Authors: Unknown
“Amongst the Old Order there are a gut many things that can prompt church discipline for a woman,” Lyddie explained.
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“Too short a hemline, for one; cutting or curling her hair, dating or marryin’ an out sider, ownin’ a television or a car . ” At the mention of televisions and cars, Lyddie turned a bit sheepish. “But my church the New Order fellowship of believers doesn’t embrace shunning practices,” she added quickly. “Still, we’re very strict ‘bout other things.”
Lyddie’s church required the utmost of holiness in daily living — modesty of dress, godly speech, and purity of deed. But they also embraced wholeheartedly the assur ance of salvation, through faith in Jesus Christ, just as Sarah and Bryan did.
“Some of the shunning practices in Lan caster County are more severe than you’d think. Heartbreaking, really. But, then, some are ever so lenient, too. All depends on the bishop and the church.”
“Marrying a Mennonite man if you were raised Amish would that be a reason to be shunned?” she asked, trying to piece the puzzle together.
“If the person has been baptized into the
Old Order church, jah, the shun for
sure and for certain.”
Sarah found Lyddie’s answer to be cu rious. Just whowasthe Mennonite seam stress named Katie Fisher?
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Before retiring for the night, Sarah read her Bible, turning to the second chapter of First Thessalonians, reading verses six through eight aloud. ” ‘As apostles of Christ we could have been a burden to you, but we were gentle among you, like a mother caring for her little children. We loved you so much that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well, because you had become so dear to us.’ “
She marveled at the beauty of the words, this tender encouragement written by the apostle Paul. Would she remember them tomorrow? She sighed sleepily, feeling somewhat convicted a tug at her very soul. Motherhood required sacrifice, every ounce of energy and ingenuity she had to offer.
She was so weary…
In her mind’s eye, she was a young girl gathering seashells with her father, washing the clinging, wet sand from her fingers, tracing the smoothness of the shell, enjoying its fragile texture the eye-catching shape — seeing the tinge of color. All the while, her father shared not only his faith with her, but his very life. Yet all this required an interlude from the stroll along
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the shoreline.“‘Stop for a moment, and take time to cherish the treasure,“her father’s words came back to her.
Yes, this thing she must do daily as wife, mother/aunt, businesswoman, and new Christian.Cherish the treasure…
The distant echo of her father’s words touched her profoundly. Even now she lay, weary and anxious, missing Bryan, praying she could manage well without Lyddie, wanting to meet the needs of Caleb, Anna Mae, Josiah, and Hannah. Wishing… no,longingto be God’s kind of woman.
Keeping things simple was the key to peace and happiness. Wasn’t it? But how, with such a complicated, busy life? Must she quit working, give up her professional job she’d worked so hard to carve out for herself?.
Not possessing the answer, she gave in to sleep.
Long before the alarm sounded the next morning, Sarah awakened, in tune to the schedule of her days. She stretched, reaching for Bryan. Finding only his pillow, she quickly recalled that her hus band was in Boston.
She yawned and sat up. If she hurried she could mend clothes, finish addressing
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Lyddie and Levi’s wedding invitations, bake two loaves of oatmeal bread, have her morning talk with the Lord, and bathe and dress for the day before it was time to pre pare another big breakfast for the children.
I’ll pace myself better today,she thought with determination.And I’ll cherish the treasure.
Slipping into her bathrobe, she headed for the hallway, deciding to let Caleb and Josiah sleep another half hour. It was still very early. She tiptoed down the steps to the laundry room and the mending basket, her thoughts on the shunned woman, the seamstress Lyddie had found for her. Un sure why, Sarah could scarcely wait to meet Katie Fisher.
Sarah did not allow herself to sit down to eat lunch, though running around during a meal was discouraged, even frowned upon, by health experts. She took small bites of her roast beef sandwich, then scanned her e-mail messages on the laptop computer while standing, checking on messages from the office, returning phone calls, and finishing up with a client, prom ising to show him a good selection of homes this Saturday when Bryan would be home again and could hold down the fort.
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Between additional bites, she put a load of laundry in the washing machine, even though Amish wash day was two days past. She swept the floors in the kitchen and utility room, took out a large roast to thaw
how convenient it would be to have a microwave again! — then hurried to gather up the wedding invitations, putting stamps on each one, then double-checking the addresses and the return address.
