As Tom had said, her life was not easy. Her days were long
and hard and she frequently despaired of getting through them. It was not an easy thing to raise a large family while trying to make a living to support them.
But she had learned a secret.
Englisch
people seemed to think that love was simply about feelings. In her opinion, that was one of Grace’s problems—the girl had gotten married on feelings alone, and was now having trouble adjusting to the reality of day-in and day-out marriage. Amish people tended to emphasize the idea of love being an action. She had learned that love was more than either of these things.
Love was a fuel.
It was love that fed the flame in her to keep trying. It was love that fueled her resolve to work until she dropped, if necessary, to care for these children. It was love that helped her rise before dawn so that she could take a good run at the day before anyone else in the house stirred.
Claire knew that some people wondered if she would remarry, but there was already enough love in her life to keep her going for a long, long time. She had known women who did not seem to think they could exist without a man in their life and would do much to attract one. Even though she knew she was spiritually free to remarry, and two men from neighboring Amish churches had expressed interest, Claire wondered where she would get the energy even to care.
Besides, she strongly suspected that they were more attracted to the fact that she would come with eighty acres of valuable Holmes County farmland than they were to the middle-aged widow with six children still living at home.
And yet . . .
Those few minutes alone with Tom on the porch had been charged with something that she could not define and that she wasn’t sure she wanted to examine. It was probably not wise
to be alone with that man. She would avoid doing so in the future.
• • •
“So,” Elizabeth said, as he came through the door, “did you bring me any leftovers of Maddy’s fudge? I’ve been thinking about it ever since you left.”
“Fudge?”
“That’s why you walked down to Claire’s,” she said. “You were going to get some fudge at Amy’s store. I know I didn’t make that up.”
The last thing on his mind when he’d been talking to Claire was fudge.
“What happened down there? Were they out?”
“I have no idea,” he confessed. “It was too early for Amy to be up, and Claire was hanging out wash when I got there. She brought me some water, and we sat on the porch and talked awhile.”
“Really,” Elizabeth said. “You and Claire. Sitting on the porch. Talking.”
“Yes.” He didn’t know why he should feel defensive about such an innocent act—but as Elizabeth turned her laser beam of attention on him, he was distinctly uncomfortable.
“Good heavens,” she said.
“What?”
He expected for her to say something about how he had spent the morning, but she didn’t. Instead she got up and went back to her
Daadi Haus,
shaking her head the whole way. Before the screen door slammed behind her, he distinctly heard her say, “Uh-oh.”
C
laire nervously plied her crochet hook. It was a no-church Sunday. This was a day she usually enjoyed, what with the tradition of visiting friends and relatives, or simply resting and doing small chores. But this particular no-church Sunday was different.
Bishop Schrock, their two ministers, and the deacon were meeting to talk about . . . her. It felt so strange to know that the leaders of her church were meeting specifically to discuss her request for a pager. She knew there were a few in the Old Order church who privately bent the rules a little and owned cell phones. One was a mother who bought the phone to keep track of her four children, who were all on
Rumspringa
and all owned cell phones. If it was done quietly, there were seldom ramifications.
But even if Claire wanted to, she couldn’t “cheat” and then hand out her cell phone number to all her expectant mothers. She was a professional, and she had a business. The point was for people to be able to get hold of her. She wouldn’t have done such a thing, even if she thought she could get away with it.
She knew there was no chance that her leaders would or could approve a cell phone, but she thought they might
allow her a pager, so a desperate mother or father could contact her.
This was not a decision for the church to take lightly. The leaders were concerned that allowing her to openly carry a pager would be a slippery slope that would lead to others wanting the same convenience. There was a danger it would eventually lead to all their congregation feeling free about openly carrying cell phones in their pockets. If that sort of thing happened, their church might as well join those liberal Beachy Amish and start driving cars and using computers!
“Don’t worry,” Maddy said, as she kneaded the rolls they would have for dinner. “I think they will allow it. It is a reasonable request.”
“The Lord’s will be done.” Claire glanced at the clock. Her statement, she knew, was a little hypocritical. On this issue, she didn’t want the Lord’s will to be done unless it mirrored her own. A pager was not for her own selfish purposes—it was for the good of her mothers and their babies. Recently there had been two instances when a young husband had the options of staying with his laboring wife, leaving a message on Claire’s answering machine and praying she heard it, or streaking out on a horse to bring help, leaving his wife alone and untended.
The pager could save lives. It could also save a nine-year-old from having to help her mother deliver a baby, a regrettable situation that had happened a few months ago. Children, in Claire’s opinion, should be shielded from such things until they were old enough to understand. An innocent childhood was a gift she wished all children to have.
She glanced at the clock. The men should be finished with their discussion by now. She hoped one of them would ride over and let her know what they had decided so she wouldn’t have to wait on pins and needles any longer.
As the soft wool slipped through her fingers, she thought about how there had seemed to be a swell of births among their Amish community lately. She had almost run out of these tiny newborn hats that she liked to personally crochet for each of her babies. The Mueller girl was due to deliver anytime now, and it would be a sorry thing if Claire didn’t have a tiny warming cap ready.
Some midwives simply bought the caps, and there was nothing wrong with that, but Claire’s grandmother had been the one who had trained her and given her the skills with which she now supported her family. It had been her grandmother’s habit to crochet these little caps, and doing so now made her feel as though her grandmother was still with her.
“Someone is coming.” Jesse stopped playing checkers with Albert and went to the window to look.
Claire heard them now, too. The sound of buggy wheels on gravel.
Jesse craned his neck to look down the driveway. “It’s the bishop.”
