wanted to be logical about it. If they didn’t have enough in common, maybe Gott
didn’t intend for them to be together.

Reason number one: Emma was modest, and Gabe … not so much. He liked it when folks
noticed how well he handled the family’s herd. He knew that good Amish were modest.
Modesty was something you needed to have
Gelassenheit
in your soul. Gelassenheit in your heart, too. Gabe wanted to yield to Gott’s will—that
was the Amish way—but he couldn’t do that right now. Riding the bikes, he’d gotten
a taste of power and speed. The bikes made him feel more like a man than any Amish
custom. He needed to explore some more before he could clear the way for Gott. Baptism
and gelassenheit would have to wait.

Reason number two why he and Emma shouldn’t be together: Emma was quiet and calm,
through and through, while Gabe was only quiet on the surface. She was Halfway’s schoolteacher
and he had always thought of school as a large pen that kept children corralled during
the best hours of the day. Even in the dead of winter, Gabe would not have locked
a cow or a horse into the stables for the day. Why was it done to children everywhere?

Reason number three …

The thought faded as the young people wanting to be baptized filed into the barn.
They moved up the aisle in a line, heading toward the center section near the minister’s
bench.

Remy passed by, looking a little jittery as she smoothed her white apron. Next came
David Fisher, followed by Gabe’s cousin Abe.

Then he saw her, dressed in black, her eyes shining like a lantern in the dark.

Emma.

All the logic in the world couldn’t keep him from loving her.

Black was such a solemn color, but Emma sparkled in it, her skin milky white against
the dark fabric. A lump thickened in his throat when he recognized that it wasn’t
just the way she looked that made her so beautiful. It was Emma’s spirit shining through
that stole his heart over and over again.

A beacon in the night. How her eyes did shine!

With so much light inside, Emma would find her way. He had hoped they would find their
way together, and it crushed him to think of her moving ahead without him. She would
be a full-fledged member of the church now. A grown woman.

She would find her way, even if it meant leaving him behind.

E
mma focused on a shaft of sunlight falling on the aisle in the crowded barn. As each
candidate for baptism passed through it, she imagined that it was Gott’s light shining
down upon them. Stepping into the light herself, she pursed her lips and prayed for
Gott’s blessing.

Although the congregation was facing the ministers at the front of the room, there
was no mistaking Gabe King from behind, with his broad shoulders, hair the color of
wheat, and that casual way he tilted his head, as if he saw something no one else
noticed.

That was one of the things she loved about Gabe—his very different view of things.
His surprising comments made Emma laugh, and his slightly crooked view made him stand
out from the other young men in the district. Gabe was very much an individual, his
own man.

And at the same time, that quality was yet another reason to stay away from him.

Emma sucked in a tiny gasp of hope and nervousness and sadness when she passed by
his row. Most girls would have taken offense to
see their beau go running when she arrived, but Emma knew it was too hard for Gabe
to face her. She wanted to think they still had a chance, that someday in the future
Gabe would come to understand and accept the core values of their community. Gelassenheit
was the foundation of Amish culture. It was all about submitting to a higher authority.
Although it was rarely talked about, folks recognized it as the cornerstone of their
faith.

Today, Emma would be asked to “give under” the authority of the church.
Unnergewwe
was what they called it in Pennsylvania German. Emma knew that it was a humble person
who found fulfillment in serving the community. The qualities that she had nurtured
in herself, submission, obedience, and simplicity, these were the values of their
community. Sadly, she knew that Gabe didn’t have much use for such things right now.

Had he always been that way?

As Emma took a seat on one of the benches in the center of the barn, she wondered
if Gabe was nursing a secret wound—something deep in his heart, hidden from his family
and friends. This was the time when a fella his age was moving from boyhood to the
responsibilities of a man. Was Gabe being held back because he didn’t have a father
to show him the way, to lead by example, just as Emma did with her students? Emma
had once talked with her sister Elsie about how Gabe must have suffered, losing his
parents so tragically.

“It must have been a terrible shock,” Elsie had said that night when they’d stayed
up late talking after the lights were out. “All of a sudden, and to know that they
were murdered …” Elsie’s voice had trailed off on a wistful note. “Such a heartbreak.
At least when our mamm died, we had some warning. She was sick for a long time.”

“And to think you remember that,” Emma had said. “You were barely seven when she died.”
Emma had been nine, a little more aware of the details of her mother’s illness. Some
memories were vivid in her mind. She had been picking strawberries the day Mamm
came home from Doc Trueherz with the news that her heart wasn’t working properly.
And then there was the surgery at the hospital with its shiny floors and antiseptic
smells. Everyone in the family had traveled there and stayed in the waiting room,
for days, it seemed. Emma remembered falling asleep next to Elsie on the couch in
the waiting room, her arm around her little sister as they huddled close.

