October song (2 page)

Take the time he’d helped her husk a full barrel of corn. “Such a lot of work for one little girl,” he said all serious-like. But then his ruddy face burst into a rare smile.

“Aw, Dat, you don’t hafta help me

I’m a big girl now.”

He looked into the barrel and picked up several cobs of corn, letting them fall through his callused fingers. “I daresay you’ll have these husked come supper time.” He paused, then asked, “Why ain’t Mamma or Mary Stoltzfus out here helpin’ ya?”

“Mamma’s making stew for supper, and Mary’s sewin’ her first stitches on a quilt today, that’s what.”

Dat shook his head. “Seems a downright shame for you to be out here chorin’ all alone.” He picked up another cob and this

23time husked it quick as a wink, then an other.

At the time, she wondered why Dat wasn’t needed out in the field or the barn. Her brothers would surely wonder where he was, what Dat was doin’ husking corn with their baby sister. But she just kept on reachin’ for more cobs out of the barrel.

So did Dat. He made it seem so common place, as if he didn’t have a dozen other more important tasks at the moment.

In the end, Mamma was surprised at such speedy work. Still, Katie never told on Dat, so to speak, that he’d wandered into the backyard for a spell, doing women’s work with his wee daughter.

Another time she’d stood near the house watching her father and Elam cut down a diseased tree with a two-man crosscut saw, across the barnyard near the shed. Never once in her short life had she heard him cuss, not even when his hand was cut nearly clean through by the saw. Dat had come close to bleeding to death that day. He would’ve, too, if it hadn’t been for Mamma sending Elam down the road to use the telephone — the devil’s instrument — at their Mennonite cousins’ house. All the while Dat was steadfast, honorable, not one to rant and rail like Katie might’ve if

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the accident had happened to her, ifherblood was drainin’ too fast out of her body.

Fact was, Dat had a kind of inner strength Katie never quite understood. Something bigger than himself. Something that kept him firm on his feet when life got to be rough going.

Dat What on earth could a girl do ‘bout a man who’d been such a wonderful-gutpart of your life? A man clad in old work trousers, patched at the knees, wearing muddy chorin’ boots all day long, his ever-present straw hat perched atop his head, talking Dutch to the cows at milking, reading the German Bible to his children every night, teaching the ways of the Lord and the People. A man who, though prone to wrath when things weren’t goin’ his way under his own roof (under God), often held Mamma in his arms when she wasn’t feeling quite up to snuff. What could you do ‘bout a man like that, who put the fear of God in you when anger and rebellion a-kindled deep in your soul? A man who was just as strong-willed as you, a faithful man who stuck by the church’s ordinances when you hid your banned guitar in the haymow and sang forbidden songs, then went off in search of your birth mother,

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breaking his and Mamma’s heart? What could you do when you loved this man beyond words and prayed every day that God might make it possible for you to find the path back to his heart?

“One day it’ll be so,” Katie promised herself. One day she would talk openly with Dat. Come what may.

That night she lay awake, aware of her own beating heart, recalling her fleeting, yet painful encounter with Dat. His refusal to acknowledge her instead looking away and passing her without so much as “Hullo.” As she had for many months, she felt that something big was missing in her otherwise happy life. Something awful big.

“What is it, Katie?” Clan whispered next to her.

“My father I saw him at the store

today.”

Clan drew her near.

“He turned his back on me.” She fought the tears. “It’s the first time since.. “

“I know,” Clan said. “I understand …. “

Katie did a wise thing and paid a visit to Ella Mae the next evening after sundown. Pouring out her soul, Katie told her great-aunt that she couldn’t possibly “make things right” with the People, confessing

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the way the church required of shunned members. Salvation through grace had been the longed-for missing link in her life, so how could she think of renouncing the God-given joy and forgiveness of sin, and offer repentance for having left the Amish church? Doing so would mean taking giant steps backward, according to the Scriptures. And what of her music ministry? Clan, too, had been called of God to do the work of the Kingdom. No, she could not

would notforsake the Lord and the Gospel to regain her father’s affections.

Ella Mae agreed wholeheartedly. “You’re right as can be, Katie. Followin’ Jesus sometimes calls for letting go of the past.” The older woman sighed heavily, reaching for her handkerchief. “Ach, your father misses you so. I’m sure of it.”

