Wonderful Lonesome (9 page)

Open on the step beside Willem was his mother’s latest letter. His brother was considering taking a job in an
English
factory to pay the bank what he owed on his farm. To finance new farm equipment, one of his cousins had sold a parcel of land that had been in the family for 150 years. Willem’s gut clenched at the thought of those enchanting rolling acres lost to the Peters family forever. His cousin had been threatening to sell for years and even offered the acres to Willem. But they would have made for a small farm with no good place to situate a house, and Willem wanted a large farm. He wanted plenty of earth to receive as his own, a gift from God. He wanted more than to eke out a living. His parents had taught him generosity from before he ever held a coin in his hand. Over the years since he became a man, Willem had come to see that generosity was a measure of the spirit and not of land or money. Nevertheless his heart swelled with yearning to give. If God blessed him with abundance, Willem would gladly give to all in need.

Eber, for instance. Willem wished he could do something for Eber and Ruthanna. They deserved to know their child would have everything he needed.

Willem took another gulp of coffee. He was not a man for meetings. Last year, when the church council met, Willem had no curiosity about their discussions. He was as surprised as everyone else that the bishop left without serving communion, but Willem never thought to ask about the meeting. Like all Amish men, when he was baptized, he agreed to serve as minister if he should ever be called on, but the possibility could not be further from his mind. Especially now. A minister would have to be ordained, and if they could not even get ministers to visit and preach every few months, it was unlikely a bishop would suddenly agree to ordain one of the men. Besides, Willem was not married. No one would think to nominate him to be minister.

The coffee mug was empty now. The four men who made up the council had been firm that all men should attend this meeting, so Willem stood up, tucked in his shirt, raised his suspenders, and trudged to the barn for his horse.

“I am sure the council will understand if you are not present for the meeting.” Ruthanna followed Eber around the cabin, hesitant about every unstable step he took. “They shouldn’t even have come out here to ask it of you.”

“They asked all the men.” Eber leaned over to pick up a boot and sat in a chair to put it on. He turned his head to cough.

“You are not well, Eber.” Ruthanna presented herself in front of him with hands on hips.

“I have been in bed for weeks while other men do my work. I believe I can manage to sit upright for one meeting.”

“Eber, you barely stay out of bed long enough to eat a meal at the table with me. You cannot even walk to the outhouse.”

Ruthanna regretted pointing out this last reality.

Eber’s eyes flashed at her. “Perhaps you can find it in yourself to leave me a small portion of my dignity.”

“I’m sorry, Eber. You know I love you. I want you to be well. I want you to be strong. Then you can do all the things you want to do.”

“Today I want to be strong enough to go to this meeting.” Eber laced his boot and tied it snugly.

Ruthanna briefly considered blocking his view as he looked around for his second boot. He had not even had them on since the day she found him collapsed in the barn, yet he thought he was recovered enough to travel twenty miles and sit upright and awake. He did not know what the meeting was about. How could he be so sure he must be present? When Willem Peters delicately asked if Eber planned to go and Ruthanna immediately brushed away the impossible idea, Eber had announced his startling intention.

She stepped across the room and fetched Eber’s other shoe. When she handed it to him, she said, “Why don’t you let me drive you? I’m sewing for the baby. I can take my things and find a bit of shade to wait for you. That way, if you tire, I can bring you home.”

He eyed her briefly before returning his attention to his feet. “I will drive. But you may come.”

“Do you promise to let me drive home? You’ll be exhausted by then.”

Eber put his hand on his stomach and groaned. Ruthanna winced at the sound.

“All right,” he said. “Bring some food. For the sake of the baby.”

When Ruthanna carried food and a jug of water out to the buggy, she also took a quilt and a pillow. Even if Eber did not want to admit it, she knew he was going to need them.

Rudy did not see the point.

What could the men possibly have to talk about that would make a difference?

Crops? As far as he knew, no one seriously believed there would be a harvest.

A prayer meeting? Perhaps they intended to pray for the miracle of favorable weather. Rain to drench the fields and fill the water troughs. The stilling of the incessant wind. Clouds to protect their burnished faces from further assault. Such an effort would require more faith than Rudy could muster.

News of a visiting minister? That hardly required a meeting of all the men. The council would have arranged that.

A particular financial need? Rudy could not think what he had to share. Perhaps he would slaughter a cow to mercifully save it from starving to death and revive the long-forgotten taste of meat in everyone’s mouths.

