Gladden the Heart

by Olivia Newport

  “Do not mock me,” Shem said, but his eyes twinkled. “I will be right back.”

  “How do you dare make fun of the bishop?” Adam asked once Shem was out of earshot.

  “Shem and I were boys together, and we are ministers together.”

  “But he is the bishop.”

  “And I respect him. But he is not God.”

  “I try to understand him,” Adam said. “He has overflowed with patience toward me as I learn, but sometimes he also spills over with authority.”

  “You are talking about Noah on Sunday.”

  “Yes, partly.”

  “That is difficult to understand,” Niklaus said. “The circumstances are unusual. Knowing how to respond is also difficult.”

  “What will the bishop do now?” Adam asked.

  “Phoebe made it clear she did not want a visit from one of the ministers. I have recommended that we respect that. But in all things we must make room for God.”

  Patsy eased off the reins and pressed her knees into the horse’s sides.

  “Hup!”

  Tired of waiting for her father—who spent most of his time on a horse—to teach her to ride, years ago she begged the farm’s hand to put her astride. There was never any question of learning to ride sidesaddle. Patsy’s mother always took a buggy and Harvey, the farmhand, was unskilled in the genteel ways of ladies’ recreational riding. He simply lifted the little girl into a saddle and began the lesson.

  Patsy never looked back. If she went fast enough—and she did—she heard nothing but the wind whirling through her ears. The rhythmic vibration of the hooves shivered through her body with an abandonment she found nowhere else than giving her horse his head.

  Galahad, the golden stallion, galloped with minimal encouragement. Rider and horse were a matched set. The smooth gait of a gallop, which needlessly terrified so many children, was more comfortable to Patsy than the more common trot or canter. She lifted off the saddle, her right hand tangled in the mane, leaning forward to hang on to her center of gravity as the horse’s weight shifted from rear to front. Nearly out of her stirrups, and exhilarated, Patsy adjusted the angle of her hips again as the horse went from front legs to rear and back again. Over and over, this automatic motion united them in shared triumph. The speed. The energy. The freedom. Tears from the wind—or joy, Patsy was never sure which—formed rivulets on her cheeks.

  They charged at the base of Jacks Mountain, which had never frightened either of them. Though she wanted to, she did not take the horse all the way up to the ridge. Instead, Patsy reined in the stallion and followed an inclined forest to her favorite overlook above the Kish Valley. She had never lived anywhere else, but the rolling farms of the valley between Jacks Mountain and Stone Mountain made her hesitate to believe she could be happier anywhere else on God’s earth. Below her lay own family’s land, the Hooleys’, the Zugs’, the Kauffmans’, the Hertzbergers’, other Amish farms in one direction, and farms and shops of the people of other faiths in the other. Milroy, Lewistown, Reedsville—all towns of hope for the future. The valley cradled them all, twin shoulders of the mountains rising in grandiose reminder of the blessing of the land. The stallion nuzzled the ground while Patsy gazed at fields of green corn and white, willowy wheat, colorful vegetable gardens that would see the valley residents through the winter, cows grazing. With little effort she could pick out the new courthouse on the town square in Lewiston, the train tracks that ran through the valley, the narrows, the market house with its meat and vegetable stalls.

  Nowhere. She would live nowhere else, ever, even if that meant becoming an old maid.

  Finally, Patsy descended, more slowly than she had charged up but satiated with gratitude. She kept a hand on the reins, lest the horse break into a gallop again.

  She needed no watch to tell her the time. The farmhand—still Harvey after all these years—would be sure any other horses he had used would be cooled and brushed, but it was Patsy’s job to be sure the single Baxton cow was milked and the chickens were rounded up before nightfall. She had plenty of time—hours. The slow, scenic route home would hold her in her refreshed mood.

  Her gaze lifted to the horizon so steadily that she nearly did not see the figure waving in the road. She tugged on the reins while she rummaged for the Amish woman’s name.

  “Mrs. Zimmerman.”

  “You are a friend of Susanna Hooley, ja?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I have just come from the Kauffmans’.”

