Minerva’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t think Bishop Clayton is doing the Lord’s work?”
An edge to Minerva’s voice made Gloria focus more closely on the conversation. The local midwife was as puzzled—and skeptical—about Clayton as most folks were.
“Let’s just say I was relieved when he declined my invitation to dinner today,” Mamm replied with a shake of her head. “It was only right to ask him, since Lester was coming over, but he said something about going to Coldstream because they have church this morning.”
“Really?” Mary Kate put a basket of dinner rolls at each end of the table. “Do you suppose he met some of the Troyers’ friends at Allen and Phoebe’s wedding and he’s checking out their church district—to see if their bishop needs as much guidance as ours supposedly does?”
The ladies laughed as they finished setting out the food. When the men came in from the front room, David was riding on Roman’s shoulders and crowing like a rooster. When they got the little boy seated in his highchair, Mary Kate reminded him to fold his hands and bow his head—and to be quiet during the silent prayer. As everyone at the table gave thanks, Gloria opened one eye.
Eleven of us around this table. Considering how many meals Mamm and I ate alone after Dat passed, this is such an improvement . . . and if it’s Your will, Lord, maybe Cyrus will join us someday. Should I invite him to dinner in two weeks, for our next visiting Sunday?
Marlin said a quiet “amen” and the men reached for the bowls and platters in front of them. Harley was a hefty fellow and speared two pieces of chicken, while Roman spooned peas and carrots onto David’s small plate before putting some on his own. As Gloria took a soft, warm roll and passed the basket to Lester, she was pleased to see that he was in good spirits—and he was hungry enough to take two rolls.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Uncle Lester,” she remarked. “Have you been busy installing the windows and siding at that new subdivision where Truman’s working?”
“I have,” he replied with a nod, “and as winter blows in, I’m glad we’re nearly finished with that project. But the money’s been gut, and Truman’s a first-rate man to work for.”
“And how’re you getting along with your housemate?” Harley asked as he cut into his baked potato. “Does he preach at you of an evening the way he lights into the rest of us every chance he gets?”
Lester’s knife paused on the roll he’d been slathering with butter. His expression grew pensive. “Clayton and I have more in common than you might expect,” he replied softly. “He lost his wife, too, you know. It’s done me a world of good to share stories about Delores with him, and to have him pray with me about it.”
Unexpected tears sprang to Gloria’s eyes. Her uncle had been devastated after his son and his wife had been killed in a buggy accident back east—he’d built the home next door for Delores to move into when she joined him at Promise Lodge. Gloria would never have guessed that Bishop Clayton would spend time comforting Lester.
“I’m glad to hear that,” she whispered, patting his arm. “Knowing how lonely this house felt with just Mamm and me here after Dat passed, I can only imagine how quiet your place gets.”
“I tried to remedy that, remember?” Lester teased with a glance at her mother. “But truth be told, Frances is better off with Marlin. Even if he is a preacher.”
Gentle laughter filled the room. Gloria couldn’t miss the way Marlin squeezed her mother’s hand under the table.
Mamm placed a piece of chicken on her plate. “I’m glad you and Clayton have had some meaningful conversations,” she said softly. “Unfortunately, after the way he’s come on like a house afire and announced that he’s taking over as our bishop, most folks don’t have much gut to say about him. Nor do they seem to trust him.”
“Has he talked about his family? Or about his bulk grocery warehouse in Lancaster?” Marlin asked. “When we preachers ask about his personal life—or ordinary, everyday matters about his business and his church district—he changes the subject.”
Lester shrugged. “Some evenings I get back from work pretty late, and he’s already had his supper,” he replied. “Clayton spends a lot of time in his room, and I don’t tap on his door for fear of interrupting—in case he’s praying or reading his Bible.”
Gloria considered this, wondering why Bishop Clayton would close his door while his housemate wasn’t at home—but then, hadn’t she sometimes done that when she’d lived with her parents? Uncle Lester seemed relaxed and ready to chat, so rather than asking his opinion about closed doors, she let him continue.
