Gladden the Heart

by Olivia Newport

  “Do you not need to go with them?” Susanna said.

  Adam shrugged. “Either the lumber is acceptable to the bishop or it is not. My presence will not determine the outcome.”

  “But perhaps your onkel needs you.”

  “Are you trying to shoo me off?”

  Susanna smiled freely now, with Adam’s the only eyes on her. “Just testing how easily you might go.”

  “Not easily at all,” he said. “Have you much time?”

  “This is my last stop for today. I only hope your aunti is pleased.”

  “Of course she will be.”

  Susanna glanced around. “Do you know where she is?”

  “I will look with you.”

  Niklaus’s voice burst between them. “Adam, come. If you are going to be a carpenter, the first lesson is learning to judge wood.”

  Adam’s shoulders sagged an eighth of an inch.

  “Go,” Susanna said. “You must not let down your onkel.”

  “Or the bishop,” Adam said.

  “Or the bishop.”

  Amused, she watched him turn his torso, and then his legs, leaving his gaze to last in a display of reluctance. Then she turned her own body toward the task at hand. The slumping mare was not a wanderer and lacked the energy even to be properly spooked, so Susanna did not bother to tether her. The package in the cart required both hands to carry with care as Susanna speculated where Deborah might be.

  She found Deborah a few minutes later on the back porch, churning butter.

  “Susanna!” Deborah abandoned her grip on the paddle. “Is it finished? If you have come to break my heart and tell me you could not dye the cloth after all, you can turn around and go straight home.”

  Susanna laughed. “’Tis finished. I hope you will like it.”

  Deborah snatched the package from Susanna and laid it on the rough-hewn worktable.

  “Did you spin the cloth yourself?” Susanna asked. “’Tis some of the finest I have ever seen.”

  “My sister sent it to me. A spinner in her district is the best in the state.” Deborah opened the package. “Oh my. Susanna, you have outdone yourself.”

  “Is it close to the color in your mind’s eye?”

  “’Tis exactly right. Exactly.”

  Brown, Deborah had requested, to remain within the confines of plain and unadorned, but with an echo of red to liven things up. She had winked when she made her request. Susanna had taken her cue from a reddish mud she once came across.

  Deborah methodically unfolded several feet of cloth, careful that it should not be soiled by its surroundings.

  “You have a gift,” Deborah said. “No one can dispute.”

  “Thank you,” Susanna said. The next time she came across a length of fine cotton for herself, she might try to reproduce Deborah’s color. She had kept careful notes about the bark and berries she used and how long the cloth sat in the dye bath.

  “Pie!” Deborah said. “We shall have pie. I may not be able to color cloth as you do, but my piecrust never fails.”

  When Niklaus climbed the steps of the back porch, with Adam a few yards behind him, half the pie was gone and two plates were scraped clean.

  “You have had pie without me,” he said.

  “When you can dye cloth to please me,” Deborah said, “you shall have pie.”

  Niklaus laughed.

  “Adam,” Deborah said, “get two more plates.”

  Niklaus stepped out of the way to let his nephew pass, and Adam returned a moment later with plates and forks.

  “Has Shem approved the wood?” Deborah asked while she served generous slices.

  “He seems to think Adam did well in the choosing.” Niklaus plunged his fork into the pie and moved a bite to his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed slowly, letting the flavors linger on his tongue before swallowing. Blackberry rhubarb was his favorite. Nothing would persuade him that his wife had not made this pie with him in mind, if not to please him then to taunt him.

  “How soon can he begin?” Deborah slapped away her husband’s hand as he moved toward the pie tin. “The last slice is for Jonas. Leave it.”

  “Next week,” Niklaus said. “I told Shem I will spare Adam as often as he needs him.”

  He glanced at Adam, who was chewing pie with his eyes fixed on Susanna. Their countenance changed when they were near each other. Did they know that? They could only see each other, not the whole that they made together. Adam should not drag his feet about proposing. Niklaus would do whatever he could to help the young couple as if they were his own children. He could also add another room. Once Shem made a carpenter of him, Adam would know how to build the second room on his own. Niklaus ran his fork around the plate seeking every remaining morsel.