“Hard to believe,” whispered Katie.

Ella Mae wiped her eyes and went on. “Why, on the Sunday the membership met to vote on casting you out of the fellowship, I saw with my own eyes how hard it was on Samuel Lapp. Honest to goodness, he had a quiver in his lip, he was sore pained by it all. The shun hurts us all, no getting round that.”

So her father had been torn in two, just as Mamma was, along with other members

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of the Lapp family. The whole church district, really, according to Ella Mae.

“Nothing can ease my pain,” Katie confessed.

The Wise Woman nodded, her eyes bright with tears. “You must be takin’ it to the Lord, Katie. He’s our great burden bearer.”

Ella Mae was right. Trusting the heavenly Father for His will and way was best. More than ever, Katie was grateful for her relative’s listening ear and compassionate heart. And she told Ella Mae so before slippin’ out of theDawdi Hausand into the night.

Katiedidtake her burden to the Lord. But it was downright difficult, ‘specially following the get-together with their friends. The subject of Eli Katie’s middle brother-and his soon-to-be wedding to a cousin of Mary, now the bishop’s wife, came up midway through the evening.

“Eli’s getting married … ?When?“she spluttered.

“Three weeks from Saturday” came the reply.

Why hasn’t Mamma told me?she wondered, but she knew why. Truth was,

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shunned folk weren’t invited to weddings. Didn’t matter if they were kin or not. No wedding invitation would be coming her way.

The old rush of sadness at the estrangement from family and close friends threatened to swallow Katie up.

Clan must’ve sensed something. “We’ll buy a nice wedding gift,” he said, reaching for her hand.

“Jah,” she whispered. “We will.”

Out in their pumpkin patch the next day, Katie, along with her nearest neighbor, picked the nicest plump pumpkins. In spite of the warmth of the sun’s rays, she felt the slightest nip in the air. It held the promise of a cold snap, perhaps, yet she was hopeful for a few more pleasant and sunny days ahead before frost-onthe-pumpkin time.

Remembering autumn days gone by, days that included her older brothers, Elam, Eli, and Benjamin Dat and Mamma, too Katie thought fondly of them, the whole family making butter by hand in the evening. The boys liked to make such a contest of it. A game, really. They actually timed their turns at the churn, giving each other only ten minutes,

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no more, laughing and poking fun all the while. Katie was scarcely old enough to steady the churn, so was given only a few minutes, if that.

“Ach, now, be fair,” Mamma chided from her lawn chair, watching from afar.

If churning butter happened to be on a day when chores were caught up, Dat might linger near, squatting in the grass near Mamma, serious as ever, though seemingly enjoying the quietude of the evening. A man of few words, hehadcome to his only daughter’s defense on one par ticular occasion. Her memory could not forget it.

Benjamin, during his allotted ten-minute stretch, had up and abandoned the butter churn for a quick cold drink at the well pump across the yard. Aware of his ab sence, Katie jumped to the task, taking her brother’s turn and pushing the handle down.., and up… then down again with all her might, though having an awful hard time of it.

Returning, Benjamin frowned, clearly put out. “Who said you could take my turn?”

Not to be denied her chance, she pressed on. No strength left to speak, Katie pushed deliberately with her little hands and arms,

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leaning into the motion as best she could. “Katie!” hollered Ben, red-faced.

In an instant Dat was at her side, though she was so intent on the chore that she hadn’t seen him get up from his spot on the lawn and hurry over. “Benjamin, you’velostyour turn,” Dat said flatly. “Katie and I will churn your ten minutes.” And they did, and ‘twas the end of the contest. ‘Least forthatnight.

Smiling now, Katie found the memory amusing. Yet, the more her brain worked on it, the more she cherished the fact that Dat had taken her side against his son, his flesh-and-blood son, at that.

Dat loved me then,she thought, brushing a clump of dirt off a handsome medium-sized pumpkin and loading it onto a wheelbarrow.

Before church on Sunday, as Katie dressed for the day, she talked over Eli’s forthcoming wedding with her husband. “We can’t expect to be invited, you know.”

