Several sucked in their breath. Mamma’s’ remark sounded none too contrite, especially considering she was the next one to confess. But several of the women wiped at their eyes as they whispered of this unexpected turn of events—a celebration any mother would thank God for. Hiram stood before them, assessing ... taking his flock’s emotional temperature as he considered what punishment to vote on.
“Preacher Gabe and I were concerned enough about the gravity of Micah’s repeated offenses that I believed a shunning was the only effective way to—”
“How can ya say such a thing, Bishop?” one of the women pleaded. “What do ya hope to accomplish by separatin’ Micah from his family, when he brought Miriam’s family back together? He said he was sorry for the way he went about it, and I believe him!”
Hiram pivoted to face the women’s side of the room. “Stand and be recognized! Our discussion must be open—transparent to all, before God!”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. Never had anyone dared to challenge Hiram Knepp in such a tone! From the end of the pew in front of hers, a figure in dark brown slowly rose.
“Aunt Leah!” Rhoda whispered.
Rachel nodded, shifting on the hard bench. Their aunt stood, clasping her hands as though afraid to proceed yet compelled to by a higher presence. “My sister and I have had our differences over the years—and for that I need your forgiveness, Miriam,” Leah said in a tremulous voice. “But, Bishop, I’m sorriest about bein’ the one who told ya Miriam went to Morning Star to see Rebecca. It was my need to spread a juicy piece of news—my tattletale’s heart—that started this whole unfortunate wagonload rollin’ down the hill.”
Heads swiveled. Whispers hissed in the dim room.
Leah’s shoulders sagged. “And now Miriam’s losin’ her buildin’. And Micah’s family might forfeit both his income and Naomi’s—”
“I heard about Micah’s misbehavior from other sources, as well,” Hiram pointed out.
“—so I’m sayin’ if anybody’s to be punished for this,” she went on doggedly, “I oughtta be among them.”
The room went silent again. Across the way, Leah’s husband, Daniel, looked none too pleased about his wife’s calling attention to herself. Her sons Nate and Bram sat taller, too, watching the emotions play over the bishop’s slender face.
“You have confessed freely and spontaneously, Leah. I see no sin in bringing the questionable activities of other members to my attention, as you did.” Hiram then squared his shoulders, looking stern as he stood before them in his black trousers and vest. His shirt was so white it glowed in the light from the basement windows. “What say you, the People? Shall we accept Micah Brenneman’s confession, or does he require further discipline?”
Down the rows he went, listening to each man’s vote in turn before turning to hear the women’s replies. Rachel held her breath. No matter how long it took, the bishop would seek a unanimous verdict. As the young women along her pew chimed in with “
Jah
, I accept Micah’s confession,” her heart fluttered rapidly.
“
Jah
, I accept his confession. He’s a
gut
man,” she insisted when it was her turn, and Rhoda echoed her sentiment. Minutes later, when Micah was called inside, she wanted to stand up and shout about how wonderful he was, and how much she loved him. But, of course, that would be inappropriate in church. When he heard he was fully pardoned, his face lit up and he beamed at her. What a wonderful relief, that neither he nor his mother would be chastised for speaking and acting in a way that had raised the elders’ doubts.
But that still didn’t mean Mamma could keep her building. Hiram had already decided that, and as the voices around them quieted again, her mother stood. Mamma looked shorter ... as vulnerable as anyone who’d ever gone before the congregation. She knelt before the bishop, in the center of the room.
See my brave mamma there, Lord?
Rachel prayed as she gripped her sister’s hand.
She needs our help and support now ... needs Your guidance while Hiram leads her through his questions and answers. Give us all the strength to accept Your way.
Chapter 21
“Miriam Lantz, what do you come before us to confess today?”
Rachel swallowed hard. Didn’t the bishop usually announce why someone had come to kneel before them? By putting Mamma on the defensive from his first words, he had put the little woman in black at a disadvantage right from the start. She sensed Hiram Knepp had saved her mother’s confession for last to make an example of her ... or to show her, in front of everyone, that he was in total control of this situation.
Cleanse me from suspicious thoughts, God. You chose Hiram by holy lot to be our leader. It’s my place to believe he carries out Your purpose for all of us.
Beside her, Rhoda tensed. Her sister’s blue eyes were fixed on their mother, who lowered her head, facing the leader who held her future in his hands.
“I’ve come to confess my sins, Bishop, and to be made right with my God again.”
“And what sins would those be?” he repeated. “It’s important, when we petition for God’s pardon, that we have a clear idea what we’re asking for.”
“Puh! Like the Lord doesn’t know!” one of the women muttered under her breath.