  “You two should go for a walk,” he said. “Susanna probably used up some of her best supplies earning this pie. There is yet time in the day to walk along the edge of the forest and replenish.” One pie was not sufficient payment for dyed cloth. Niklaus suspected his kitchen held enough meat and fruit pies to feed the entire Hooley family for two days. He would help Deborah put them in Susanna’s cart.

  “I am sure Adam has much to do to help you here.” Susanna blushed.

  “Hay,” Adam said. “I do not know if I threw down all you intended.”

  “How much did you throw?” Niklaus said.

  “Two bales.”

  “That is sufficient. See? You have time for a walk after all.” Building the room for Jonas and Anke would also build Adam’s confidence. There was no telling what he could do once he believed in himself enough to try.

  When Susanna and Adam had left, Deborah stacked plates.

  “You are turning into a silly old man,” she said.

  “When it comes to those two, have you any objection?”

  “None.”

  “Then I will be silly all the day long.”

  CHAPTER 4

  If one of the ministers knew he was her favorite, it might lead to pride. Susanna would never thank Niklaus Zug for preaching with any more enthusiasm than she offered to the others. But he was her favorite. When Niklaus preached, she leaned a little farther forward, every part of her body ready to listen.

  The church service had ended three hours ago. The meal the congregation shared after worshipping was nearly over. Some of the women were wrapping leftover food in flour sacks. Mr. Zimmerman, as always, was ready to begin loading tables and benches in the wagon that would carry them to the farm of the family who would host the congregation in two weeks—the Zooks, Susanna thought. Or was it the Planks, who might have traded with the Zugs? While she understood the practicalities of bringing to a close a long morning of worship and the fellowship of a meal, this was Susanna’s favorite part of church Sundays. Friends lingering over a last bit of conversation before parting. Women sharing their recipes while jiggling boppli on their hips. Men remarking how much closer the harvest was than half a month earlier. Barefoot children chasing and squealing through the grass or perching on the fence along the pasture to admire the horses. Young men daring to greet the young women to whom they hoped to offer a ride home, as Adam often did for Susanna. Amid it all, sitting alone on a bench, Susanna found a stillness, a secret inner place to absorb the love that bound family to family.

  This was church.

  She might be curious about the Methodists and their ways, but she recognized where she belonged. Here.

  Noah Kauffman was not far off. He was her family, her mother’s cousin’s son—and another of Susanna’s favorite people ever since she was a small child. Noah was fifteen years older than Susanna, yet he never let on that she might be bothersome when she perched on a fence or hung over a stall wall in the barn just to watch him work. For the moment, he stood alone, and Susanna pressed her feet into her heels and stood up. A moment with Noah would bless her day. He was such a gentle soul. In a room full of men, his was not the voice Susanna would hear rise above the din, but in private conversation, he was the one wh
o made Susanna feel he truly saw her. She approached him.

  “Good morning, Cousin Noah.”

  “Hello, Susanna. I pray God met your heart today.”

  “He did. The sermons were indeed a blessing.”

  “If I could preach the way Niklaus does, perhaps the thought that I might be chosen to be a minister would not perplex me the way it does.”

  “If God chooses you, it will be for a reason, and I would not want to miss a word He gave you to speak.”

  Noah winked. “Speaking of choosing, I hear some of your friends are arranging an afternoon’s recreation.”

  “What has that to do with choosing?”

  Noah winked again, his cheeks reddening in pleasure. “Adam will choose to walk with you.”

  It was safe to smile in Noah’s presence. Susanna would go on the outing even if Adam did not, but it would be so much nicer if he did. His voice would supply the missing tones in the forest, his step the patter to match her own. Others might pair off, but if another walked with her, it would only be until Adam threaded his way toward her.

  “Cousin Noah?”

  “Yes, Cousin Susanna?”

  “People say you pray something fierce when you seek Gottes wille.”

  “That is the way my daed taught me. Finding the will of the Lord is a serious matter.”

