by Sarah Price
Because of the heat the service was to be held in the empty room above the stable. That too had been freshly painted. With the windows open on three of the walls, there was enough of a breeze to keep the room light and airy, although Lizzie suspected that it would become warm after everyone arrived and was seated. As it was now, the women were inside, approaching Carol Ann Beachey and offering their assistance with all the preparations for after the service. Lizzie noticed that her own maem lingered far too long in the receiving line, gushing to Carol Ann about how wonderful it was that the Beacheys had offered to host the service on such short notice.
Carol Ann merely smiled, her eyes glancing over Maem’s shoulder at the next person in line that waited to greet her with a handshake and simple kiss on the lips. Lizzie clenched her teeth, dreading having to greet Carol Ann in a similar fashion. She had observed on far too many occasions that Carol Ann seemed to look with disdain not just upon the Blank family but also on the entire g’may. Today was no different. While she was polite and proper, there was no air of either cordiality or interest emanating from Carol Ann Beachey.
When it was Lizzie’s turn to greet Carol Ann, she extended her hand and, with some satisfaction, noticed that Carol Ann barely held it as they greeted each other. Instead of planting the familiar kiss on Carol Ann’s lips, Lizzie stopped short and pulled back, a gesture noticed by no one but the intended recipient. Lizzie merely lifted an eyebrow and continued down the line, not one word exchanged between them. If anyone noticed besides the two women, nothing was said.
During the second hymn Lizzie held the Ausbund in her hands, closed. She had no need to reference the chunky black hymnal, for she was well aware of the words to the Loblieb. It would take almost thirty minutes to sing the verses, and this gave her time to peek around at the members of the g’may as well as to reflect on her own thoughts. The words flowed from her lips without the need of much consideration.
Since the service was being held at the Beacheys’ farm, Charles and Frederick sat in the first row of men. Lizzie took a moment to study both men, too aware of how different they seemed. Charles was singing with sparkling eyes, enjoying the song and pleased with the attendance at his first church service in Leola, Pennsylvania. In complete contrast Frederick was quite serious singing the Loblieb, his deep baritone voice resonating in the gathering room. Not once did his eyes falter from the bishop as he sang. Despite not caring for him, Lizzie had to admit that he appeared to be a very godly, if not also a very intense, man.
And then Wilmer stood up to give the second sermon, the longer of the two sermons at the church service. Lizzie sat between Jane and Charlotte, noticing that both women stiffened when he stood up and took his spot in the middle of the room. With his wiry gray beard and deep wrinkles in his brow, he looked much older than Lizzie knew he was. But it was his black vest that caught her attention. She had to hold back her laughter. In a way she felt sorry for him, but only because he was too proud to realize that he had long ago outgrown the vest and two of the hooks had popped open, exposing his white shirt beneath it.
As he began to preach, his voice cracked, and Lizzie could tell that he was trying to hide the fact that he was nervous. Beads of sweat began to break out on his forehead as he paced, his words being spoken in a singsong-like manner with clipped endings to each sentence. She realized that she was listening to his every word, not because his sermon was interesting, for that was clearly not the case. Indeed, she wasn’t even certain what he was talking about . . . something about how good Christians communicate with each other. No, she was listening to how he spoke, with a delivery that lacked confidence. Several times he paused to clear his throat, looking around nervously. At last Frederick stood and left the meeting room only to return a moment later with a glass of water for the preacher.
The gesture surprised Lizzie.
Her eyes trailed from Wilmer back to Frederick as he resumed his place next to Charles. Once again Frederick maintained a stoic look as he watched the preacher, listening to his every word, despite the lack of structure to the sermon and the odd speech pattern. Lizzie wondered if this was how Ohio Amish preached or if it was only unique to Wilmer. If it was typical, Frederick would be familiar with such a preaching style. However, if it was unique, he was being a most polite and attentive listener.
That was when she realized that, once again, George was not in attendance.
Charlotte pinched her leg, and Lizzie glanced over, realizing that Wilmer’s sermon had ended and it was time to pray. The congregation stood up and each person turned around, before kneeling down to pray against the bench or chair upon which they had just been seated. Lizzie followed suit, quickly dropping to her knees and placing her forehead on her clasped hands. As she knelt with her hands on the hard wooden bench, she glanced at the crossed feet of the young Amish girl that was praying on the bench located directly behind hers. She was a younger girl and her black boots were scuffed on the heel. She had a nervous tick to her foot and kept wiggling it. Lizzie quickly shut her eyes and prayed, asking God to help her be a better Christian and to honor His laws. She prayed for the strength and wisdom to both recognize and avoid sin. She prayed that He would bless her labors and help her maintain a joyful spirit in all that she was instructed to do. Finally she prayed that God would continue to guide her against being prideful, for the Bible often spoke that no sin was ever to be punished more severely than pride.
When the silent prayer was over and she was seated again for the final hymn, she felt her cheeks flush from the heat of the room. Because of the heat, summer services were often harder and seemed longer than the services held during other seasons. She wished that she could fan herself but knew that it would be inappropriate. And that was the moment she sensed that he was looking at her.
