Meek and Mild (32 page)

“Undoing a unanimous vote that has stood for more than twenty years will not be easy.” The second voice carried caution.

“My husband and I have given up talking about it, but I think it’s time we began again. Surely some of the older men can do something.”

The women drifted away with their hushed conversation. Clara caught Andrew’s eye as he moved past in conversation with John Stutzman. Later, when they were alone, she would have to remember to thank him for choosing the hymn that had kept her calm.

Wanda’s son lifted his head and rubbed his eyes. “Where’s my
mamm
?”

Clara rearranged his shirt and straightened his suspenders, as she had done for Josiah when he was this age. With three young half siblings, she knew she could care for a child—or a half dozen. Mrs. Schrock was right. In her own home, Clara could tell as many Bible stories as she wished.

If only the thought of birthing a child did not terrify her.

The boy slid off Clara’s lap, and she trailed him outside to be sure he found his mother.

During lunch, Clara moved between tables, sometimes listening to the conversation before her but just as often catching snippets of interchanges behind her or down the table.

“The bishop’s sons will make sure nothing changes.”

“Now is the time to ask for reasonable consideration.”

“Pray for the bishop. Protect your heart from thinking ill.”

“Mose Beachy should speak out more. It’s his duty.”

For the most part, Clara did not have to look around to know how opinions lined up. Those with a family relationship to the Yoders close enough to inspire loyalty tended more and more to band together. A few other families, headed by men who had known the bishop for decades, took their plates and sat with the Yoders and those who had married into the Yoders. The much larger group were church members with family scattered over the border between the Pennsylvania and Maryland districts.

Clara was grateful Andrew’s connection to the Yoders was distant enough that he felt free to think for himself. She sponged up the last of the gravy on her plate with a final bite of biscuit and peeked at Rhoda. Mari was refusing to eat, Rhoda had barely touched her own food, and Hannah was nowhere in sight. All of this left Clara with the conclusion she had time for some fresh air before the Kuhns would be ready to depart and she would have to decide whether to go with them.

She was barely out of the clearing when two small forms popped out from behind a tree.

Clara gasped. “You startled me.”

“We’ve been waiting and waiting,” Priscilla Schrock said.

“We want a story,” Lillian said.

A few yards farther away, Hannah and Naomi appeared.

“It doesn’t have to be a long one like the sermons in church.” Priscilla’s features settled in the most earnest expression Clara had ever seen on a six-year-old. “God can speak to us in a short story.”

Clara sighed. “I’m afraid we can’t have a story today.”

“I told you she would say that,” Hannah said. “Next time you should believe me.”

“Hannah’s right,” Clara said. “But you can have a lovely time playing together and enjoying your Sabbath.”

Clara ignored the ring of dramatic scowls and hastened her stride. At the sound of steps crunching behind her, she turned to reiterate that there would be no story. But the girls were scampering in the other direction.

“Yonnie,” Clara said.

“What did they mean about stories?” Yonnie’s blocky form continued toward her.

“Never mind,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing.”

Clara resumed walking. Yonnie kept pace. The last thing she needed was for Yonnie to get wind of the Bible stories she told the girls.

“You know the imagination children that age have.” Clara rummaged around her mind for a change of subject. If she could manage something kind, perhaps the rift between Andrew and Yonnie would not seem as impassable as it had the last few weeks. “I heard talk that your father’s crop is plentiful this year. I’m sure you had something to do with that. Everyone says you understand the soil.”

“Our family works together,” Yonnie said.

“We would all do well to follow your example.”

“Better our example than others’.”

Clara stifled a sigh. She pitied Yonnie Yoder. He had no notion of how smug he sounded.

“Andrew has too much joy in his automobile,” Yonnie said. “It will be trouble.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Clara shot back, already chastising herself for being unable to sustain her good intention for more than eight seconds.

“No, it doesn’t—if Andrew makes the right choice.”

“What does that mean?”

“The bishop will not be in seclusion forever. If you are true to your faith, there are things you give up.” Yonnie pivoted abruptly and reversed his direction.

Clara had always detested that particular Amish proverb. She balled her fists to keep herself from scooping up a handful of pebbles to throw at the back of Yonnie’s head.

Her urge for a few minutes of fresh air matured into the resolution for a good long walk. If she did not turn up at the Kuhn buggy when Rhoda and Hiram were ready to leave, they would assume she had decided to go to the Singing and would find a way home later. Clara wanted to bolt for the meetinghouse, collect Andrew, and disappear with him. Instead, she bided her time by taking that long walk and ending up at the appointed barn for the Singing. Dutifully, she sat among the unmarried women and watched Andrew from across the barn. He sang with enthusiasm, his tenor piercing the gathering with its irresistible precise pitch.

The hymns passed, the evening ended, and the moment Clara awaited all day arrived. She was alone with Andrew in his buggy.

“The hymn you started this morning convicted me,” she said.

Let us keep our eyes on love!

How quickly she had failed her resolve that afternoon.

“It was for my own admonition,” Andrew said. “Whatever others do, I hope I will remember its message better than I have. I owe Yonnie an apology.”

“I talked to him today,” Clara said. “I’m not sure he’s of a mind to receive an apology.”

