Chapter Nineteen
As a busy Saturday morning at The Marketplace got underway, Jo kept baking so she’d have enough goodies in her glass cases when the special Mums and Pumpkins Auction was over. Most of the men around town—even Michael and Nelson Wengerd—had responded to the tolling of the emergency bell the previous evening, so Jo and her mamm had heard about Ella Nissley’s escapade over breakfast. Because they’d advertised this special auction in several places around the county, they were expecting a large crowd for it. Jude Shetler, Glenn, the Wengerds, and the other men involved were running the sale on coffee and adrenaline after a nightlong search that hadn’t ended until nearly seven this morning.
Jo had arrived to find the coffee carafes and cups Lydianne had returned, along with her note apologizing for leaving them dirty—and saying she wouldn’t be coming in to work. Cleaning up after the search was a small task, however, compared to the ordeal the men and Lydianne had endured. Jo and her helpers, Alice and Adeline, made quick work of washing the dirty cups as they brewed extra coffee to keep the auction workers alert. She’d also baked an additional pan of cinnamon rolls as her gift to them, for when the sale was over.
As she was spreading the white frosting over the hot rolls, Michael came into the bakery.
“Put my name on one or two of those rolls—unless you’ve baked them for a customer,” he said as he reached into his back pocket.
“Put your wallet away,” Jo insisted as she smiled to herself. Even though Michael appeared exhausted, he was still the nicest, cutest young man she knew. “Take what you’d like, and then go spread the word with Jude and the other fellows that they have refreshments waiting for them when they’re finished with the auction.”
“You’re very thoughtful, Jo,” he murmured.
She shrugged, not wanting to let on about how wonderful Michael’s compliment made her feel. “How’s the sale progressing? If you think it’s a gut time, I could send Alicia and Adeline out with coffee for those men.”
“They’d probably rather wait. The auction’s going pretty fast—and Dat and I have sold a lot of those big jack-o’-lantern pumpkins, as well as all of the mums and tied-up clusters of Indian corn we brought in,” Michael replied enthusiastically. “It would’ve taken us weeks to move that many if we’d only sold them around Queen City. Glad we planted an extra field this year.”
As he peeled away the outer layer of the roll she’d placed on a plate for him, Jo watched his long, agile fingers. Everything about Michael Wengerd was thin and elongated. He wasn’t muscular in the usual way, yet his wiry frame was extremely strong—she’d reached this conclusion after secretly watching him every chance she got, ever since he and his dat had been renting the dawdi haus for the weekends. She envied the way he could pack away meals and sweets without gaining any weight.
“Mmmm,” he moaned as he chewed his first bite. “These rolls are even better than my mamm’s were—but don’t tell Dat I said that,” he added quickly.
Michael’s kind words stunned her nearly as much as his blue-gray eyes did when he focused on her.
“Jah, it—it’s usually best not to correct the way our parents remember their wives or husbands,” she stammered. “My father was a fine man, but now that he’s gone, my mamm has forgotten how she scolded him for tracking mud on her floors or for being late to meals most of the time. These days, she considers him a saint.”
Michael’s smile, bracketed by dimples, lit up his tired face. “That’s the way it goes, jah. And, um, what else have you baked today, Jo? Something smells like pumpkin and spices.” Once again, he turned shy on her, focusing on her display shelves after she’d dared to hold his gaze for a moment.
“Your nose is right on target,” she replied. “With the changing of the season, it seems like a gut time to make pumpkin bars and bread, as well as cinnamon bars and ginger snaps. It’s my favorite time of the year.”
“Mine, too.” Michael made quick work of his roll and flashed her a lopsided smile. “Better get back out to the auction, or Dat’ll think I’m lollygagging. Denki for the roll, Jo. Now that I’ve had my sugar fix, I’ll be able to handle the rest of the sale.”
When he’d left the store, Jo returned to her baking with a big smile on her face. She knew better than to dream that her friendship with Michael would ever turn into anything more, but that was all right. He and his father always paid ahead for the Friday nights they stayed in the dawdi haus, they helped around the farm with maintenance chores that were difficult for Jo and her mamm, and they were so appreciative of the meals she and her mother cooked. Mamm would never admit it, but she was sorry to see them leave on Saturdays after The Marketplace had closed for the day.
“That’s an interesting grin on your face, Josephine Fussner.”
