14

Birdy sat across the room from the man she most admired and tried very hard not to feel self-conscious. How she wished she’d worn her turquoise dress today—someone told her once that it suited her coloring nicely. She didn’t know that David would be dropping by to teach a class today, and here she was, wearing her drab brown dress. She reminded herself that it didn’t really matter how she looked. But it did.

David stood by her desk, drawing the children into a story, and Birdy tried to keep her mind on the important topic of Bible memorization, and not on how deep his voice was, exceptionally deep, yet warm and kind.

“I know an old, old, old bishop who has an incredible ability to recite long passages,” David said. “Apparently memorization didn’t come naturally to him. He decided that memorization is like working a muscle—the more you exercise it, the easier it becomes. So he worked at it every day, and he found some tips that helped.”

David’s instructions to the class were simple: “Let a passage find you. When you hear a verse that appeals to you, scribble it down on an index card. Tape it to your door, or rubber band it to your scooter handlebars so that you can whisper the lines on your way to school.”

He passed out index cards and rubber bands to each row. “But it isn’t about just gathering information. And for what? To impress others? To feel clever and smug? Never! You must ponder the meaning and significance of each verse. Truly living a few lines is better than memorizing a hundred. You all know Bible stories about Pharisees in Jesus’s time who could recite Scripture but never let it enter their hearts.”

David picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the blackboard:

Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
and a light unto my path.
Psalm 119:105

He pivoted around. “How many of you have walked in the dark with a flashlight?”

The entire class raised their hands.

“How far have you been able to see?” He looked around for a volunteer, found none, so called on one. “Noah Yoder?”

“Only as far as the flashlight’s beam spreads.”

“And how far is that?”

Noah squinted. “I guess, what’s right in front of you.”

“Exactly! Sometimes in life, that’s as much as God lets us see of the future. Just a few feet ahead of us. And the Word of God is like that flashlight beam, showing us which path to take.” He pointed to the chalkboard. “I want you all to write that verse on your index card and try to memorize it this week. Next week, I’ll quiz you to see who has it memorized.” He grinned and looked at Birdy. “There might even be a prize.”

The children scribbled down the verse. “There’s one more thing my old friend the bishop told me. He said that if memorizing takes such a long time that you feel as if you’re chiseling words in granite, then to rest easy. Any idea why?”

No one had an answer. No one except Luke Schrock. He raised his hand and Birdy cringed. She never knew what would tumble out of Luke’s mouth on any given moment. David gave him a nod and Luke stood at his desk. “I guess ’cuz words chiseled in granite will never disappear.”

David smiled. “Well done, Luke,” and the boy preened like a jaybird.

Birdy dismissed the children to have a recess on the playground and they thundered out the door like a herd of wild beasts. David picked up the extra index cards and stuffed them in his coat pocket.

Birdy fiddled with her hands, searching for a subject to put off his departure. “Did you have a particular prize in mind? For next week?”

“I think Molly wouldn’t mind making some baked goods for a prize for students who memorize the verse next week . . . though—” he hesitated—“judging from the look on your face, as if you found a mouse in your soup, maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

An unladylike snort of laughter burst out of Birdy and she felt her face grow oven-warmed. “I know Molly’s been working very hard on her cooking. But perhaps she might want to come to my house on Saturday afternoon and we could bake something together. I have a new recipe for pumpkin chocolate chip muffins I’ve been wanting to try.”

Those beautiful eyes of his lit up at that news. “Molly would love that, Birdy.” He picked up his hat.

End of subject.

“Thank you again for taking time to teach the children.”

“I enjoyed it.” End of subject. He put his hat on.

“I liked the part about putting a rubber band around the note card on their scooter handlebars,” she added hurriedly.

“Thanks.”

End of subject, again. He walked toward the door and she followed behind. On the porch steps, David and Birdy stood a moment, shoulder to shoulder, studying the children. A closeness stole over them, binding them. Their gazes met momentarily. “Birdy, where do young people go on dates around Stoney Ridge?”

“Dates?”

“Yes. If a fellow wanted to take a woman out on a date, where would they go?”

“At this time of year?”

“Yes. Soon.”

