The Bishop's Daughter

A fly bounced against the kitchen window as Sadie Hochstetler hung the gas lantern on a hook in the center of the ceiling. The morning was still dark, the days shortening on this end of August in Morinville, Indiana, but the outdoor early morning chill hadn’t done anything for the kitchen. It was still hot indoors. Sadie was up earlier than she usually rose for the day, and the rest of the family was still asleep—Mamm and Daet, her younger sister Rosmanda, and Sadie’s own three-year-old boy, Samuel, who slept in a little bed beside her own . . . for most of the night. He usually ended up crawling into hers sometime in the darkest hours, and she pretended not to notice.

Her son crawling into her bed couldn’t go on forever. She’d have to put a stop to it. But with her husband, Mervin, passed on, there was that vast empty space of clean white sheet next to her, and a little boy with rosebud lips and wispy blond curls whose daet had died before any of them even knew that Sadie was expecting.

Golden lamplight spilled over the kitchen tabletop that had been scrubbed down to a dull sheen. Sadie pushed open the window, waiting for a moment to see if she’d be rewarded with a puff of breeze. She wasn’t. The fly bounced twice more against the glass, and then escaped.

Sadie opened a cupboard and pulled a stool closer to let her reach the highest shelf. Deep at the back was a small tin box, and this was why she’d come down so early—sacrificing a few more minutes of sleep—to get a peek at the letters from her brother, Absolom, when she could read them alone. He’d been gone from them for nine years now, and she’d been left with only the memories of her brother’s lopsided grin and ready jokes behind Daet’s back. But he’d written over the years—a few times. Not often. Mamm’s letters outlining the church’s reasons for the Ordnung had mostly gone unanswered. Until a few months ago, when his letter arrived in the mailbox at the end of the drive.

Sadie pulled down the tin box and pried it open with a soft creak. She took the top letter, then glanced toward the ceiling, listening. There was still silence from above. She didn’t read these letters often, but some mornings she missed her brother more than others, and she’d come to see his words on paper, as if they could bring him back in some way. She opened the letter and scanned the now-familiar words . . .

Dear Mamm and Daet,

I know it’s been a long time since I wrote to you, and I wanted to tell you that I haven’t forgotten. I just didn’t know how to answer. But things have changed around here, and I wanted to tell you about it. You should know.

My girlfriend, Sharon, is pregnant. We haven’t been together all that long, but the baby is mine, and I’ve got to stand by her. I’m going to be a daet now. She’s due in August, and I’m real excited. I thought you should know that you’ll have another grandchild.

But this also means I can’t come back and join the church. I’m sure you can see that. Sharon wouldn’t make a good Amish wife. She’s not like our girls. She’s loud and fun and hates rules. It just couldn’t fit, and if I came home, I’d have to come back without her and the baby. I can’t do that. I’ve got to work and support her.

We’ve moved to a different apartment, and we’re living together. So I’m going to give you my address, so you can reach me if you want to. I want to hear from you, but you’ve got to stop asking me to come back. It can’t happen.

I know I’ve disappointed you—especially you, Daet. I know I’m not what you wanted or hoped for in a son, but I’m doing my best here with the Englishers. And I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about that.

I miss you.

Absolom

It had been nine years now since Absolom had left home, and Sadie’s heart still ached at his absence. He’d missed so much—Sadie’s wedding, Samuel’s birth, Mervin’s death.... If he’d stayed, he’d have been married long ago, with a houseful of children and a smiling wife, just like their older brothers had. But he’d given it up for . . . what? A life with the Englishers, out there where the rules no longer applied, and life made no sense.

This being August, Absolom’s child would be born soon. If it hadn’t been born already. Would he write when the baby arrived? Or would he stay silent? Sadie wanted to know about Absolom’s child—if it were a boy or a girl, and if it resembled him at all. But Mamm and Daet hadn’t replied to that letter. It had sounded too final, and perhaps they’d seen the same thing Absolom had talked about—the impossibility of his return. He’d have to walk away from a father’s duties to do so, and while they hadn’t raised him well enough to stay Amish, they’d certainly raised him well enough to stand by his parental responsibilities. For what it was worth.

Sadie refolded the letter and returned it to the pile. She stretched to push the box into the back of the cupboard again just as the floorboards above her head creaked. That would be Mamm and Daet, up for the day. Mamm would join her in the kitchen preparing breakfast, and Daet would go out for morning chores. Rosmanda always had to be woken by Mamm with a tap on her bedroom door, and three-year-old Samuel would sleep another hour before Sadie went to fetch him for breakfast.