Chapter Seventeen
Regina’s mouth dropped open. Never had she imagined that Gabe had such impassioned ideas about art bringing joy; nor had she ever heard anyone challenge a leader of the church about his livelihood. She’d often wondered why art was condemned by the Old Order, but Gabe had just nailed it: the fine furniture she finished at Flaud’s never raised an eyebrow, yet the pictures she produced with her smaller brushes had set her apart as a sinner in need of serious repentance.
“We maidels—and Gabe—voted no on a six-week shunning,” Lydianne whispered as she grasped Regina’s arm.
As the older women in front of them murmured in shocked disbelief at Gabe’s impassioned speech, Jo also leaned close to Regina. “We got your time reduced to four weeks, thanks to the bishop’s levelheaded way of handling some people’s bad attitudes.”
Regina didn’t have a chance to thank her friends, because Deacon Saul was rising from the preachers’ bench with an expression that would scald water.
“I suggest you sit down, Gabe, rather than question Old Order ways that have been in place for centuries,” Saul said tersely. “Have you forgotten that furniture and buggies have a function, and that they serve a purpose? Seems to me you’re a lot more concerned about Miss Miller and joy than you are about the business your dat has established as much for you as to support his family.”
“Jah, since when are you so concerned about talent and art?” Martin challenged with a scowl. “You have a factory to oversee!”
When Gabe met her gaze again, Regina’s entire being thrummed. The emotions on his handsome face spoke of a conflict raging within him—and possibly of a decision he’d just reached. He appeared to be composing a response to his dat and Saul as he remained standing.
Meanwhile, Bishop Jeremiah was holding up his hands for silence as the chatter in the room got louder. “Folks, we have business left to finish,” he reminded them.
“Jah, I need to speak about some unfinished business, too,” Gabe blurted before the bishop could continue. “You folks seem fine with me being your song leader for our hymns—and you fellows who sing with me on Friday nights love it as much as I do—but you have no idea that music goes much deeper for me. I—when I was in my rumspringa, I bought a guitar and took some lessons—without telling anybody,” he went on in a rush.
The room fell silent as folks considered this. On the women’s side, Delores Flaud’s face tightened with shock—and apprehension.
Gabe nervously raked his hair back. “I learned to play pretty well, and after I joined the church I didn’t give it up,” he confessed as he gazed around the crowded room. “Music comes easy for me, and sometimes I slip into the Methodist church and play their piano—they leave their back chapel unlocked for folks who want to pray, you see. Their hymns are about God’s love and Jesus forgiving our sins, and when I play them I feel centered and—and closer to God.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Martin demanded under his breath. “Why are you—”
“No, I’ve found my soul,” Gabe shot back without missing a beat. “And now that Red’s situation has come out, I can’t remain quiet and be one of the hypocrites Bishop Jeremiah preached about today.
“And just for the record,” he went on in a coiled voice, “I’m appalled at the way Saul and Ammon confronted Red in her shop—in front of her customers—and at the way her uncle belittled her at work after she’d confessed her wrongdoing. These leaders of our church were not the least bit uplifting or encouraging as they spoke with her—as they humiliated her in public. If that’s what the Old Order faith is about, why does anyone want to belong to it?”
Gabe released a loud, shuddering sigh. “That said, I’ll make my confession.”
As Gabe went to kneel in front of a stunned Bishop Jeremiah, Regina couldn’t believe what she was seeing, or what he’d said about playing the guitar—not to mention the way he’d so staunchly defended her and rebuked their leaders. Did she dare believe that Gabe had feelings for her? Or was he simply being driven by guilt to come clean?
“Son, think about what you’re doing,” Martin protested. “If you’re shunned, no one will be able to speak to you, or to give or receive anything from you—”
“That’s an Amish thing,” Gabe pointed out with a shrug. “English customers will have no qualms about handing me their credit cards at the factory or at The Marketplace, as they’ve always done. My sins are comparable to Red’s—they concern an art form, and my need to keep it secret. So it seems reasonable that I confess the way she has, ain’t so?”
