The Shunning (21 page)

O
n her wedding day, Katie was up before four-thirty. It was so important for everything to go well that Dat had called a family meeting the night before to rehearse last-minute instructions. “A sloppy weddin’ makes for a sloppy bride,” he’d said.

Now, as Katie dressed in choring clothes by lantern light, she resisted the temptation to brush her hair down over her shoulders and play with it—arranging it this way and that—wondering how Katherine Mayfield might have looked on her wedding day.

Only in her mind, though, did she try on a satin wedding gown trimmed in lace . . . and discarded the kapp, replacing it with a shimmering white veil. So now she understood why she’d been drawn to lovely things her entire life. Understood—but didn’t know what to do about it.

Katie’s wedding would have none of the modern trappings such as flowers or wedding rings. The bride was to be content with her hand-sewn, homespun dress, apron, and cape. And since the day had turned out rather warm, she wouldn’t have to fuss with a heavy shawl.

Won’t Ella Mae be mighty glad about the weather?
Katie thought, remembering how the Wise Woman had mentioned it on her most recent visit. And out of the blue came the thought that her great-aunt was probably one who suspected Katie’s true origins—worldly Englishers, people outside the Amish community.

But the thought passed as quickly as it had presented itself, and Katie went about preparing for her wedding day, feeling neither pain nor joy. This numbing indifference to the shock of her mother’s announcement carried her through the hours before she would answer “Jah” when Preacher Zook asked her if she would accept her brother in Christ, John Beiler, as her husband, and would not leave him until death separated them.

Delicious smells filled the house as each detail was checked off the list. At six-thirty, the assigned helpers began to arrive, and by seven o’clock, John, Katie, and their attendants were eating breakfast together in the summer kitchen, a long, sunny room off the main kitchen.

“What a heavenly day for a wedding,” Mary Stoltzfus whispered in Katie’s ear.

“You’ll be the next one getting married . . . and soon,” Katie predicted.

Overhearing the comment, John smiled. “It’s a right fine day for our wedding,” he said, stroking his beard. “May the Lord God bless His People.”

Katie nodded, smiling back. For just an instant, a vision of Dan’s face seemed to blot out John’s, and she blinked in amazement. Then, rubbing her eyes, she glanced away. Would she never stop thinking of her first love?

“What’s-a-matter?” John frowned, leaning toward her.

“Ach, it’s nothing.” She waved her hand the way her mother often did. “Nothing at all.”

“Last-minute jitters often play tricks on people,” John’s brother Noah spoke up.

Katie opened her eyes wide, trying to erase the mirage. Mary had told her to forget about Dan Fisher, to put aside the past lest it poison the future. Mary was always right. But she’d failed to offer a suggestion as to how one did away with cherished memories.

Marrying John Beiler—putting him first—maybe that was the answer. Maybe that was why Mary had insisted that this marriage was
supposed
to be.

After breakfast, Katie went with John and the attendants through the kitchen, stopping to inspect dozens of pies that had been brought in. From the bounty harvested from their land, the good cooks of Hickory Hollow had baked up peach and apricot and cherry pies, apple and mincemeat and pumpkin.

Cakes, too. Five-pound fruitcakes and layer cakes of every variety. Later, after the wedding sermons and the actual ceremony, when Katie and John came back downstairs as husband and wife, they would see for the first time the two lovely wedding cakes decorated with nuts and candies. For Katie, who was known for her sweet tooth, there would be a wide array of other desserts to be sampled at her table—tapioca pudding, chocolate cornstarch pudding, and mouth-watering jellies, of course—Rebecca had seen to that.

In fact, the very best of all the foods was to be reserved for the
Eck
—the bride’s table—a corner section placed so as to be most visible to the wedding guests. Ten twenty-foot-long tables, adequate for seating two hundred people, would be set with the best china in the house, including the dishes borrowed from Katie’s sister-in-law, Annie, and others.

When it came time for members of the bridal party to change into their wedding clothes, the women—Katie, Mary, and Sarah Beiler, John’s grand-niece—stepped into Katie’s bedroom; the men, into Eli and Benjamin’s room.

