Holding a Tender Heart (22 page)

Bishop Beiler sighed. And here he'd thought things were going so well these past few weeks. The
Englisha
girl, Debbie, had settled in and was now attending the services on Sundays—and wearing Amish dress at that. The rest of the time Debbie wore
Englisha
clothing and her car still sat behind the barn at night. Those weren't
gut
things, but Debbie had brought a great peace to the household by the influence she had on Lois. There could be no other explanation for Lois's change of attitude. It had been more than two weeks now since she'd said anything about her desire to jump the fence into the awful world that lay out there.

One could almost call the past few weeks peaceful, Bishop Beiler thought as he pushed open the barn door. A bishop's life was never quite at that state; there was always some wrong that stirred or was about to. Though he might have become a little jumpy in his years as bishop, Adam was reminded by his
frau
often that “
Da Hah
will take care of things.” Saloma would say, “Isn't that what you preach Sundays in your sermons?”

Yah
, he admitted to himself. It was so. But the practice of a thing was always harder than it was to preach it, and right now everything appeared a burden. Perhaps if he got this Yoder matter off his mind, the next Sunday services would be a joy instead of further dread. But what if all that was said about Henry were true? Or even worse,
what if it were true and Henry refused to repent? The bishop would only have a bad report to give at the next ministers' meeting, which would mean more talk, a late start to the church service, and things would get worse from there. Bishop Beiler jerked on the halter, signaling Milo to move forward through the barn door. Why couldn't people stay inside the fence established by the
Ordnung
? Instead they saw supposedly greener blades of grass on the other side. This grass always proved to be the same old grass that grew inside the fence. The bishop had preached and preached this truth, and everyone agreed in theory. But then it happened again. He supposed if it hadn't been Henry this time, someone else would have taken it on him- or herself to cause trouble.

Bishop Beiler hitched Milo to the buggy and drove out of the driveway. Saloma appeared for a brief moment in the doorway and gave him a little wave. He waved back. She was a
gut frau
, there was no doubt about that. He couldn't carry this load without her. But then
Da Hah
never gave a burden without the means to bear it. He would have to keep this in mind when it came to Henry Yoder.

Milo's hooves set up a steady clip on the road, and a dark cloud settled over Bishop Beiler's mind as he drove along. He'd known it was there for some time, but it was the drive over to the Yoders' place that made it seem worse. And then there was Verna's continued trouble with Joe Weaver. His daughter still mourned the boy's leaving. Her fear that Joe would never come back was unfounded, he told himself. He'd made it clear that Verna had no hand in the disclosure of the driving transgression. Surely Joe was just taking his time about the matter. And that showed depth of character in the bishop's opinion.

This wasn't Verna's opinion, though. He did declare, that girl moped around the house on Sundays in an almost indecent manner. Before long he would have to speak with her again about it, but so far his heart wasn't in the rebuke. He'd been partly to blame about this trouble. Well, Henry Yoder and himself.

Maybe the entire situation had only shown Joe what it would be like to marry into a bishop's family. He might have second thoughts about marriage into a family that had to place church work above other considerations.

Bishop Beiler gently slapped the reins against Milo's back, encouraging him on. Joe Weaver wasn't that great a loss, but that wasn't something a father told his daughter when she was still grieving over the situation. Joe wasn't that bad a choice as a son-in-law either. His former girlfriend, Rosy, obviously had some complaint against him, but the bishop had never been able to find out exactly what. Maybe the girl simply found a better option in someone else. And that was what he wished Verna would do. But she clearly had no plans other than Joe, so he'd better work with the girl if he could. And it was true what Verna had said. She was over twenty-four now, and every month her chances of marriage to a decent man in their community dwindled. And Ida was in much the same shape, but she didn't seem as worried.

On the other hand, either girl might succeed with one of the community's widowers in the years ahead. That wasn't a bad option. He would actually prefer it over a greenhorn who had never been married. But most young women didn't look at things that way. They wanted a man's heart first, rather than get one secondhand. And he couldn't blame them for the sentiment. Saloma likely had been of the same mind.

The bishop neared Henry's place, and Milo neighed to several of his horses grazing in the field. The sound brought the bishop out of his thoughts. He tightened the reins and steered the buggy into the driveway. Henry's smiling face appeared in the barn doorway before Milo came to a stop.

“The bishop himself!” Henry said. “Don't you have a deacon anymore?”

“Seems you know you're needing one,” Bishop Beiler replied as he climbed down to tie Milo to the hitching post.

Henry's pleased look never dimmed. “I've been behaving myself tolerable, I think.”

“I guess we'll see about that.” Bishop Beiler pasted a pleasant expression on his face. “Have you time for a little talking? Perhaps in the barn where we can sit on a hay bale?”

“This looks like a right smart spot to me.” Henry leaned against the buggy wheel. “I can't imagine what there is to say unless Joe Weaver's been driving
Englisha
vehicles again.”

The man has his gall, Bishop Beiler thought. He swallowed. “Joe's been behaving himself—at least from what I know. That isn't the report I've been hearing about you though.”

“
Ach.
” Henry twirled his straw hat in his hands. “You know how people talk. It's mostly hot air, I suppose…whatever it is you've been hearing.”

“Seems like you can't stay off rubber-tired tractors, I'm told. Done bought your own—with rubber still on it.”