Rachel suspected it was Naomi, voicing the exasperation Mamma surely must be feeling right now. A warning glance from the bishop stifled any further whispering.
“Even though it was on a nonpreachin’ Sunday—our day for visitin’ kin,” Mamma pointed out in a wistful voice, “I disobeyed the
Ordnung
by hirin’ Sheila to drive me to see my Rebecca and her
dat
—even though Sheila refused my money. Took along food for the fella who pulled my daughter from the river eighteen years ago, as he’d just lost his wife. And
jah
, I did this in secret. Had I known Micah was goin’, I could’ve ridden along and saved us both some grief, ain’t so?”
Rhoda grinned and closed her eyes. On Rachel’s other side, Annie Mae Knepp stifled a snicker.
“Mrs. Lantz, this is a serious matter—”
“I’m as serious as can be, Bishop.”
“—and I must ask you to come to your point with appropriate solemnity,” Hiram warned.
Mamma lowered her head farther. “I’m givin’ the full story, like you asked, Bishop. My point bein’ that while I broke some of our rules, I felt I was doin’ it for the right reasons,” she said contritely. “Was it wrong to thank the man who saved my little girl’s life? Or wrong to express my sympathy for his loss? Sundays are the only time I have for doin’ that.”
Rachel nipped her lip to keep from chuckling. The sparkle had returned to Rhoda’s eyes, too, because their mother was trying Hiram’s patience as only she knew how. It was good to hear Mamma stand her ground and state her priorities. Were the unwritten rules of their
Ordnung
more important than caring for those who’d lost family members? More important than expressing love—and thanksgiving—for a daughter returned? It was an issue that seldom came before them in such a dramatic way, and everyone in the room followed this discussion closely.
Hiram cleared his throat purposefully. “And you have only Sundays for this purpose because you work in your café the other six days. Which—as we have discussed several times, Miriam—has taken over so much of your life that you’ve not opened your heart to the love of another husband.”
Mamma shifted on her knees. “My heart’s open, Bishop. But my head’s sayin’ the right man hasn’t shown himself yet.”
“Miriam!” His voice rang like a thunderclap in the low-ceilinged room. “This is precisely the sort of hubris—the lack of humility—that has brought you before us today! And the very reason I have insisted you sell your building! Your dealings with the English have eroded the basic faith, obedience, and submission we all witnessed when you were Jesse’s wife.”
Rachel held her breath. Once again the bishop was exercising his power as their spiritual leader, and he sounded like he might just slap a ban on Mamma the moment she dared defy him again.
Lord, please help those two come to Your understandin’
, she prayed with all her heart.
It’s not like either of them is wrong, but this isn’t soundin’ right, either.
“Things were different when I was Jesse’s wife,” her mother stated quietly. “While I confess to enjoyin’ my business and
jah
, takin’ pride in feedin’ people, I thank God that He has provided me a means of supportin’ my girls ... while also showin’ me just how strong He created me to be. ’Tis a gift, to realize that just when ya feel you’ve hit rock bottom, ya
have
—for sure and for certain—landed on the Rock, indeed. It’s God’s own hand you’re sittin’ in.”
A hush went over the crowd. All present sat absolutely still. The bishop’s knuckles went white. From in front of Rachel, Hannah Brenneman’s stomach rumbled loudly, announcing the lateness of the hour in the absence of a clock. While their church services and members’ meetings were lessons in patience and waiting, Rachel wondered how long Hiram Knepp might press his point for the sake of putting Mamma back in her place.
Apparently the other elders wondered this, too: Preacher Tom and Reuben Reihl, the deacon, took the bishop aside for a whispered conversation. Hiram didn’t look happy about what they said, but when the two sat down he once again stood before Mamma. “Have you anything else to say before you go outside, Miriam? I sense nothing further will be accomplished if you continue to respond so glibly, rather than with heartfelt contrition.”
Glibly?
Did Hiram feel their mother wasn’t stating her faith in acceptable, worthy terms? Or did he sense he’d lost the confidence of the congregation?
“‘The Lord is my light and my salvation,’” Mamma replied quietly. “‘Whom then shall I fear? Of whom shall I be afraid?’”
Rhoda squeezed her hand so hard Rachel nearly yelped—but she squeezed back. There was just no arguing with Dat’s favorite Psalm. At a time like this, no one could deny the power of the Holy Scripture to answer every question and speak to any accuser.
“You may step outside, Miriam.”
Mamma nodded, and when she struggled to rise from the hard basement floor, Micah stepped forward to steady her.
“Denki,”
she murmured, and then she hurried up the stairs.
