14

Sunday morning worship was at Abraham and Lydia’s home. The house was hot and close with the entire community in the big open room. The benches were crowded together, and Gideon was wedged between Abraham and Samuel. His children were sitting with Ruby and Lydia, like usual, and he was glad to be able to concentrate on the worship today.

His mind was still in turmoil. Saturday had been a quiet day. He had mowed hay from sun up to suppertime and had seen no sign of rebel soldiers anywhere. If he hadn’t seen their camp last week, he wouldn’t have believed they were in the area. His conversation with Ruby the other night hadn’t solved anything, and his questions still hung in the air. Was he strong enough to face the rebel soldiers without fighting? Could he stand by and do nothing if they came to his house? If they harmed his children?

Mein Herr . . .

His prayer died away before he could form words to say. How should a man pray in times like this?

The hymn ended, and Harm Bontreger called the number for the next hymn, das Loblied, the hymn of praise sung in every Sunday morning service. That was followed by a sermon from Amos.

Since he was the only minister in attendance until after the election that afternoon, his sermon went on for much longer than normal. The Scriptures for this Sunday were from Luke 12 and 13, a section of the Bible filled with illustrations appropriate for this time of the summer when the farmers were bringing in the hay, but Amos went to the end of chapter 13 for his text. As he preached on the narrow door that leads to salvation, Gideon had a hard time following his points, until he realized that Amos was talking about someone specific.

Even though he didn’t name this person, the more he talked, the more Gideon understood that Amos was talking about him. He twisted the Scripture to make it sound like Gideon was the man who came to the gate and who the Lord did not recognize. A stranger. An evildoer. Then he wandered from the text, accusing him of all kinds of sins, including being a false prophet and a fornicator, taking advantage of the innocent people of the valley.

Gideon nearly walked out, but then saw that no one was looking at him. No one else had identified the unnamed man in the sermon as him.

Then Amos drew to the end of his sermon. His face was red, and his hand shook as he pointed into the congregation.

“The sinner is here among us. He and his woman of Babylon. They are in our midst and will bring destruction on us all if we don’t cast them out into the darkness!”

As soon as Amos started toward his seat, folks on both sides of the center aisle erupted in conversation. Gideon was certain they had never heard a sermon like the one Amos had just delivered. He certainly hadn’t.

Abraham went to the front to address the congregation. It was customary for other ministers and men of the church to bring up their own points concerning the sermon text or to question the preacher. He waited until silence had descended again, then cleared his throat.

“Your sermon was very vivid in its descriptions, Preacher Amos,” he said. “But it sounded as if you had someone specific in mind. I am sure you did not mean to accuse anyone directly, but perhaps you meant your tone to be an illustration of what could happen within our midst.” He scanned the congregation. “Any of us can fall victim to the wiles of sin, and we must all be on our guard.”

Amos shook his head, but Abraham smiled and went on, speaking on the same passage Amos had focused on, but using the parable to encourage them all.

“Strive to be humble and pure, always seeking the good of your fellow man,” he concluded. “Be content to linger behind, letting others go before you, knowing that in our Lord’s kingdom, the first shall be last and the last shall be first.”

After Abraham sat down again, another man rose to speak, focusing on an earlier parable in the same chapter of Luke. Amos sat in his seat on the front bench, his back hunched and his head bowed. Gideon knew Amos had meant to accuse him of something, but Ruby couldn’t be the “woman of Babylon” he had mentioned. He wasn’t even sure what Amos had meant by that.

The service concluded without another mention of Amos’s sermon, and the women started preparing for the fellowship meal. Gideon helped to convert the benches to tables, then went out to the porch to wait for his turn to eat. He leaned against one of the posts, looking up the hill toward the Beilers’ farm. No hint of woodsmoke hung in the air above the trees, and he didn’t hear any sounds that didn’t belong to a peaceful Sunday afternoon.

Levi came out of the house and stood next to him. “I’d like to apologize for Father. He was out of line in his sermon. I don’t think he meant to say everything he said.”

“I’m not sure what he meant to do.” Gideon looked past Levi’s shoulder into the house where Amos was talking with Simeon Keck. “If he thinks I should be under the discipline of the church, he went about it the wrong way.”

Levi turned to look into the house, then stepped closer to him. “I think he was trying to make an illustration, like Abraham said. You might not be the one he was talking about. There are some folks in the community who are hiding sins from the past.”