  A lump took shape in Patsy’s throat. “Is everything all right?”

  “’Tis hard to tell, to be honest. I only stopped in for a friendly visit, but Phoebe seemed most eager for me to depart.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She did not even offer me a slice of pie—and only one cup of kaffi.”

  “She must be busy.”

  “Too busy to visit? That is not our way.”

  “Or perhaps she was tired.” Had Mrs. Zimmerman flagged her down to report on Phoebe Kauffman’s unacceptable etiquette? “Did you need something, Mrs. Zimmerman?”

  “Susanna.”

  “What about Susanna?”

  “That is what Phoebe wants. She wants Susanna. Why she should send me out when I was right there and then turn around and ask for someone who is miles away befuddles me.”

  “Susanna is family,” Patsy said. “Perhaps it is a family matter?”

  “I simply thought that after what happened on Sunday she would be grateful for whatever hand of help came her way.”

  Patsy scrunched her face. “What happened Sunday?”

  “Why, Noah, of course.”

  “What’s wrong with Noah?”

  “He was taken quite ill. After church. I thought you would have heard.”

  Patsy had ridden by the Hooley farm twice earlier in the week, but both times Susanna’s cart was missing from its usual spot alongside her shed, and Patsy had passed on by. That she did not see Susanna for five days was not unusual, but if Susanna’s favorite relative was ill, she would be distressed. And that Patsy could not bear.

  “If Phoebe wants Susanna,” Patsy said, “I will make sure she gets the message.”

  Susanna wrapped the bark in an old cloth and carefully pinned a label to it. Oak. Another label on another package said White Oak. She did not want to confuse them because it would change the color of the dye. Placing both bundles on the same shelf, she evaluated her bark supply. Adam would be glad to know that soon she would need to collect more, and she would be foolish not to pick wild berries while they were plentiful. The blues and reds would be in demand for the purple cloth that some of her Amish neighbors increasingly favored. She first had to be confident she would not speak to Adam of Noah’s condition.

  The door to the windowless shed where she worked was propped open for light. Susanna looked up when a shadow moved through the shaft of illumination she depended on.

  “Hello, Patsy.”

  “Susanna, why have you not told me Noah is ill?”

  Susanna stiffened. “Who told you that?”

  “Mrs. Zimmerman.”

  “She told you what happened?”

  “Not precisely. Only that Noah took ill on Sunday—and that Phoebe is asking for you. She asked Mrs. Zimmerman to get a message to you.”

  Susanna gasped. Phoebe would not have asked anything of Mrs. Zimmerman if the situation were not urgent. Susanna pulled the pins out of the top of her work apron and tossed it on her workbench.

  “I want to help,” Patsy said. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Help me put out the fire.” Susanna pushed past Patsy and out of the shed. The water was nowhere near hot enough to begin the dye bath. The lot would have to wait another day. “I must hurry.”

  “Hurry where?”

  Susanna spun toward her mother’s voice.

  CHAPTER 8

  Where are you off to?” Susanna’s mother moved toward her, trailed by Timothy and the younger boys.
r />   “Good morning, Mrs. Hooley,” Patsy said.

  “Hello.” Veronica turned a hospitable, if not welcoming, gaze upon Patsy. “I pray the day finds you well.”

  “Yes, and you?”

  “Very well,” Veronica said. “Thank you for asking.”

  “I ran into one of your friends in the road,” Patsy said, “and she asked me to deliver the message that Phoebe Kauffman would like Susanna to visit today.”

  Susanna softly cleared her throat. Patsy meant well. She always meant well.

  “I understand Noah has been unwell.” Patsy was undeterred.

  “I should take Phoebe those tapers I promised. I have them right here.” Susanna reached for a half dozen candles, their wicks hanging long. “I thought it would be all right if I just took the odds and ends.”

  “Phoebe is welcome to my best candles,” Veronica said. “Perhaps I will take them myself and see what she needs.”