“He always was the tattletale who would go running to our mothers before anyone could be properly sorry. As the saying goes, ‘Some people are like buttons, popping off at the wrong time.”’

Two proverbs in one day
, Clara thought. No matter how clever, traditional proverbs would not smooth the rough edges in the congregation.

Clara said, “In this case I think he’s only waiting for the bishop to recover.”

For a few moments, only the sluggish drop of horse hooves punctuated the silence.

“Don’t worry about what Yonnie does,” Andrew said. “I don’t.”

“He infuriates me.”

“I know.”

“Where can I find love in a puddle of infuriation?”

“Love must be the pond that swallows up the puddle. I’m going to apologize to Yonnie for my anger.”

“It won’t change his mind.”

“That is not my purpose.” Andrew took Clara’s hand. “Let’s talk about something else. I saw you with Wanda’s boy today.”

“I’m worried about Wanda. She had some pains. It’s too soon for that.”

“She’s had two children already. She’ll know if something’s wrong.”

“What if she realizes it too late?”

“What if nothing is wrong at all?” Andrew countered.

Clara sighed. “I always think the worst, don’t I?”

“Not always. Only when it comes to babies.”

“The heartbreak would be too much to bear,” Clara whispered.

“Joy cometh in the morning,” Andrew said. “You’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“If I ever find the courage.”

“You will. When you do, I’ll be right here.”

She squeezed his hand but could not form a response.

“Why don’t you go stay with Fannie for a few days?” he said. “It’s been weeks since you saw her, which seems ridiculous for the sake of five miles.”

“I don’t know,” Clara said. “I don’t want to stir up trouble.”

“You told me Fannie was discouraged.”

“She is.” The words of Fannie’s letters flowed through Clara’s mind. She read between the lines that Fannie’s doldrums were not abating.

“I’ll take you, and you can send a message when you want to come back,” Andrew said.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Why wait?”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I won’t.”

Clara rubbed the cuff of her sleeve between thumb and forefinger. “Perhaps, but I want to be back for the day of preparation.”

“Of course.”

She wouldn’t even write to say she was coming. A surprise visit would cheer both Fannie and Sadie. And while she was gone, tensions in her own district might settle down.

“Can you take me on Saturday?”

Andrew squeezed her hand. “Keep your eyes on love.”

T
he bishop is not seeing anyone.”

Caroline Yoder did not raise her voice, but Yonnie had heard this tone before. He broadened his smile.

“I come with the prayers and good wishes of my entire family,” Yonnie said, sliding one foot closer to the threshold Mrs. Yoder occupied.

She did not budge.

“Surely his withdrawal from appointments does not apply to visits from extended family.” Yonnie did not budge, either.

“It applies to whomever I choose.”

“Should not the bishop choose?”

“The bishop requires complete rest. When he is feeling better, I’m sure word will get around the district quickly enough and he will welcome visitors.”

“Might I not come in and say a prayer for him?”

“God will hear you from your buggy.”

At that moment, Yonnie was grateful he was related to the bishop—even if only distantly—and not to this woman who failed to even offer him a cup of coffee. He supposed that if he traced the family lines far enough back, he would find a connection to everyone in the district, but the Yoder name is what mattered.

“Everyone missed you both in church last Sunday,” Yonnie said. The service was six days old now, yet there was no word of the bishop’s improvement. “You’ll be glad to hear your sons preached faithfully.”

“That is their way.” Mrs. Yoder wiped her hands on her apron. “If you will excuse me, I have a long list of tasks to fill the day.”

Although Yonnie did not step back, Caroline closed the door firmly, barely clearing the end of his nose. Yonnie stood on the porch and shook his head. He could think of no one in the district who would not at least have offered a bit of refreshment to a visitor, even while holding firm on the matter of seclusion.

After waiting this long, a few more days would not matter.

Andrew’s attempt at an apology had not changed Yonnie’s mind. Andrew might be sorry that he lost his temper and embarrassed Yonnie at the dairy—as well he should be—but he showed no remorse about possessing the Model T. It was only a matter of time before the bishop would call on Andrew to confess his sin.

“I’m going to take Thomas outside to play,” Sadie announced.

“Sadie, I don’t think—” Fannie began.

Her sister-in-law broke in. “That’s a lovely idea, Sadie. He loves to roll in the grass.”

“We have
lots
of grass.” Sadie took the hand of her toddler cousin.

“Perfect.” Lizzie smiled at Sadie and then at Fannie. “Your mother and I will be right here in the kitchen if you need us.”

Against her better judgment, Fannie resigned her opposition. “I’ll pour the
kaffi
.”

“Thank you. The children will be fine.”

“Sadie is only five.” Fannie set out two cups. She glanced out into the yard, but already Sadie had taken the boy out of her line of sight.

“She has always been careful with him,” Lizzie said. “It’s your
mamm
I’m worried about today.”

Fannie brought her gaze back indoors and fixed it on her brother’s wife. “Is she unwell?”

“She’ll never admit it,” Lizzie said. “But I don’t think she’s well at all.”

Fannie moved to the stove, turning her back as she gripped the coffeepot. “She’s with child. It’s not unusual to feel unwell. More rest would help, would it not?”

“She works too hard. There is no question of that. She claims she never let expecting a child interfere with her work before and that she’s nowhere near her time.”