David had been too busy to stop to talk to Miriam, even assuming he’d wanted to. Gossip had it that his confession was to be offered today, although no one had said for certain.
He sat up near the ministers, as he had during the previous services since he came home. There was no change in that, but she had wondered that her father had maneuvered so that he sat with Isaac Miller directly behind David . . . and Luke and Elam behind Daad. One of her cousins on Mamm’s side of the family, Jerry Yoder, had also joined them. The men in her family acted as if they knew more than she did. Did David even knew who was behind him, or that the Bowmans were showing their support?
Amos had cast a keen eye toward them, since none of them were sitting where they ought to be. The oldest men came in first, the married men next, the younger men and then the boys last, but she thought she detected a suppressed smile.
He hadn’t said a word when, three years ago, Miriam had given up sitting among the young unmarried women to join the friends her age. In fact, nobody had disputed her right. Probably they all assumed she’d remain a spinster.
The hymns were usually Miriam’s favorite part of the service, a time when the entire congregation lifted their voices in praise of God. It didn’t matter who sang well or poorly; their voices blended into one. Next to her, Julia sang, expression radiant. Not even six months married, and she’d already learned the most commonly sung hymns from the Ausbund. That was quite an achievement, since she’d first had to learn to speak Deitsh before starting on the archaic German of the Bible and hymnbook used by the Amish.
Miriam didn’t stumble over the familiar words, but her mind continued to flit about like those sparrows above.
The opening sermon was given by Josiah Gingerich, who spoke about avoiding temptation and worldliness. As he often did, he paced, rarely meeting anyone’s eyes. Miriam had found him to be a powerful speaker despite having been chosen by draw, as was their custom, rather than for his ability to speak or the depth of his faith. As she’d told David, he had a way of lingering at the end of the barn where the boys and girls sat. There were no rustles or whispers among those groups today, only complete attention. Josiah was known for his gravity, not for any twinkle in his eye.
She didn’t hear his words, but rather imagined a small red ball bouncing, then rolling right toward him. She prayed, for David’s sake, that he wasn’t cringing at that particular memory.
The silent kneeling prayer allowed everyone to move. Once they resumed their seats on the backless benches, Miriam stole a look at David again. From what she could see of his face, he stayed solemn and gave away no anxiety, though surely he felt some.
After the scripture reading, a visiting minister rose to give the main sermon. Earlier, Miriam had noticed a fourth man standing to join Amos, Josiah, and Ephraim when they left the barn at the beginning of the hymns to confer and decide who would give the sermons today and what their themes would be. This was an older man with a long white beard and a voice so soft, she had to strain to hear him and sometimes failed.
Or maybe that was her own restless mood.
Dear Lord, forgive me, she prayed. Surely it wasn’t a sin to worry about a friend.
Sin or not, she couldn’t seem to help her mind’s wandering today, unusual for her. She always loved worship, joining with the people who were family, community, sharing their faith and joy. Today, she fretted about those same people—including the five women she knew to be pregnant, each at a different stage. Did they suffer from backaches while sitting on the hard benches for three hours? How did their unborn babies react to the hymns? She’d never thought to ask anyone before. How had Julia persuaded Abby to be so patient today? Sitting between them, she’d hardly squirmed. What if she wasn’t feeling well?
Affirmations came at last, followed by acceptance of the affirmations. Also familiar, so comforting, so agonizingly slow.
Lucky she didn’t wear a watch or have a cell phone that displayed the time, Miriam thought ruefully, or she’d have been checking hers as compulsively as Englischers always seemed to do. The last time she’d been so aware of the length of the service, she’d been ten or eleven years old, maybe, feeling as if she might scream if she couldn’t move. What must David be thinking?
He might be giving his entire attention to the words they all needed to hear. He might even be praying for forgiveness.
Rather belatedly, she closed her eyes and let words from Psalms wash over her.
And those who know Your name will put their trust in You; For You, Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You.
With recovered serenity, she wondered why she’d ever worried. Of course God had never given up on David, would never forsake him! Neither would the members of this church forsake him, the boy and young man many of them remembered well and loved, whatever his failings. Nothing gave her people more joy than welcoming a member of their faith back when they’d feared he was lost.
She gave herself heart and soul to the closing hymn.
* * *
* * *
David walked in a daze out of the barn after he’d been excused from the members’ meeting. He hadn’t let himself look directly at anyone, although he’d seen with surprise that the Bowman men had formed a semicircle behind him.
He especially didn’t let himself look for the Bowman women.
The first part of the members’ meeting he had both dreaded and longed for had passed more swiftly than he’d imagined. Once the service was concluded, children and unbaptized young adults had left the barn, leaving only full members of the church to agree on any business.
It turned out, he was the only business.
The bishop could have made his confession much worse for him. For the most serious transgressions, penitents had to kneel before the congregation. Clearly, Amos and the two ministers were pleased with their multiple conversations with him. He’d been allowed to stay sitting on a bench at the front, although he wouldn’t have minded kneeling.