Oh. Birdy’s heart sank. Again, Mary Mast loomed large. “I suppose, if the weather cooperated, they would go to Blue Lake Pond for a picnic.” Her favorite place in all the world.

David grinned. “Perfect. That sounds just perfect.”

The next Sunday was a church day. A glut of buggies and wagons lined up along the rim of Sol and Mattie Riehl’s pond by the time Thelma’s buggy arrived. Andy dropped Thelma at the door to the Riehl farmhouse, but Katrina had remained in the buggy. As Andy squeezed their buggy into an open spot, a young boy came galloping up to them. He was supposed to unhitch the horse and lead it out to pasture, but when he caught sight of Katrina, he skidded to a dead stop. His eyes grew wide, his mouth hung open, his face turned a dozen shades of red as he stared stock-still at her.

It was the first time Katrina was part of a church event since she had told her father that she was going to have a baby. This was the first time she realized that everybody knew, everybody was staring at her, and not in a good way. Shame pressed down on her again. For a moment, she felt as if she might faint. She hadn’t thought this through—the story of her life!

Knots of men and women stood gathered in the morning sun, waiting for that invisible signal when they would file into the front doors of the barn for church to start. Andy helped her out of the buggy and walked with her toward the farmhouse.

Halfway there, she froze. “Maybe I should just go home,” she said to him, and turned around to leave, but of course she couldn’t really leave, much as she wanted to. No Plain person ever missed a preaching just because she didn’t feel like going.

“Absolutely not,” Andy said in a calm voice. “Look at me, Katrina.”

She raised miserable eyes, hoping Andy would see that she desperately wanted to get out of there and help her back into the buggy before her knees buckled from under her. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he said in her ear. “Think of this as the wild beast you’re facing in the Roman Coliseum. You’re in the lion’s den. When you get inside, you sit up straight. Stare back if anybody stares at you. That’s how you scare off a wild beast.”

That, Katrina thought, and a fierce weapon in your hand.

“I just . . . I never thought of how this would feel. I’m not prepared to face people. I’m just barely beginning to figure things out myself.”

“You don’t have to have it all figured out.” His mouth took on that teasing look of his. “You’d be surprised at how many people here don’t have it all figured out, either.”

Maybe so, but their humiliation wasn’t quite as public as hers.

She gave the bow of her bonnet a straightening tug, then smoothed her hands over her skirt. She didn’t need to look around to hear the hiss of whispers start up around her, even in her imagination. Ears buzzing, face burning, she kept her head down. Her throat felt like it would close completely, and when she did lift her head, she caught the sour look of Edith Fisher giving her a once-over. “Why is it that here, coming to church, is where I feel such shame?”

“Maybe that’s what’s supposed to happen,” Andy said thoughtfully. “A few weeks ago, your father said that part of coming to worship is to bring our shame to the altar.”

Bring our shame to the altar. A wheel clicked over in her mind. Until that moment, the fact that her father was a minister had never held any resonance to Katrina. It was a flat word without depth.

Bring our shame to the altar.

She saw a tiny ray of light break through the messy crack of her life. She took a deep breath and found her chest didn’t feel as tight as it had; she could breathe a little easier.

“You’re not alone in this, Katrina. If you’d just lift your head, you’ll see what I mean.”

She raised her head to see her father, brother, and sisters, her friend Bethany Schrock, and behind them trailed Birdy, with her arm supporting Thelma, all coming down the path to welcome her to church.

A small thing it was, really, a small moment in this long morning ahead of her, and yet it made some broken part of Katrina begin to feel whole again.

Jesse thought Sunday church went fairly well, all things considered. His father and sisters went home right after lunch was served, but he stuck around to see if his presence could curtail any Stoltzfus gossip. Just as he thought there might be a dim but hopeful chance that Katrina’s news might be swallowed up and digested by everyone, that they had moved on to other topics of conversation, a police car drove up the driveway. Sheriff Hoffman eased out of his car. Everyone stilled and quietly watched to see what the sheriff wanted. It turned out, what he wanted was a who. Jesse Stoltzfus, in fact, he announced in an overly loud voice. For questioning about a gambler known as Domino Joe.