Gideon’s fingers grew cold. No one knew what he worked so hard to keep in the past, did they? He had never mentioned it to anyone, not even to Lovinia.

“Do you know this for certain?”

Levi’s perspiring face turned pale. “Ja, I know this for certain, but I can’t talk about it. Not yet. It is something I overheard.”

Relaxing, Gideon moved away from the porch steps as a couple younger boys ran out of the house, intent on their own plans for the afternoon. “Perhaps you are mistaken. Perhaps the one you overheard was talking about something else.”

He nodded slowly. “Perhaps, but I don’t think so.”

“Is it something serious? Something that would affect the church?”

Levi glanced into the house again. “I’m not sure. Do you think that all sin has to be exposed? Especially if it is something that happened long ago?”

Gideon’s mind flashed to the dying boy at his feet, and he closed his eyes. He just wanted to forget his sin but covering it up wasn’t working. It was still there, haunting him, drying up his spirit. What did the psalmist say? For day and night thy hand was heavy upon me . . .

“When we hide sin, it affects us. It should be exposed and confessed, at least to our Lord if no one else. In one of the psalms, David wrote about keeping silent about his sin, and how God’s hand was heavy upon him. But when he confessed to the Lord, his sins were forgiven.”

He couldn’t look into Levi’s eyes. His own words mocked him. He had taken his sin to God time after time, but he still carried its weight like an anchor around his neck. He had seen God’s forgiveness in other people’s lives and he believed in God’s grace and mercy, but not for himself. He could counsel others, but he was still dying inside.

“What if the person doesn’t acknowledge it as sin?” Levi wiped the sweat off his nose. “What if they live their lives thinking that hiding the sin is enough?”

Gideon opened his hand, showing Levi a splinter embedded in his palm. “I got this splinter while I was cutting hay yesterday. If I ignored it and left it there, it would either fester and cause me a lot of pain, or the skin would grow over it. It could remain there for years, always a bit sore. I could continue to ignore it, but it would still be there.” He rubbed at the splinter, but it was too deep for him to work it out on his own. “When we try to cover up sin, it is the same. We become calloused, thinking it doesn’t affect us. We might even think it is gone. But that unconfessed sin is still there.”

“What do I do?” Levi looked miserable. “I can’t talk to this person. They have no idea that I know.”

“Pray that God will prompt them to confess or pray that he will show you the right time to expose what you know.”

“You’re saying I should leave it to God.”

“I’m saying that you need to listen to God’s prompting. Be ready to act if needed, but wait for him.”

Levi nodded. “Yield my worries to him rather than take the matter into my own hands.”

Gideon patted Levi on the shoulder as Amos called the people to prayer before the fellowship meal. “Ja, for sure. Gelassenheit.”

Levi looked at the plate he had filled for his Sunday dinner. Cold ham, slices of cheese, and bread smeared with apple butter had looked appetizing, but suddenly he wasn’t hungry. His talk with Gideon before the meal gave him much to think about, but other worries intruded. Was it nerves about the coming election this afternoon? Or concern about the encampment of soldiers in the woods behind their house?

Mother hadn’t slept well since Gideon had told them who was camped back there, but Father chose to ignore them, saying they would go on their way soon, that drifters always did. Levi’s head pounded like a drumbeat, pulsing in the summer heat. Father was good at ignoring unpleasant things. He pushed his plate toward Caleb Lehman, who was sitting between him and Millie’s new beau, Wilmer.

After talking with Wilmer and getting to know him a little bit, Levi approved of him. He didn’t seem to follow the change-minded teachings of the folks up in Oak Grove and was interested in moving to Weaver’s Creek. He was a good, solid Amishman, although Levi would wait to tell Millie what he thought. If he told her that he liked Wilmer while she was in the rebellious mood she had been in lately, she might just throw the poor fellow off in a show of independence.

Meanwhile, he chatted with Wilmer and Caleb, waiting for the meal to be over so they could finish the day’s business. After talking with Abraham and a few other men from the congregation, Father had agreed to elect two new ministers this afternoon. A community needed more than one or two men to lead it, Abraham had argued, and Levi agreed. Father held too much power as the only minister, and that power needed to be divided among all the ministers. The church also needed a bishop, a role Father had taken on by default. They would select their new bishop from among the ministers when they met again in two weeks.

