Meek and Mild (48 page)

“Rachel will be pointing out that she’s nearly a year older and Rebecca should respect her elders.”

“And Rebecca will answer that Rachel takes too long on purpose and selfishness is a sin.”

“So they’ve knocked each other off the stool twice already.”

“And Katie will claim she did nothing about it because she didn’t hear anything.” Andrew put a hand at the back of Clara’s neck and leaned down to kiss her lips this time, letting his hat tumble to the floor.

He tasted of breakfast scrapple and blueberry jam, as he did every Sunday morning, and she welcomed the lingering kiss. Ten and a half years and four children later, she would not trade away a single day of their marriage. Now if only she could master getting four children ready for church on time.

She pulled back. “Let’s not get distracted.”

“It’s not too late to change your mind about taking the Model T,” Andrew said.

Clara slapped his shoulder. “Go make sure your only son hasn’t injured himself.” She had three sets of braids to tie and pin. Hopefully she would find a clean
kapp
for each of the girls. At the third crash, Clara pushed Andrew out the back door with the thought that he had the easier job. Perhaps it would be worth her while to teach him to braid. After all, her father had learned when he had no wife in the house.

Clara scurried up the back stairs of the rambling house. Despite her light step, the girls heard her coming and scrambled around to position themselves as beyond fault. Three-quarters of the way up the stairwell, Clara slowed to give her daughters time to put things right. She had no desire to catch them in the act of their transgressions. Daily life offered ample opportunity for that. Today she simply wanted to get them out the door looking suitably assembled. By the time she turned the corner into the upstairs hall, Katie was brushing her blond hair and Rachel and Rebecca were demonstrating admirable cooperation. Clara picked up a brush and began running it through the nearest head of brown hair. With the practice of tending to the girls’ hair every day, she could very nearly braid with one hand now, the fingers of the other ready with pins.

Twenty minutes later, the Raber family was in the same buggy Andrew had used to drive her home from Singings or to meet her out under the night sky at the edge of her father’s farm. They were about to outgrow this buggy, though Andrew did not know that yet. Clara would tell him soon about the new babe, but not in the midst of daily chaos. She would find an evening when the children were in bed and invite Andrew to stand in the yard and admire the handiwork of God the way they used to.

They rumbled out of the farmstead and turned south toward the Flag Run Meetinghouse in Niverton, a destination that brought some relief to Clara. On the Sundays when the congregation met in Summit Mills, the Rabers were challenged to get out of the house early enough to accomplish the additional distance in a timely way. Flag Run was comfortably close. No matter which meetinghouse the congregation used, lately Little Mose had been nagging to be allowed to sit with his father on the men’s side of the aisle. Soon Clara would have to let him, though it pained her to think that her little boy was old enough for this.

A buggy rattled toward them, heading north.

“Who’s that?” Clara said.

Beside her, Katie leaned forward in serious examination. “Yoders,” she pronounced.

“Be kind,” Clara said.

“All I said was that it was Yoders,” Katie said. “I recognize the horse from school.”

Behind his parents, Little Mose scrambled for a look, waving his hand fiercely. The other buggy passed them without greeting.

“They didn’t wave back!” Little Mose said. “That’s rude, isn’t it,
Mamm
?”

Clara turned her head to look down the road. It did seem inhospitable, but a larger question loomed. “Where do you think they’re going?” she murmured to Andrew.

He shrugged. “Bishop Beachy’s announcement two weeks ago was more than clear. He wanted to be sure we are sufficiently accommodating the families who live south of Flag Run.”

“What if they weren’t there?” Clara said.

“They were,” Katie said. “Ezra Yoder threw a lima bean at the back of my head during lunch. I remember.”

Clara glanced at her daughter, who was four months past nine. While Katie liked to hear stories and was learning to read for herself, she had never been one to make them up. If she said Ezra Yoder’s family had been in church, Clara believed her.

“I’m hungry,” Rebecca said.

Though the child had eaten breakfast, Clara was prepared and handed her youngest a piece of strudel. It was better to permit a snack on the way to church than endure the mood that would ensue during the three-hour service if Rebecca grew hungry before the midday meal.

“There’s another wagon.” Little Mose leaned over Clara’s shoulder and pointed. Enthused, he began waving again.

This time Andrew lifted his hand in greeting as well and even slowed the horse. “We’ll find out what’s going on.”

But the rhythm of the oncoming buggy did not falter.

“The Troyers,” Clara murmured.

“Yoders and Troyers,” Andrew said, glancing at her. “The Troyers live just on the other side of Niverton. They would have driven right past the meetinghouse.”

“Why aren’t they coming to church?” Katie asked.

“We don’t know,” Andrew said, “and we will not speculate.”

“What does
speculate
mean?” Little Mose asked.

“It means guessing when we don’t know the answer,” Andrew said. “And we’re not going to do it. That’s how rumors get started.”

When the Raber buggy approached the Flag Run Meetinghouse, Clara scanned the buggies and horses. Andrew parked, and they assisted the children out of the buggy.

“Those two families are not the only ones missing,” Clara said softly to Andrew.

Hannah and Mari waved at Clara from across the clearing and made their way toward her. Tall and sure of herself, Hannah was past sixteen now—closer to seventeen. She had been going to Singings for a year. Josiah attended as well. If the next ten years passed as quickly as the last ten, Clara would be as reluctant to admit that her own daughter had become a young woman as she was to recognize this truth about her sister.

At thirteen, Mari’s interest was simply to collect her nieces and nephew before turning back toward the meetinghouse. Hannah lingered.

“You probably heard,” Hannah said.

“Heard what?” Clara reached into the buggy for the loaves of bread she had baked for the meal later.

Hannah gestured toward the diminished row of buggies. “Where everyone is.”

