Gladden the Heart

by Olivia Newport

  Noah had preached only once in the last few days, on Thursday afternoon, but enough people had arranged excuses to be on the Kauffman farm at the time that Noah had an audience outside the window whether or not he preached. Two more slats had fallen out of the shutters, so there seemed no point in trying to keep them closed. Patsy and Susanna politely encouraged people to leave. Some did—or it had seemed that they did. They were back soon enough, having only withdrawn from sight while remaining on the property. As Noah’s preaching rose in fervor, they inched their way back toward the house, and nothing Susanna or Patsy said persuaded them to leave. Phoebe stayed out of debates. She had a farm to run and a husband to look after, so it was up to Patsy and Susanna to keep onlookers from pressing into the house.

  After Thursday’s sermon, the motley congregation returned on Friday and waited more than two hours only to be disappointed that the single matter Noah was attending to was his notations of the progress of his crops.

  Now Saturday had come, and so had a larger crowd. For the first time, some in the Kauffman yard were not Amish. Anticipation quickened through Patsy’s nerves. Inside the house, Patsy leaned against the wall in the main room. Susanna came to stand beside her. The furniture was already pushed back from the space Noah was most likely to wander into if he left the window.

  “He just started,” Susanna said. “The story of Elijah and the still small voice.”

  “One of my favorites.”

  “He used to tell it to me when I was small.”

  Noah flipped pages in the heavy black Bible supported by the span of his long fingers in one hand.

  “He speaks in English,” Patsy said, “except when he is reading from his German Bible. I’m sure my father would be happy to give him an English Bible.”

  Susanna’s gasp surprised Patsy.

  “Would it be so wrong for him to have an English Bible?” Patsy asked.

  “His condition is a great strain,” Susanna said. “And our people do not have English Bibles.”

  “But he speaks the word of the Lord,” Patsy said. “The word of the Lord is for everyone. What if Noah’s preaching is not a condition but a true gift from God?”

  “Does God give gifts to people and not allow them even to know that they are serving?”

  Patsy shrugged. “Maybe. Papa says he has seen the gift of tongues as surely as on the day of Pentecost in the book of Acts—and prophecy as well. Is it so difficult to imagine that God might work in this mysterious way?”

  “Phoebe and Noah do not deserve for their life to be a spectacle,” Susanna said. “If you will watch Noah, I will go clean the coop. Phoebe is in the barn mixing another elixir for the Zugs’ cow according to Noah’s notes.”

  Patsy nodded and Susanna slipped out the back door. A chicken coop could be cleaned or a cow tended anytime. Watching Noah, and hearing him speak, was the shining moment unfolding before her. She made herself stand away from the wall and away from the temptation of a chair, convinced it was possible to keep her eyes on Noah’s physical safety while her heart opened to the message he spoke.

  The rattle of the wagon a few minutes later disturbed both her intentions. Two men rode on the seat, their load of benches creaking with the wagon’s sway.

  Niklaus followed the wagon onto the Kauffman land with a clear view of the load. Those benches belonged to the congregation. They were meant to move from farm to farm as church services were held and should have been safely parked on the Zook farm for tomorrow’s service. Then they would be moved to his farm. The Kauffmans were not on the schedule for the near future. Most of the benches had been removed from the wagon, leaving only four.

  Zaccheus Swigert and his young married son, Nathaniel, were the men in the wagon. Niklaus was off his horse before they had set the brake.

  “Has Phoebe or Noah asked you to do this?” Niklaus said. He had to be certain he was not misinterpreting what he saw.

  “We took it upon ourselves,” Zaccheus said. “We never use all the benches in the wagon for church. They can serve a purpose here.”

  “This is Noah’s home,” Niklaus said. “I think it is best if you take the benches back where they belong.”

  Zaccheus gestured toward the curtainless window with the decrepit shutters. In the waning days of July, the hinged glass was swung open, no doubt seeking a cross breeze through the house. Niklaus could advise Phoebe to keep her windows closed, or he could insist that the spectators vacate.