  Susanna looked down at the toes of her shoes peeking beyond the hem of her skirt while she composed her features. When she looked up again—only a few seconds later—the color had washed out of Noah’s face.

  “Cousin Noah?” Susanna touched his arm. “Are you all right?”

  He gave no response. His eyes started to roll.

  “Cousin Noah!”

  Adam knew every move Susanna made on a church Sunday—whom she greeted, which dishes she carried out from the host’s kitchen, which child she took into her lap. Once their friends went off together, it would be more fitting for him to be at her side. In the meantime, Adam was adept at turning his head so that wherever Susanna was, she was in his peripheral vision if not his direct view.

  “Where are the benches going next?” It was Susanna’s brother Timothy who asked. He had just turned sixteen, five years younger than Susanna.

  “I am not sure,” Adam said, his head tilting to bring Susanna into his gaze. “Zooks? Planks? Or it may be my onkel’s turn. Mr. Zimmerman should have the schedule.”

  Susanna’s hand cupped her cousin’s elbow now. Even in profile, and even with most of the farmyard between them, Adam saw the concern that skittered into Susanna’s face. Then she dipped her bonnet at an angle that obscured her face from Adam’s view. He shifted over one step.

  “Are you going to help load the benches now?” Timothy asked. “I will come.”

  “Not quite yet,” Adam muttered.

  He took a slow step toward Susanna. Both her hands held Noah’s wrists now. Susanna said often how fond she was of Noah, but Adam had never seen her touching him this way before.

  “Excuse me, Timothy,” Adam said. “I will meet you at the bench wagon in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Adam let Timothy’s voice fade without responding. His eyes were on Susanna and Noah. Perhaps Noah had gotten too warm in the full sun and Susanna wanted him to sit down. But there were no benches near them. Adam picked up his pace.

  “Adam!”

  If the call had come from Susanna, Adam would have launched a sprint. But it was his own cousin, Jonas, who sat with a group of young men.

  “Come here and weigh in,” Jonas said. “We are trying to choose where to walk today.”

  “Anywhere is fine,” Adam said, still moving.

  “But you know the best trails, as you like to remind us at every opportunity.”

  “I do know the best trails. I will come back.” Adam persisted forward, weaving through huddles of conversation and nearly stumbling over a toddler who did not quite have his balance and fell on his bottom and wailed. Adam swooped him up and placed him safely in his mother’s arms in a single fluid motion that did not detour from his path.

  Susanna’s face flushed in alarm as her weight shifted to support the now slumping Noah. Her gaze swept in a half-circle, finding Adam’s eyes.

  He dashed the remaining yards between them.

  Noah was a slight man, but even so Susanna could not hold him upright indefinitely. And he was in no condition to walk.

  “Noah!” she said. “Can you speak?”

  “Speak?” he echoed, dropping in her arms.

  “Does something hurt?” She moved behind him and slipped her arms under his.

  “Hurt?”

  His collapsing weight took Susanna to her knees, but she kept him from a free fall. At least they were on soft ground at the edge of the yard and not the rocky lane.

  “I have him.” Adam’s hands grasped Noah’s shoulders.

  Susanna surrendered Noah’s weight and moved out of the way. Adam laid Noah flat.

  “What happened?” Adam said.

  “I do not know.” She could not control the tremble in her voice while her fingers still remembered the tremble in Noah’s arms. “We were simply talking, and suddenly he was unwell. But he told me nothing of how he felt.”

  “Noah,” Adam said. “We will help you. Tell us what is happening.”

  Noah’s response was a jumble of barely audible words.

  “Did you understand any of that?” Adam asked.

  Susanna shook her head.

  Noah’s head fell to one side.

  “He is unconscious!” Susanna’s voice pitched sharply up. “We have to get help.”

  When she stood, she pressed against Adam’s aunt Deborah. Niklaus was there, and Timothy, and Jonas and a half dozen others.

  Niklaus knelt beside Noah and picked up an arm. When Niklaus released it, the limb fell limply back to the ground.