Jo looked up, her eyes widening when Lydianne entered the bakery. “I wasn’t expecting you today. You must be exhausted after the scary night you had while Ella was gone for so long.”
“She gave us all a fright, jah. Who could’ve guessed she’d get all the way over to Jeremiah’s farm, and that he’d find her sleeping on a big rock by the river?” Lydianne mused aloud.
As Lydianne sank into the nearest chair behind the counter, Jo noticed she hadn’t addressed the bishop by his title—and she suspected there were other things her friend wasn’t saying, as well. “What was Ella’s explanation when he brought her back?”
Lydianne’s blue eyes sparkled despite their pink rims and the dark circles beneath them. “Ella saw a rainbow during recess on Friday. She thought if she followed it to the end, she might find Noah’s ark—or even see God,” she whispered in awe. “I was nearly struck dumb when I heard that. And when Jeremiah asked her if she did see God, Ella said she sort of had, and that He’d told her to wait on that big rock until somebody found her. It—it was an amazing moment, even if we’d all been worried sick about her.”
Jo nodded, thinking the thrum of Lydianne’s voice still sounded awfully intense several hours after Ella had been found. “You really should go home and get some rest,” she suggested gently. “You’ll be snoring all through church tomorrow.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
Emotions Jo couldn’t name flickered across Lydianne’s face before she spoke again.
“I thought I’d stay until the auction’s over, to gather up the receipts so I can do the accounting,” she said. “If I work at home, maybe that bookkeeping will lull me to sleep, because otherwise I’ll be keyed up for a while. I—I feel so horrible that Ella slipped away while I wasn’t paying attention.”
Was she hearing more than Lydianne was willing to say? Jo didn’t feel right pressing for an explanation when her friend appeared exhausted enough to lay her head on the worktable for a nap. She put a frosted cinnamon roll on a small plate and slid it across the table. “Here. Sugar and cinnamon make everything better, ain’t so?”
Lydianne smiled gratefully before snatching up her treat. “You’ve got that right, Jo. What would I do without friends like you?”
* * *
As Jeremiah climbed the stairs with the two preachers and Deacon Saul before the Sunday service at the Wagler home, exhaustion and anxiety nipped at him like aggressive, circling dogs. He’d prayed through the night, because every time he stopped, Lydianne’s story—her plaintive voice—f illed his mind. He’d considered courses of action appropriate to the Old Order faith, yet none of them stood out as right. He wanted to know God’s opinion and hear His direction before he discussed Lydianne’s situation with the preachers and Saul, but it seemed the Lord wasn’t going to whisper in his ear or show Jeremiah the sign he so desperately needed.
“Jeremiah, are you with us?”
“Jah—Earth calling Jeremiah!”
He blinked. Clarence, Ammon, and Saul were all focused on him as though one of them had asked a question and he’d been too deep into his woolgathering about Lydianne to realize it. “Sorry. Long night.”
Ammon’s eyebrows rose. “Surely you slept better last night, knowing Ella was home safe and sound,” he remarked. His statement sounded like an unspoken question, an invitation to talk about whatever was bothering him before they went downstairs to worship in the Waglers’ front room.
Voices drifted up through the heat grate in the floor. The congregation was singing the morning’s first hymn, slowly and methodically, as though nothing unusual had transpired. Jeremiah, however, felt as though the world was tipping on its axis like a seesaw—first in one direction, and then in another. Each disciplinary option he’d been considering seemed favorable at first, and then it felt totally wrong to him. He couldn’t bring himself to mention Lydianne’s revelation as the four of them discussed the Scripture passages listed in the lectionary.
“It was indeed a blessing to spot Ella on that rock by the river,” he remarked as they all rose from their chairs to go downstairs. “We have a great deal to be thankful for.”
“So, I’ll preach first, and Ammon will take the main sermon?” Clarence clarified.
“Jah, that’s what we decided,” Jeremiah replied, although he didn’t actually recall their making that decision—and that startled him. He prayed again that God would guide him during the church service, and that by the time he pronounced the benediction, he would know what to do. Lydianne deserved a clear answer, and she hadn’t backed away from making the confession the Ordnung called for.
