Meek and Mild (30 page)

Andrew was relieved to find John in one of his fields with none of his sons in sight. He had been prepared to park the Model T out of sight and walk the last half mile to avoid the gawking eyes of John’s family. Instead, he had only to cross the road to speak privately.

“I saw for myself,” Andrew said after reporting the bishop’s illness. “I was there Tuesday. He was clearly unwell. Chicken soup will not heal his ailment.”

John glanced across the road at the automobile. “Thank you for coming all this way to tell me.”

“Even if he recovers physical strength,” Andrew said, “the question is not far off whether he is fit to continue as bishop.”

They ambled up the space between rows of grain ready for harvest.

“Until he steps aside, he is the bishop,” John said. “We should make sure his crop gets in.”

“I’m happy to help,” Andrew said. All the farmers would help each other with the harvest, moving from one farm to another during the critical weeks. “It’s the church I’m worried about.”

“Why should you worry?” John stopped walking and faced Andrew.

“
Worry
is the wrong word.” The Bible said, “Worry not,” and for the most part Andrew enjoyed the freedom that came with the command. “Surely, though, you can see there will be some commotion in the congregation if the bishop does step aside.”

John shook his head. “God’s will. We can do nothing to change that, nor should we try.”

“But perhaps we can find a way to help each other live in peace, no matter what happens.”

“Each of us must follow our own conscience.”

Andrew examined his friend’s face. While John did not look away, his eyes carried a cloud Andrew was unaccustomed to seeing.

John gestured to the Model T at the side of the field. “So it’s running well?”

His words softly closed the door on conversation about the bishop.

Hours later, Andrew stood on the side of a road admiring the sky. Whether black against starlit brilliance or incomprehensible behind hanging low clouds, Andrew loved the night sky.

So much transcendent possibility. So much wonder beyond farm fields and milking schedules. So much assurance beyond the mysterious lots of God’s will.

Andrew wished he could simply knock on the Kuhn door and say he had come to call on Clara, the way the
English
courted. Instead he leaned against his buggy wondering if she would decide to take an evening stroll and come this way. If they should meet on any night, this was that night.

He stared into the deep, wondering what was beyond the beyond.

Andrew almost did not hear her arrive, turning at the crunch of a step to find her near and breathless.

“You’ve heard,” he said.

Clara nodded. “I can’t get it off my mind.”

“I saw him last week,” Andrew said. “He spoke gibberish as if it were chapter and verse from the Bible.”

“Everyone will pray for him.” Clara fiddled with the cuffs of her long sleeves.

“We should.”

“I’m afraid selfishness will be like an illness in my prayers.”

“Selfishness?”

She raised her eyes to his. “At least two mothers know about my Bible stories with the girls. As long as the bishop is ill, no one can tell him.”

“Someone might tell one of the other ministers.”

Clara shook her head. “Everyone knows Noah and Joseph Yoder don’t do anything without first talking to their father.”

“And they know Mose Beachy does not have much sympathy for tattletales.” Andrew slipped a palm under Clara’s fingers. “So you’re safe.”

“And safe is selfish. It’s hard to pray for the bishop to get well.”

“Don’t be ashamed, Clara. And don’t fear the gift God put in your heart.”

She sighed. “What about your car? Don’t you feel relief that at least for now, Yonnie can’t draw attention to it?”

Andrew patted the side of the buggy. “I still use this most of the time. But I am not afraid.”

“And if the ministers tell you that you must get rid of the automobile, what will you do?”

“One day at a time.” Andrew grazed her face with one hand, setting his fingers under her jaw. “I do not worry what will happen to me, and if you were my wife, I would not have to worry what will happen to you, either.”

She turned her head to his palm and laid her cheek in his hand. “Andrew, you know how much I care for you.”

“You don’t tell me what’s bothering you at home,” Andrew said, “but I know something is. I have a farm. We could make our own home together, and I would do my best not to fill it with anything that bothers you.”

Clara laughed softly. “Even you are not that perfect.”

“Tell me you’re thinking about it.”

“Every day.”

“Whatever frightens you, we’ll face it together.” Andrew leaned in to kiss Clara, tasting the tart lemon pie she must have eaten after supper.

“Ruth Kaufman asked me to be an attendant at her wedding,” Clara said after she broke the kiss with reluctance that pleased Andrew.

He laughed. “She is marrying Peter Troyer,
ya
?”

“
Ya
.”

“He asked me to be in the wedding party.”

Clara laughed softly. “If they knew we were—”

“I know,” Andrew said. “They are not supposed to ask two people who are thinking of marrying.”

“Should we tell them?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you decided?”

She ducked her head away from his gaze.

As far as Sadie knew, they were headed to her
grossmuder
’s house. Fannie was not anxious to arrive. She had not actually agreed to a midmorning visit to her mother’s, only to go for an exploring walk with her daughter. It was Sadie who assumed a destination. Fannie examined the sun’s position, judging how long they had before it would rise to a height that ushered in a wilting heat. In a few more minutes, she would speak the words that would make her daughter pout and they would start the circle taking them to their own home, rather than to Martha’s.