When the fellowship meal was finished, the members of the church met back inside the Weavers’ house for the election. Levi chose a seat in the back of the room with Caleb, Henry, and Wilmer, where he could observe the proceedings. Father had wanted him to sit in front, but he preferred to stay in the background today. His head still throbbed, and the heat was oppressive. The sounds of the children playing in the yard drifted in through the open windows and doors, and every once in a while, a little breeze did too.

As the only minister present, Father went into the bedroom next to the kitchen alone.

“Another minister should be with him,” Levi said in a whisper.

Caleb looked at him. “Why?”

“There should be more than one man to hear the nominations. We should have asked a bishop from another community to oversee the election.”

“It’s too late now,” Caleb answered.

Levi nodded. It was too late. He should have thought of it earlier. But it wasn’t until this moment that he realized how Father was in the perfect position to sway the election to the result he wanted. All he had to do was to claim that the names he wrote down were the ones who had been nominated, no matter which names had been whispered to him by the people.

The folks filed to the door one by one. They had been instructed to nominate two men, so the process took longer than usual. When Levi reached the door, he whispered Gideon’s name and Abraham’s name. Father made no sign that either name surprised him, or that he even recognized that Levi was there.

Afterward, Father emerged from the bedroom with a list in his hand. Every man who had received two or more nominations would be the ones called to the front.

“Abraham Weaver,” Father read, and waited for Abraham to make his way to the front. “Simeon Keck.” Another pause. “Johan Lehman.”

Father stopped, then glanced at Mother. He looked at the paper again.

“Gideon Fischer.”

Mother stood. “I object to that nomination.”

Wilhelm Stuckey stood up on the men’s side. “You can’t object to a nomination. They were given in due order, and we must accept them.”

“But that man doesn’t meet the requirements. He is a sinner.”

Wilhelm looked at the folks sitting on the benches. “And who among us isn’t a sinner who has been forgiven by the grace of our Lord?”

Mother looked furious. “I meant, he is living in unrepentant sin right now.”

Abraham took a step forward from the line of nominees standing at the front of the room. “What sin do you accuse him of, Salome?”

“He is carrying on with your daughter, Ruby.” Mother pointed at Ruby, standing in the back of the room with Daniel in her arms. “And they are doing it right under your nose, in the house you provided for them.”

Mother looked at the women sitting around her, waiting for them to join in her protest, but even though the people of the congregation talked among themselves, no one stood up to join in Salome’s accusation.

Finally, Lydia stood, waiting for everyone’s attention. When the room was quiet, she said, “I have known Gideon since he brought his family to Weaver’s Creek. I knew his wife, and I know his children. Most of all, I know my daughter, Ruby. I have seen no evidence of the truth of Salome’s accusation in all that time.”

Mother frowned. “You must have seen how close they are and how much time they spend together.”

Lydia nodded her agreement. “Talking together, ja. Ruby promised Gideon’s wife that she would care for the children after the poor woman passed on, and she is doing an admirable job. She and Gideon often confer on how to handle issues that come up.”

Mother looked around again. “I’ve seen her go to his house early in the morning, much earlier than is suitable for a normal caller.”

Millie tugged at Mother’s skirt, her face red with embarrassment. “Mother, sit down. You just heard that Ruby isn’t doing anything more than caring for the children. She would need to be at the house early to make their breakfast.”

Mother cast a glance at Father, but he wasn’t looking at her. He studied the paper in his hand. Mother sat down on her bench with a thump.

“The next names on the list are Wilhelm Stuckey and Karl Stuckey.”

Levi nodded to himself. Either one of Katie’s brothers would be a good minister.

Father brought six copies of the Ausbund from the bedroom and laid them on the table in the front of the room.

“As you know,” he said, “we are selecting two ministers today, so two of these books have the lots hidden inside. We will now have a time of silent prayer before the candidates select their books.”

During the prayer time, Levi couldn’t focus. He felt a twinge of disappointment that his name hadn’t been on the list of nominees. At one time, he would have been in despair, knowing that years could pass before the church needed to select another minister, but not today. He searched his mind, his heart . . . but he only found contentment and relief. The Good Lord knew he wasn’t ready for such a task. A thought passed through his mind that the preparation the Lord had for him might be unpleasant, or even sorrowful. Gideon had been through such trials, and it had made him wise and compassionate. Levi sighed.