  “We sit for the sermons in church,” Zaccheus said. “Someone might faint in the heat out here if there are no benches.”

  “Please do not mistake this gathering for church,” Niklaus said.

  Phoebe emerged from the barn. “What now?”

  “I am asking our brothers to take the benches and go,” Niklaus said.

  “Thank you,” Phoebe said. “I have your mixture for the cow. Noah will come in the morning and have another look at her.”

  Zaccheus jumped into the bed of the wagon and began to shove a bench into the waiting hands of his son.

  Niklaus slapped the side of the wagon. “You know Phoebe would like you to leave. So please leave.”

  Zaccheus abandoned his effort—for now—and sat on the edge of the wagon, turning his attention to Noah’s words.

  Irritation roiled in Niklaus. Members of his own church were willing to turn the Word of the Lord—if that was indeed what he was witnessing—into an excursion for their own amusement.

  “I am sorry I cannot stay,” Niklaus said.

  “Your cow,” Phoebe said. “I am sorry she is not better by now.”

  Niklaus gripped the small vial she had handed him. No doubt Zaccheus and his son would unload the benches the moment he was out of sight. It was not that Noah preached or that people wanted to listen that disturbed Niklaus. Rather, it was the disregard for Phoebe’s wishes, the grasping at their own desires above hers. The district was headed for a spiritual crisis.

  CHAPTER 12

  Sizzling bacon could wake Patsy from the deepest sleep. She inhaled before turning over in bed to see that the day had not yet begun. She had not slept late. Rather, breakfast was early. Her senses awoke more fully, and she discerned coffee in the melding aromas. At the end of the bed was a light yellow cotton robe, tattered and thin but still her favorite. It would do. Early morning bacon meant one thing.

  Her father was home.

  With feet bare and her robe hanging loose, Patsy padded down the not-quite-even steps to the kitchen, stopping twice to breathe deeply the scents of her father at home. Most mornings she attended to a few chores before sitting down to eat. Today she was famished by the moment she reached the final step.

  “Papa.”

  He turned his head and gave her the broad grin that made her heart sing through her childhood. When he spread his arms, Patsy moved into them to press her head against his chest and feel his strength around her.

  “I thought you would be out one more day,” she said. “When did you get here?”

  “Four hours ago. I’m grateful for a horse surefooted enough for the dark.”

  “How was the circuit?”

  “One wedding. One young widow finally giving her grief to the Lord.”

  “And the Tabor boy?”

  “Still quite ill. He will live, I believe, but he won’t walk.”

  “That is sad news.” Patsy anchored an elbow on the table and set her chin in her hand.

  Her father slid a fork under four slices of bacon, one at a time, and set them on a plate in front of her. “Bless your food so you can eat while it is hot.”

  Patsy closed her eyes and gave thanks, saying Amen at the same moment her fingers moved to the bacon.

  “Scrambled eggs,” her father said, sliding a generous portion onto Patsy’s plate. “What is the news around here?”

  Patsy swallowed her food. “Noah Kauffman has become a preacher.”

  He looked at her, eyebrows arched. “The Amish man?”

  “You’ve met him.�
��

  “Several times. I almost bought a horse from him once. He has never struck me as a preacher.”

  “It’s a new gift.” Patsy scooped up a bite of eggs. “He is quite good.”

  “You’ve heard him?”

  Patsy explained. The trances. The safety concerns. The onlookers who grew in number each day. The weight on Phoebe’s shoulders.

  “I would like to hear him,” her father said. “This afternoon. One more curious man in the congregation won’t hurt.”

  “It’s not precisely a congregation,” Patsy said. Susanna would not use the term, nor Phoebe.

  “Is he ministering to them?” her father said. “He is preaching and they are listening, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I must see this.”

  “It doesn’t happen every day,” Patsy said.

  “But when it does, it is at about the same hour each time?”

  She nodded.

  He turned over a half dozen slices of bacon on the griddle. “I will wake your mother for her bacon. Then you and I will make our plan.”