She felt his eyes on her, an intensity in his gaze, when she glanced around the room and found Frederick watching her. Until this moment she had not seen him look anywhere except at the preacher or the Ausbund in his hands (and even that, not quite often).
Following the service, Lizzie busied herself helping the women prepare for the fellowship meal. While most of the food was ready, being mostly cold cuts, canned food, bread, and jams, the younger women scurried about, carrying the plates to the long tables that were made from the wooden benches used for the service, while the older women quickly set the two tables. Men would sit on one side while women sat on the other.
As was tradition in their g’may, the younger women over the age of sixteen served the men while the married women serviced those seated at the women’s side. Lizzie paid no attention to the men as she placed plates of food before them. They were talking about the weather and their plans for the upcoming week. With such delightful weather the hay had grown faster than usual and most farmers had bumper crops, so haying and baling seemed on top of most to-do lists for the upcoming week.
“Might I have some more water?”
Lizzie almost didn’t hear the request, the voice being so soft. Yet the tugging at her skirt caught her attention at once. She turned, surprised that someone would be so brazen to single her out in order to request more water. Usually the men waited until the girls walked around the table with a pitcher to refill cups.
“Excuse me?” she asked as she turned, too aware that her voice was louder than intended.
It was Wilmer, holding up his cup, which she had filled only moments before his request. They hadn’t even said the pre-meal prayer yet. But sure enough, his cup was empty. Clearly he was sending a signal to her and a very public one at that. Such requests were usually saved for courting couples.
Color flooded her cheeks, and she tried not to look around as she took his cup and hastily backed away from the table, embarrassed that too many eyes were watching her. She would be the talk of many on the Amish grapevine, a thought that horrified her for sure and certain.
And then it happened. She tripped on an Ausbund that had not been properly packaged in the crate set aside for the next
church service in two weeks. It was always the job of the young boys to collect and stow the books in a wooden crate. After the fellowship meal the tables would be dismantled and stowed in a long boxlike wagon with the crate of hymnals before being taken to the farm that would host the next service in two weeks. Obviously one of the boys had overlooked a lone Ausbund, which was lying on the floor. Not expecting to step on something, Lizzie felt her ankle twist and she began to fall, the cup flying out of her hand and a gasp escaping her throat.
She felt his arms grab her before she realized that her fall had been stopped in midair. Everything had happened so fast that Lizzie took a second or two to gather her bearings. The room was silent, all eyes now watching as Frederick held onto Lizzie, his tall figure looming over her. His hold lingered on her, keeping her steady as she collected her balance.
“Danke,” she whispered, avoiding his dark eyes.
“Gown shanner,” Frederick responded. Glancing around the room, he caught Carol Ann watching and motioned toward Wilmer. “Mayhaps you might refill his water, ja?” Then, releasing Lizzie, he leaned down and said to her in a soft voice so that no one else could hear, “Take a moment outside, then. Collect yourself.”
Without arguing, Lizzie left the large room and escaped outside through the side door. Leaning against it, she willed her heart to stop beating so rapidly. While infuriated at Wilmer’s presumptuous and overly public request, Lizzie found herself disturbed more by having been saved from a fall by none other than Frederick Detweiler. The embarrassment was too much to handle, as were the conflicting emotions that she was feeling.
How could Frederick Detweiler be such a cold and unemotional man one moment yet attentive and caring the next? Clearly he had been watching her, and clearly he had directed her outside in order to save her the embarrassment caused, not by the near fall, but by Wilmer! Yet she couldn’t imagine why he would do such a thing. She felt as though she knew his character, from the moment they had first met to his rude insult at the singing to his lack of conversation at the Beachey farm. Still there were moments when something else shimmered through the man’s exterior . . . a softness that she couldn’t quite fathom.
“Are you hiding?”
Lizzie turned around and smiled at Charlotte. “Mayhaps,” she replied, a teasing tone on her face. “Did you see that Wilmer Kaufman?”
Charlotte laughed. “Oh, ja, ja! We all saw Wilmer Kaufman, indeed! However, it was the look on his face when Carol Ann brought him fresh water that we saw!”
Joining her friend in laughing, Lizzie reached for Charlotte’s hand. “How appropriate for both! Yet I wonder who was more horrified, Wilmer or Carol Ann!”
For the rest of the fellowship hour Lizzie steered clear of the tables. Instead she busied herself with washing plates and cups as the table was cleared for the second sitting. Her own appetite was gone, so she preferred not to eat. She chose, instead, to linger near the older women, listening to their early afternoon banter, most consisting of speculation about who might be getting married in the upcoming season, a topic of increasing preoccupation to the women in the g’may.
“Lydia Esh has an awful lot of celery growing in her garden,” one woman remarked. “I suspect she plans to see two weddings in November!”
Maem was the next one to add a comment to the conversation. “I hadn’t thought to plant extra celery,” she offered, although Lizzie knew that this was not exactly true. There were plenty of celery plants in her maem’s garden, only tucked along the back rows so that anyone who passed by or visited would not be able to notice. The planting of celery, a staple at Amish wedding feasts, was traditionally a notice to the community that a dochder was destined for marriage in the upcoming wedding season. However, some families hid the plants in the back of the garden when they didn’t want to draw attention to its presence, as it was often merely an indicator of wishful thinking rather than impeding nuptials. This year, however, Maem had reason to hope that the celery would be put to better use than just stuffing and soup throughout the winter months.
