Meek and Mild (24 page)

A
ndrew raced his wagon to the dairy just before lunch the next day. Dale sat at a desk in the office with an account book open.

“I need to see Yonnie,” Andrew said.

“He’s working.” Dale didn’t glance up. “I’ll tell him you were looking for him. He’ll find you later.”

“Thank you, but I’ll find him now.” Andrew pivoted on one heel and charged into the main bottling room. The rhythmic thud of his work boots made every head lift and turn toward the sound.

Yonnie capped off a pint of cream and stiffened.

Good
, Andrew thought.
He should be nervous
.

Aloud, he said, “How dare you?”

Hands stilled around them.

Yonnie picked up an empty bottle, moved it six inches, and set it down again. “Maybe we should go outside—when I get a break.”

“I can speak my mind here.” Andrew planted his feet.

Behind Andrew, Dale spoke. “Your break just started, Yonnie. Whatever this is about, take it out of my dairy.”

Yonnie led the way through the back door. Aggravated by Yonnie’s sluggish pace, Andrew nearly stepped on his heels. They moved ten yards away from the building. Three sets of curious eyes peering out a window did not deter Andrew.

“You humiliated Clara.”

“How is it she has spoken to you privately already?”

“Don’t,” Andrew said. “Don’t think you can escape this by accusing Clara or me of wrongdoing.”

Yonnie ground one boot heel into the dirt. “You said it yourself. Each of us has to follow our own conscience. My conscience says to obey the bishop.”

“And leave a member of your own church stranded on the side of the road?”

“Clara was hardly stranded. She walks that road often.”

“Not alone in the dark.”

“She would have gotten home eventually. I was following Bishop Yoder’s instructions to separate ourselves from those who have joined the Marylanders.”

“Clara has not joined the Marylanders.”

“But she was visiting them. She didn’t deny that she had been to see her cousin.”

“Did you think she would somehow contaminate you?” Andrew exhaled laden fury. “Is that what you would have said to the man on the Jericho road? You are like the religious leaders who walked past the man who had been beaten nearly to death because they didn’t want to become unclean.”

“It’s not the same at all.”

“Isn’t it?” Andrew said. “Or maybe you were ready to punish Clara in your own way.”

“If I can show her the way of obedience more clearly—”

Andrew cut him off. “Shall I remind you it was a Samaritan who showed compassion, not a stuffy, self-righteous man of religion?”

Yonnie stared. “You bear false testimony toward me. It is daring of you to use the words of Jesus to do so.”

“I’ve been fond of you for more than twenty years.” Andrew shook a finger. “I’ve defended you. I’ve understood you. Now you go too far.”

“If Clara were your wife,” Yonnie said, “I might understand this show of defense. But she is not your wife. You don’t owe her this, at the peril of your own soul.”

“I’ve heard every sermon you’ve ever heard,” Andrew said. “Don’t preach at me. And don’t come around my farm.”

Andrew turned and strode along the side of the dairy to find his wagon.

Yonnie shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, hoping the movement would disguise the tremble that overtook him.

Before he slept the night before, he prayed for God’s forgiveness for his weakness. Perhaps God could commend his mercy in driving Clara all the way to the Kuhn farm instead of returning directly to the dairy. Perhaps God would strengthen him to be righteous in the days ahead while church people, like Dale and Andrew and Clara, would choose their own path instead of God’s.

The rear door of the dairy opened, and Dale stepped out. Yonnie moved his feet forward, determined not to falter or appear reluctant. He stopped in front of Dale.

“This isn’t the place for your personal business,” Dale said. “After all the mistakes you’ve made lately, I would have thought you would know better than to allow this to happen.”

“I didn’t ask Andrew to come here.” Under the shame Yonnie felt at yet another scolding from Dale, defensiveness surged.

“Straighten up,” Dale said. “I can’t give you endless warnings if I don’t see that you are at least attempting to improve your performance.”

Yonnie swallowed. “I understand.”

“Now get back inside. We still have dozens of bottles to fill. This display has distracted everyone.”

Yonnie followed Dale back inside and returned to his tasks without meeting any gazes around him. If anyone spoke to him, he would pray for strength to resist the taunting.

When he drove the dairy wagon, he did not owe Clara or anyone else a ride. He was being paid to pick up milk and make deliveries, not to run a taxi service. Even Dale did not benefit by as much as a penny from the presumptuous way travelers on both sides of the border waited for rides. Yonnie could say no, especially if his own holiness was endangered.

He owed his allegiance to Bishop Yoder and to the decision the congregation made in 1895. Yonnie had once seen the written record of the meeting with his own eyes. The vote had been unanimous. In ignoring their own decision for the last twenty years, the congregation had only brought harm to themselves. They could have had a clean, fresh start with the
meidung
. In separation, their witness would have drawn their relatives and friends back to the true fold of God. Now twenty years of disregarding God’s law, in spite of the consistent voice of Bishop Yoder and his sons, made people unwilling—or unable—to recognize their own sin.