Submissively, Jesse got in the back of the squad car. He tried not to notice the stunned look on Miriam Schrock’s face as the sheriff closed the door. The car was backing up to turn around and was getting ready to pull out when somebody started banging on the trunk. “Wait a minute!”

Andy Miller leaned toward the sheriff’s open window and said something to him, then opened the back passenger-side door and jumped in next to Jesse before he slammed the door shut.

Jesse stared at Andy. “You want to go to the police station with me? Why?”

“Because you need some help. Whatever you did, I’m pretty sure you’ll incriminate yourself.”

“But I didn’t do anything to Domino Joe! I haven’t even seen him, or his goons.”

“Shhh!” Andy glanced up at the sheriff in the front seat. “Slip me the brass knuckles when the sheriff isn’t looking,” he whispered. “They’re illegal in the state of Pennsylvania.”

What? Now he tells him that? “I left them at home. I didn’t think I’d need them at church.”

“Good. Don’t say another word until we get you a lawyer.”

At the Stoney Ridge police station, Sheriff Hoffman took Jesse into his office for questioning while Andy was told to wait in the lobby area. Apparently, Domino Joe had been arrested. This sheriff was a talker, and he took particular delight to describe the circumstances that ended in the arrest of Domenico Guiseppe Rizzo.

The Lancaster County Fair had started last weekend, the sheriff explained, and the Lancaster County Police Department had come up with a clever sting to collect fugitives with outstanding warrants. The “Lancaster County Lottery Commission” had sent out thousands of letters, claiming to be distributing millions of dollars in excess lottery funds. The winners were instructed to present identification at the County Fairgrounds. Those who received a letter arrived at the fair to find a balloon and streamer-festooned building. They were called, one by one, into separate rooms to receive their surprise. Uniformed officers explained the hoax and arrested the befuddled fugitives.

“And so that’s where Domino Joe and his thugs have been?” Jesse asked incredulously. “In jail?”

“Yup,” Sheriff Hoffman said. “That’s where he’ll be cooling his heels for a good long stretch. The LCPD served 53 felony warrants and made 29 arrests. His is going to stick.”

“Then, uh, why am I here?”

“I was the arresting officer for Domino Joe. In his coat, I found a notebook with your name in it. Looks like you had a streak of good luck, and then your luck ran out. I also found this.” He took an envelope out of his top drawer. “There was one thousand dollars in it.” He tossed the envelope across the desk. Jesse’s name was scrawled on the envelope. Jesse picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside were ten crisp, new one-hundred-dollar bills.

He tried to keep all signs of alarm smoothed out of his expression. “Am I under arrest?”

The sheriff took his time answering, so long that a bead of sweat ran down Jesse’s back. “I happen to know your father. He’s a good man. So this one time, Jesse Stoltzfus, you’ve got a pass. Next time your name crosses my path, I won’t be quite as understanding.” He pointed to the door. “Now, get out of here before I change my mind.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” Jesse couldn’t get out of that office fast enough.

But waiting out in the lobby area, seated next to Andy Miller, was Jesse’s father. Jesse opened his mouth to explain, but his father held up a hand. “Andy’s filled me in. Are you free to go?” At Jesse’s nod, David stood up. “Then let’s go home.”

There was a thick silence in the buggy riding home. Jesse sat in the backseat of the buggy, utterly still, sifting through the different defenses he could provide, but whenever he started to say something, he thought twice. His father’s jaw was clenched and he shifted in his seat, leaning forward almost prayerfully. Long out of experience, when his father took on that particular stance, Jesse knew it was best to remain silent. Andy sat up front, his eyes glued to the road, providing nothing beside companionship. Finally, his father broke the silence. “One question, Jesse. I only have one question and I want the honest truth in an answer. Do you know who Yardstick Yoder is?”

“Of course. A few weeks ago, I saw him run and asked him to be in the Hundred-Yard Dash at Founder’s Day. Dad, he is fast. Fastest boy I’ve ever seen. I saw him run, and I got carried away. Downright greedy. I see that clearly now.”

“Did you ever, ever, think to ask what his real name is?”

Such a thought never occurred to Jesse. “Yoder is a common name,” he offered up weakly.

