Bishop Hooley said something in Pennsylvania Dutch. His tone was sharp, but the hesitation was there.
Timothy stepped forward. “Please speak English, Bishop. Chloe doesn’t understand our language.”
The bishop’s dark gaze turned to me. “V-very well. Wh-what are you doing here? This is my pasture land. Y-you have no business here.”
No wonder the bishop was uncomfortable speaking. He had a stutter.
“We came to talk to you,” Timothy replied, his tone respectful. “May we?”
“What about?” the bishop asked. He fumbled over the two simple words.
“About my family.”
The bishop stood a little straighter and grasped his crook as if it were the support holding up his confidence. “I have no r-reason to talk to you about them. You are no longer Amish.”
“You’re right. I’m not.”
Timothy’s straight answer gave the bishop pause.
“But I do have a right to talk about them. I’m their son. They are my family. My being Amish or not Amish doesn’t change that.”
One of the sheep ambled over to the bishop and bumped his hand with her head. The bishop’s sheep were a different variety than James’s. They were larger, and their faces and limbs were a tan shade. The bishop sunk his fingers into her wool as if the sheep’s touch offered him comfort. “I see. Nothing you can say to me w-will change how I manage the district. Only Gott can influence me there.”
“Only Gott?” Timothy asked. “What about Deacon Sutter?”
The bishop’s eyes flashed. “The deacon has been a trusted advisor, but I make all the decisions about what happens in the district.”
Sure, you do.
“If you make all of the decisions, then you’re the right person for us to talk to about my family.”
“Fine, you may talk. I don’t have much time. Ezekiel Young’s funeral is this afternoon. Since your family is so close with the Youngs, I trust you will allow me to go.”
“Of course,” Timothy agreed. “What has my family done to make you single them out in the community?”
“What does single them out mean? I don’t understand your Englisch expressions.”
“Why did you say before church that the community should keep their distance from my family? Why are parents not allowing their children to play with my younger siblings?”
The sheep lay at the bishop’s feet, and a second one joined the first. Bishop Hooley gripped his crook. “If parents in the district choose not to allow their children to socialize with a particular a child, that is the parents’ choice, not mine.”
Timothy blew out a long breath. “You advised them to do it.”
“I advised them to be wary of the Englischer influence that seems to have overtaken your family.” He pointed at me. “You are the Englischer who has caused all this trouble.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, speaking for the first time.
“The deacon has told me what you have done.”
“Can you tell me? Because I honestly don’t know what I did that was so horrible to offend him.”
“The entire district is talking about it. You are leading the Troyers astray from the community. You may have tricked Timothy and Rebecca, but I won’t allow anyone else to fall under your spell.”
Timothy’s face turned bright red. “I left years before Chloe ever moved to Appleseed Creek. Becky left before too. Chloe living here had no influence on our decisions about being Amish. They were ours and ours alone.”
“Y-you say that, but isn’t it true she is holding you there in the Englisch world? Isn’t it true you care for her when you could have affection for an Amish girl and join the church?”
“Yes, I could love an Amish girl and be very happy.”
Timothy words cut into my heart like a paring knife, nicking off the corner.
Timothy continued. “Many are happy in the Amish. Many can feel close to Gott in the Amish way. I cannot, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
The bishop took a step forward. “You deny how you feel about her? She has no power over you?”
They spoke as if I wasn’t even there. Part of me wanted to turn and flee, but I feared my practical boots were frozen to the ground both figuratively and physically.
Another sheep stood, this one smaller than the others, perhaps even a yearling. Instead of going to her master as the first sheep had, she sauntered in my direction. She lay on my boot-clad feet. Instantly, her heavy warmth sunk into my frigid toes.
Timothy’s voice was low. “I would never deny how I feel about Chloe. No more than I would deny how I feel about Gott.”
What does that mean?
Timothy took my hand. “If I had to choose between her and being Amish again, I’d choose her.”
The bishop seemed taken aback by Timothy’s response.
A smile formed on my lips.
The bishop glared at me as he took in my expression. “You’ve made your choice, then. Now, I must go.” He turned and started walking away from us, across the field. The sheep followed without being asked. Even my foot warmer stood up. The moment she moved, my toes curled in against the cold. The sheep baaed and joined her flock.
Timothy’s chest was moving up and down as if he couldn’t catch his breath.
“Timothy, are you all right?”
He nodded, but I had my doubts. I wanted to talk to him about what he’d said to the bishop, about how he felt about me. I had a million questions. I wanted to tell him I felt the same.
Instead I squeezed his hand. “Let’s go talk to your grandfather now.”
Walking back to the truck, I held his hand the entire way.