Maem continued, “But we fully expect that our dochder Jane will be given an offer!”
Several women raised an eyebrow and looked at her. Only one leaned forward and whispered, “The Beachey boy?”
“Ach vell,” Maem said, her eyes searching the ceiling as she tried to elude the question in a falsely demure fashion. “I wouldn’t want to whisper a name, not until it is official, of course,” she remarked. But the gleam in her eye spoke otherwise, and everyone nodded their heads, glancing over at Charles Beachey who was standing with several of the other young men just outside of the door in the fresh air.
Lizzie shook her head and walked away from the group of women, conscious that her maem should not be speaking of such things. It was indeed too soon and could raise hopes that risked being dashed to the ground; it was like building castles in the air. After all, courtship among the Amish was a private matter. While many women liked to speculate and gossip, it was frowned upon by the bishop as well as the younger women who wanted to avoid any possible embarrassment from broken relationships.
Looking for Charlotte, Lizzie wandered outside. A small group of women were standing under the shade of a small tree outside of the Beachey house. Jane and Carol Ann were talking, standing a bit to the side of the group. For a moment Lizzie observed them, wondering why Carol Ann seemed so comfortable with Jane but uncomfortable with the other women. As she approached them, it became clear that Carol Ann was doing most of the talking while Jane was her attentive listener.
“I find the services here much more focused on practical rather than spiritual guidance,” Carol Ann said, her tone quite condescending. “I didn’t care for that sermon about communication one bit!”
Never one to complain, Jane did not respond. However, Lizzie felt compelled to make her presence known. “That’s interesting, Carol Ann,” she said lightly. “I thought Wilmer was the bishop in your very own g’may!”
“Nee!” she responded too quickly. “He is the bishop of Frederick’s aendi’s g’may.”
“Isn’t that in Ohio?” Lizzie asked, straight-faced and with a perfectly even tone. “Or do the Ohio services differ so drastically from district to district?”
There was no chance for Carol Ann to respond to Lizzie’s obviously sardonic question. They were interrupted as Lydia and Catherine came running over, laughing as they bumped into Lizzie. “Maem and Daed say it’s time to leave,” Catherine managed to state between giggles. “Asked to fetch you both.”
For the rest of the afternoon the Blank family relaxed at home, Daed sitting in his recliner for a short nap while Wilmer read Scripture aloud from the family Bible. Since the church leaders did not permit crocheting and knitting on Sunday, the girls had no choice but to sit there and listen to Wilmer, his voice droning on and on as the afternoon heat began to feel more and more oppressive.
Lizzie’s eyes felt heavy, and she found herself slipping into a light sleep as she sat next to Jane on the sofa. Mary played with her harmonica, spinning it on the table, for she could certainly not lift it to her lips in the house, especially on Sunday. Lydia and Catherine looked bored, seated on the opposite side of the table from Mary while Maem pretended to do some light work at the kitchen counter.
“Can we play a game of Scrabble, then?” Lydia sighed, her voice clearly indicating her high degree of boredom.
Wilmer looked up from the Bible, a scowl on his face as if waiting for Maem or Daed to reprimand her for interrupting him.
“That’s a right gut idea!” Catherine chimed into the conversation. “Mary, will you play?”
Their desire for a fourth player rested on Jane or Lizzie, neither of whom wished to play. Still, the prospect of listening to Wilmer continue with his high-pitched singsong voice convinced Lizzie to take the bait, and she crossed the room to join her sisters.
Wilmer’s mouth fell open. “Such games to play on a Sunday?”
Having been awoken by the renewed energy
in the room, Daed scratched at his head and shook away the sleep. “Games played together are acceptable on the Lord’s day,” he confirmed and stood up. He stretched and glanced over at his daughters, who were sorting through the Scrabble pieces. “I fear it’s time to milk the cows soon,” he said, his eyes leveled at Lizzie. “Mayhaps one game, then you might join me, ja?”
It was shortly after seven when the five Blank daughters walked back to the Beachey farm. Despite not being sixteen yet, Lydia had insisted upon joining them, for the walk at least. She had promised her maem that she would turn around and walk back alone, but she wanted the fresh air (and to escape the house where Wilmer was still prattling on about the importance of Scripture, not games, on Sundays).
The air was cooling down after a fairly hot June day. With July just around the corner, the summer heat was to be expected. Several buggies passed the group of women as they walked, the driver and occupants waving hello in recognition of their friends. Occasionally a single Amish man would drive by in an open-top buggy and Lydia would giggle next to Catherine, knowing full well that the driver intended to ask a girl to ride home with him.
“You’ll never get asked home if you continually giggle like a little schoolgirl,” Lizzie reprimanded her.
“Good thing I have a few more weeks to practice!” Lydia replied, skipping down the road to further tease her older sister. “And I often see you walking home with the others. Maybe you should giggle more, sister Lizzie!”