“Some days Clayton drives out to the various bulk stores in the area, which are serviced by his warehouse out east,” her uncle said with a lift in his voice. “More often than not he brings back groceries for us, too, which is generous of him.”
“Jah, I’ve seen containers from the stores in Forest Grove and Cloverdale when we’ve been there to clean,” Minerva remarked. “I just wish he’d stop harping at us about how being so progressive will lead to—”
“King cooked his goose with me when he suggested that paying a tithe to that Council of Bishops might earn us some brownie points,” Harley blurted. “When he puts it that way, it’s like we can pay our way to salvation. And I don’t believe God holds it against Bishop Monroe because he married Truman and Rosetta, either, or because he raises Clydesdales, or any of those other issues King’s been yammering at us about. Why is that any of his business?”
The kitchen got very quiet in the wake of Harley’s outburst. Gloria wasn’t sure how much a tithe would come to for him and Minerva, based on the income from his sheep and his share in his dat’s barrel factory—but a lot of trucks had been hauling Kurtz barrel products away from Promise Lodge over the past months, so Marlin and his older son must be doing well.
Uncle Lester cleared his throat. “I understand why Bishop Clayton rubs folks the wrong way,” he murmured in a voice that thrummed with emotion. “But what if he’s right? What if we’ve been like those sheep in the Bible that have gone astray—or what if, on Judgment Day when God separates the sheep from the goats, we are the goats and He sends us away to the flames?”
Forks stopped halfway between plates and mouth as everyone focused on Lester. Color had risen into his cheeks, as though he’d been thinking a lot about this topic and had some deep convictions about it.
“I mean, what if we really are veering too far off the Old Order path, and we’ve become so used to doing it that we don’t see the error of our ways?” Uncle Lester continued softly. He swallowed so hard that his Adam’s apple bobbed in his thin neck. “The more I talk with Bishop Clayton, the more he reminds me of Floyd. And we all know that if my brother were still alive, life at Promise Lodge would be a lot different.”
Gloria blinked back sudden tears. Uncle Lester sounded genuinely concerned—and he was mourning his brother and the life they’d shared with him. The emotional catch in his voice caught Gloria off guard and made her miss her dat terribly. Mary Kate swiped at a tear. Mamm looked at her lap, bunching her apron in her fist as she, too, struggled with a moment of grief.
After a moment, Marlin leaned forward. “Lester, do you believe Monroe’s been leading us astray?” he asked gently. “And have we preachers gone along with him because . . . well, because we—and certainly our wives—have felt happier?”
The kitchen got uncomfortably quiet again. Lester looked away, uneasy about being asked such a question.
Gloria shifted in her chair, too agitated to eat. What if Bishop Clayton was right? What if her dat had been right, as well? While she’d been growing up, she’d never doubted that Bishop Floyd’s authority had come directly from God as he’d raised her and led his congregation.
But we also believed God sent Monroe Burkholder to us when Dat’s health was failing. Monroe was here to shepherd our church when Dat died—and he often came to comfort Mamm and me, too.
Gloria’s head throbbed. She didn’t usually delve
into matters of religion, because she’d been taught to believe without question what her dat and the preachers told everyone. She’d been more concerned about remaining a maidel forever than she’d been about what might happen to her on Judgment Day.
“I don’t know the answer to your question, Marlin,” Uncle Lester murmured. “It would be presumptuous of me to say I could discern the will of God better than you preachers He chose as our leaders.”
“Amen to that,” Roman whispered with a shake of his head. “It seems we can do the best we know how and still not be living right, the way Bishop Clayton sees it. After his announcement at Allen and Phoebe’s wedding, I’m surprised he hasn’t already taken over and forced Monroe out.”
Marlin’s expression suggested that he knew more than he was saying about that matter. “Jah, we preachers are, too,” he murmured. “We’ve been waiting for Clayton to tell us how things are going to be. But he seems to be avoiding us lately.”