“Do you, the People, accept Miriam’s confession as the true, contrite request for God’s forgiveness?” the bishop asked. “If anyone doubts her sincerity, it’s your Christian responsibility to speak up rather than to let her attitude pass because of your friendship with her or the lateness in the day.”
Once again Rachel held her breath and her sister’s hand as the vote followed the rows of men on the other side of the room ... and then went quickly from one woman to the next. Did she dare celebrate this affirmation with the same joy she’d felt when Micah’s confession was accepted? “
Jah
,” she said proudly, “I accept her confession.”
“
Jah
, me too!” Rhoda echoed.
Happiness made her heart flutter like butterflies as Preacher Tom went to fetch Mamma. When their mother paused in the doorway to read the faces she knew so well, it was a joy indeed to see her smile return before Hiram Knepp announced their verdict.
At last the day began to move again. As everyone filed up the stairs and began setting out the long tables for their lunch beneath the trees, Rachel hugged her mother. With Rhoda on their other side, they formed the tight triangle they’d come to love, rocking each other with a love that would not let them go.
“Oh, Mamma, ya sounded so strong! So confident,” Rhoda murmured. She thumbed a tear from their mother’s cheek and then swiped at her own eyes.
“I was prayin’ for ya,” Rachel said in a voice that wavered. “Askin’ God to let the truth be told—held up for all to see, no matter how Hiram seemed to—”
“And that’s all we’ll be sayin’ about the bishop and his way with words.” Mamma gazed pointedly at Rachel and then at her sister. “Truth be told, my mouth’s my worst enemy sometimes and I
do
sound like I’m makin’ light of important matters. It’s best we don’t continue doin’ that, ain’t so?”
At least not here,
Rachel mused as she saw friends coming across the yard to greet them. The same thought sparkled in her sister’s eyes.
“I’m thinkin’ the faster those tables get set, the sooner we’ll eat,” Rhoda remarked. As she looked over Mamma’s shoulder, she smiled. “And I’m thinkin’ Aunt Leah might want a word without us listenin’ in, too. Mighty surprisin’, when she stood up that way—and mighty
gut
, too.”
“
Jah
,” Rachel agreed as they stepped toward the tables, “some days the surprises are better than others.”
Chapter 22
Obedience ... submission ... patience,
Miriam reminded herself as she rode in the bishop’s carriage on Monday morning.
Obedience ... submission ... patience. Wait on the Lord and leave this all in His hands ... the Lord is my light ... whom then shall I fear?
“You’re awfully quiet this morning, Miriam. Considering the overwhelming support you received after your confession yesterday, I expected you to be more
pleased
. Happy to be in good standing with God and the church again.” Hiram fixed his dark eyes on hers as they rolled down the highway toward New Haven. He was a master at waiting out people’s answers—making them fill a silence that grew more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by.
It was a skill she was learning, too: Obedience. Submission. Patience. And she refused to carry on about how
pleased
she was to be making this trip to the bank, or how he’d been right to take her down a peg or two by selling her building. Lying was a sin, after all.
“I didn’t expect anyone to speak out against you, of course—nor did I believe anyone would fault you for reuniting with your daughter,” he finally remarked. “What’s her real name, again?”
“Rebecca,” Miriam murmured.
“Ah, the three
R
’s—but much more personable than reading, writing, and ’rithmatic.” He steered the horse left at the four-way stop, into New Haven. “You have a fine family, Mrs. Lantz. Truly a pity you can’t have more children.”
Was he toying with her? Trying to win her favor by tugging at her heartstrings? As he helped her down, in the lot reserved for horse-and-buggy customers behind the bank, Miriam focused on making a graceful landing rather than meeting his gaze. She wanted no part of the hands that lingered at her waist, nor would she give him the least bit of encouragement. This was her livelihood Hiram was messing with! It was one thing to beg forgiveness in church—obeying the bishop’s command—and quite another to submit to this man’s whims.
Obedience ... submission ... patience
, she repeated as they entered the modern brick building.
To a point
.
Miriam let her eyes adjust to the cool dimness of the air-conditioned lobby. She was pleased to see Derek Shotwell, the same bank officer who’d made her the loan for the Sweet Seasons building. As he approached, she reminded herself that while she dared not challenge Hiram’s decision, she didn’t have to roll over and play dead, either. Derek was several years younger than she, very businesslike in his long-sleeved yellow shirt and striped tie. She clutched her ledger as he shook hands with her.
“A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Lantz,” he said as he gestured toward his office door. “Although I confess I was surprised when Mr. Knepp asked me to draw up the papers for the sale of your building. Anytime I’ve ever driven by, your parking lot’s been full!”
