Meek and Mild (36 page)

Andrew walked up the path to his mailbox and extracted the stack. The latest issue of
The Sugarcreek Budget
came to him courtesy of the subscription his mother launched years ago when she lived at this address, and for which she still paid the annual fee. An advertisement for seeds and farm equipment came simply because the Rabers were farmers, not because either Andrew or his father had ever purchased from the company. Sandwiched between these two items was the envelope Andrew was genuinely interested in, a letter from his mother. Tucking the larger items under one arm, Andrew broke the seal on the flap and removed the familiar folded pages in his mother’s meticulous handwriting and began to read as he walked.

Dear Andrew
,

We’ve heard the news about your new bishop, though we are eager to hear your perspective on what this means for the church in Somerset County. Several here in Lancaster have received letters from family and friends in Somerset. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that a coin has two sides. Some write to applaud Mose Beachy because they are certain that he will at long last set aside rules that, in their opinion, have done nothing but cause unclarity and division for all the years that Bishop Yoder was in office. Others, naturally, write with downcast hearts that one of the Yoder boys was not selected. But of course who can dispute the will of God? If God selected Mose Beachy, He must have a plan for the church
.

I hope that in all the fracas you will see your way clear to let your conscience guide you. In circumstances like these, your father and I have always recognized how simple it is to do what causes the least disturbance. That is, in fact, the reason we moved to Lancaster once your brothers and sisters were married and settled
.

You are old enough to remember something of 1895, or at least 1905, though perhaps you did not perceive the depth of people’s confusion. Whether he intended to or not, Bishop Yoder misled the congregation in the original vote about the meidung. When the truth came out ten years later, no one was certain how to correct the matter. Someone would have had to state before a communion service that they did not agree with the teaching regarding shunning, and of course to do so would mean that communion would not occur. Who among us wants to be responsible for withholding the body and blood of Christ from the rest of the congregation?

To this end, your father and I decided we would rather move to Lancaster. After all, we have family here. If we could not submit to the bishop, it seemed best to remove ourselves. We had no desire to be a stumbling block to anyone else. Perhaps if someone—even we—had mustered the courage to bring the issue to a new vote, the harm could have been undone long ago and Somerset would not be in crisis now. Alas, we did not. I hope we have not contributed to any discomfort you may be experiencing now
.

Mose has never agreed with the shunning. Of this I am certain. But he believed that if the congregation endured all these years, then let it continue to do so. If the letters arriving in Lancaster are any indication, I doubt he can sustain this position much longer. Hearing the news across the miles, it seems to me that Somerset is going to split after all, and perhaps this would not be an entirely unwelcome event
.

My prayers are with you, my son. If I had spoken plainly before moving away, I doubt it would have made a difference. You were so eager to have a go at running the farm on your own! And your father had every confidence that your temperament would both bring you success and allow you a peaceable existence in the church where you grew up
.

I trust your harvest was satisfactory and will prove profitable. Do let us know the results once your crops have come in and the funds have been sorted out
.

With love
,

Your
mamm

Andrew read the letter again once he was inside the house and in a comfortable chair. When his parents moved away and left him to run the farm, he did not ask more than a few questions.

“Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t you rather sell the farm to someone who can pay what it’s worth?”

The truth was, he was eager to run the farm. Now, he realized, the advantage blinded him. And now the congregation had once again been complicit in upholding the ban. Though many disagreed, no one would speak up. No one would be the dissenting voice that deprived the congregation of communion.

Andrew moved to the desk his father had crafted twenty years ago and took a sheet of paper from the drawer.

Dear
Mamm,

Thank you for speaking with directness about what prompted you to withdraw to Lancaster. Someday, when we have a good visit, perhaps you will tell me more
.

I think you are right about Mose Beachy’s position. It seems to me that people have gone along with the rule for these twenty years out of respect for the office Bishop Yoder held and the conviction that God chooses the bishop. But if this is true, would it not also be so for Bishop Beachy? Perhaps God has raised our brother up for such a time as this
.

I do feel that since Bishop Yoder has resigned, people may feel less obligated to defer to his opinions without discussion. If the question of officially removing the ban were put to a vote, I would be surprised if it failed, though there may be some who support it because of tradition more than conviction. Of course Noah and Joseph Yoder would argue for sustaining the ban. The Yoders are nothing if not loyal
.

I know that Mose Beachy’s father was in favor of the ban, but Mose has a mind of his own. I suppose we will see if he has the strength to express it. You may be right about a split. I pray that it would be as amicable as the decision in 1877 was meant to be when this journey began
.

Yours
,

Andrew

If Joseph or Noah had become bishop, Yonnie would have known what to do. Even if the
Ordnung
by which church members lived their daily lives did not mention automobiles, everyone knew how the Yoders felt about the
English
contraptions. If Andrew’s owning the Model T was not already against the rules, the Yoders would have made an example of Andrew and the resulting rule would be clear. Joseph and Noah were still ministers. They were not without influence, and the two of them would stand together.