  “No.” Susanna lurched. “There is no need for you to disturb yourself. I am sure you have a busy afternoon planned.”

  Her mother turned toward the fire Susanna had laid under a pot. “You were getting ready to dye a cloth.”

  “The water is still cold,” Susanna said, “and I have not promised the cloth for this week. No harm will come if I run over and see what Phoebe needs.”

  “No!”

  Susanna held her breath, and her little brothers startled at the uncharacteristic volume of their mother’s voice. She had not thought it possible for Veronica to magnify her objection in such a manner.

  Even Patsy stepped back, slipping her hand in her stallion’s bridle and leading it away and out of sight into the grove of apple trees. Susanna eyed her path. Patsy had done what Mrs. Zimmerman asked and delivered the message. There was no need for her to be caught up in the whirlwind of the objections Susanna’s mother would spin.

  Timothy’s shoulders were broad beyond his years, and he stepped onto the space Patsy left vacant. “You were going to ask Susanna to help you with the rugs,” he said, “but I will do it. Let Susanna go see Cousin Noah.”

  Timothy was nosy, but he was sweet.

  Even before her mother spoke again, Susanna surrendered to befuddlement. Every child grows up knowing the tone in a parent’s voice that means business, but her mother’s obstreperous umbrage to Susanna visiting Noah and Phoebe bewildered her. They were relatives and fellow church members, and they had a need. Susanna had learned from her mother the call of God for compassionate response.

  “Mamm, Phoebe would not ask if it were not important,” Susanna said, fortified by Timothy’s support. She dropped the candles into a patched flour sack and picked up the poker to push the flickering logs apart.

  “What do you think you are doing?” Veronica gripped Susanna’s arm.

  “I must go.” Susanna was not a child of defiance and never had been. She had not learned submission through repeated punishments for displeasing her parents but rather from the pleasure of pleasing them. Why could her mother not see what was so clear to Susanna?

  “We allow you great freedom, Susanna, and for the most part you are a sensible girl. But I am still your mamm.”

  Susanna used her boot toe to kick dirt onto the only piece of wood that had not stopped flaming as soon as it was separated from the others. With a tin cup, she splashed water on the logs.

  “Susanna,” her mother said, “are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, Mamm.”

  “Then you will heat your water and dye your cloth. I will go see Phoebe.”

  “Mamm,” Timothy said, “I finished my chores. You have been saying for days that the rugs need beating. We can do them now.”

  “Timothy, take the boys and go find your daed. I know he has work for all of you.”

  Timothy tapped the shoulders of the younger boys, and they scrambled past the orchard toward the house, relieved to be dismissed from their mother’s rare wrath. Patsy was gone. Timothy was gone. Susanna was on her own.

  “Noah must still be unwell,” Susanna said. “Phoebe does not have a house full of children to help her. I want to help.”

  “They have neighbors who live much closer.” Veronica fingered the hem of her apron. “The Zugs are on the next farm over. Surely they will have inquired.”

  Susanna eyed the sun. If Deborah or Niklaus Zug had stopped by in the morning, they would have found everything well. If Noah’s new pattern had persisted through the week, Phoebe would not be eager for visitors in the afternoon. Yet she was desperate enough to send a message through Martha Zimmerman.

  “Noah has been up and down,” Susanna said. It was the truth. “He tries to keep up with the chores but wears out in the afternoon. He needs rest.”

  “But it will be difficult to keep him down,” her mother said.

  “That is my concern. You can imagine it is wearing on Phoebe as well if he tries to do too much.”

  “He has a peculiar illness. It unsettles me that you should be exposed to it.”

  “It is not catching, Mamm.” Susanna’s heart started to slow. Finally, her mother’s anxiety became clear.

  “He must have been delirious on Sunday,” her mother said. “That is the only explanation I can think of. Delirious from the heat. Acting like one of those English revival preachers.”

  Susanna said nothing. Perhaps her mother would find her own way back to compassion. Susanna glanced at the logs, satisfied they would pose no danger if she left. Slowly she put the lid on the pot to keep the water clean for later.

