The Miting (9 page)

“Me, too,” Ada jumped in.

Maem
stopped what she was doing and looked first at Leah and then at Ada. She shook her head in disbelief and frowned. “Why are you bringing this up? You know what
Daet
and I said about that, Leah—and you, Ada! Since when do you know anything about this … this
Englisher
Bible study?” Her cheeks reddened below furrowed brows.

Maem
placed her hands on her hips. “No more about this now. Get the idea right out of your heads and don’t dare bring this up with your
Daet.
I’m done dealing with this, and I suspect Martha has been talking to you again, Leah. And one more thing—”

Maem
pointed at her. “You have things you don’t like about our ways—things you want to do that the
Ordnung
forbids. Go ahead then, do your rebellious acts if you have to, but don’t include your younger sister.” She glared at Leah and stomped out of the kitchen.

Leah’s face blazed, humiliated by
Maem
’s unusual outburst. She dropped her gaze to her shoes, trying very hard to control the now familiar resentment uncurling in her heart.

She glanced up at Ada. Her younger sister was peeling potatoes, cheeks slightly pinker than normal, but showing no apparent qualms. How did she did do that? How did she not lose her temper at
Maem
’s lecture?

Leah turned away and left the kitchen abruptly. She had to get out of there before she said something she’d regret. For now, she’d drop the idea of going to the Bible study, but in her heart, the longing still burned.

The following Sunday, the community gathered at the Masts’ farm for services. Leah saw no sign there may have been trouble with the bishop. She was hoping to have a chance to talk to Martha alone, but she didn’t see her friend right away. As families arrived, buggies were unhitched, horses tended, and greetings extended. Leah took her mother’s jars of recently preserved bread-and-butter pickles to the kitchen. It was their family’s contribution to the traditional church
suppah
of
bubbli
soup, red beets, bread, peanut butter spread, and pickles.

She still had not spotted Martha as the men and boys lined up in the barnyard, preachers and bishop, oldest to youngest, in line and in control. They filed into the machine shed, which had been cleaned from top to bottom and filled with rows of benches.

The women came next, falling into their queue as their husbands, brothers, sons, and uncles had done: oldest to youngest.

Leah studied the room as the women settled themselves on backless benches. Some immediately bowed their heads, showing reverence, while others gathered skirts and children near. Old and young, wide-hipped and slim-hipped wiggled into their spots, hoping to find a position tolerable to the numbing hours ahead. No concession was made for those in their later years; creaking bodies made the same brittle contact with hard unyielding wood as young bodies.

Starched and pristinely pressed
kapps
perched on the heads of women bowed low in preparation for the start of service. Men folded their long legs in against the benches, bare heads and scraggly beards bobbing right and left as they greeted their neighbors.

Many men and women leaned forward, resting their chins on hands supported by their knees. Mothers wrestled their toddlers into a final submission, and a low buzz of voices hummed through the room.

Leah caught sight of Abner on a bench against the back wall among the
buves
who tried hard to suppress their youthful energies. The reverence of their elders was not matched on the faces of these young men. They had spent their morning getting in a last smoke, a last joke, a last burst of joviality before having to endure the three hours of sermons and hymns. Their eyes smoldered with a myriad of emotions: boredom, restriction, strong-armed vigor, resolution, and smugness. Abner stared straight at Leah with spite-filled eyes.

She flinched and jerked her gaze from his malevolent glare. Martha was still not in the room, and Leah fretted something had happened after all. Abner’s surly expression cast a shadow over the room like an oncoming storm. Leah locked her gaze on Jacob, and his warm smile calmed her spirit. Finally, Martha sauntered in, settling into the back row of women, her demeanor distant and distracted.

Before Leah had the chance to catch her friend’s attention, the first preacher stepped forward and started the service. The rising and falling inflection of his voice lulled Leah quickly into a haze of gloomy considerations.

That morning at breakfast, Leah had sensed her parents were reluctant to go to church at the Masts’. She wondered if they were thinking of the deep shameful sin they feared was harbored in that household. But being the good Amish people they were, they had not wanted to disappoint the Mast family or Bishop Miller, so they came anyway.

Leah contemplated a plan to attend the Bible study, glancing at her neighbors as she imagined their reactions if they knew her thoughts.

The service seemed unusually long, with the preachers dwelling on obedience to the
Ordnung
, of being a help and not a hindrance to the community. They stressed the importance of always obeying parents. Always putting the needs of others first.

Preacher Byler looked directly at the youth during the third and final sermon. Most of the
jungen
missed his pointed stare as they had long since lowered blank eyes to the floor and hunched their shoulders to their ears, shutting out the admonitions with daydreams and strategies.

By the time the service was over, Leah’s back railed at the long hours of stiff sitting, and her head throbbed from thirst and hunger. She shuffled through the line and out of the building, looking across the yard for any sign of Martha. Finally she spotted her friend serving mint tea to the men. When Martha walked back to the kitchen to refill the tea pitcher, she waved and waited for Leah to join her. “I can’t talk right now, but after we eat, meet me back at the potting shed. I’ll give
Maem
the slip while she’s busy redding up with her friends.”

Leah waited with her mother until the men had their fill, then ate the same church supper she’d eaten her whole life. Martha was kept busy filling cups and passing soup. In a way, Leah was glad not to have her friend sit down beside her. Her parents were already watching the two of them with eagle eyes.