“We heard nothing,” Andrew said.

“They’re at Summit Mills,” Hannah said. “The Yoder ministers are meeting there.”

“But Mose Beachy announced Flag Run,” Clara said.

“I know. But one of the Yoders came by two days ago and told
Daed
they would be at Summit Mills and he should join them.”

Clara’s breath drew in quickly. “What did
Daed
say?”

“That they misread him,” Hannah said. “He would having nothing to do with disrespecting Bishop Beachy.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Clara said.

Andrew unhitched the horse and gave it freedom to nuzzle the ground and swish its tail for the next few hours. Clara caught his eye.

“We’ll talk to him,” Andrew said.

Hannah fell into step with Clara.

“Does everyone know about the other church service?” Clara said.

“They only talked to
Daed
because they thought he might come with them.” Hannah tilted her head to one side. “You should have heard him telling them how the time was long overdue to make things right. I didn’t understand what he meant.”

“It’s a long story,” Clara said.

“I guess the Old Order and the Beachy Amish won’t be together anymore,” Hannah said.

“Beachy Amish?” Andrew cocked his head.

“We’ll have to call ourselves something, won’t we?”

Clara looked into her sister’s face, wondering when she had grown so perceptive.

“I’d better go find my
mamm
,” Hannah said. “Are you going to sit with us today?”

Clara nodded. “If you can stand to have my wiggly little ones take turns in your lap.”

“I’ll save you a place.” Hannah slipped into the building.

Clara turned to Andrew before he would leave to take his place among the men lining up.

“This is not what you and I wanted,” she said. “We hoped for change, but not this. Not two churches. Mose has always preached unity and peace. Now the Yoders are leading a split?”

Andrew breathed in long and slow through his nose. “They will say
Gottes wille
.”

“Is it?” Clara challenged. “Is it God’s will for the congregation to divide after so many have worked to keep it together?”

“God’s ways are not our ways,” Andrew said. “God is our peace. Mose will want us to affirm that above all else. It takes a century for God to make a sturdy oak.”

He squeezed her hand and left her then.

Clara turned in a slow circle that allowed her to take in the entire clearing where the meetinghouse had stood for decades. The fallen log she had loved to climb on when she was as young as her children were now had long ago rotted at the center and been cleared away. Two others had been felled in its place and hosted her children’s play on Sunday afternoons. Rather than going inside, Clara now paced to the log and sat.

Beachy Amish
. Mose was certain to dislike the appellation, wanting neither credit nor blame for the division that seemed inevitable.

Clara placed a hand over her thickening womb.

Perhaps this child would know a church of unity.

Perhaps this child would know the church received her gifts, whatever they were.

Perhaps this child would know peace.

Clara prayed it would be so.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

T
his Amish Turns of Time series brings to life turning points in Amish history. For this story, my research turned up interesting tidbits, such as writings and Bible interpretation that undergirded the position represented by the Yoder ministers, as well as information about Moses Beachy’s cautious leadership toward change that seemed inevitable.

I have taken some liberties with the time frame. While the prologue, set in 1895, and the epilogue, set in 1927, rise from historical events that mark turning points in the prolonged controversy at the heart of the story, I condensed Moses Beachy’s leadership. My hope was to faithfully represent his heart for peace and unity in the congregation, while showing the arc of his leadership within a few months rather than the eleven years between his becoming bishop and announcing the end of shunning those who left to join another church. I also took some license with the circumstances of age and illness that led to Bishop Yoder’s resignation.

Most of my characters are fictitious, though some are based on true people. John Stutzman is based on a man named John Yoder, who in the early 1920s refused to shun. By this time, Mose Beachy was being less cautious, and his statement that he would not put John Yoder under the ban caused increased friction with his fellow ministers, Joseph and Noah Yoder. Within months, the Yoder brothers did what Beachy had resisted doing for years and led a break-off group. Since he never intended to lead a split, Beachy was not fond of having the branch bear his name. Within two years, the Beachy Amish allowed automobiles, electricity, and telephones, decisions that distinguished them from the Old Order Amish who, even nearly a century later, remain far more selective in adopting modern technology.

The Old Order and the Beachy Amish continued to share the meetinghouses in Flag Run and Summit Mills on alternate Sundays until 1953, when the Beachy Amish constructed a more modern building.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
am grateful for Annie Tipton at the Shiloh Run imprint of Barbour Publishing for receiving my original proposal for this series positively and shepherding it through to publication. JoAnne Simmons, coming alongside me in the details of the manuscript, is incredibly smooth to work with. My agent, Rachelle Gardner, rallies to the sometimes obscure things I like to write about. I was especially enthused about writing Amish stories firmly rooted in historical events, and having companions on the journey made it that much easier.

In the writing of this book, I was especially grateful for people I’ve never met but who have taken great care to preserve pieces of Amish history and make them available for me to find easily in the age of the Internet.

The Historian
, a publication of the Casselman River Area Amish and Mennonite Historians out of Grantsville, Maryland, yielded several rich, specific articles: “History of the Amish Mennonites in the Forks of Garrett County, Maryland” (October 2001) and “Church History in the Summit Mills Area” (January 1998), both by David I. Miller, and “The Preachers’ Tables” by Joanna Miller (January 2004). The September 1986 issue of
Mennonite Life
gave me “Memories of an Amish Childhood—Interviews with Alvin J. Beachy” by Robert S. Kreider. Alvin was the son of Bishop Moses Beachy and his wife, Lucy.

The Small Archives Collections of the Mennonite Church in Goshen, Indiana, turned up an interview with Henry Yoder from June 2000 (transcribed by Dennis Stoesz) recounting his understanding of the events that led to the split between the Old Order and Beachy Amish. Henry was the grandson of Moses and Caroline Yoder.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR