Meek and Mild (15 page)

Clara watched the door slam behind Sadie as the child skipped out the kitchen door to play in the sunshine.

“You’re very patient with her,” Fannie said. “You didn’t have to read so many stories. I’m trying to teach her to be grateful for small blessings and not demand the universe!”

Clara chuckled. “I get to go home. You’re the one who will have to read more at bedtime.”

Fannie cut a slice of
apfelstrudel
, still warm, and slid it onto a plate to hand to Clara. “Do you remember being five?”

“Not very well.” Clara poured two cups of coffee and settled in a kitchen chair. “I remember more about visiting your family than being at home with my
daed
.”

Fannie sipped coffee. “Remember when we found the litter of seven kittens in the barn and didn’t tell anyone for five days?”

“I was eight. We were afraid your
daed
would drown most of them. Nobody needs that many barn cats. By the time he caught us, we’d named them all.”

“As soon as they were old enough to wean, he made us drag them around in a cart until we found homes for all but two.”

“I’d do it again,” Clara said. “Poor kitties.”

Fannie nibbled strudel.

“What about when we were older?” Clara said.

“What do you mean?”

“When we were twelve or thirteen. You must remember something.”

Fannie raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

Clara chose her words carefully. “There was new information in 1905 about the vote of the Pennsylvania congregation ten years before to shun the Maryland churches. Something about a misunderstanding.”

They both looked out at Sadie, who was tossing a stick for the dog Elam had brought to the Esh marriage. The dog was aged and reluctant, though.

“Obviously my parents weren’t at either meeting,” Fannie said. “We heard rumors. Some boys who came down to an auction were rude to my brothers.”

Clara vaguely remembered. For a while Rhoda had not wanted Clara to visit the Hostetlers, at least until things settled down again.

“What did your parents do?” she said.

Fannie shrugged. “What they always did. After family devotions one night, they told us what they thought we needed to know.”

“Did we ever talk about this?” Clara asked, wondering why she couldn’t remember.

Fannie shook her head. “
Mamm
took me aside and said there was no need to talk about it with you. It wouldn’t change anything. You were always welcome to come, and she hoped you would still want to.”

“But what did they say about the vote? About the shunning?”

“People voted against their conscience to please the bishop.” Fannie took an indulgent sip of coffee. “They used to talk to us often about conscience. A sense of what’s right doesn’t come from pleasing a man, even a bishop. They wanted us to please God.”

“But the bishop must have thought he was pleasing God.”

“My parents also said some things we must leave to God.” Fannie brushed crumbs off the table into her hand. “So much trouble over whether or not to have Sunday school for children—it seems ridiculous after nearly forty years.”

Clara lost interest in her coffee. Forty years or not, the matter was not settled. Andrew might think change was coming, but Clara dreaded the impending rancor.

T
he Maple Glen Meetinghouse easily could be mistaken for the one at Flag Run or even Summit Mills. They all dated to the same effort. Yonnie’s father, uncle, and grandfathers all were among the men who built four meetinghouses clustered around the border that the two groups of Amish would share. As long as they used them on alternate Sundays, no conflict rose between the two groups, despite their differences over the Protestant notion of Sunday school. Another decade passed before ministers began clearing their throats, saying what they thought, and moving to serve on the side of the border where they would be among kindred hearts. Though unchanged in outward form, the meetinghouses became symbols of opinions and convictions.

Each time Yonnie drove the milk wagon past the Maple Glen Meetinghouse—nearly every day—he felts its sting. The people who worshipped there dallied among the world. Some of the canisters of milk in his wagon came from the cows of families who thought Yonnie’s family did not understand the will of God.

Yonnie emptied his lungs and pushed the dilemma out of his mind. He was past the meetinghouse now. He needed to concentrate. Once again he mentally reviewed the movements of his day—the deliveries he made in the morning, the milk canisters he lifted into the wagon in the afternoon, the routes he took, the conversations he had, the notes he made. Another mistake could be costly.

Between the rhythm of his horse dropping hooves and the patterned sound of the creaking hitch, Yonnie heard his name from behind. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Clara Kuhn running along the side of the road waving one hand widely. Yonnie pulled on the reins. Stopped, he twisted in his seat and waited for Clara.

She was out of breath when she finally reached the wagon.

“Thank you for stopping.” Clara gulped air. “I didn’t realize how late it was. I should have been waiting for you at the meetinghouse.”

From the wagon bench, Yonnie looked down at her round face, her blond hair pulled tight away from expectant blue eyes.

“You are going back toward Niverton, aren’t you?” Clara asked.

Yonnie nodded. “If you’d like a ride, get in.”

Clara took the hand Yonnie offered and pulled herself up to the bench.

“Thank you,” she said again.

Clara would not likely speak to him further, Yonnie knew, unless he found something to talk about. They had little in common. She was pleasantly polite, as she would be with anyone, but all she wanted from Yonnie was a ride home. For a man’s companionship, she would go to Andrew.

“Have you seen the Model T?” Yonnie maintained a forward gaze.

“Andrew’s?”

Did she really consider it to belong to Andrew?

“The one he found.” That was how Yonnie preferred to think of the automobile.

“He has it running, you know.”

“I pulled him out of a ditch.”

“He told me. Thank you. But he’s been practicing driving, and he’s getting better.”

Yonnie looked at her now. “Have you seen him driving?”

She didn’t answer.

“You got in that machine with him, didn’t you?”

Clara stuck her chin out. “Yes.”

Yonnie drove for most of a mile without speaking. If Clara had been in the Model T, she was as reckless as Andrew.

“Do you think that’s wise?” Yonnie said.

“The automobile? Is it so different from having a horse and buggy? It’s a way to get from here to there.”

“You know it’s more than that.”

“Do I?”

They returned to silence for another mile.

“Andrew has a curious mind,” Clara said. “God gave him that mind.”

“Andrew is a baptized member of the church,” Yonnie countered.

“You don’t have to preach at me.”

“The Bible tells us to exhort one another,” Yonnie said. “We all made the same promises to follow the teachings.”

“And what does the Bible teach about automobiles?”

“We promised to follow the teachings of the church.”

“Shouldn’t the teachings of the church be the teachings of the Bible?”

Clara’s challenge dropped an edge between them. Yonnie clicked his tongue to urge the horse faster. The sooner Clara Kuhn was out of his wagon, the better off they would both be.

Andrew saw two forms in the approaching milk wagon. Yonnie must have picked up a passenger. As the two horses drew closer, a satisfied smile shaped itself on Andrew’s face.

Clara.

Andrew pulled his buggy to the side of the road and waved an arm at Yonnie. By the time the two rigs were side by side, Andrew had caught Clara’s eye. He expected to see a flicker in her eye that meant she was glad to see him even if she would not appear outwardly forward in the presence of Yonnie or anyone else. Instead, the light he saw was an ember of constrained fury.

“Hello, Yonnie,” Andrew said, pulling his gaze from Clara to Yonnie. He nodded toward the load in Yonnie’s wagon. “It looks like you have a good haul there, along with a pleasant passenger.”

Yonnie shrugged. “The usual, I suppose.”

“Maybe you’d like to go straight to the dairy,” Andrew said. “I can take Clara home if you like.”

Clara did not wait for Yonnie’s response. “Thank you, Andrew. That would be a great kindness.”

“Whatever you’d like.” Yonnie’s belated response was moot. Clara was already out of the wagon.

Andrew jumped down from his bench to offer assistance, but Clara barely touched the hand he presented. She’d been in and out of his buggy enough times to know where to step and how to shift her weight and pivot to sit. Still, Andrew was surprised at her fleet, unassisted movements.

“I hope your evening goes well,” Andrew said to Yonnie.

Yonnie had already urged his horse forward. Andrew turned to watch him go before picking up his own reins again.

“Thank you.” Clara’s sigh was unmistakable.

Andrew held his horse to a speed barely above grazing in a pasture.

“We’re going the wrong way now,” Clara said.

She was grumpy. That much was clear.

“There’s a wide spot in the road just ahead,” Andrew said. “We’ll get turned around.”

Clara nodded, expelling breath again. Andrew recognized this tactic. She was trying to regain composure after being upset.

“We’ll never get there at this rate,” Clara said.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“I don’t want to be late for supper. Rhoda—” Clara cut herself off.

“Rhoda what?”

“Never mind.” She looked off to one side, her face twisted away from Andrew.

“You know you can talk to me,” Andrew said.

“I know.” Her breathing slowed, but she offered no further information.

Andrew reached the wide spot in the road and slowly turned the rig to head toward the Kuhn farm. He still had a mile and a quarter before the turnoff to their lane, and he didn’t think Clara was in any danger of being late for supper, so he did nothing to speed the horse.

The unhurried swaying
clip-clop
seemed to soothe Clara. In his peripheral vision, Andrew saw her shoulders relax. He waited another three minutes.

“So,” he said, “what happened?”

“Yonnie,” she said quickly. “Yonnie happened. I just needed a ride, and he wanted to give me a sermon.”

“And what was his topic?”

“He doesn’t approve of the Model T.”

Andrew laughed softly. “What
does
Yonnie approve of?”

“Baptismal vows, apparently. Utter submission to church leadership.”

“Ah, yes.”

“How can you put up with letting him think you’re not as serious about the faith as he is?”

“We did all promise to live by the teachings of the church,” Andrew said.

“And the church should live by the teachings of the Bible.” Her retort was swift. “Isn’t that what we hold each other accountable to? When did it become impossible for us to discuss what that might mean?”

Andrew spoke with deliberate quiet. “This is about more than Yonnie and the car, isn’t it?”

A sob caught in Clara’s throat, but Andrew heard it.

“We’re young,” Andrew said. “We will see change.”

“Do you keep the car because you believe that?” Clara found her voice again. “The church hasn’t said much at all about automobiles, but it may be like the telephone or electric lights. If other districts vote against it, ours will, too.”

“Mose Beachy has a level head,” Andrew said.

“Why are you so sure he’ll be the next bishop?”

“I’m not.
Gottes wille
. But he is a minister, and I am confident he speaks his mind when he meets with the others.”

“But if one of Bishop Yoder’s sons gets the lot, you can’t be sure what will happen.”

“None of us can be sure of anything except that what happens will be God’s will. But God’s will for the congregation may not be God’s will for everyone
in
the congregation.”

He met her quizzical expression without further words. They arrived at the end of her lane.