  Eight hours passed before it was time to leave, hours full of barn chores, inspecting the progress of the crops, consultations with the farmhand, a midday meal with both of Patsy’s parents seated at the table with her, chatter about the Kish Valley and the circuit Charles Baxton rode even as more and more towns had their own Methodist churches. When midafternoon came, Patsy and her father mounted their horses, both stallions, one golden and one deep brown, to ride to the Kauffman farm.

  They went early—or so Patsy thought. Her intention was to arrive before the time a crowd would be gathering, but already eight people milled in the Kauffman yard, glancing periodically at the front room window.

  “Benches,” Charles said.

  “They were not Phoebe’s idea,” Patsy said, “and they are confusing to Noah when he is in his right mind.”

  “Do you suggest that when he preaches he is not in his right mind?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” Patsy said. “He’s different. He hardly seems like the same man. When he is himself, he would not think of trying to preach, and when he is preaching, he knows nothing else.”

  “We will let God be the judge of a man’s right mind and right heart,” Charles said.

  Patsy nodded. “I must go inside. If he preaches today, you will see from here.”

  Her father nodded, squared his feet before the window, and raised his face in expectation.

  Patsy paced around the house and knocked gently on the back door. Susanna answered.

  “How is he?” Patsy asked.

  “So far he is well,” Susanna said. “Phoebe does not wish for him to be out on his own at this time of day, and it distresses him to look outside.”

  “Perhaps we should at least close the windows,” Patsy said, watching Noah squirming in the stuffed chair meant to keep him comfortable.

  “She tried that. Noah opens them.”

  “Uh-oh.” Patsy lurched toward the front room with Susanna right behind her.

  Noah slumped in the chair, and it took both of them to keep him from sliding to the floor unconscious. Patsy had only twice been present at the onset of one of Noah’s … she was not sure what word to use. Episodes? Incidents? Spells? But she knew what would come next. Beneath her touch, Noah’s form found its shape again. Muscles tightened, his eyes fluttered open, and he pushed up out of the chair. Patsy and Susanna held his elbows until his balance was firm and he picked up his Bible, and then they followed him toward the window. Afternoon light spilled through at an angle that illumined Noah’s face like the religious paintings Patsy’s parents had once taken her to see in a Philadelphia museum. His face transformed, shimmering in grateful anticipation of what he was about to do. Even if he never remembered a single syllable he uttered during one of his anointings—Patsy settled on the term for now—it was as if his face shone with the rays of Christ. How could this be anything but the blessing of God?

  At the window, Patsy was careful to stay out of sight as much as possible, but she couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of her father’s transforming face as Noah began to speak.

  Focus on Noah. Periodically she reminded herself what she had promised to do for Phoebe—keep Noah safe. Exchanging a glance with Susanna, Patsy constrained her attention to notice any shift in Noah’s physical demeanor. His eloquent words must not distract her from her call to this unique service.

  Twenty minutes passed. A sound in the kitchen pulled Patsy’s glance at the same time that Susanna lurched toward it.

  “I’ll go,” Patsy said softly.

  It wasn’t the first time an onlooker from the outside had decided to attempt a closer look. She must have forgotten to latch the door when she came in. Pushing open the door to the kitchen, she prepared to chastise kindly but firmly. No one would be allowed in the front room under any circumstances.

  “Papa,” she said, startled. “What are you doing?”

  “Please don’t think I was doubting you,” Charles said. “If anything, you were restrained in your description. What a marvel this is!”

  “Papa, no one is allowed inside the house.”

  “I won’t disturb Noah,” Charles said. “Not when he is boldly and rightly declaring the word of truth.”

  “Phoebe would be upset to find you here,” Patsy said. After Mrs. Zimmerman’s intrusion, they had taken such care to keep people out of the house. Patsy could not make an exception even for her own father.

  “Where is Phoebe?”

  “In the bedroom working on the mending pile. When Susanna or I are here, we want Phoebe to be free to do what she feels is needful or restful.