Yonnie moved faster, knowing Dale’s eyes were on him, to make up for the time he lost with Andrew’s distraction. He would be a faithful worker who served God, even if his employer was spiritually lax.

“Please,
Mamm
, please?” Sadie’s entire body seemed to beg with expectancy. “It’s a good day to go see
Grossmuder
, isn’t it? We can make some pound cake and open a jar of blueberries.
Grossmuder
would like that. I know she would.”

“
Grossmuder
is busy.” Fannie dried the last of the lunch dishes and added it to the stack on the kitchen counter.

“She’s never too busy for
me
. I’m her only granddaughter.”

“You must learn not to take advantage of her.” Fannie swiped a damp rag across the table, pausing at the place where Sadie usually sat to scrub at a spot of spilled milk.

“Because I’m getting big?” Sadie said. “Or because she’s going to have another
boppli
?”

“Both. Besides, we have a lot to do around here.”

“
Grossmuder
says the new babe will be my
aunti
or
onkel
. That doesn’t make sense. How can a baby be an
aunti
or
onkel
?”

“I’ll explain it when you’re a little older. I want you to clean your room today, please.”

“Are you going to help me?”

“You’re old enough to do it yourself.”

“After that can we go see
Grossmuder
?”

“By then I’ll need to start supper.”

Sadie’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“I have to beat the rugs tomorrow.” Fannie handed Sadie a dust rag and a broom whose handle was twice as tall as the girl. “Do a good job, please.”

Sadie shuffled out of the room. Fannie ached to feel the soft comfort of her bed under her weary back. Maybe she would pull a quilt over her head if she could stand the heat. She wouldn’t sleep, just rest where she could easily hear Sadie.

No.

She would not go lie down. Two nights in a row Elam had asked if she felt well. There was always a chance he would come back to the house in the middle of the afternoon, and why shouldn’t he? Fannie used to hope that he would.

Now, though, she did not want him to.

She did not want to speak to Elam or anyone—especially not her mother.

Resisting the urge to find her bed, Fannie instead went into the front room and sat on the davenport. She would not stretch out. She would only put her head back and pull the first quilt she ever made off the end of the davenport and into her lap.

Her guilty spirit weighed heavy. Guilt for sending her five-year-old off so she could be alone. Guilt for hoping her husband would not come in from the fields early. Guilt for not rejoicing in the new life her mother carried. Guilt for holding Sadie back from delighting her
grossmuder
with her presence. Guilt for not wanting to cook supper. Guilt for wishing she could be blessedly asleep.

At least, Fannie knew she
ought
to feel guilty about those things. The truth, though, was that she had left guilt behind days ago. Her limbs were too heavy to lift, and her lungs too weary to inflate, but no longer from guilt. Leaning back on the davenport, she closed her eyes.

Unburdening herself to Andrew on Wednesday morning had allowed Clara to breathe evenly again. For that she had no regrets. When she heard on Thursday that he had confronted Yonnie, though, doubt skulked into her peace of mind. Stirring dissension between the two of them was not her intent. By Friday, Clara wondered if the dissent had only risen to the surface as it was meant to do, as it was inevitably going to do. And by Saturday, she dreaded seeing Yonnie again at church the next day. She knew the row where he preferred to sit and could make sure to sit well behind him on the women’s side of the aisle.

Clara now sat in the Schrocks’ living room with a length of black fabric in her lap. She could practically make a new apron with her eyes watching evening fireflies instead of her stitches under a lamp, but cutting one out in the company of other women would pass the morning pleasantly. Their chatter would be about recipes and children and laying hens and the new threads at the mercantile. Clara would not have to think about Yonnie or the
meidung
.

Worry for Fannie scoffed her optimism, though. Never had she seen her cousin this way. The
English
would have a word for the condition, Clara supposed. Melancholy? Was that it? It was not a raging illness, but a gentle sadness that threatened to clot and scar Fannie’s future.

The next time Clara visited, she would make sure to arrange with her father to take a horse and cart—or at least a horse. She could not rely on Yonnie, and perhaps not on any of the milk wagon drivers.

A small presence blew breath across Clara’s cheek, and she turned slightly toward it. Priscilla Schrock leaned in and whispered in Clara’s ear.

“Another story, please.”

The request was not unexpected, but Clara found it daring. It was one thing to wander away during a busy barn raising. It was another for the child to make this request in her own home, under her mother’s watchfulness. Clara glanced down the hall and saw three more sets of eyes leaning around a corner in anticipation. Lillian’s and Naomi’s mothers were present, and of course Rhoda had brought Hannah to the sewing frolic.

Clara knew just the story she would tell. The wise Abigail knew how to help the great King David to control his temper and do the right thing. The girls could learn that a true friend helped others understand how to please God, even someone who was great and powerful.