Claire had just enough time to put away her crocheting before Bishop Schrock was knocking at their door.
Their church was blessed to have a godly and kind man as their bishop. She not only respected him, she liked him, and his wife was a good friend.
No matter how kind a bishop might be, however, friendship took a backseat to the good of their religious community. As logical and rational as she felt her desire for a pager was, there was still a good chance that it would be turned down.
“Please come in, Bishop.” Claire hoped that she did not sound too nervous.
“I can make tea, Bishop,” Maddy offered.
“
Denki,
but I can’t stay,” the bishop said. “Two of my sons have gone over to Pennsylvania to visit family, so I have extra
chores this evening. Still, I thought you would like to know our decision before you sleep tonight.”
“I am anxious to hear,” Claire said.
“It was not a decision easily made.”
His expression was so solemn, she felt her heart plummet. The leaders were going to turn her down. She would have to continue to rely on her answering machine for word from her clients. That meant she would continue to nervously make a dozen or more trips out to her phone shanty every day for fear there would be someone who needed her and she would not know.
Still—if that was the decision of their leaders, she would accept it. At least they had heard her out and given it consideration. In her old church, the Swartzentruber church, she would never even have broached the subject.
“There are many small businesses within our church, as you know,” the bishop said. “Many of our people are self-employed and would enjoy the freedom that a cell phone or a pager would give them to allow customers to contact them.”
Claire knew for certain now that she would be turned down. They could not prioritize her needs over the others, even if her work was not like theirs. It really wasn’t fair. An order for lumber could wait a day. A question about a quilt was not a matter of life or death. But her women had no control over when a baby would decide to come.
She did not protest, but bowed her head to await the verdict.
“Yours is a special situation,” the bishop said. “There is a chance that a baby or a mother’s life could be lost if a mother has no way to reach you. We value our families too much to allow that to happen. God has given you a special gift, Claire. We have come to the conclusion that it would not be wise or in the best interests of our church to quench that gift.”
She could hardly believe her ears. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?
“It was unanimous,” the bishop said. “You may have your pager. We will let our church know our reasoning on the matter during church next Sunday.”
Claire felt her heart lift with this good news. Oh, God was so good!
“Thank you,” she said. “So very much.”
“Your faithfulness and devotion to the Lord, in addition to your work, has been noted. We know you will use it wisely.” The bishop rubbed his hands together. “Now, while I am here, are you and the children doing all right? Are there any needs that have not been met that our church needs to see to?”
Claire knew this was his way of asking her if she had enough money for herself and her family.
“We are by necessity frugal,” she said, “but we are able to care for our needs. Levi, of course, shares a portion of the income from the farm with us, and with my work, and the children’s store, we are all right.”
“You are a wonderful good steward,” the bishop said. “But you will let me know if things ever become not ‘all right’? The Bible teaches us to take care of our widows and orphans. That is our first financial responsibility as a church. You know this, Claire.”
She lifted her chin, and looked him straight in the eyes. “By the grace of God, I am able to provide for my family.”
The bishop smiled. “I am pleased with your strength.”
Six words that meant the world to her. Such high praise from their bishop.
“Have you written any more poems?” he asked Amy, who, along with the other children, had been listening wide-eyed to the conversation.
Amy put her hand on a stack of small notebooks. “I have
so many poems,” she said. “I can hardly make cards fast enough to use all of them.”
“That reminds me,” the bishop said. “My wife asked me to pick some more cards up for her since she knew I would be stopping by here.”
“She’s out already?”
“My wife loves sending them to people. She says they are like mailing a piece of art to someone. Do you have any left?”
“Oh!” Amy started gathering up several that had been scattered around her little worktable. “These are the ones I finished this week.”
Claire’s heart smiled as she watched the bishop get down on one knee beside Amy’s craft table. Soon, his and Amy’s heads were close together, bent over the small stack of cards, discussing the merits of each one.
Claire knew that it would never occur to Amy that men his age would not really be interested in her little poems. This man who had been chosen by God to be their bishop was a true shepherd to their church and he had the heart and wisdom to care about something so important to one of the church’s children.
After he had carefully selected five cards, he stood and drew out a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet. Amy happily made change from her money box.
“Your wife might like to have some sassafras tea, too,” Jesse pointed out.
“And some fresh eggs?” Albert added helpfully.
“I am so grateful that you pointed these things out to me,” the bishop said. “I am quite sure my wife is in need of these things—and a jar of honey, too.”
“I make pot holders,” Sarah said, shyly.
“Oh, little one,” the bishop said. “I’m sorry. How could I have overlooked such fine pot holders? I know my wife would want me to bring her a couple.”
“Does she like fudge?” Maddy asked.
The bishop laughed out loud. “Yes, as a matter of fact, she likes fudge, and Maddy, unless I miss my guess, she’s probably in need of a new head covering as well.”
“I just finished two new ones.”
After paying for the other items, he told Jesse and Albert that the bass were getting big over in his pond and invited them to come catch some. Then he put his packages in his buggy and drove on. Claire marveled at the feeling of warmth and security he left behind. He had stayed no more than fifteen minutes, and yet the whole atmosphere in the room had changed. Their church was blessed indeed.
E
lizabeth was at church. Grace was working a double shift at the ER, and he wasn’t sure where Levi was. What he was sure about was that it was time for him to leave.
The old adage that fish and guests start to stink after three days was one he had seen played out in more than one culture. This morning would make three and a half days that he had stayed with these good people. It was time to go.
He found an envelope, put three hundred dollars in—a hundred for each night—and wrote a heartfelt thank-you note to go with it. Leaving would be easier this way. He did not want to go through the awkwardness of their polite insistence that he stay.