Whatever it takes, Lord, make me more like you.

He shuddered slightly. What if the Lord answered his prayer?

Father cleared his throat and the selections began. The men chose their books in the order their names had been called.

Abraham was first. He leafed through the thick hymnbook, but no slip of paper appeared.

Simeon Keck was next. Levi knew God’s will must be done, but he couldn’t help hoping that Simeon would not be one of the new ministers. In Levi’s opinion, he was too sympathetic to the change-minded part of the church. But there was no slip in his book, either.

The same for Johan Lehman, and then it was Gideon’s turn.

Gideon was hesitant, reaching for one book, then changed his mind and took a different one. As soon as he started turning the pages, a slip of paper fluttered to the table. Gideon stopped, his head bowed, but murmurs of approval went through the congregation.

Wilhelm also hesitated. There were only two books left. He finally took the one Gideon had almost chosen, and the second slip appeared. Wilhelm held it between two fingers as if in disbelief. Karl put his arm around his brother and held him in a tight hug.

Father cleared his throat again. “Gideon and Wilhelm are our new ministers. The other nominees may take their seats, and we will have a time of prayer for the men God has selected for us.”

As Father started to pray, Levi was surprised to hear humility in his voice rather than his usual droning tone. He looked at him, standing in front of the people, his hands on the shoulders of the two men who had just been chosen to lead the community alongside him. His tone might be humble, but his stance was just as unyielding as ever. Levi looked toward Mother. She sat next to Millie, but her head was not bowed. She was staring at Father with a look Levi could only describe as disappointment.

Perhaps he could stay at Gideon’s house tonight. He didn’t want to be at home while Mother and Father discussed today’s events.

Amos’s prayer had just started when Gideon heard a sound from outside the house that left his mouth dry.

It was the roll of hoofbeats drumming on packed earth. The sound grew louder and distracted the congregation. Abraham left the meeting, heading toward the kitchen door, and Gideon followed, walking down the aisle between the two rows of benches.

Gideon passed the kitchen table, hurrying to stop Abraham before he opened the back door, but he was too late. The screen door moved slowly, swinging out as Gideon looked past it to see mounted men lined up at the edge of the porch. Beyond them Gideon saw the children in the barnyard. The older girls who had been watching them had gathered them together in the center of the yard, exposed and vulnerable.

“What can we do for you?” Abraham asked. His voice didn’t quaver as he took a step onto the porch.

“We’re here to make an example.”

The leader, a captain, raised his pistol, pointing it at Abraham. The man’s finger tightened on the trigger, bright in the morning sunlight. The trigger slid back—

“No!”

Gideon leaped forward as the gun exploded in black powder, smoke, and sound.

He grasped Abraham’s shoulders as the older man fell back into his arms, a bloom of red on the front of his white shirt. Abraham’s legs crumpled and they both fell to the floor in the doorway.

“Are you ready for the same?” the rebel asked as he raised his gun again.

Trapped under Abraham’s limp body, Gideon stared at the man’s finger, still on the trigger. But he was wedged in the doorframe, unable to scramble to his feet.

The other raiders laughed. One of their voices squeaked shrill, then deep. Gideon focused his gaze on the boy until his laughter stopped. The boy licked his lips, then cast a nervous glance at the captain.

Behind him, Gideon heard folks in the congregation whispering, and someone sobbed. Out in the barnyard, the children had disappeared. Gideon could only hope that the girls had hidden them somewhere far away. Gideon gave up trying to stand and clutched Abraham closer.

“I’ve heard of you Amish,” the captain said as he spit tobacco juice into the grass at the edge of the porch. “You won’t fight to save your own lives.” He lifted the gun and gestured toward Gideon. “You stay right there, and my boys will take what we need. We’re after horses and feed today, and I’m sure there are plenty of both in yonder barn.”

He turned toward his men. “Corporal, take as much feed as you can carry, and the best of the horses. If we need more, we know where to find it.”

The captain spit again, this time the brown juice hitting Abraham’s shoe. “We’ll see y’all again. This is a friendly neighborhood, and we like it here.” His eyes narrowed. “Just don’t get any ideas about calling in help. We’ll be watching the roads in and out of here. One of you leaves, that’s the one who’ll get it next.”