  “Check for a pulse,” Deborah said.

  Adam’s hand went to Noah’s wrist. “’Tis there, and strong.”

  “He is breathing,” Niklaus announced. He took Noah’s clammy, ashen face in his hands. “Noah! Noah! Wake up!”

  “I have to find Phoebe,” Susanna said. The crowd around Noah enlarged, but Phoebe was not in sight.

  “Yes,” Adam said. “Go quickly.”

  Susanna turned to navigate out of the growing throng. The entire church district seemed determined to occupy the same two square yards of dirt.

  “Has the good Lord taken him from us?” someone asked.

  “Gottes wille,” someone else said.

  “Hush,” Deborah said. “Noah has not passed. He has simply fainted.”

  Susanna scrambled through the crowd.

  “He is trembling mightily,” someone said. “His limbs are not his own.”

  Susanna halted, pivoted, and peered through the onlookers to witness the truth of the statement. Something had seized Noah.

  “A demon!” With hushed voice, a woman took steps back, away from Noah. “Like Legion in the Bible.”

  “No,” Niklaus said. “He is simply ill.”

  “Ill unto death, I believe.”

  Susanna’s heart clenched, and she lifted her skirt sufficiently to allow her feet to run.

  The house, the outdoor kitchen, the stables, the barn. Susanna checked them all while a giant clock tick-tocked in her mind. If she did not find Phoebe soon, it might be too late.

  Too late for what? Ill unto death. No. Susanna refused the thought.

  Breathless, Susanna emerged from the back door of the barn. There, among the chicken coops and with a hen in her arms, Phoebe stood talking with Mrs. Satzler well beyond the commotion that had spurred Susanna’s search.

  “Phoebe,” Susanna said. “Come.”

  “What is it?”

  “Noah is ill.”

  Phoebe’s grip on the chicken went lax, and the bird cackled and fluttered toward freedom. Susanna grasped Phoebe’s hand, and together they ran back to Noah. When he came into view again, Susanna exp
elled breath. Noah was on his feet. All would be well.

  “Repent!” Noah shouted.

  Susanna twitched. The crowd around Noah gave a collective gasp.

  “Do you not know,” Noah said, “that what the Lord requires of you is a repentant heart? A contrite heart? Will you offer this to God, who offered to you His own dear Son?”

  Not ten minutes ago, Noah had confessed his anxiety should he ever be called upon to preach. And now he was preaching—but not like Niklaus Zug. It was more like the Methodist revival preacher Susanna listened to outside the tent two days earlier.

  Noah was not a preacher.

  Noah had never preached.

  He was limp and unconscious only moments ago.

  Whose effort had successfully wakened Noah?

  How did he have the strength to stand and preach in the same full sun that had weakened him?

  This made no sense.

  Adam stood with a hand gripping the back of Noah’s shirt.

  Do not let go. Stay where you are.

  The assembly parted for Phoebe, and Susanna tailed her.

  Noah raised his arms, devoid of weakness, and spread them wide. “If you but come to God, He will come near to you.”

  Susanna had known Noah all her life, and he hesitated even to pray aloud. Her mouth hung open. Voices around her echoed her confusion.

  “What is he doing?”

  “Why is he saying such a thing?”

  “Did he get hit on the head?”

  “Does he think we do not have enough ministers?”

  Still threading toward Noah behind Phoebe, Susanna caught Adam’s eye. His shrug was slight. He had no explanation.

  Stay with him.

  Their eye contact broke when the bishop shouldered his way in from the periphery and his wide frame stood between Phoebe and her husband.

  “Noah Kauffman!” Shem Hertzberger thundered. “What kind of disturbance have you called upon our peaceful Sabbath?”

  Susanna’s ears rattled. The bishop was one of those preachers with a distinct voice for sermons, and he could work up fervor for the Word of God. But never had Susanna heard him address one of the church members in such a tone. How could he be angry about what happened when no one was sure what, exactly, had transpired? Noah gave no sign of hearing anything. His cadence did not falter, nor his motions hesitate, as he looked right through the bishop.