Clan nodded. “You’re right about that. Still, I know this bothers you no end.”

“Jah, ‘tis something I must bear the rest of my life.”

“Maybe not,” Clan said, gathering her in his arms. “We’ll trust the Lord to break the

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bonds of discord between our families.”

Her darling was right, Katie knew. Still, the pain of rejection and separation plagued her night and day.

Then, lo and behold, if several women weren’t chatting ‘bout Eli’s wedding at the meetinghouse. Seemed everyone knew ‘bout the plans the whereabouts and whatnot but Katie herself. ‘Course, some of the women weere related, one way or another, to Eli’s bride-to-be. Truth was, Katie had only met Grace Stoltzfus on one or two occasions at Sunday night singings

a good long time ago. Scarcely did she know the girl who was to become her own sister-in-law.

Taking her place on the left side of the church, along with the other women and children, she bowed her head in prayer. When it came time for the sermon, she thought the pastor’s text found in Luke’s gospel — was surely for her.

No man, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.

Attuning her heart to Jesus’ words, peace began to fill her mind.

Up at daybreak, Katie sat at the kitchen table on Monday morning, drinking a hot

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cup of black coffee with Clan, looking out at the fields behind their house. The thing they liked most about this house was the way the small yard seemed to mingle, at the tree line, with the neighbor’s cornfield. It gave the feeling of openness, of acres of land. She wondered if Clan ever missed farming alongside his father. Dan’s father had wanted his son to follow in his boot prints; prob’ly still mourned the fact that Clan was off drafting building blueprints, pluckin’ that evil guitar of his, and singing songs not found in theAusbund-the sixteenth-century hymnal of the Amish church.

The sky was speckled with golden light as the sun rose over distant hills. Temperatures had surely fallen in the night; Katie could see the light frost that touched the trees and the remnants of her garden. Wouldn’t be long till the creeks and ponds froze over and winter winds brought snow. For now, far as she could tell from Dan’sFarmer’s Almanac,another month of fairly mild autumn weather was in store for them. She was glad of that, as she was busy with fall canning, going from one house to another, helping her women friends put up hundreds of quarts of produce, laying in store for the winter.

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She had, just this week, reconciled herself to Dat’s rebuff, though she would abide the sting of separation from Amish loved ones. Just as her husband did. Clan, too, had not seen or conversed with his parents since the confession he’d offered at his father’s knee, having met with solemn faces. His mother had cried when he kissed her cheek, bidding farewell. “My life is in God’s hands,” he’d told them, but neither had seen eye to eye with Clan. They did not accept his newfound faith, nor his Mennonite beliefs. A person who claimed salvation was a heretic, according to the Amish church. Assurance of salvation could not be had on this earth . . not till the Judgment Day. To think or say otherwise was a display of arrogance, plain and simple. Yet his father had surprisingly accepted Dan’s handshake that day. Katie and Clan couldn’t expect much more than that, but theycouldpray for their parents’ salvation. The least they could do was in effect themosthey could do, believing in the power of prayer. So every day they joined hands, naming each of their relatives before the throne of grace.

Katie set down her coffee cup, stirring the coffee for no apparent reason. She recalled any number of early-morning break

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fasts shared with her parents as a girl. Hearin’ both the comical and not-so-funny tales Mamma liked to tell and retell of near mishaps in the barn, unending mountains of dirty clothes, and all the peculiar and wonderful-gut things that happened over a lifetime of farm living. Young Katie always listened intently, ears wide open, enjoying the natural rhythm of her mother’s storytelling voice, Dat nodding his head sometimes or putting in a word here or there, never spicing up the story, not one iota, just adding his particular view of the way things were.

Katie especially liked the story of Mamma’s older brother’s sixteenth birthday, when his father presented to him a racy black courting buggy, along with a spirited horse of his own. At his first Sunday night singing, Katie’s Uncle Seth had spent much of the evening trying to catch the eye of “one ‘specially perty girl,” Mamma would say, an angelic grin on her face. The way the story went, Seth had bragged up and down to his wife-to-be — ‘cept she didn’t know it at the time

‘bout how his new buggy was better ‘n all the others parked out in the barnyard and just how fast his horse could run. “And wait’ll you see how sharp I take ‘em