As it was, Amos talked about David having left the faith out of grief for his friend and about his subsequent confusion that led to his foolish use of alcohol and the anger it awakened in him. Even the time he’d spent in jail, during which he’d prayed about his future.
When it was David’s turn, he spoke the traditional words of repentance and hope.
Then Amos looked kindly at him and said, “Please leave to give us time to confer.”
Feeling strange, David turned his head now to distract himself. Already, a group of boys had started a game of baseball, the girls playing volleyball instead at a net this Sunday’s hosts had set up. Younger children were supervised by older, undoubtedly at the order of their elders, but nobody seemed to mind. The scene was so familiar, so comforting, for a moment he saw double. He was winding up to pitch, muscles smooth, the smell of new-mown hay in his nostrils, feeling free after the agonizing three hours trapped inside. The batter, his best friend Levi, was taunting him. Then, with a blink, he returned to the here and now.
The Lord’s Prayer had been part of today’s service. Like any member of the Amish faith, David knew it as well as his own name. Perhaps that’s why he heard it in his head as he waited.
Our Father who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
“Are you scared?” someone close by asked.
He gave his head a slight shake as he sought the source of the voice. “What?”
“Well, I just thought . . . I mean, I’d be scared.” The speaker was the boy who’d arrived at the work frolic with David’s daad. Abram Yoder. Embarrassed, he said, “I heard people talking. They said you became Englisch. That you drove a car and everything.”
To his astonishment, David realized he was smiling. “It’s true, but driving a car isn’t nearly as much fun as
you’d think. I much prefer my horses.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You’re going to stay this time?” Abram asked as if he truly wanted to know.
David clapped him on the shoulder. “Ja. This is where I belong. Where God has called me to be.”
“Oh.” The boy studied him with unexpectedly solemnity. “I’m glad. I heard you’re going to train horses.”
“I am.”
“I want to do that, too.”
David looked back at Abram with equal interest. Who knew he’d find a perfect assistant so easily?
The barn door opened behind him, and, eyes wide, Abram faded away.
David squared his shoulders and walked back into the huge, shadowy space of Tobias King’s barn.
Chapter Thirteen
He was met with beaming smiles. Dazed once again, shaky, he went directly to Amos, who shook his hand and drew him close for the kiss that told him of the restored fellowship.
Now he could easily have fallen to his knees on the concrete floor, but somehow he kept his footing, accepting other handshakes, smiles, brief touches. He knew that when they emerged from the barn, everything said and done in here would never be spoken about again. He had been forgiven, not just by these church members, but by his Lord.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miriam slip out without stopping to speak to him, but he felt confident that she believed in his repentance. Later, he might be haunted by his fear of how she’d feel if she knew what he hid from her, but now was not the time.
Friend after friend came up to him, warm and even jubilant. To Micah, David said, “You have a fine son. He kept me company while I waited.”
“He is a good boy,” his old friend said with a grin. “Mamm says better than I deserve.”
David laughed. “Give him a few more years.”
Suddenly serious, Micah said, “I pray every day that all of my kinder keep faith with the Lord.”
David’s parents had undoubtedly prayed for the same.
When Micah stepped aside, David came face-to-face with his brother. They didn’t look much alike, Jake four or five inches shorter, blond like Daad, David brown-haired like Mamm. Jake’s beard, tinged with red, accentuated their differences.
His smile was tentative. “Welcome home, brother.”
David refused to spoil the moment by questioning Jake’s sincerity. “It’s good to be welcome. Better, even, to be restored to the church.”
“I haven’t seen Mamm and Daad so happy in a long time.”
“I don’t believe that. They had you and Susan and your kinder.”
“You’re their oldest,” Jake said simply. “Having you gone was an ache that never went away.”
“I missed all of you, too. I . . . had more trouble than I should have accepting God’s will.” An understatement, it was as close as he could go in explanation right now, with them surrounded by other men. He’d have to think whether he should tell Jake more later.
“I sometimes thought you were closer to Levi than to your own family.” The statement lacked any sting, but told David he’d hurt his younger brother.
“We grew up together. He was part of my family, but only part.” He held out his hand. “Will you join me at the table?”
Jake clasped his hand. “Ja, gladly.” They shook, giving David hope that past hurts could be healed.
It took another ten or fifteen minutes before David was able to join the other men in carrying the benches out to the flat lawn and setting up some as tables, others as seating. The women descended in a flock with utensils, napkins, drinks, and food.
This would be the first meal where he could accept food or a dish from someone else’s hand. The Bowmans and his own mamm and daad had been loose with the rules required of them when eating with someone under a bann, even given Amos’s faith in him, but David had tried to avoid putting them in the wrong. However warmly they included him, he remained on the outside, knowing he’d brought this sense of isolation upon himself.