Whatever decision was to be made could be made without Rudy. He would go collect the morning’s eggs—oh, how he was tired of subsisting on eggs—and go back to bed for another hour. There was no point in going into the fields.

The day’s yield was seventeen eggs. Rudy placed them in a tin bowl and shuffled back toward the house, turning only when he heard the sound of a horse and buggy.

Willem Peters.

“You’re a mess,” Willem said. “Have you even washed your face this morning?”

“I’m not going.” Rudy reached for the door.

“Of course you are.” Willem dropped down from the buggy bench. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Willem—”

“Rudy, you’re an able-bodied Amish man. The council has asked us to attend, and we will respect them. We knew when we joined the settlers that we might face some difficult decisions.”

Rudy did not appreciate Willem’s authoritative tone, but he took his point. “I think I have a clean shirt.”

Or at least one that was less thick with dust.

The Weaver house filled with women and small children. Abbie knew her mother had invited Mrs. Chupp, the cobbler’s wife, and Mrs. Nissley to stop by while their husbands were meeting. The others must have come out of anticipation for what the men’s conference might yield. Abbie put a fresh pot of coffee on the stove and fanned herself with an envelope from her cousin Leah in Indiana. Abbie would have to cut the coffee cake and canned apples into small portions to extend hospitality to a dozen extra women and children. The house was crowded and tepid, but Abbie did not mind. Having so many of the Amish women together in one place was almost as satisfying as a shared meal after a church service, an event beginning to fade in memory.

When Abbie heard one more buggy clatter into the yard, she threaded her way through the visiting women to look out the front window.

Mary Miller. And Little Abe.

Abbie grinned wide as she held the door open for them and scooped up Little Abe as soon as his bare feet and wiggly toes crossed the threshold. He showed her all his teeth and put a playful hand over her face.

“He is so adorable that I don’t know how you can stand it,” Abbie said. She slobbered a kiss on the boy’s cheek.

Mary laughed. “He is not always so well tempered. When he has a tantrum I’m grateful we live miles from anyone else or we would have to supply the neighbors with something to plug their ears.”

“We’ll have to see if we have a treat for you.” Abbie gently poked the child’s tummy. She looked at Mary. “I’ll bring you some
kaffi
. Mrs. Chupp is here. Perhaps she knows when her husband will have Little Abe’s new shoes ready.”

“He’s excited to have shoes, but he is so used to bare feet that I don’t know if he’ll wear them.”

“It will be good for him to have them. The ground here is not like the soft grass at home. Anything that grows is scratchy, and there are so many pebbles. Once he has shoes you can let him play more freely.”

“He’s not a baby anymore.” Mary looked around. “Speaking of babies, is Ruthanna here?”

Abbie shook her head. “I’m sure she wouldn’t want to leave Eber at home just to visit. She hasn’t left their farm since the day he fell ill.”

“I want to ask her what she needs for the baby. I would be happy to share the things Little Abe has outgrown.”

“I’m sure she would be grateful.”

Little Abe wriggled out of Abbie’s arms and squatted to touch the nearest pair of shoes.

“How is your quilt coming along?” Mary asked.

“I have almost all the pieces cut out.” Abbie tickled Little Abe under the chin. “I can’t wait to start piecing.”

“I’m eager to see your progress.” Mary looked around. “I suppose everyone is here for the same reason. It’s too nerve-racking to wait alone at home for news of what the men are discussing. I hope it is news of a minister. Without church for over a year, this is a wonderful lonesome place to be.”

The men gathered on a motley arrangement of chairs, milking stools, barrels, and bales in the Mullet barn. It was the only space that would allow them to sit in a lopsided circle where most of them could see each other’s faces. Willem sat beside Rudy at the curve in the circle nearest the open barn doors. He had also carried two jugs of water in from his wagon and now offered this token of refreshment as he studied the mostly bearded faces of the assembly. Only two gave the slightest sign that they knew the purpose of the meeting. Everyone else appeared as uninformed as Willem and Rudy were.

Eli Yoder cleared his throat. As one of the first Amish men to arrive in Elbert County five years ago, Eli held a certain if unofficial role when the families gathered. Around the circle, conversation ceased as he commanded attention by the gutteral signal that he was ready to begin.

“I thank you all for coming.” Eli nodded at Eber Gingerich. “We are blessed to have some among us who have been ill and brought back to us by the grace of God.”

Murmurs confirmed the shared gratitude for Eber’s presence.