When he’d opened the service and taken his seat on the preachers’ bench for the first sermon, however, Lydianne’s pale, downcast face tore at his heart. A row ahead of her on the women’s side, Julia sat with her arm around little Ella, who leaned against her quietly with a faceless doll in her lap. Mother and daughter were the picture of a tranquility that transcended blood ties and had been crafted by the Creator Himself. On the men’s side, Tim sat peering between the heads in front of him, gazing at his wife and child.
Jeremiah clasped his hands hard, trying to get a grip on the situation. Did he have the right to rip apart the Nissley family’s deep, sweet relationship with their six-year-old adopted daughter? That’s what would happen if Lydianne made her confession. If he asked her to kneel before the congregation and spill out the tale of her sin, her story would overturn the well-being of the entire church district—not to mention the way it would disrupt the education of the eight scholars who adored their teacher.
As the bishop, it was his duty to see that souls in need of confession spoke out—cleared their hearts of secret burdens that came between them and a full, honest devotion to God.
But wasn’t it also his calling to ensure the emotional security of the souls and families God had entrusted to him?
The horns of his dilemma prodded him all through the three-hour service. Jeremiah was aware that they’d been singing hymns and that the longer, second sermon had been delivered. He’d led the congregation in prayer, but he wasn’t sure what he’d said—and he hoped his words had been appropriate and coherent. When he stood up to pronounce the benediction, he still had no clear notion of what God wanted him to do about Lydianne’s situation.
When he observed the heaviness of her tormented expression as she sat with her head bowed, however, he couldn’t bring himself to throw her to the wolves. He saw no point in announcing Ella’s safe return, because everyone had heard her story. The women had been expressing their relief to Julia in Rose Wagler’s kitchen before the service had started.
So, Jeremiah came to the end of his usual benediction and stopped, putting a smile on his face despite his inner upheaval. As folks rose from the benches, ready to set out the meal, he knew he’d left Lydianne hanging. She felt no more relief than he did, because she was still emotionally pregnant with the confession she hadn’t delivered.
But it was the best he could do. He needed to speak with her again, but not while they were surrounded by their entire congregation.
* * *
“Lydianne, are you all right?” Jo murmured as they shuffled between the pew benches toward the center aisle.
“Jah, I thought you’d be ecstatic that the bishop found little Ella,” Marietta put in gently, “but you look like you haven’t slept a wink all weekend.”
Lydianne tried to compose her expression, because her observant maidel friends wouldn’t leave her alone until they’d pried the truth from her. But if the bishop hadn’t called a Members Meeting so she could make her confession, he must’ve had a very good reason—and she wanted to hear it before she revealed her situation with a slip of her tongue.
“I haven’t slept,” she confirmed wearily. “It still bothers me that Ella wandered away from the schoolyard while I was taking a nap. I should’ve been out on the playground, paying attention.”
Regina slipped her arm around Lydianne’s shoulders. “In your place, I’d feel bad about that, too,” she murmured. “But it all turned out fine, so you need to let go of that guilt, sweetie. From what I saw when Julia was talking to you before church, she feels no ill will—”
“Jah, she’s been telling everyone that Ella has taken to running off at home, too,” Molly remarked, “so I’d accept the fact that everybody gets caught napping once in a while, so to speak. You’re human like the rest of us, Lydianne.”
Jah, that’s wise advice, but if you had an inkling of the truth about my connection to Ella, you’d be appalled.
To further compound Lydianne’s guilt, she was worried about letting her friends down if she stopped working at The Marketplace on Saturdays. Because she wasn’t running a shop, she was the perfect person to keep the accounts or to fill in for shopkeepers who couldn’t come in on any given day—and Regina’s absence was already making a difference in the workload the four of them shared to keep The Marketplace running smoothly. With Jo baking and maintaining the refreshment area, and the Helfings being much better at noodle making than numbers, Lydianne believed the bookkeeping would suffer if she left.
And that would attract the attention of Deacon Saul. The maidels were delighted about creating and managing such a profitable enterprise, so it would be a shame for Saul to take over the finances.
Lydianne quickly put on a tired smile when she realized she hadn’t responded to Molly’s statement. “I am human,” she mumbled. “And you’re right—even teachers make mistakes, and they need to move on. Ella’s home, and that’s what counts.”
Could that belief sustain her while she and Bishop Jeremiah discussed her options? She suspected she wouldn’t be home from church for very long that afternoon before he paid her another visit.