No longer. He’d been enveloped in love, forgiveness, and acceptance.
He caught sight of Miriam among the others, moving with her usual graceful purpose, the ribbons of her kapp flying when she whirled to hurry back to the kitchen.
Watching, it was David who felt a different kind of ache now.
* * *
* * *
Miriam hurried down the lane toward the family buggy carrying empty serving dishes that she’d just washed in the Kings’ kitchen. She didn’t plan to wait here; she’d go back to make sure Mamm didn’t need any more help, and seek out Elam to say goodbye, since she didn’t see him as often as she’d like. She hadn’t yet come face-to-face with David, either, but since he seemed to be surrounded by friends and family, his and hers, she could wait to express her happiness for him another time.
After setting the dishes in the back and taking a minute to stroke Polly’s nose and whisper, “We won’t be long, I promise,” she started back up the long, sloping driveway. She’d barely passed the next buggy when a man stepped out in front of her.
He seemed startled, but smiled. “Miriam, is that right?”
“Ja. You’re Gideon Lantz. I’m glad to see you here.”
“Yesterday several people urged me to visit for worship this week. I thought it was a good idea, since I live among the members of this district, especially close to the Millers and Esther Schwartz. I brought Esther today.”
“That was good of you.” She’d been careful to keep a crowd between her and Esther all day.
As they walked, he responded to her polite questions. He had come from Oswego County in New York, bordering Lake Ontario. “I like the rolling hills here,” he said. “It was getting too built up there, too crowded with tourists. I’d be plowing, and tour buses would pass.” He shook his head. “I sold my farm there to a young Amishman, getting plenty to start over here. He wanted to stay close to family.”
“I’ve heard that land there costs so much, most Amish can’t afford it anymore.”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “If I’d put it up for auction, I could have gotten more, but I wouldn’t have felt good about that. I didn’t need the extra money.”
Not surprised, she was quiet for a minute. “The tourists are getting to be a nuisance here, too, but I haven’t yet seen a bus full of people driving by to stare.”
“I will never understand why people are so curious about us.”
“It’s the horses. If we’d just switch to driving cars, they’d probably lose interest.”
He gave a low, gruff laugh. “That’s probably so.”
She smiled. “I hear you have children.”
“Ja, a girl and a boy. They go to the nearest school. With the new friends they’re making in your district, I may ask your bishop if we can join you.”
“That’s wunderbaar!” she exclaimed. “We recently had a family move away, so I think this might be a good time.”
A sudden smile softened a face that had, at first sight, struck her as closed as David’s. The smile was not for her. “Here comes my Rebekah now.”
A tall girl with one brown pigtail flopping out of her kapp ran at full-tilt toward them. “Daadi!” she cried. “You weren’t anywhere.”
“I carried some things to the buggy for Esther. You were too busy playing to notice.” He gently tugged her braid. “You’re all strubly. So busy you were, it wonders me that you looked for me at all.”
“Daadi,” she protested, pouting.
He laid his hand atop her head. “I think we’re all ready to go home. If you find your brother, I’ll fetch Esther.”
“I know where Zeb is,” she declared, and turned to race back the way she came.
Gideon shook his head. “That one never slows down.”
Miriam chuckled. “I was that way, too.<
br />
The skin beside his eyes crinkled with his smile. “You don’t slow down much even now, ain’t so?”
Oh, heavens—had he noticed how antsy she was during worship?
A man strode past the little girl toward them. David, alone for the first time since he’d arrived.
Gideon nodded. “David. Have you seen Esther?”
“Over there with Deborah, I think.” He pointed.
“Denke.” Gideon walked away.
David watched him go for a moment, his jaw knotted. The two had planned last week’s work frolic together. Had they ended up clashing in some way? Miriam couldn’t imagine.
Then he glanced at her. “Is he driving you home?”
“Me? Of course not! I doubt he’d have room. He has two children and brought Esther, too, you know. Why would you think—”
“Just . . . he seemed extra friendly.”
Perplexed, she said, “Well, he wasn’t. We happened to be walking back at the same time and had a neighborly chat, that’s all.”
“Neighborly.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked tentatively.
“No.” Frowning, he gazed down at her. “May I drive you home?”
Now truly befuddled, she gaped for longer than was probably polite. Was this his way of letting her know he might want to court her? Except for that tense moment when she’d thought he might kiss her, he hadn’t shown any indication that he was drawn to her as anything but a friend. Had he?
Not wanting to make a fool out of herself, she joked, “Do you want to make sure I don’t try to rescue Copper on my own again?”
His mouth tightened. “No. If you’d rather go with your mamm and daad . . .”
Her heart beat as if she’d run all the way to the house, like little Rebekah.
“I’d be glad to go with you,” she said hastily. “I’ve been wanting to say how happy I am that the bann has ended and you’ve been accepted back among us with such joy.”
Mending Hearts Page 14