By the time the invitations were sufficiently stuffed into the mailbox for afternoon pickup, the washing had run its final rinse-and-dry cycle. Sarah tossed the damp clothing into the wide wicker basket, most having been newly mended before dawn this morning, and though it was after noon, she didn’t mind hanging the clothes out to dry, the day being warm. Perfect for drying clothes. Prying neighbors, who could see the clothesline from their homes, might wonder why she’d waited so late in the day, or why she’d done some washing on a Wednesday in the first place. But, truly, what they thought didn’t bother her. Sarah was focused on cherishing the treasure of today, of giving herself away for the sake of five precious young people. Her own flesh-and-blood family. Her God-given duty.
297Katie Fisher’s home lay deep in the Amish farming community southwest of the village of Intercourse by a few miles, off Cattail Road. Sarah chose to take the back way, the thin road curving ahead of her, oak trees moving not a limb as the sun filtered its light through leaves of rusty reds, sky as wide as a blue platter. With the harvest nearly complete, only a few farmers were left working, the fields having surrendered up their bounty.
Hannah and Josiah sat in the backseat of the car, chattering about their day at school. Sarah listened in only when Lyddie’s name came up, concerning the lessons taught to the students.
“We learned ‘bout sharin’ today at school,” Josiah said. “Weneededto.”
“Oh?” Sarah replied, wondering what the motivation forthatlesson might have been.
“Jah, some of the boys were mean to the girls,” Hannah volunteered quickly.
Josiah set the record straight. “That’s whatyousay!”
“Well, the boys weren’t nice, and you know it,” Hannah insisted.
“Now, children,” Sarah broke in. “Did your teacher help with the situation?” “Jah, Lyddie taught all of us ‘bou
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sharing.., and she read from the Bible on the Golden Rule,” Hannah said.
“Lyddie made us recite out loud,” Josiah said.
Sarah saw, by looking in her rearview mirror, that Josiah was eyeballing his sister. “Dideachof you learn a good lesson?” she probed.
Josiah was quick to sayhedid.
“What about you, Hannah?” she asked. “Lyddie’s a right gut teacher, Aunt Sarah. We’ll miss her when she’s married,” Hannah said. “We learn ever so much from her, ‘cause she loves us so.”
“Who’s gonna teach us after Lyddie’s married, do ya think?” Josiah asked.
“We’ll pray about your new teacher. The Lord already knows who she will be,” Sarah reassured them.
Josiah and Hannah settled down a bit,
and Josiah stopped staring at his sister.Because she loves us so .
Sarah had to smile, even in spite of the children’s spat. She, like Lyddie, truly loved these children. Enough to quit her job and be a stay-at-home mom. Yes, she would relinquish her career as a real estate agent, at least for this season of her life. Bryan would be in perfect agreement, she knew.
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Finding the correct address, Sarah parked the car at the curb, in front of the clapboard bungalow. Bright yellow marigolds bloomed brightly along a brick walkway that led to the front door, and on the porch there was an inviting swing for two. Crimson geraniums, protected by the roof, still flourished alongside several wicker chairs.
Katie Fisher has a green thumb,she decided.
“Please be on your best behavior,” she said to Hannah and Josiah before getting out of the car.
“We will, Aunt Sarah,” Hannah promised.
Josiah nodded his head, opening his car door. “Jah . . “
Katie Fisher opened the front door and stepped onto the porch, wearing a high-necked, long yellow dress with miniature flowers dancing through the fabric. Her auburn hair was parted down the middle, pulled back in a soft bun at the back of her neck, with a small white head covering.
Together, Sarah and the children walked up the flower-lined walkway to the neat little house. “Hello,” Sarah said, introducing herself. “I phoned yesterday.”
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The young woman stood at the top of the porch steps, stooping low to greet the children. “Well, now, who’s this?” Katie Fisher said, apparently delighted.
“This is my niece Hannah and my nephew Josiah,” Sarah said.
“I’m ever so glad to meet you. My name is Katie Fisher. Please, won’tcha come inside?” A smile lit up her face.
“Denki,” Hannah said. Josiah said nothing.
The kitchen smelled of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, and Katie offered the sweet treats on an oval platter. “Go ahead and sit at the table, if you like,” she said, pulling a chair out for Hannah.