“Yardstick’s name is Noah Yoder. His father was Ephraim Yoder. He missed Sunday’s race because he was at his father’s bedside in the hospital, watching him pass away.”

“Oh,” Jesse said. Oh, oh, oh.

The success of Jesse’s bill collecting took a noticeable downturn after he had been unceremoniously hauled away in the sheriff’s car on Sunday. For the last two days, whenever he knocked on a farmhouse door, no one answered, though he heard sounds of scurrying feet inside.

He started to feel more paranoid. Each time Jesse passed a farm he imagined that people were watching him from behind their curtains, wondering what he was up to. He asked his sister Ruthie if she thought people might talk. “Of course people will talk,” she said with certainty. “People always talk. Especially about preachers and their families. As if they weren’t human like everybody else.”

These people of Stoney Ridge—they had memories like elephants. Another reason why Jesse wasn’t cut out to be a minister’s son. He preferred people who provided him a large margin of grace. Or forgetfulness.

His father insisted that he tell Hank the truth. Jesse had been avoiding that inevitable conversation—even hoping he could scrounge up the money he owed him this week. But after two full days of fruitless bill collecting, he knew he couldn’t postpone it any longer. He had to come clean. And then, perhaps, move far, far away to make a fresh start from his messy life. Prince Edward Island, perhaps.

Feeling at his lowest point, he happened across Miriam Schrock in town. He slowed his scooter and, for once, she actually stopped to speak to him.

“You’re an interesting person, Jesse Stoltzfus,” Miriam Schrock said. “Most interesting.” A smile flickered in her eyes, and then it was gone and she went on her way. Yet for Jesse it was enough. Being interesting was a good thing in his book. He felt himself smile in return and then heard himself laugh.

Instantly, Jesse’s gloominess lifted.

By Tuesday evening, David realized that the Bent N’ Dent store had far fewer usual customers than the previous week. By Friday of that week, sales for the week had declined by two-thirds. It troubled him to ponder why, but his hunch was confirmed when Gertie Zook and Lizzie King came into the store. A whisper fanned like a breeze across the store. “A man who can’t control his family certainly can’t be expected to lead a church.”

“Gertie,” Lizzie scolded, “stop your gossiping.”

Gossip. The whisper in the wind.

Gertie Zook was the worst gossip among their people. She’d been sticking her meddlesome and inquisitive nose into others’ affairs for so long that the Plain had started calling her Grapevine Gertie to her face. She didn’t seem to mind, but then she did have quite a few grapevines in her garden and David sometimes wondered if she just didn’t understand the pun.

As David rang up their purchases, he kept his smile steady. Sometimes, though, he wanted to just grab people by the shoulders and give them a good shake until they realized what was important.

Saturday dawned so bright and sunny it almost made David forget the gloom of the previous week. He walked around the store, coffee cup in hand, trying to decide where to start the day’s work.

He heard the sound of a horse and buggy in the parking lot and peered out the window to see who had arrived. Mary Mast climbed out of the buggy and hitched her horse to the post. His first customer of the day, which he took as a good sign. He watched her smooth out her apron and straighten her bonnet—a habit Anna had too. He felt a little catch in his throat, but he swallowed it back.

He had succumbed to Katrina’s urging and given some thought to courting Mary Mast. He didn’t know her well, but she had a pleasant nature and seemed to enjoy his children, and she was certainly appealing. Most of her appeal, though, was that she seemed interested in him. Quite, quite interested. After Katrina had brought her for dinner that one time, she had dropped by the store every other day though she lived two towns over. But this week, her visits had stopped and David noticed.

Last evening, he left a phone message for Mary Mast, inviting her to go on a picnic tomorrow afternoon at Blue Lake Pond. He said it might be one of the last warm days before winter settled in for a stay, so they should enjoy the good weather while it lasted. It had been a long time since he’d noticed a woman, and he gave thanks to God for this budding relationship. It was a welcome distraction from the more serious issues he faced.

As she reached the front steps, she paused for a moment in the morning sun, and he was caught by her attractiveness. She had a pair of the nicest lips he’d ever seen on a woman—full and wide. David pulled open the door for Mary, giving her a warm smile. “Good morning, Mary. Can I talk you into a cup of coffee? Fresh brewed.”