“It’s times like that—the darkest, saddest times—that’s when Gott bonds people together,”
Elsie had told her. “Mamm’s death brought us close.”

“But Gabe didn’t get close with anyone when his parents were killed,” Emma had said.
“He got real quiet … like a turtle pulling into his shell.”

Elsie had agreed. “From what I can tell, you’re the only person really close to him.
Ya, he spends time with his cousins, but you’re the person he talks with. You’re his
buddy.”

Emma wanted to be Gabe’s best friend, but she saw them moving farther and farther
away from each other. Her students looked to her for a good example—faith in action—and
she would not let them down. And now, with her baptism, she would go forth with a
humble heart to serve her family, her students, and her community.

While Gabe sneaked off to ride motorbikes. Oh, why didn’t he put those boyish things
behind him and start thinking about their future?

Emma blinked back to attention in the warm air of the barn. Preacher Dave was beginning
the
Anfang
, the opening sermon, and here she was wallowing in worry and memories. As she often
told her scholars, it was time to open her eyes and ears to knowledge … and to the
wonders of Gott’s love.

A
nnie was holding hands with her mother when Deacon Moses tipped the cup over Hannah’s
head, sending water running through her tightly bound blond hair and onto the white
organdy cape Annie had worn for her own baptism.

Little Hannah was now a grown woman, a baptized member of the church.…

Annie turned to Lovina, whose eyes held a certain peace and contentment. Mamm lifted
their joined hands to her heart and squeezed tight, and Annie smiled, sharing Mamm’s
joy.

It was a good thing to see the baby of the family taking this vow, though it did make
Annie feel old to be watching her sister come of age while she herself was like a
carriage with its wheels stuck in the mud of eternal courtship.

Lovina sniffed, then pulled her hand away to retrieve a hankie from the bib of her
apron. They were tears of joy—Annie knew that—and yet, it made her want to cry, too.

Biting her lips together to hold back the wellspring of emotion,
Annie turned to her left, where little Levi sat sandwiched between her and Rebecca.
His eyelids drooped and his head wavered from side to side on his shoulders. Rolling
her eyes, Rebecca put an arm around his shoulders and pulled the child against her,
and his eyelids drifted closed.

The sight of mother and child snuggled together warmed Annie’s heart, and she tried
to imagine herself sitting through church with a son or daughter at her side. How
she longed to hold a babe in the crook of her arm or pull a little one close to give
comfort! The yearning to be a mother had swelled inside her over the past year or
so, and she had let the feelings of affection flow to her young nephews. Her sisters
had been grateful to see their children loved and cared for. But now, with little
Mark gone, she worried that she was coddling Levi too much. Smothering him. “Dear
Annie, you need a babe of your own!” Rebecca had teased, not knowing how very true
her words had been.

Annie let her gaze pass over each of the young people kneeling in the center section
of the barn. Although it was a solemn moment, tears of joy filled Annie’s eyes at
the sight of these young people beginning their journey in the faith.

Bishop Samuel, Deacon Moses, and Mary Yoder, the deacon’s wife, stood over Dave Fisher,
whose head and face were now wet with baptismal water. The three moved on to Remy,
who knelt next to Ben.

Annie saw that Remy’s hands, pressed down against her dress, were trembling. The poor
girl was nervous. Well, that was no wonder, with Remy being new to the community and
new to the language, too. Annie wished she could place a gentle hand on Remy’s shoulder—just
a small bit of encouragement. But baptism was the time when young people had to stand
on their own two feet and pledge their faith to Gott. This was Remy’s moment to stand
alone and make her promise.

The congregation was silent as Mary Yoder untied the ribbon of Remy’s black head covering,
revealing hair as bright and shiny as a new copper penny. Remy would always stand
out among the Amish.

Laying his hands on Remy’s head, Bishop Sam spoke. “Upon your faith, which you have
confessed before Gott and these witnesses, you are baptized in the name of the Father,
the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Mary Yoder helped Remy replace the head covering,
then extended her hands to help Remy to her feet. There was a holy kiss, and then
the ministers and the deacon’s wife moved on to the next young person.

Annie dared a quick glance over to the men’s section by the granary, where the men’s
broad-brimmed hats hung. This time her heart didn’t ache at all when she spied Adam.
Gott was healing her heart.

Her gaze landed on Jonah, who was looking intently toward the front. Was he watching
the baptism, or admiring Hannah? With his dark hair and smoky dark eyes, Jonah King
was a handsome man. Seeing him around the family farm, she had noticed how his eyes
seemed to penetrate right to a person’s heart. He was a good farmer, very handy to
have around. And lately she had enjoyed talking with him. Jonah King was a very good
match for her sister.