For now, Fannie inhaled deeply the fragrance of the end of summer. Late-blooming lilacs, sweet apple trees, pungent cows—the humid air swirled it all together and trailed the result in unexpected wafts. Fannie ached to savor these bits of life as she had every other summer. She yearned for them to call her back from the precarious edge of her days.

The milk wagon rattled toward them in a medley of clanging milk cans, horse hooves, and creaking wheels. Fannie reached for Sadie’s hand and at the same time eyed the spot where they would turn away from her mother’s house.

Sadie waved, and from the bench of his wagon Dale Borntrager returned the morning greeting and slowed the rig.

“I suppose you’ve heard about Bishop Yoder,” Dale said.

“No,” Fannie said. “What news?”

“Very ill. Some say he won’t be well enough to lead again.”

Fannie’s pulse fluttered. “Will you have a new bishop, then?”

Dale chuckled. “We might at least have some more peaceful preaching. The lot to preach will have to fall to Mose Beachy more often.”

Fannie knew she ought to say she would pray for the bishop, but she prayed little these days. Why should she pray when God was stubbornly silent?

Sadie pulled against Fannie’s grip and spoke with patient politeness. “It’s nice to see you, Mr. Borntrager, but my
grossmuder
is waiting.”

“I’m headed there now,” he said. “Why don’t I give you a ride?”

“
Danki!
”

“No, thank you,” Fannie tightened her hold on Sadie.

Fannie ignored Sadie’s protests as the milk wagon pulled away. The bishop might get well, and everything would be as it had been for decades. Even if he stepped aside, one of his sons would likely become bishop. And if the lot fell to Mose Beachy, the Pennsylvania congregation would be unsettled. Clara had so much to gain if she simply came to the Maryland congregation, with or without Andrew. Fannie would write as many letters as it took to persuade her.

“Come on, Sadie. We have to get home.”

“What about
Grossmuder?
”

“Another day.”

“But I miss her!”

So do I
. “We’re going home, Sadie. Don’t argue with me.”

A
ndrew followed John Stutzman, who followed Mose Beachy through Mose’s field of alfalfa mown and standing in windrows.

“Two more days of drying,” Mose said. “Then we’ll thresh.”

“With three teams, the work goes well,” Andrew said. Mose tried to cut hay three times a year. Andrew, John, and Mose had developed an efficient rhythm for cutting and later threshing.

“My older boys can handle the grapple fork and getting the hay into the loft,” Mose said. “One of the girls can lead the horse when it’s time to pull.”

They paced to the end of the field, across a path, and toward the Beachy barn.

“I need to put a new chain on the grapple fork,” Mose said, “but I’ll have that ready by the time you come back.”

“Saturday morning, then,” John said.

“
Danki
.” Mose paused in the middle of the barnyard and scratched under his beard. “I imagine you both would like to know how the bishop is.”

Andrew nodded but said nothing. Three days had passed with no further news about Bishop Yoder’s illness.

“Noah and Joseph were here yesterday,” Mose said. “They seem to think their father needs an extended rest.”

“He should take all the time he needs to heal,” John said. “And if I know Caroline, she’ll see to it.”

“She was a bishop’s daughter before she was a bishop’s wife,” Mose said. “She knows the demands.”

“And Lucy?” Andrew said. “Would Lucy know the demands if the lot fell to you to be the next bishop?”

“It’s too soon to say the lot will fall to anyone,” Mose said.

“Eventually we will have a new bishop,” Andrew said. “Do you not ever think about the question?”

“If I am called upon, I will serve as best as I am able, by God’s grace. If God does not choose me, I will continue as a minister. In the meantime, I gain nothing from wondering what might be. God will make clear His will.”

Andrew found sincere acceptance in his friend’s face.

Lucy Beachy appeared on the porch and called out her husband’s name.

“I must go,” Mose said. “I promised to fix the stair railing today before one of the children gets hurt. Thank you again for your help with the hay.”

Andrew and John watched Mose walk toward the house and then moved toward their own buggies.

“Do you think it may be God’s will to disturb His people?” Andrew said.

“With the new bishop?” John swung his gaze around to Andrew.

“Of course we all pray for Bishop Yoder’s recovery,” Andrew said. “But many in the congregation disagree with him. I find myself wondering how the church can thrive while he leads.”

“Most likely one of his sons will follow,” John said.

Andrew nodded. “Wouldn’t you say that many find that thought disturbing?”

“And if the lot falls to Mose Beachy? Won’t others be disturbed?”

“You see my point,” Andrew said, stroking his horse’s long brown nose. “No matter who is bishop, the church harbors unhappiness. If this is so, should we conclude that God wills for us to be unsettled?”

“God has His purposes. His ways are not our ways.”