“Who are we supposed to believe, Dat?” Lowell asked plaintively. “Bishop Monroe’s a gut man. He’s teaching Lavern and me that it’s important not just to work well with his Clydesdales, but to be honest with their owners about the progress they’ve made in their training. How can that be wrong?”
Gloria smiled at her new half brother. Lowell and his best friend, Lavern Peterscheim, had been delighted when Bishop Monroe had hired them to help with his magnificent Clydesdales. Both boys had matured emotionally, and they’d also put on some muscle from doing the physical labor of working with the bishop’s huge horses.
Marlin smiled at his younger son. “This situation is affecting every one of us, Lowell,” he replied softly. “I don’t have answers to any of the questions we’ve asked, so I suggest we pray over them. As we go through the remainder of our sabbath, we should continue to ask God for His gut and perfect guidance. When the time’s right, He’ll reveal the answers we need.”
As the others around the table bowed their heads, Gloria joined them. Her thoughts were jumbled with her emotions, however, and she felt anything but prayerful. Was she even worthy to approach God about an issue so complex that Preacher Marlin and Bishop Monroe didn’t know how to deal with it?
Dat, I miss you so much—and we could really use your help. If you know what we should do about Bishop Clayton, could you send us a big, unmistakable sign? It’s scary to think that God might be displeased with the way we’re living. I don’t want to make Him angry by asking Him my clueless, helpless questions.
For the remainder of the meal, the family was more subdued than usual. When everyone had eaten dessert, they seemed eager to be up and away from the table. The men went into the front room, taking baby David with them. When Mary Kate and Minerva began scraping the plates, Gloria and Fannie carried the bowls and platters of leftover food to the counter.
“Are you okay, Gloria?” Fannie asked softly. “You look pale.”
Mamm turned from the sink, where she was running dishwater. “I was thinking the same thing, sweetie,” she said. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
Gloria blinked. Were her emotions written so plainly on her face that everyone could see her distress? “I do have a pounding headache,” she admitted. “I—I was thinking some fresh air and a walk might help, after we’re finished here.”
“Go now,” Mamm insisted, waving Gloria off. “We’ve got plenty of help, and plenty to think about. Your dat always said a walk worked wonders when he needed to clear his head.”
Nodding, Gloria passed through the mudroom to get her jacket. Why should she work in the kitchen when Mamm had just affirmed that one of Dat’s habits might be good for her, too? The afternoon was breezy but warmer than the past few days had been, and as Gloria strode across the back lawn, she lifted her face to catch the sunlight.
Should she go find Cyrus? He and Jonathan would probably be eating their dinner over at the big Helmuth house on this visiting Sunday. Or should she walk off the anxious energy that Uncle Lester had stirred inside her? As Gloria’s thoughts went in one direction and then another, she kept walking without any destination in mind, just to keep moving.
When she realized she was approaching the back of Uncle Lester’s house next door, Gloria felt as though an invisible hand was steering her in that direction. If Bishop Clayton had gone to Coldstream for the day, what would it hurt to step inside and look around? It would be no different from the times she’d helped with cleaning the house or had gone over to visit with Uncle Lester, would it? He wouldn’t mind that she’d gone into his home.
Seeing no one who’d wonder what she was up to, Gloria made a beeline for the back door. She stepped inside Lester’s big house and held her breath, listening, to be sure Bishop Clayton hadn’t returned early from Coldstream.
The house was absolutely still.
She had no idea what she was looking for, but she felt compelled to snoop, to see if she could find even the tiniest hint about the personal side of Clayton King that he seemed so reluctant to reveal. It wasn’t as though she’d see anything that she and the other ladies hadn’t already dusted or straightened, after all.
Gloria removed her shoes and hurried through the kitchen and front room with them. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, knowing she shouldn’t sneak around. If she ran into Bishop Clayton, she had no idea what explanation she could give him for being there. Up the wooden staircase she went, peering through the window at the landing to be sure his buggy wasn’t rolling toward the house. She passed Uncle Lester’s bedroom and continued toward the room at the end of the hall. The door was closed—
And why is that? What’s in there that he doesn’t want anyone to see?