Outside, in the side yard, five teenage boys—cousins or nephews of the bride and groom—helped unhitch the horses as each carriage arrived and parked. It was an honor for a young man to be asked to be one of the Hostlers, who would care for the horses during the festivities.

Upstairs, Katie waited patiently as her mother fastened the white wedding apron and cape with straight pins at the waist, the bridesmaids looking on. When it appeared that Katie and Rebecca were ready to talk privately for the last time before the service began, Mary and Sarah discreetly left the room, waiting in the hallway as far from Benjamin’s bedroom door as possible.

“I’ll always love ya, Katie,” Mam said, embracing her. “Always and forever.”

“And I’ll love you, too, Mamma.”

“I wish we hadn’t had to talk . . . things . . . over so close to your wedding day,” Rebecca said as they drew apart, looking at each other fondly.

“Ach, it’s over and done with.” Katie brushed the painful thought aside.

“Over, jah.”

“I’m just Plain Katie, ain’t?” Even now, she was thinking of the satin baby dress, resisting the thought of its splendid feel beneath her fingers.

“Plain through and through” came the fervent response. Rebecca reached out and gripped Katie’s wrists. “You do love John, now, don’tcha?”

“I love him . . . enough.”

The words were hollow, and Rebecca pulled Katie to her. “You’re not still thinkin’ of someone else, are ya?”

Katie’s voice sounded thin and desperate, even to her own ears, when she answered. “He was everything I ever wanted, Mam. Dan knew my heart. No one can ever take his place. No one.”

Rebecca fluttered her lashes, and a deep worry line creased her forehead. “Himmel . . . you’re in love with a memory!”

“I love Dan’s memory, jah. I won’t deny it. But there’s more to it.” She walked to the window, not wanting to hurt her mother by mentioning the music she and Dan had shared. Rebecca did not press the issue further, and Katie was relieved.

Below, gray-topped carriages were rolling down the long lane out front. Some of the young people were arriving in black open buggies. And there were a few cars—Mennonite relatives and friends, probably.

It was nearly seven-forty-five. At eight, the ushers would begin bringing guests indoors, seating them according to a prescribed order. First came the ministers, Preachers Yoder and Zook, followed by the parents of the bride and groom, and other close family and friends.

The haze that had carried Katie through the rituals of the past two days began to lift. She stared at Rebecca, not comprehending, and trembled.
Who am I, really?

Planting a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek, Katie hurried to meet Mary and Sarah in the hallway, in time for the bridal party to take their places downstairs on a long bench in the kitchen. The bench was set up near the stairway so that female guests could pass by and greet the bridal party on their way upstairs to deposit bonnets and shawls.

Bishop John sat between Katie’s youngest brother, Benjamin, and John’s own brother, Noah. He looked fit in his new
Multze
, a long frock coat with a split tail, and his black bow tie. He and his attendants wore high-topped shoes and wide black hats with a three-and-a-half-inch brim. His untrimmed beard was frosted with touches of gray, and although he needed reading glasses more often than not these days, he had come to his wedding without them.

Farther down the bench, Katie sat between Mary and Sarah, preparing to shake hands with the female guests. The men would assemble outside—in or around the barn—waiting until the ushers, Forgehers, brought them inside to be seated—men in one section, the women in another—same as Sunday Preaching.

Katie felt her stomach knot. She felt as though she were sitting on the middle plank of the rickety old boat, rowing toward the island— her secret childhood escape. In her mind she rowed faster and faster, energized by the sweeping pace of the oars in the water, yet feeling trapped between the shore and the longed-for hideaway. Trapped between two worlds—her place with the People, and her hunger for the modern outside world, forbidden as it was. The world of her biological parents had always beckoned to her, the world of the young woman who had sewn a satin baby gown for her infant daughter, lovingly dressed her in it, then given her away.

You got a lot to be thankful for. . . .

Katie stole a glance at John. Only two hours separated them from spiritual union. Man and wife . . . forever to live among the People, carrying on the Old Ways. She remembered her promise to him, the one she had made last Saturday—now broken. How many promises did one dare to break?

