Meek and Mild (35 page)

“Like you.” Clara met Andrew’s eyes and smiled.

“Shall we go for a ride?” Andrew’s eyes twinkled.

Clara grinned. “Are you feeling more daring now that Mose Beachy is bishop?”

He tilted his head and opened the door for her. “She’s running beautifully these days.”

“Is Jurgen Hansen still offering to buy?”

“Every time I see him—which is not as often now that she’s fixed up.”

They drove into the sunshine, still warm enough to keep the top down. Clara wondered whether being inside a car with the top up would feel much different than riding enclosed in a buggy. For now she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the diamond tufted upholstery, relishing the breeze prickling her face as the car rumbled along a back road that had become Andrew’s favorite.

She sat up abruptly. “What was that noise?”

“The knocking?” Andrew said. “She just needs a slight adjustment.” He pulled over, and they stepped out into a vibrant medley of autumn hues.

“It’s glorious here,” Clara said, stretching out her arms and spinning in a slow circle. “They’re the same trees any of the farms around here have, but somehow I never notice them at home.”

“No fields to interrupt them.” Andrew took a wrench out of a small toolbox he kept in the automobile now and opened the hood. “No one pays attention to this road. The Amish don’t come out here.”

“Do you really think Mose will change things?” Clara said.

“If he doesn’t, things will change themselves.” Andrew leaned over the engine and made a quick adjustment before handing the tool to Clara.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

He grinned. “Think of me while you hold it.”

Clara thought of Andrew most of the time, but she couldn’t say so aloud. He would only propose again, and she had no answer for him—at least not the one he wanted. Her aunt’s pale face drifted into her mind, brooding in shadow. Clara wondered again whether the midwife was watching Martha closely enough. She pushed away the thought of what might happen to Martha or the baby—or Fannie, who would never forgive herself for not reconciling with her mother if the worst came to be. Clara squeezed her eyes closed, trying to picture Martha, rosy and healthy, with a baby in her arms and swathed in lemony dawn light. But the colors collided. Rather than airy and illuminating, they were gray and dense and spinning in a certainty Clara wanted to scream against. If loss struck the Hostetler house, Clara was not certain she could ever bring herself to consider marriage again. She could never be as brave as Martha.

Clara blew out her breath.

“What’s wrong?” Andrew said, taking the wrench.

“I need to visit Fannie again.”

“We could take the car.”

“Perhaps that is
too
daring—at least until we know what Mose would say.”

“There is nothing in
Ordnung
about automobiles,” he reminded her.

Whatever adjustment Andrew made cured the rattle. He needed both hands to drive, but Clara slipped a palm into the crook of his elbow.

Later, she wandered home drenched in contentment. The sight of a visiting buggy parked along the fence piqued her curiosity. Striding up the lane, she realized the horse belonged to the Schrocks. Inside the house, Clara found Rhoda setting a plate of cookies on the dining room table, where the Schrocks and her father sat. Hannah and Priscilla snatched cookies and scampered out of the room, tugging Mari by the hands.

“The Schrocks have some news,” Hiram said. “Since we’re their closest neighbors, they have come to us first.”

Rhoda’s jaw was set and her eyes more interested in the stitching of the tablecloth than her guests’ faces.

“Is everything all right?” Clara said.

Caleb Schrock cleared his throat. “We’ve decided to join the Marylanders.”

Heat raced through Clara’s chest. “That
is
news.”

“It seems that it is partly because of you.” Rhoda’s voice snapped.

“Me?” Clara fingered a
kapp
string.

“I explained how you comforted Priscilla with a Bible story,” Mattie Schrock said.

Clara felt her skull squeezing. “She was frightened.”

“You gave her a new attitude about her chore to feed the pigs. We can’t believe the difference. I was wrong when I said you shouldn’t be telling Bible stories to someone else’s child.”

Clara looked into her neighbor’s eyes and found there assurance that she had said nothing about the other stories, or the fact that Rhoda’s daughter was part of the group who heard them.

“Of course we read the Bible in our family devotions,” Caleb said. “I try to explain things in a way the children can understand, but they need to hear more.”

“We’ve talked about this a great deal,” Mattie said. “This is not a hasty decision. A farm came up for sale in Maryland a few weeks ago, and recently we decided to buy it. We just signed the papers.”

“But there is a Marylander church in Springs,” Clara said. “Why do you not join that congregation?” Although the Pennsylvania district primarily was Old Order, there were Marylanders on this side of the border. Selling one farm and moving to another only a few miles away seemed like an extreme measure to Clara.

“We’re moving for the children,” Caleb said. “If we live in the Conservative Amish Mennonite district, it will be less confusing for them as they grow up.”

“When?” Clara asked, a knot forming in her throat.

“Tomorrow.”

“We think the Sunday school in the Amish Mennonite Church will be good for Priscilla,” Mattie said. “She can go to Sunday school with your Sadie now.”

Clara drew in a deep breath to offset the gasp she heard from Rhoda.

“Hannah talks about Sadie,” Mattie said.

“They’ve never met,” Rhoda said.

“Still, Priscilla is curious,” Mattie said. “Whether Old Order or Amish Mennonite, we are all Amish.”

“But the
meidung
,” Clara said.

Mattie laced her fingers together and set her hands on the table. “We understand that some will feel they must shun us. That is another reason why it will be better for the children if we live in Maryland, among the people we will worship with.”