Obedience ... submission ... patience
, she repeated as she took a chair in front of his heavy desk.
Let the situation speak for itself—and let the Lord speak through it, too.
Miriam smiled at him, liking him even more for the colorful photos of his three young children displayed on the credenza behind him. “
Jah
, we do a boomin’ business with the bakery, and we’re gettin’ a steady clientele eatin’ our meals, too.”
Derek’s high-backed leather chair bobbed when he landed in it, the obvious question in his eyes. She continued to smile at him, straight on but silent, as he took the paper clip from the documents he’d prepared.
“Just as the ownership of an automobile is considered worldly, the sale of this building is an exercise in humility: placing our faith ahead of the success that deters our progress on the path toward salvation,” Hiram replied smoothly. “This is why, once the sale’s arranged, we want no signs in front of the building. Word has spread through Willow Ridge already, and we prefer to give our members the opportunity to keep this property in Amish hands.”
“I can understand that, yes, sir.” Once again, the loan officer met her gaze as he turned the paperwork toward her so she could read it. “Our appraiser kept that in mind when he visited the property.”
When had that appraiser been to the café? Didn’t such dealings take time ... require a certain amount of research into titles and records? Miriam sat forward, skimming the legal description of the Sweet Seasons, its size and location and then the asking price. “A hundred thirty thousand?” she gasped.
Hiram grunted and snatched up the paperwork. “How can this be? The original loan was only for—”
“A vacant building, sir. And with its custom finishing, its prime location on the highway, plus the installed appliances, it’s worth much more than when Mrs. Lantz purchased it.” Derek focused on her again. “Am I to assume you’re moving your business, Mrs. Lantz? Does all that beautiful Amish-crafted furniture stay in the dining room? That would increase the asking price by quite a bit.”
Oh, but she was liking the sound of this! “Depends on what the new owner wants to do with it,” she replied, fighting a smile. “I’d love nothin’ more than to keep workin’ there—as would the quiltin’ ladies in the other half of that buildin’. And
jah
, all that finishin’ work and the furniture was done by our local Brenneman boys. Best quality ya can buy anywhere—ain’t so, Bishop?”
Hiram looked up from the paperwork and then fixed his facial expression. “True enough. But the tables and chairs could be sold at auction—as could the kitchen equipment—if the new owner has something else in mind.”
Miriam maintained her pleasant expression but her mind was racing over these details ... the way the bishop had apparently arranged the appraisal—maybe let the fellow inside one evening while she was gone. Hiram’s surprise at the asking price told her the appraiser had researched the contents and furnishings; had gone beyond what the bishop anticipated, either out of ignorance of the market price, or ... personal interest?
Obedience ... submission ... patience
. They seemed to be working in her favor, but she couldn’t jump to any conclusions: too much was at stake here, and no one had signed on that line yet.
As the men discussed the contract terms, fees, and a possible time frame for when the building might sell in the current market, Miriam sat quietly. She wasn’t pretending to be ignorant, exactly ... just realizing her
place
in this conversation and staying there, for once. The men haggled over the asking price and the value of the building’s contents—and wouldn’t Micah be awestruck to know the retail value of his finishing work and his furniture? A sudden silence made her look up.
“Here’s a pen, Mrs. Lantz. It’s the line with the sticky note arrow beside it.”
The price hadn’t gone down. Her heart thundered as she dutifully looked to Hiram for his go-ahead. As he nodded, she signed her name to the biggest amount of money she’d ever dealt with.
“You realize, of course, that depending upon the market, we might lower the asking price to entice potential buyers,” Derek informed her in a low voice. His gaze didn’t waver. “But we’ll contact you first. And we’ll let you know the minute we have offers you might wish to consider, even if they don’t meet the asking price.”
“Jah, des gut,”
she said, nodding.
Derek glanced at her signature and began stapling and folding the duplicates. He flashed an easy smile at the bishop as he finished up. “I hear your Belgians and Percherons took top dollar at a couple recent auctions, Mr. Knepp. Always good to learn about clients making good in this tough agricultural market.”
Hiram brightened immediately. “Yes, my stallions and draft horses are rated among the best in the country, not just around here.”
“And while I know you Plain folks don’t use computer technology, that ad I saw online—with the photo of your horses and the new barn—surely must generate some business,” Mr. Shotwell went on.
Miriam’s eyebrows rose at the mention of a computer ad and a photograph—both forbidden, although some of their local craftsmen had English or Mennonite friends handle advertising for their businesses. Hiram Knepp was as keen on his fine horses as she was on her cooking talents, yet he seemed unaware that his attitude could be construed as
pride
: the same sin as the one he’d instructed her to confess yesterday.