Like a sudden wind chasing wispy clouds, her thoughts trailed away and she could not recapture them. She began to greet the women, many of whom she had known since early childhood. She shook hands with Mattie Beiler when the time came, and watched as Mattie went back to help her aging mother, Ella Mae, move down the line. Katie thought of her deceased grandparents and wished Dawdi David and Mammi Essie had lived to see this day.

When Ella Mae stopped to offer Katie her thin, wrinkled hand, she felt an urge to hug the old woman.
People always do what they wanna
do
, Ella Mae had told Katie once.
Even if a person sits back and does
nothing, well, not doing somethin’ is a decision in the end
.

Next came several of Katie’s first cousins—Nancy, Rachel, and Susie Zook—followed by Naomi, Mary, and Esther Beiler, and the girls’ mothers, Becky and Mary—Ella Mae’s married daughters.

Many more women came through the line. One of them was Lydia Miller—her mother’s Mennonite cousin—the woman who talked to God as though He were really listening.

Lydia’s handshake was warm. “May the Lord bless you today, dear,” she said briefly, then went on to greet Mary Stoltzfus.

The Lord exalts those who humble themselves. . . .

If anyone was humble, it was Lydia Miller. She always dressed Plain—in long print dresses—and wore her hair tied back in a bun. Humility was written all over her round face. Love was there, too. You could see a singular compassion for the world in those eyes.

At that moment, Katie wished she knew more about Cousin Lydia, the woman targeted by the family as an example of how
not
to pray. Surely there was another side to this story.

In the short lull between guests, troublesome thoughts darted into her mind, stinging like nettles.
You looked just like a Katie . . . right
from the start
.

Katie began to feel sorry for herself, though the sorrow was a mingling of anger and fear. Learning, on the eve of her wedding, that she was not truly a Lapp—a part of the fabric of the People—was like having finally learned how to sew the finest set of short, running quilt stitches and then, after criticism, deciding to rip them out.

She felt restless as the young people—the teenagers in the church district and surrounding areas—made their entrance into the house. Unmarried brothers and sisters of the bride and groom led the procession, followed by couples who were recently married or published.

I might’ve been passed over. . . .

A group of cousins, nephews, nieces, and friends came in next, followed by the young boys, who quickly took their seats. All the men except Preachers Yoder, Zook, and Bishop John—because he was also a minister—removed their hats and put them under their benches. The formality represented the belief that Samuel Lapp’s dwelling place was now—at this moment and for the rest of the service—a house of worship.

After the guests were seated, another old custom was carried out: The three ministers continued to wear their hats until the first hymn.

On the third stanza, Preachers Yoder and Zook stood up and made their way, followed by John and Katie, to the guest bedroom upstairs. There, Preacher Yoder began giving instruction, encouraging John and Katie, reminding them of their duties to one another as married partners in the Lord. Katie knew what was to come and wondered how embarrassing it would be not to be able to truthfully answer yes when asked if she had remained pure.

John’s eyes shone with devotion as he reached for her hand and descended the stairs, entering the crowded room holding hands with Katie publicly for the first time. They made their way along the narrow aisle with their attendants.

When Katie spotted little Jacob Beiler in the crowd, he flashed an angelic grin at her as the People sang the third verse of the
Lob Lied
.

I can hardly wait for ya to come be our mamma. . . .

The bridal party found the six matching cane chairs reserved for them, and they sat down exactly in unison. Katie, Mary, and Sarah sat on one side facing John, Benjamin, and Noah.

Everywhere she looked, Katie saw the kind, honest faces of loved ones and friends—dear Nancy Beiler and her sister Susie, soon to be Katie’s young charges. And there was Levi, their sullen brother, sitting with arms crossed, staring curiously at Katie. The boy would keep her on her toes; that was for certain. His brother, Hickory John, sat tall on the bench, reminding her of his father.

But there was not one soul in the house who had any idea that Katie Lapp was a disobedient church member—one who had willfully disobeyed her bishop, her beau. Who had chosen to hide her guitar instead of destroying it.

She was, therefore, guilty of unconfessed sin. And worse, she was a hypocrite—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Not having been born Amish made her quite different from anyone else present today, or so it seemed. She wondered if being adopted and never being told might not even nullify her baptismal vow.