  “Of course, of course.” Charles looked past Patsy into the room beyond. “What an opportunity! You see for yourself how eagerly the crowd gathers to listen. With a gift like Noah’s, my heart beats to know what God might do at a revival meeting.”

  “Noah? At a revival meeting?”

  “Yes, yes. Surely you can see the possibilities. I know that families on my circuit would be glad to have a visiting preacher for a few nights of revival with a speaker such as this.” Charles’s features lit. “Oh, Susanna. It’s always good to see you.”

  Patsy whirled. “Shouldn’t one of us be with Noah?”

  “Phoebe came out of the bedroom for a few minutes.” Susanna’s face clouded. “Surely you do not mean to make a visiting preacher of Noah.”

  Patsy hadn’t made up her mind what to think of her father’s suggestion, but in this instant the picture came clear.

  “It would be a wonderful opportunity for the gospel,” Patsy said. “We might convert many souls to the kingdom of heaven.”

  “Patsy Baxton! What are you saying? You know this cannot be.” Susanna’s face flushed crimson.

  “Perhaps it can be after all.”

  “It is not for Noah’s sake that you suggest this.” Susanna’s jaw set as solidly as Patsy had ever seen it.

  “My own father is a minister of the gospel,” Patsy said. “Can he not verify that Noah has a true gift from God? If this is the case, why would we want to hold Noah back from exercising the gift?”

  Charles stepped toward Susanna, his head tilted in kindness. “Did not the apostle Paul write to the Ephesians that some are appointed to preaching? Can there be any doubt that Noah has been so appointed?”

  “Phoebe would never consider such a proposal,” Susanna said.

  “Perhaps not,” Charles said, “but we might at least introduce a conversation.”

  Patsy’s enthusiasm quickened. “What can it hurt to ask? Although Noah does not remember the preaching, he knows it happens. And when he has not … fallen ill … or come under anointing, he is more than able to make his own decision.”

  “No one would force him,” Charles said. “Of course we would not compel him if the Holy Ghost does not do so. But who are we to make a decision that is only Noah’s to make?”

  Susanna wavered. Patsy saw it in the quivering cor
ner of her lips.

  “Not today,” Susanna said. “You cannot think to raise the matter today.”

  “Susanna is right,” Patsy said. “Noah will sleep for hours after the preaching. We would have to speak to him early in the day, when he is himself.”

  “Then tomorrow it shall be,” Charles said. “I dare not quench the Holy Ghost by failing to act on His urging.”

  The firmer her father’s determination became, the more Patsy imagined that his idea could come true. They discussed it over supper in the dining room, in the evening while they sat in the parlor, and then over breakfast in the kitchen the next morning.

  “Shall we go?” her father said when the breakfast dishes had been cleared.

  Patsy nodded.

  “Will Susanna be there?”

  “I’m not sure,” Patsy said. It was early in the day. Susanna might be fully occupied with her dyes.

  But Susanna’s rickety cart was unhitched and idle in the Kauffman yard and her mare grazed in the pasture. And it was Susanna who appeared on the Kauffman front stoop and took a half dozen steps into the yard to greet them.

  “Good morning,” Charles said.

  “Good morning,” Susanna echoed.

  “How are your parents? Well, I hope.”

  Patsy flinched at her father’s inquiry. For the last few days, Susanna had said little about the price her visits to Noah might have cost her at home with her mother.

  “We are praying for a good harvest,” Susanna said. She gestured toward the house. “I assume you have not changed your mind.”

  Charles shook his head. “I sense great confirmation from the Lord that we should take this step.”

  “Then please come in,” Susanna said. “I will let Noah and Phoebe know you are here.”

  Susanna rounded up Noah from the stable and Phoebe from the chicken coop, and lit the stove to make fresh coffee as they sat.

  “Patsy has been so helpful,” Phoebe said, pouring coffee in the front room a few minutes later. “Thank you for allowing her the freedom to minister to us as she has.”

  “Of course. I am pleased in her choice to do so.” Charles put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Noah, your own ministry has been on my mind. I have thought of little else since yesterday.”