Instead of bringing this up, however, Miriam glanced at the two chatting men and slowly slipped her ledger onto a stack of manila folders on Derek’s desk. If her figures could speak for her, perhaps they would compensate for her not talking much today, in deference to Hiram.
A few minutes later, she and the bishop were on their way home. While Miriam was even more convinced that this shrewd Amish man had made some arrangements behind her back, she felt a little better about the sale situation. She could leave it to the Lord and not believe she was forfeiting all she’d devoted to the Sweet Seasons. They arrived at the café minutes before noon, so she clambered down from the buggy as soon as he pulled his horse to a halt. “Appreciate the ride, Hiram,” she remarked. “Gotta jump in on the lunch rush. Ya know how busy my girls and Naomi’ll be about now.”
His expression suggested he had other things to discuss. “Just be mindful of getting too involved—so busy with worldly pursuits that you have no time for the twins. Or to find a husband, like we’ve discussed.”
Already halfway to the building, Miriam turned to look pointedly at him. “All
three
of my girls are at the top of my to-do list, Hiram. If you’re not too busy sellin’ the services of those prize stallions, you can join us for their twenty-first birthday party in a couple weeks.”
As he adjusted his black hat, his nostrils flared like a horse’s. “What’re you implying, Miriam? Breeding draft horses is my livelihood.”
“
Jah
, like bakin’ is mine. And I’m guessin’ those stallions of yours could find themselves a nice mare without you doin’ the choosin’ and takin’ the credit, ain’t so?” She’d crossed the line again, but she couldn’t unsay the words. “Far be it from me to suggest you’re actin’ prideful and could use a dose of the same humility you’re dishin’ up to the Brennemans and me, Bishop.”
Miriam fully expected him to follow her into the kitchen and deliver a sermon, but she had no time to fret over it: Naomi was forking hot, crispy chicken pieces from three cast-iron skillets while Rhoda scurried to remove pans of fresh biscuits from the oven. Rachel saw her first, over the tub of dirty dishes she’d hefted onto the counter beside the sink.
“Mamma! How’d it go?” She wiped her hands on her white apron, concern furrowing her flushed brow. “Did the banker think we’d be movin’ out soon? Mary Schrock’s been in a dither about where they’d display all their quilts and—well, we’re gettin’ a
lot
of questions! And I can’t answer them!”
Miriam smiled at her daughters and Naomi, the three faces she loved most, here in the kitchen that had become her second home. Surrounded by the crackling of grease and the fragrant steam from the tastiest food to be found anywhere in these parts, she caught each of her girls in an arm and hugged them hard. “Not our job to answer all the questions, honey-bugs,” she replied. “Wasn’t my favorite trip, goin’ to put this place up for sale, but I believe Mr. Shotwell will do his best for us.”
Naomi finished filling the biscuit basket for the buffet. “I see them out there waitin’ for more chicken. It’s like they can’t get enough of our food, now that the grapevine’s shakin’ with the news of the place goin’ up for sale.”
Glancing out into the crowded dining room, Miriam nodded. “I’ll carry that for ya. Then I gotta get crackin’ on those fifteen fruit pies for Zook’s, and refill our front case, too. Hated bein’ gone this mornin’, but ya do what ya have to do.”
As she approached the steam table, the Kanagy boys and the three blond Brennemans stood waiting to stab some chicken before she could put the pan in its place. “Can’t have ya passin’ out from hunger now, can we?” she teased as she stepped out of their way. Then she tapped Micah on the shoulder. “Can I have a word?”
“
Jah
, sure.” He quickly grabbed two large chicken breasts and two more biscuits. “How’d it go at the bank? Was thinkin’ about ya, Miriam, wonderin’ if I should’ve come along.”
“You’ve got your work, Micah. And I just wanted to tell ya—” She waited for Nate and Bram to go back to their table, and then lowered her voice. “I feel real
gut
about this situation now, bein’s how Mr. Shotwell’s appraiser adjusted the sale price
way
up from what I paid—on account of your fine finishin’ work and furniture, mostly. I want ya to go ahead and finish off the apartment in the smithy.”
Micah nodded, listening closely as the crowd chattered around them. “
Jah
, probably not a
gut
idea to leave it half-done.”
“When the buildin’ sells—and ...
jah
, I believe it will,” she said with a hitch in her voice, “I’ll pay ya for the materials and whatever ya want for your labor, outta the money I get for it. Investin’ my profit in that upstairs apartment’ll save me some income tax—and I still wanna live there when you and Rachel marry.”