Bishop Jeremiah appeared flummoxed for a moment, but then he motioned for Martin to take his seat. “Whenever a member confesses, it behooves us to take him seriously,” he said after the undercurrent of chatter stopped. He gazed at Gabe, who knelt before him with his head bowed. “Let’s be clear about what you’re confessing, Gabe. You bought a guitar and took lessons during your rumspringa, and when you joined the Old Order you continued to play it—and to play the piano at the Methodist church, as well. And you’ve kept this a secret because, although you know we consider musical instruments worldly, you didn’t want to give up playing them. Do I have that right?”
“I love playing them,” Gabe corrected him softly. “I’ve always wondered why talent that comes from God and has brought me such joy would be considered a sin.”
“Sin’s the most natural condition of all,” Preacher Ammon put in with a curt laugh.
A few rows in front of Regina, Gabe’s mamm shook her head in disbelief. “How can this have been going on since—and we’ve had no idea?”
“It’s like I told Regina,” Esther Slabaugh remarked archly. “It’s an addiction.”
“So are gossip and negative thinking, and I’ve had enough of them,” Bishop Jeremiah snapped. He gazed at the Slabaugh sisters until they lowered their eyes. “I believe we need to pray for God’s wisdom and guidance before we proceed. And we need to pray for one another as well.”
The room rang with an uneasy silence. Folks bowed their heads. A dehumidifier kicked on and filled the basement with its noisy rumble. As the minutes ticked by, Regina wondered what folks would decide about Gabe—and what other surprises this fateful day might reveal. When Bishop Jeremiah spoke again, even the three men on the preachers’ bench appeared more contrite and mindful of their attitudes than before.
“Now that we’ve heard your confession, Gabe, we’ll take the vote,” he said. “We’ve lowered the customary six-week bann to four weeks for Regina. Because you’ve come forward so willingly, that’s my recommendation for you as well.”
Gabe exited through the door at the far end of the basement as Regina had. She hadn’t enjoyed feeling the gazes of the entire congregation as she’d left, yet once she’d stepped outside into the open air, she’d felt freer and greatly relieved.
The worst was over. She’d faced the congregation, and she knew what they expected of her. She’d forfeited the most recent money she’d made from her paintings and put her beloved home on the market, despite the overwhelming sense of loss she felt . . . the claustrophobic numbness that loomed at the thought of spending the rest of her life in a guest room, with Uncle Clarence and Aunt Cora being constantly present and holding her accountable.
The vote went quickly. Because Regina had been shunned, she wasn’t eligible to vote—not that she would’ve disrupted the process by saying no. She believed Gabe was sincerely trying to face the music, so to speak, and she was pleased that a unanimous decision settled the matter quickly. After Bishop Jeremiah informed Gabe of his four-week bann, folks rose from their seats, eager to be out of the Slabaugh sisters’ gray basement. The women went upstairs to set out the common meal, but because Regina was to be excluded from the time of fellowship, she slipped out the basement door to walk home.
Home, she thought with a deep sigh. How much longer would she be able to remain in the house where she’d grown up and been so happy? She had a lot of belongings to get rid of before she took up residence in her uncle’s house. Because it was Sunday, she wouldn’t begin packing, but to keep from sinking helplessly into depression, she could make lists of all the tasks before her. She could decide where to donate her furniture, her kitchen utensils, her art supplies, and—
“Red! Wait up!”
Gabe’s voice made her turn around. Regina had been concentrating so intently, she’d almost reached Maple Lane without realizing it. Rather than appearing downtrodden or distressed, Gabe flashed her a smile that made her pulse beat in triple time as he jogged toward her.
“Now that the church has banned us from the common meal, why don’t you and I go into town for a pizza?” he asked. “We have some catching up to do!”