As Gloria reached for the knob, it occurred to her that when she’d been there with Mamm to clean, Bishop Clayton had remained in his armchair reading the paper, chatting with them a bit—
But he insisted that you only change his sheets and dust, and that nothing in his closet needed attention.
Was it her imagination, or had Bishop Clayton been urging them along so they didn’t spend much time in his room? As Gloria grasped the doorknob, she knew she shouldn’t be prying into his private affairs. Yet something was goading her to go inside for a quick, secret peek. Was she being too nosy—or was Dat guiding her to look around, as the answer to her prayer?
The door swung open on silent hinges. Gloria sensed she shouldn’t dawdle—she secretly feared that Bishop Clayton had been lurking in the house all along, and that he’d catch her and force her to confess at church for invading his privacy. A messy stack of magazines beside the chair didn’t seem of interest, nor did his unmade bed. She went straight to the closet and eased open the door, half expecting the bishop to spring out at her.
But all she saw were a few dark shirts and pairs of broadfall trousers on hangers, along with a black straw hat perched on the shelf above them. Nothing different from what she would see in Uncle Lester’s closet, or in Dat’s when he’d been alive. The closet extended sideways beyond the doorway for a few feet, and Gloria noticed a couple of quilts stacked on the floor back there. Nothing out of the ordinary—
But why would those quilts be on the floor? Gloria wondered as she shut the door. Why wouldn’t they be on the bed now that the weather’s cooler—or up on the shelf, where they wouldn’t get dirty?
She opened the closet again to gaze at the quilts. The closet had no light, so she knelt on the floor beneath the hanging clothes for a closer look. When she lifted the top quilt, her eyes widened. The quilt beneath it had been arranged so it covered a large wooden crate and a fancy suitcase with wheels on it.
Gloria’s heart began to pound. Should she open the box or the suitcase? It was wrong to snoop in the bishop’s belongings—
As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness of the unlit closet, Gloria noticed a suit hanging against the back wall, above the crate. It was gray with thin white stripes. When she stood up for a closer look, she saw that a collared white shirt was hung behind it, with a pla
id necktie draped around its hanger.
Her mouth dropped open and her thoughts raced faster. Why would an Amish bishop have English clothing in his closet?
Gloria’s pulse hammered so loudly that she wouldn’t hear Bishop Clayton come into the house or up the stairs, yet curiosity drove her on. She set the quilts out of the way and unzipped the suitcase. Once again Gloria gaped—and she knew better than to meddle with a slender metal rectangle that had the silver logo of an apple with a bite out of it. Why did Bishop Clayton have a laptop computer?
Driven faster by the fear of discovery, Gloria zipped the suitcase and felt for a latch on the wooden crate. Her heart sank when her fingers found a small padlock—but it swiveled open! Her hands shook as she opened the crate and found scads of papers, which—messy as they were—had apparently been tossed into the box in a hurry. Gloria could tell that some of them were printed forms but she couldn’t make out the words.
Instinct—or was it Dat’s spirit?—told her to get out of the bishop’s room very quickly. Gloria had no idea what she’d discovered in the crate, but Bishop Clayton had clearly intended for no one else to see those papers. Her heart hammered as she snatched a couple of them from near the bottom of the pile and stuffed them into her jacket pocket. After she closed the crate, she replaced the padlock the way she’d found it and rapidly arranged the crate and the suitcase with the quilts carefully covering them again.
Gloria stood up, listening carefully as she closed the closet door. Hoping she’d left everything as it had been—praying Bishop Clayton wouldn’t sense that an intruder had been present—she hurried out of the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Down the stairs she went, holding her breath, slipping back into her shoes at the back door. As she burst outside, she sucked in air to settle her nerves.
God surely must be watching over you, Gloria thought as she loped across the back of Uncle Lester’s lot. Otherwise, you’d have been caught in that closet, or someone would’ve seen you entering Uncle Lester’s house or—
Light Shines on Promise Lodge Page 18