But Mose Beachy? Who could say how he would respond?

Yonnie chewed on this conundrum as he made his dairy rounds on Thursday.

Passing Mose’s farm—not one of his stops because as a family of sixteen the Beachys consumed everything their cows produced—Yonnie recognized the distinctive white stripe in a horse’s tail waving like a flag. It was Noah’s horse.

If Noah was at Mose’s home, Joseph likely was as well. The three of them would have many subjects to discuss. Ministers had meetings all the time.

Yonnie slowed the wagon, stopped for a moment, and then pulled to the side of the road where he could tie his own horse to a tree. He scanned the farmstead, with the house and barn dominating the assortment of outbuildings. Would the ministers meet in the new bishop’s home, with his wife and children within earshot, or would they look for a more private spot? Yonnie decided to aim for Noah’s rig.

As he moved alongside the house with its covered front porch, Yonnie heard voices, a blend of children too young to attend Crossroads School vying for their mother’s attention. A young man, probably fourteen and in his first year out of school, intoned caution, and the rumpus subsided. Lucy Beachy’s calm assurance was muffled, but the children seemed satisfied. Yonnie saw no one outside and paced toward the enormous barn.

Noah’s horse turned his head and swished his flag of a tail in acknowledgment of Yonnie’s presence, but he made no sound. To one side, a half-dozen hogs snorted and rummaged, oblivious to the impending fall slaughter. A hen fluttered her wings and brushed past Yonnie, whose ears focused on the drifting sound of male voices. Glancing over his shoulder again, Yonnie approached the equipment shed.

“Would you not agree,” Noah Yoder said, “that it is important for all the ministers to be of one mind?”

Yonnie paused outside the open door, out of sight.

“I have been bishop less than three weeks,” Mose said. “I pray each day for God’s will to be clear to me.”

“We cannot continue preaching our message but turning our heads from the violations we are certain of.” Joseph’s pitch raised in emphasis.

No one spoke for a few moments. Yonnie heard the clink of metal against metal. Mose must have been adjusting the thresher so many of the Amish farms depended on.

“Perhaps,” Mose finally said, “we should agree to a period of time during which we will open our hearts to the Lord for this new season in the church.”

“A church does not have a new season,” Noah said. “Our responsibility is to preserve the faith as it was given to us.”

Joseph spoke. “Your own father was in agreement with ours. They both signed a letter objecting to the lax enforcement of shunning.”

“That was a long time ago,” Mose said. “We were all boys. Now we need to examine our own consciences. The original separation of the Marylanders was peaceful. Why do we continue to fight against peace?”

“Would you have all our people join the Marylanders?”

“I would have them follow their consciences.”

“They have vowed to be obedient to the church.”

“And Christ is the head of the church,” Mose said.

“We have
Ordnung
for our own good,” Noah said. “We protect the salvation of the church members when we hold them accountable.”

“Jesus said the Sabbath was made for man,” Mose retorted, “and not man for the Sabbath.”

“I suppose you would claim freedom to drive cars or use telephones like the
English
in the name of conscience.”

Yonnie stilled his breath for the response.

“It seems to me,” Mose said, “that it has always been our way for the congregation to consider such questions together. All the members may vote. Perhaps we should also vote on the
meidung
again.”

Joseph’s sigh could have filled a milk jug. “I see that we will need many conversations.”

“That may be so. Right now, I have promised to take my thresher out to the Troyer farm so he will have it first thing in the morning.”

Yonnie moved around the side of the shed and watched as the Yoders, reluctantly, climbed into Noah’s buggy and turned the horse toward the road.

“Yonnie, you can come out now,” Mose said.

Yonnie pressed himself against the structure.

“I know you’re there. I can still see your shadow.”

Yonnie exhaled and stepped into view.

“Did you get the answer you were seeking?” Mose asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Yonnie said.

“Do not cultivate dishonesty.”

Yonnie licked his lips but said nothing.

“I did not ask to become bishop,” Mose said. “God chose me, and I will serve faithfully as God gives me strength. I know people are watching me and wondering if there will be change. But you have come to my farm and hidden yourself for your own purposes. That is deceit, is it not?”

Embarrassment flowed in Yonnie’s blood.

“Did you want to speak openly to me about a matter?” Mose said.

After what he’d overheard, Yonnie would say nothing to Mose about Andrew’s car or Dale and Clara’s interaction with the Marylanders.

“I must finish my rounds,” Yonnie said.

Mose nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

F
rom the barn at midday on Saturday, Clara heard Rhoda instructing the girls just outside the door as they selected the chicken that would be the center of the evening meal. She unlatched the stall where one of the Kuhn milk cows stood. At the end of October, the nights were cool and the days no longer steamy and dripping with humidity, but there was no reason to keep the animals indoors. One cow was already in the pasture, and Clara slipped a rope around a second’s neck and led it out into the daylight. This particular cow had never moved quickly a day in her life. Clara had long ago resigned herself to letting the animal set the pace when they went back and forth between barn and pasture.