* * *
Gabe knew he’d never forget the happy shine of Red’s hazel eyes as she watched him approach. They’d been employer and employee for years, knowing better than to forge any other sort of connection, yet the possibility now intrigued him. Dressed in her Sunday cape dress of dark brown, with her auburn hair coiled into a bun and tucked neatly into her pleated kapp, Regina Miller held an unexpected appeal for him—and his new awareness of her took him by surprise. He had the urge to frame her dear, freckled face in his hands and kiss her, even though it was way too soon for that—and way too dangerous to think about.
When they’d slid into opposite sides of a booth and had ordered a large sausage and mushroom pizza, Gabe gazed across the table at her. “I feel this enormous sense of freedom now,” he murmured. “Even though Dat has told me not to return to work until my attitude improves—until I appreciate all he’s done to establish my future—I’ve finally expressed my real feelings about how the Old Order exasperates me.”
Red’s eyes widened. “He told you to stay away from the shop? Who’s going to oversee the building of all that furniture we’ve taken orders for?”
Gabe shrugged. “I guess it’s not my problem for a while. I’m not ready to go crawling back just yet.”
She took a long sip of her cola. “Now that I’ve been shunned, he’ll probably fire me,” she murmured. “I—I’ll have real estate expenses and final utility bills to pay and—”
“Red, I’m sorry you’ve given up your home,” he said as he reached for her hand. “I really admire you for turning over that money and for doing as your uncle expects you to, but I can’t imagine how painful this must feel. You’ve had your own life for so long, and soon that’ll be gone.”
Gabe was immediately sorry he’d expressed his condolences, because he’d made Red cry. She blinked furiously, releasing his hand to wipe away her tears so the folks around them wouldn’t see how upset she’d become.
“I really, really don’t want to live at Uncle Clarence’s,” she admitted, “but selling my house seemed like the only way to convince the church leaders I’m serious about repentance.”
He took her hand again, savoring the feel of her sturdy, stained fingers linked between his. “If it’s any consolation, when Jeremiah informed us you’d already put your house up for sale your uncle’s stunned expression was priceless.”
“Well, it was nothing compared to the look on your dat’s face—and your mamm’s—when you confessed to playing the guitar,” she shot back. “You might as well have announced you were a space alien from Mars.”
When his own emotions welled up unexpectedly, Gabe had to look away. “I did the right thing by confessing about my music, yet I feel like my family and my faith have turned me away—so I might as well go live on Mars,” he added with a sigh. “I knew they’d be disappointed, but I—I didn’t expect Dat to cast me out of the factory, or to accuse me of being ungrateful. I didn’t realize that following the Ordnung would feel so harsh.”
Red squeezed his hand. “It’s the separation part of shunning that’s meant to bring us sinners to our senses,” she pointed out. “Although, truth be told, it’s the opportunity for solitude I’ll miss the most when I leave my house. I’m not used to following somebody else’s schedule or spending my days in compliance with a man’s expectations.”
Gabe blinked. Unlike Red, he took for granted that he’d be making his own decisions about how he spent his time—and without a job, he’d need to find something else to do. It also occurred to him that he’d never held a deep conversation like this with anyone—certainly not with the girls he’d dated previously, or even with the one he’d been courting years ago.
He sensed he was just scratching the surface of the quiet little mouse who so meticulously finished furniture. He felt as though he could tell Red anything and she wouldn’t get upset with him or feel offended. Gabe brightened at the idea of getting better acquainted with her, now that their relationship was taking place outside the factory.
“An English gal I know thinks that shunning is a man-made rule the Amish have concocted—that it has nothing to do with God’s will or what He really wants of us,” Gabe said softly. “She believes God and Jesus forgive us when we ask—that we don’t need the church telling us we have to suffer for weeks on end because we’ve sinned. And some of the things we’ve done—like painting pictures and playing instruments—aren’t even sins for most Christians,” he added with a shake of his head.
Gabe’s spirits rose. Red was following his every word, not glaring at him as though his ideas contradicted the Amish principles they’d grown up with. So he dared to take his line of thought one step further.
“Seems to me we’ve done our part by confessing,” he said. “And for all we know, God has already forgiven us, so maybe we should enjoy this next month of being outcasts! What do you say, Red? What do we have to lose?”