“Now that's a nasty thing to be saying around.” Henry didn't appear happy in the least. “I wish people would mind their own business like
Da Hah
tells them to. Isn't that in the scriptures somewhere? I think Deacon Mast just read it in church last Sunday.”

The bishop hid a smile. “It may be, Henry. But that's not the point we're discussing. We're talking about you now. About how you're behaving yourself.”

“Okay…” Henry seemed to ponder the point for a moment. “I will confess I did buy a new tractor, but there's nothing indecent about that. Come see for yourself.” Henry waved his hand to the side and led the way to the barn door.

Owning a new tractor was within the rules of the
Ordnung
, Bishop Beiler thought, so why had Henry wanted to speak outside all this time? He was hiding something.

Henry pushed open the barn door and said with a flourish, “See! Brand-new but perfectly within the
Ordnung
.”

Bishop Beiler walked up and ran his hand over the steel-rimmed
tires on the back of the tractor. “It does look like it, and,
yah
, it is brand-new. And you sure couldn't be working in the fields with these magnificent steel wheels.”

Where Henry had gotten the steel rims was hard to tell. These had to be custom made for such a new tractor model. Most of the Amish purchased the oldest tractors they could find for that very reason.

Henry didn't appear pleased at the bishop's detailed inspection. “I got a lot of money in the thing, but it's what I wanted.”

Bishop Beiler met his gaze. “I'm sure it came with rubber tires when you bought it. Did those stay at the dealer?”

Henry didn't say anything, which didn't surprise the Bishop at all. He sighed inwardly. He was too old for this kind of work. That was the reason deacons were assigned to tasks like this. They could best ferret out this kind of maneuvering. The bishop was sure Henry had used the rubber tires and now had them hidden somewhere with plans to get more use out of them later. That was the only scenario that made sense. The bishop looked around and then walked over to a dark corner of the barn. He poked around a pile of gunny bags with his foot. A huge rubber tire appeared, followed by another one. He turned and faced Henry. “Would these be the ones you were seen using the other day?”

“I'm taking them back to the dealer,” Henry said at once. “I had to bring the tractor home. I switched the tires for the steel rims when I got it home last week.”

“Which means you got a little use in while you had the chance. And the tires are still here. I'm disappointed in you, Henry. You know better than this.”

Henry sputtered. “Okay! I took it for a few rounds in the field with the regular tires, that's all. But that shouldn't be a huge matter of concern.”

Bishop Beiler sighed aloud this time. “You will take the tractor and the tires back to the dealer. This temptation is too much for you,
Henry. Do that and we'll settle for another church confession—but on your knees this time.”

“Surely not, Bishop Beiler!” Henry appeared shaken. “I can't do that…really!”

“I will consult with the other ministers before making a final decision, of course,” Bishop Beiler said. He saw a look of hope flash on Henry's face. “Henry, they'll probably think I'm going too easy on you even with those two conditions.”

Henry scowled. “I find neither of those terms acceptable, Bishop. A man should not be blamed when he drives his new tractor around the field a few times before he changes the tires.”

It was more than a few times, based on Rhonda's report, but the bishop didn't want to say anything that might reveal his source of information. He shook his head. “Think about it, Henry. I'll consult the others, but you'd better plan on taking that tractor back.”

Henry said nothing but looked quite glum as Bishop Beiler turned and went outside.

He hoped Henry would see the sense in his punishment. One thing was certain—the ministry couldn't allow a brand-new tractor that could use rubber tires to be in the hands of someone with the problem Henry had. It would turn into a merry chase trying to keep the
verboten
tires out of Henry's reach. And who needed those kinds of games? His bishopric would turn into the laughingstock of the Amish world.

He reached the hitching post, untied Milo, and climbed into the buggy. Swinging Milo around in the lane with a smart slap with the lines, Bishop Beiler sighed again. His Saturday church work should be done now, but it wasn't. That much was clear. Henry hadn't taken the rebuke well. So now the bishop wouldn't be returning home to think peaceful thoughts for the rest of the evening. Rather he'd be remembering Henry's scowl and probably lie awake half the night concerned about what was going to happen.

Surely Henry had no plans to flaunt the
Ordnung
outright, did
he? There was not a member in the community who would vote to overlook such action. They knew everyone had to obey the rules or no one would. What course did Henry have but to obey? None that were acceptable, the bishop thought. He'd bring the matter up in the next ministers' meeting. They would agree to an action, inform Henry, and then wait. Maybe a little time would soften Henry's resolve so he could accept the correction. It often worked that way with members who transgressed. If they were pushed too hard, nasty things could happen. Things no bishop wanted to consider for his people. All around them were liberal churches just waiting to snatch up any dissatisfied members of his flock. They wouldn't get a chance with Henry if the bishop could prevent it. And yet some kind of repentance on Henry's part was necessary. He'd have to bend the knee this time. In his heart first, followed by a confession in front of the church. There was no other way to maintain discipline and help Henry.

Bishop Beiler urged Milo on. Now that he'd made up his mind, a level of peace flooded his heart. He would take the rest of the day off once he arrived home. He'd read scripture for the possible preaching of the Word at the next Sunday service. Saloma or one of the girls might even bring him a glass of apple cider from the stock they had stashed in the basement.
Da Hah
had blessed them with great bounty last year.

“Get up, Milo!” he hollered out the windshield before he settled comfortably into the buggy seat for the ride home.

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