Once
Maem
wandered off in search of Anna Mast to offer help in cleanup, Leah slipped off to the shed, shuffling along in seeming disinterest for anything other than enjoying the crisp sunny day. The inside of the shed carried an atmosphere of leftover fragrances from summer. The push mower and sickle conveyed fragrances of green grass and pungent wild onion cut down in their prime and reluctant to be forgotten. Here and there, Martha’s parents had stacked moss-covered clay pots. Peat and potting soil aromas added to the earthy surroundings.

She pulled an old wooden stool out from under the potting table and sat down to wait for Martha. Her gaze drifted to the little square window overlooking the back yard where she could view the assemblage of Plain folk. The men were standing or sitting in groups, discussing their crops or other important issues, and the women held squirming children and shared gossipy stories of the neighborhood. All of them appeared peaceful, calm, and purposeful. She knew, however, the niggling fears many of them carried: fear of breaking the
Ordnung
… fear of disappointing their bishops or lay preachers … fear of the modern world … fear of questioning and of those who questioned … and most of all, fear of not going to heaven.

As this thought crossed her mind, she was struck by the blunt truth of it: they all feared not going to heaven.

Now why did I think that? The Amish are known to be the most religious group in America.

Yet she knew she was right. It was fear of falling short. Of not knowing if a person lived right enough or obeyed the rules enough or did enough kind works and deeds to get into heaven. According to the
Ordnung
, no one could know their eternal destination until death, so although death
should
be a happy homecoming for the good Amish person, it was instead a time of dread and fear.

Leah recalled a verse she’d read in her Gideon Bible; something about all falling short of the glory of God. But wasn’t there a second part to that verse? Wasn’t there something about the gift of God? She scrunched up her face, trying to remember.

She wanted to rush home to read the verse again, but that would have to wait. It was more important right now to warn Martha. She had to tell her friend that she had betrayed her trust—she had spilled Martha’s secret to her parents. Leah regretted breaking her friend’s confidence and longed to be told there had been no consequences stemming from her betrayal. Martha’s actions as she served drinks to the folks in line had seemed calm enough. Maybe nothing had come of Leah’s talk with her parents, after all.

“What are you looking so glum about?” Martha interrupted her thoughts as she came into the shed. She let the door bang shut behind her.

“Oh! You scared me! I didn’t see you. I was … just thinking.”

“’Bout what?” She pulled over a companion stool and wiggled onto it with a sigh. “My feet hurt from standing today.”

Leah couldn’t wait another minute. “I said something to my
maem
about what you told me—”

“What?” Martha’s startled face blanched.

“I’m really sorry, but I’ve been so worried, and I felt like an adult should know about what your stepbrother’s been doing—”

“Leah! Oh no. When did you tell?”

“A few days ago. Hasn’t the bishop—”

“The bishop?”

“I’m sorry! I told
Maem
, and she told
Daet.
They went to the bishop.”

Martha’s pale cheeks glowed in the dim light of the shed. Her eyes darkened as she stared at her friend. “Oh no! Now what do I do? Abner—
and Maem
—oh no.” She dropped her head in her hands.

Tears stung Leah’s eyes as she witnessed Martha’s distress. Remorse flooded her body. “So no one has said anything to you yet?”

“No.” Martha groaned the word, her eyebrows drawn tightly together.

“Yesterday,
Maem
told me the bishop came by the house and asked my parents questions. He told them he was on his way over here.”

“The bishop came here? Yesterday?” Martha jumped up. “Now it makes sense,” she muttered as she paced. “I was trying to put the pieces together—the goings-on in my house this morning. Abner glared a hole in me at breakfast.
Maem
slapped my bowl of oatmeal on the table, wouldn’t say a word to me. But I couldn’t figure out
why
they were acting like that. They must have already talked with the bishop.” Martha sat down again, staring into space.

Then she shook her head. “I wonder what they decided to do. Obviously, they didn’t make Abner leave the house.” She frowned. “Why didn’t they talk to
me
? I wonder if that means they don’t believe me? Leah!” Martha’s eyes widened. “Do you think Abner—I bet he convinced them I lied! Do you think they believe him over me?”

Leah shrugged, guilt landing on her shoulders like a heavy weight. “Maybe they decided to wait until church was over today before saying anything. Maybe they’ll talk to you when Abner goes to work tomorrow.” Never had she felt more shame. “I don’t know. I wish I did know what happened.” She raised her eyes to her friend. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Martha nodded, her voice a whisper as she held Leah’s gaze. “I know you meant well, Leah. Maybe this is all for the best.
Gott
knows how often I’ve begged Him to help me with Abner. I don’t know—could this be His way of helping me?” She shrugged. “I’ll just have to wait and see, right?”

Silence grew between them. Finally Martha shook her head and rose to stretch her arms high over her head. “Let’s talk about something else. How’s it going with the Sunday night singings? Any fun coming from that? Any
buve
taking you home in the dark?”

Her voice held a mocking note, and a challenge glittered in her eyes.

“No. Not yet. What’s it like?”

Martha laughed. “Easy. You hop in a buggy and find a place to neck. No big deal. Any boy will ask you once they know what you’re willing to do.” When she noticed Leah’s flushed cheeks, she pointed her finger at herself. “But I’m different. I don’t mind the kissing and stuff. My life is such a wreck anyway, it doesn’t matter what the boys think.” She giggled and tossed her head. “With your parents the way they are, they’d have a thousand fits if they knew I told you that. What would they say? Tell you to leave me alone?” She squinted, her eyes holding a dare. “What would you say if a boy wanted to bed date?”

Leah swallowed hard, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “I know what my parents think of bed dating—they don’t like it and wouldn’t allow it in our home.”

Martha smirked, a hint of condescension in her expression.