His men came riding out of the barn, leading the horses by their halters. Gideon was sick as he saw Samson and Delilah run across the stone bridge behind the soldiers, and then Abraham’s team. Well trained and hard workers, all the horses strained at their lead ropes.

Then they were gone. Gideon waited until the last soldier was out of sight up the hill, then tore off his coat and pressed the wadded fabric into Abraham’s wound.

“Help me get him inside,” he called to the group behind him. “If he hasn’t lost too much blood, we can still save his life.”

Levi and Caleb helped pull Abraham into the kitchen, then Gideon knelt beside the wounded man in the middle of the kitchen floor. He pressed his coat, now red and sticky, into Abraham’s shoulder. He felt heat increase behind him as someone lit the stove, then Lydia was kneeling beside him.

“What do we need to do?” she asked, her voice and face calm. She was ready to face this trial.

“The first thing to do is to slow the bleeding, then we’ll need to examine the wound. The bullet is in there somewhere, and we need to get it out.”

“I’ll get the doctor from Berlin,” someone said.

“Wait. No one can leave without being killed, remember?” Gideon’s hands shook. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We’ll have to take care of him ourselves.”

“Have you ever—” Lydia’s voice broke, then strengthened again. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

“I’ve seen it done.”

Gideon took another deep breath. He had to do this. He didn’t have any other choice if Abraham was going to survive. He looked away from Abraham for the first time, searching the crowd around him. Where was Ruby? Where were his children?

Abraham groaned as he began to regain consciousness.

“Lydia, we will need some laudanum if you have any.”

“We’re already heating up some water,” Levi said from behind him. “What else do we need?”

“Strips of clean cloth for bandages, and we should get him off the floor.”

Lydia stood, taking charge. “There are some sheets in the cupboard under the stairs,” she said. “We’ll use one for a stretcher to carry him into the bedroom. Some of you girls can cut another one into strips. Anna, you know where I keep the laudanum.”

As the crowd shifted, some going outside, some to follow Lydia’s instructions, Gideon lifted his bloody coat from Abraham’s shoulder. The bleeding had slowed, but still oozed into the gaping wound. Just before the blood filled the cavity, he glimpsed the bullet lodged next to a bone. The wound looked clean, with no bullet or bone fragments to worry about. He pressed the cloth against the wound again.

“What happened to the children? Where are they?” he asked, but no one heard him.

He searched the room and finally found Ruby. She sat on one of the church benches, Daniel in one arm, with Ezra and the girls leaning close to her. Her face was splotchy under her freckles and her eyes were puffy, as if she was holding in her tears. He tried to give her a reassuring smile and saw the corners of her mouth turn up a bit.

Abraham came to full consciousness and reached his right hand toward his wounded shoulder.

“Abraham,” Gideon said, and waited until the man’s eyes focused on his. “You’ve been wounded, and we need to take the bullet out.”

“Lydia? Is she all right?”

“I’m fine,” Lydia said as she knelt next to them again. The bottle of laudanum and a spoon were in her hands. “No one else is hurt, and the soldiers are gone.”

“The children—” Abraham grunted as he struggled to sit up. “The children were in the barnyard . . .” He lay back, exhausted.

“The children are safe.” Lydia poured some of the brown liquid into the spoon. “You need to take this. It will make you more comfortable.”

“It will put me to sleep,” Abraham said, frowning.

Gideon caught his hand as Abraham tried to push the spoon away. “You will want to be asleep. Moving you is going to hurt awfully bad.”

Abraham let Lydia spoon the laudanum into his mouth, then relaxed, grimacing.

“Does it hurt?” Lydia asked.

“It tastes . . . terrible . . .”

Abraham’s eyes closed, and Gideon gave Ruby a nod. She smiled then and spoke to the children.

Someone brought a sheet and they worked to lift Abraham onto it. Gideon released the pressure on the wound as the men carried Abraham into the bedroom, then he sat next to him and examined his shoulder, using the clean strips from the sheet to sponge away the blood as it seeped in. The bullet wasn’t too far in. It looked like he could reach in with a thumb and finger and pluck it out, but the doctor he had observed one time in Virginia had used the point of a knife.

Gideon sat back, leaving the cloth on the wound.

Mein Herr . . . He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. Give me strength.