  “I must think of what is best for you,” her mother said.

  “This is Cousin Noah,” Susanna said. “Surely we must think of what is best for him.”

  Her mother pressed her lips together. “He is my favorite cousin.”

  “Mine too!” Susanna could have her cart hitched up within minutes and be on her way. When footsteps crunched, she turned her head.

  “Not now, Timothy,” Veronica said.

  “But Mamm.”

  “Not now.”

  Timothy caught Susanna’s eye and shrugged. Then he pointed with a thumb over his shoulder.

  Daed! Timothy, Mamm, Daed. A simple visit to dear relatives was becoming a family decision. Never had she argued with a decision of Daed’s, nor would she. He was the head of the household.

  Elias tramped along the edge of the apple orchard. “Veronica?”

  “There was no need for you to come down here.” Mamm glared at Timothy, who fell into step with his father.

  Susanna dragged a shoe through the dirt. Just when Mamm was on the brink of relenting, Timothy had to stick his nose in. Could he not, for once in his life, do as he was told? He thought sixteen was far older than it was.

  “Timothy tells me Phoebe is asking for Susanna.” Elias addressed his wife. “Noah is still unwell.”

  “Ja,” Veronica said, “but perhaps someone should ride into Lewistown to see if the English doctor can pay a call instead.”

  “Phoebe will know when it is time for a doctor,” Daed said. “In the meantime, what harm can come if Susanna visits?”

  Her mother met her husband’s eyes, some secret language passing between them. Susanna had witnessed the language before but was not a fluent interpreter. One day she might understand a secret marital language. Adam’s face filled her mind.

  “It will be all right, Veronica,” Elias said softly. “Susanna has a level head on her shoulders. She wants to help. Is this not how we have raised all our children? She may go as freely as she thinks prudent while Noah is ill.”

  “Thank you, Daed,” Susanna said. And thank you, Timothy. She had her father’s blessing—not just for today but for as long as Noah was unwell. Susanna pulled the door to her shed closed and made sure it stayed. If the boys had let the horses into the pasture, it might take her longer than she wished to summon her mare and lead it to the cart parked alongside her work shed.

  “The younger children are not present,” Veronica said. “Perhaps this is the time to tell
the older ones what we have been discussing.”

  Susanna’s gaze snapped up again.

  “It may be too soon,” her father said.

  “What?” Timothy said. “What have you been discussing?”

  “I would not call it a discussion,” Daed said. “An idea. A passing thought. That is all.”

  “Then what is the idea?”

  Susanna’s toe twitched inside her boot. Timothy had just done a sweet thing for her, it turned out. Did he now have to undo his kindness by prolonging a conversation that would keep her from Noah?

  “We have been talking about moving,” Veronica said. “Farther west.”

  “Why would you feel we should move?” Timothy asked. “The farm is doing well, is it not?”

  “Very well,” Elias said.

  “Our physical livelihood is not the only matter of importance,” Veronica said. “We must also be mindful of our spiritual well-being.”

  Timothy bunched his features, a man becoming a confused small boy once again.

  “Certain influences are taking hold,” Veronica said.

  Influences? Susanna tied closed the sack of candles. Could they not speak of influences later?

  “Phoebe will be waiting,” Susanna said.

  “A few more minutes will not matter,” her mother said.

  They might. What if something had already happened and that was why Phoebe had sent for Susanna?

  “Your mamm is concerned that the English revivals might have a harmful effect on our congregation.”

  “You must admit, they have some peculiar ways,” Veronica said. “And they seem quite eager to convert our people to their ways.”

  Patsy’s father. That was what this was about. The Methodist preacher held a revival meeting, and some of the Amish church members went to hear the preaching. Susanna was being restrained because of the choice of others.

  “Three families have already moved west, including my own dear friend Marianne,” Veronica said. “Others are thinking of it. It may be the best thing for our young people not to be exposed to English influences.”

  English influences? Is that what her mother thought of Patsy’s family?

  “Is this a serious idea?” Timothy said.