Mary smiled in return, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No, but thank you, David.”

Something wasn’t right. He felt awkward and uncertain. “Is anything wrong?”

Mary put her hands together. “Is it true? About your oldest daughter? Being . . . with child?”

Good grief. Had such news traveled two towns over? “Yes, it’s true.”

“And she’s not going to marry the father?”

“No. He’s engaged to someone else.”

“So she’s going to raise the baby alone?”

“She’s chosen to raise the baby. But she won’t be alone. I’ll be helping her, so will the rest of the family. And the community. I have a hope and prayer that there will be a wonderful man in her future who will come alongside her and be a father to her child.” Unexpectedly, an image of Andy Miller came to mind. He was quite touched when he learned how Andy had intervened with the gambler and paid off Jesse’s debt. Intuition whispered there was something between Andy and Katrina, some fledgling attraction. He had noticed from the first that Katrina was entirely herself around him—something she had never seemed to be around John.

Mary Mast tucked her chin against her chest. “It must be awful—having this sort of scandal in your family. Being a minister and all.”

David felt his neck turn red, and the fingers of his right hand clench involuntarily. “I feel what any father would feel about the situation. I don’t deny that the news gave me pause. But my soul is glad.”

She lifted her eyes. “Glad?”

“A child always brings joy.”

“And then . . . your son, Jesse . . . I heard he was arrested for the murder of a gambler.”

“Murder?” How had that rumor circulated? “No murder, no arrest, but he was brought in to the police station for questioning.”

“And one of your other daughters—she tried to blind a boy in school?”

“What? No. Ruthie never tried to blind Luke, she was just trying to teach him a lesson—never mind. It’s a long story.”

“And then I heard the worst thing of all. That you encouraged a man in the hospital to be . . . ,” she searched for the right word, “. . . euthanized.”

“What?” If the death of Ephraim Yoder wasn’t so tragic, nor so fresh and raw in his heart, he would have laughed. Ludicrous! How did rumors like these get started? Who was behind them? And how and when would they end?

Mary seemed to have that answer. She bit her lip. “David, there’s talk of having you quieted.”

David made a raw, gasping sound. Quieted. It was the Amish way to have a church leader removed. Silenced. Other bishops would come in for a hearing, to listen to the charges laid against him by the church members. If they decided there was enough evidence, a minister or bishop could be replaced.

“I came by to let you know that I won’t be able to go on the picnic tomorrow.”

He swallowed, trying to get past the lump in his throat. “Not tomorrow? Or not ever?”

“Not . . . ever.”

“I see.” But he didn’t. Not really.

“I’m sorry, David. I had a hope there might be something blooming between us.”

“So did I, Mary. I had a similar hope. But I’ve learned that there’s far more to the Christian life than getting it right. There’s living it right. Living it means working through the ordinary stuff.”

“What you’re dealing with isn’t exactly . . . ordinary.” She looked down at her hands, which were twisted in a knot in her apron. She unclenched them and smoothed out the bunched material. When she raised her head again, there was resolution in her eyes. “Being a minister’s wife—”

Wife? Who said anything about getting married? All David had in mind was a picnic. A stain of color spread along his cheekbones.

“—it’s just more than I can handle. I believe that a minister’s life should be beyond reproach. And . . . I must say . . . your family seems to have more than the usual amount of problems. I’m sorry to say that I’m not ready to face the controversy you’re about to encounter.”

He felt himself flush a little as he opened the door for her. “Well, thank you for coming by to tell me personally.”

As he watched her horse and buggy drive down the road, he felt himself unable to shake the pall Mary’s visit cast. He had observed a quieting once before. He remembered thinking that the minister under fire had a look on his face as if he were having his skin peeled off in strips. Where would this conflict with Freeman end?

And one thing he chided himself over: he had never asked the Lord if Mary Mast was the one. It was just like last spring, when he embarrassed himself by asking to court Rose Schrock when she was already involved with her neighbor Galen King. He hadn’t asked God about Rose, either.

Never again. The next time, he was going to let God write the story.