Small, but cozy, the room was sunny and bright with bold accents — an open area of shelving displayed mismatched sets of bright green and yellow coffee mugs and teacups and saucers. A rounded vintage toaster caught her eye on the counter, as did the glass salt-and-pepper shakers sporting red tops. A small stack of green-andwhite-checked cloth napkins lay near a Mason iar filled with pink wild flowers. In one corner, Sarah spotted what must have been two guitar cases, matching ones. For a “conservative Mennonite,” as Preacher Esh had referred to Katie Fisher, her
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kitchen was surprisingly eye-catching and vibrant with color.
“How many dresses do ya want sewn for Hannah?” Katie asked.
“Let’s make it three, while we’re at it.”
Katie nodded. “And Josiah… he needs trousers and for-gut shirts?”
“Two pairs of pants and two dress shirts,” replied Sarah.
As they discussed the traditional fabric and colors for the children’s new clothes, Katie commented that she would keep a running tally on the cost of the fabric, sewing notions, and, of course, her time. “But, don’t worry, you can affordme]‘she said with a smile.
After washing her hands, Hannah was first, standing on a chair while Katie mea sured her from shoulders to waistline, and waist to hem, shoulder to wrist, around the bodice, waist, and hips, and across her shoulders. “You’re a quiet one,” Katie said when she was finished.
Hannah smiled, showing a front tooth missing.
“She’s a sweet girl, too,” Sarah said, mo tioning now for Josiah, whose face had turned suddenly white. “Are you all right?”
“I . . uh,” he stuttered. “I’m not feelin’ so gut just now.”
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Katie’s smile faded. “He can go out and sit on the porch swing a bit. The fresh air will help, maybe.”
“I’ll go with him,” Hannah said, following her brother.
Sarah went quickly to the porch, as well.
“Are you sick?” she asked Josiah.
“Don’t know.”
She thought he might be bashful. “Relax here with Hannah, and I’ll check on you in a few minutes.”
Eager to get better acquainted with Katie, she headed back to the kitchen. “I think Josiah may be feeling awkward,” she explained.
“Jah, I ‘spect so, being’ outnumbered by us women.” Katie put some water on to
boil. “Wouldja care for some tea?” “Sounds lovely. Thanks.”
They talked for a while about the nice weather, the exceptionally blue skies, the harvest nearly past. Ordinary things.
Then, cautiously Katie said, “Your niece and nephew wear traditional Amish clothing, yet you are English. AmIright?” Her eyes were bright with interest.
Sarah laughed softly. “It’s quite a long story.., unbelievable, too.”
“A wonderful-gut story, I ‘spect?” “Most people raise an eyebrow at a non
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Amishwoman and her husband taking on a houseful of youngsters.”
“Well, my friend Mary, who’s Old Order, did just that,” Katie volunteered. “And I
well, I came mighty close to doin’ the same thing some months before Mary did.”
“Really?” Sarah was all ears. “What hap pened?”
“I couldn’t — didn’t — go through with . . marryin’ the widower.”
“A widower with several children?” Sarah didn’t want to press for more than Katie wished to offer. She would be cau tious, as warm and open as this woman
was, sitting across the table from her. “Five dear ones,” said Katie.
“Five?” Her heart leaped with empathy. “That’s how many nieces and nephews I have custody of, at least until the oldest girl is married … not long from now.”
Eyes glistening, Katie nodded. “Ach, how I loved those children.” She paused. “But I just couldn’t marry their father, the bishop.”
Sarah was caught off guard for a mo ment. What had Caleb said about a harsh shunning imposed by a jilted bishop? Dared she inquire?
Delicately, they talked around the burning questions. Sarah shared a bit more of her past, how she’d actually come to live
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in Lancaster County and had a change of heart, turning from a materialistic business woman to guardian for her deceased sis ter’s children.
Katie must have felt at ease enough to reciprocate, telling her own story, weaving a fascinating tale of heartbreak and be trayal. An English baby orphaned, then adopted by Amish parents, a girl kept in the dark about “the secret” until the eve of her wedding to an older man — a widower bishop with five young children. When she finished, she sighed deeply.
Having registered the pain of Katie’s years, Sarah considered it an honor to sip tea and nibble on cinnamon rolls with the shunned and courageous woman. And, continuing to pour out her heart, she dis covered that her life and Katie’s had run somewhat parallel, quite astonishingly, though Sarah had not been adopted or grown up in an Amish home. Nonetheless, both women had yearned for what was out of their reach — beyond the boundaries — only to find futility when they’d pushed the limits. “The world holds no attraction for me,” Sarah said at last.