Clara wanted to scream in objection. Instead she looked at her father and Rhoda, unsure what stance they would take. They had no family connection to the Schrocks, no intermingling business, no reason to justify continuing social contact with them.

“The new bishop will have something to say, will he not?” Clara said.

“Mose Beachy is a good man,” Caleb said. “I admire him a great deal. He seeks peace, and I pray it will come. But we feel we must be true to our conscience in the way we express our faith.”

Clara could hardly try to argue the Schrocks out of the decision. They had already purchased the new farm.

“Does Priscilla know?” Clara said.

“She is excited about Sunday school.” Mattie’s smile was tentative.

What about Hannah?
Clara thought. Would Rhoda set aside the ban for the sake of her daughter’s friendship?

Seventeen days since Mose became bishop. Andrew was right. No matter what Mose did or did not do, the church would change.

Relieved, Fannie let herself in the back door. The invitation for Sadie to play on the next farm over could not have been more welcome. Elam was sorting out the fields after harvesting the corn and would not be anywhere near the house for several hours. Fannie moved through the rooms shuttering the daylight out before crawling onto the davenport and cradling a throw pillow against her waist. If only a child would grow there. If only her waist would thicken with new hope.

Fannie closed her eyes. With enough practice over the last few months, she required fewer and fewer minutes to successfully retreat into sleep, her only escape.

When her eyes popped open, it was at the prodding of an insistent voice standing over her.

“You can pretend you’re not here,” Martha said, “but you’ll also have to be like the
English
and lock your doors.”

“I didn’t hear you,” Fannie said truthfully, pushing herself upright. “I must have dropped off.”

“I stood on the porch knocking for a long time,” her mother said. “I’ve never known you to sleep through the kind of ruckus I was making.”

“I’m sorry.” Fannie stared into her mother’s midsection. How was it possible she was this large?

“Do you feel unwell?” One hand on her belly, Martha lowered herself beside her daughter.

Fannie scooted over a few inches, uncertain how to answer her mother’s question. She had no headache, no stomachache, no dizziness, no nausea, no fever.

But no, she did not feel well.

“Do you want
kaffi
?” Fannie stood up, her eyes fixed on her mother, who seemed to have gained more weight than she had with her last three babes put together. Perhaps she had miscalculated and was closer to her time than any of them realized.

“No, thank you,” Martha said.

“Something cold, then?” Fannie’s brain refused to clear. She glanced at the clock. Barely thirty minutes had passed since she fell asleep, yet her body felt like a millstone dropping in a river. Even in the presence of her mother—or especially so—sleep beckoned.

“Fannie, I have not come to be entertained. I want to talk.”

“I have a dozen things to do. I don’t get much time without Sadie underfoot.”

“You were sound asleep,” Martha pointed out.

“I didn’t mean to be.” It was a half truth.

“It’s not like you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want
kaffi
? I’m going to have some.”

Martha grabbed Fannie’s hand, pulling her back. “I had no idea things were this bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t see you except at church. Lizzie said you didn’t look well. Then Clara came to visit without you.”

“She was anxious to see how you were doing.”

“And you weren’t.”

Fannie reclaimed her hand. “I really need some
kaffi
.”

“You only drink it to be polite.”

“Lately I’ve taken it up with more enthusiasm.”

Martha braced her arms behind her and pushed herself up, abdomen first. “Then I’ll come with you.”

“You must have better things to do than watch me drink
kaffi
.”

Martha touched her daughter’s face. “I have nothing better to do than talk to you. I didn’t know Sadie wouldn’t be here, but perhaps it is God’s will that we have this time without interruption.”

Fannie took a step back.

“You’re avoiding me,” Martha said. “You won’t come to me, so I’ve come to you. I want my daughter back.”

Fannie said nothing.

“We’ve never had anything between us,” Martha said. “Why must this baby separate us?”

“The baby is innocent,” Fannie said.

“Then I am to blame?” Martha said. “How can you think I would want to hurt you?”

Fannie swallowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“Then whose fault is it that I conceived and you did not?”

If her mother said
Gottes wille
, Fannie thought she might scream. What good was prayer if God’s will made no sense?

“This child deserves love,” Martha said.

“Love will not be lacking,” Fannie said.

“This child deserves
your
love, just as much as any of your brothers did. Sadie is excited about a baby
aunti
or
onkel
. She needs to see you excited, too.”

“I’m Sadie’s mother. I will decide what she needs.”

Never had Fannie spoken to her mother with stinging words, but she could not stop herself.

“This is
your
baby sister or brother,” Martha said. “I will decide what my child needs, and my child needs
you
.”

Fannie turned away, not under the guise of making coffee but only to escape her mother’s scrutiny.

Martha lumbered around Fannie and grabbed her by both shoulders, pulling her in and wrapping arms around her. “And
you
are my child. I will not watch your pain and do nothing.”

Fannie tried to lean away, but Martha did not let go. Her embrace tightened the same way it used to when Fannie was young and tempestuous, annoyed by one of her little brothers or wounded by a friend’s remark. Her mother would hold on indefinitely.

Fannie felt the child physically between them, her mother’s womb firm and round. Martha stroked the back of Fannie’s head. A sob welled up and burst out of Fannie’s throat.