Gladden the Heart

by Olivia Newport

  Niklaus strode into the Kauffman yard about twenty minutes into the sermon. Adam dropped from the fence to greet his uncle.

  “I should have told you at dinner that I was thinking about coming,” Niklaus said. “I did not decide for certain until after you were gone.”

  “So you have come to hear Noah preach?”

  Niklaus lifted his bearded chin toward the house. “And to see how my friends are doing.”

  “As you can see, Noah has fallen under already, and Phoebe has gone to her sister’s with half a wagon of food for the family.”

  “Then I shall try again another day,” Niklaus said.

  But Niklaus made no move to leave. Instead, he sauntered forward, following the sound of Noah’s voice. Adam trailed.

  “Onkel,” Adam said, “people at church miss you. They want to hear your sermons again.”

  “You are kind to say so,” Niklaus said, “but I am afraid that is unlikely.”

  “Even Noah preaches about repentance,” Adam said. “He speaks of it as a way that we know God’s kindness.”

  Niklaus nodded. “I would say the same.”

  Adam swallowed hard. “Then why do you not repent and return to church? Everything could go back to normal.”

  “Normal?” Niklaus halted his steps and turned to look at Adam. “And what is the true normal our hearts should desire? What we have always known or the glory that might lie ahead?”

  “Mr. Zug!”

  Niklaus turned his head to see both Susanna and Patsy crossing the yard to meet him. His conversation with Adam, whose shoulders slumped slightly at the intrusion, would have to wait. Niklaus had little more to say anyway. He had not, and would not, suggest that Adam or anyone follow his decision to withdraw from the Amish congregation. If he returned, it would be because the Spirit of God stirred him to do so, not because he feared Shem’s opinion that he had become an unrepentant apostate.

  “You’ve come to hear Noah?” Patsy’s inquiry lilted with hope.

  “I have,” Niklaus said. “I visited Noah early one morning last week, but I can see it is quite different in the afternoon.”

  Noah was in the window, his voice projecting across the farm in a way Niklaus would not have thought possible for his mild-mannered neighbor if he had not heard it for himself on earlier occasions.

  “God’s mercies are new every morning.” Susanna spoke for the first time. “That is the sermon today. A good word for everyone.”

  The four of them—Niklaus, Adam, Susanna, and Patsy—angled toward the house.

  “This is the first time we’ve been together since the preaching trip,” Patsy said. “Such a marvelous journey.”

  Niklaus had agreed to the four-day excursion for the safekeeping of his friend. But the trip had lit his spirit with the light of a thousand candles. No doubt remained in his mind that Noah was compelled to preach Christ—and that he recalled nothing of it. When Niklaus and Noah spoke, Noah could not recall what he had preached the day before or say what passage of Scripture might be the basis for the next falling under.

  The benches below the window allowed Niklaus his choice of seating. He had heard about the chickens. A story like that did not stay hidden under a bushel for long. When it reached Shem’s ears, it might result in consequences for Adam, Phoebe, and Susanna. Niklaus would defend them. Adam’s account was persuasive. An element of the crowd had been out of hand.

  They stood now behind the last row of benches.

  “One of us should go back inside,” Susanna said. “I will go.”

  “I will keep an eye on the back door,” Patsy said. “Adam can watch the front—and now we have Mr. Zug to help if something happens.”

  Adam’s eyes trailed Susanna’s movements, and Niklaus’s gaze traveled from his befuddled nephew to the young woman who was the best match God could bring to Adam’s heart. She approached the front stoop, took two steps up, went inside, and took her place a few feet to one side of Noah. Phoebe leaned toward her for a brief word and then crossed the room out of sight.

  They had a system for surrounding Noah with care—Phoebe, Susanna, Patsy, and it seemed, Adam, reluctant as he was.

  “Patsy,” Niklaus said, “when does your father return home?”

  “He only just left again. I would not expect him home again for a couple of weeks.”

  Niklaus scratched under his chin. “Would you favor me by telling him that his old friend would like to see him?”

  “Of course. Shall I tell him the matter you would like to discuss?”

  “Preaching.”

  “Noah’s?”

  “No, mine.”

  “So you will go back to church?”

  Niklaus shook his head. “Perhaps on a circuit.”

  Patsy squealed. “Papa would be delighted to have you with him.”

  “I am still praying on the matter.” Niklaus ignored the stiffening of his nephew’s posture. “Your father knows me well, and he knows preaching. He will be a wise counselor.”

  “A circuit!” Patsy’s eyes glowed. “Perhaps you and Papa and Noah will all go together someday.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Adam gripped his uncle’s open elbow and gave a slight pull.

  “Onkel.”

  “Yes, nephew.”

  “May we speak privately?”

  Patsy’s hand swept in a wave. “I must get back to my post in the back. Papa will be so excited.”

  Adam let her gain some distance before speaking again. He had always looked up to his uncle as a wise man, but the last few weeks were befuddling.

  “Do you think the time is right for this?” Adam said. “Your status with the congregation is not settled.”

  Niklaus raised his eyebrows. “Is it not?

  “If you do this, Shem may ban you.”

  “First would come an official warning.”

  “Surely you do not want to provoke such a warning.” Adam stared into his uncle’s eyes.

  Niklaus paused for a deep breath. “I do nothing on a whim, Adam.”

  “I know,” Adam said, his voice soft. His uncle was reasonable, thoughtful. If he were not, his recent statements would not dumbfound Adam as they did.

  Niklaus gestured toward Noah. “Do his words not touch you?”

  “Of course they do.”

  “Do you hear truth in them?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “When you have experienced the Holy Ghost as I have, you would see that it is difficult to turn back.”

  “But our unity, Onkel. Our vows.”

  “My nephew, you know all the hymns of our tradition.”

  Adam nodded.

  “They are two hundred years old, yet we sing them.”

  “The truth of God does not change,” Adam said.

  “The hymns tell us our own history,” Niklaus said. “Our faith came from the bravery of men who believed the church must change—that God called them to bring change. Shall I miss God’s call because Shem does not hear it?”

  CHAPTER 25

  Susanna stood, took the thick German Bible from her father’s hands, and hefted it onto the handcrafted stand where he liked to keep it. The Hooley family Bible was larger and heavier than the one Noah used. Still, Susanna was impressed Noah could hold his in one hand at times. Her little brothers dared to squirm now, having sat still while Elias read from the tome and offered his reflection on what the apostle Paul said about a man’s duty for headship in his home. With four sons, and one of them old enough to have his head turned by the young women in the congregation, Elias had begun leading family devotions on this topic a couple of times a month, glancing at Timothy more than anyone else. Susanna’s mother, on the other hand, steered her glances in Susanna’s direction, as if she thought Susanna needed this lesson. They did not speak much of Susanna’s afternoon excursions to the Kauffmans’. And Veronica had stopped staying away completely herself. She had visited her relatives twice immediately after breakfast, when Susanna could assure her that not
only would Noah not be preaching but she was unlikely to encounter anyone else from the Amish congregation. Both times she returned home to report how well Noah looked and oozed optimism for a full recovery, for which she would earnestly pray. But every time Susanna left in the afternoon, she felt her mother’s eyes on her, even from halfway across the farm.

  Veronica cleared her throat. “As you all know, Daed and I have been praying about a move to Indiana.”

  Susanna’s stomach clenched.

  “I have told your daed that I feel in my spirit that the time may be drawing near,” Veronica said. “We will need the house and farm to be in readiness, and each one of us must do our part.”

  Timothy leaned forward from his end of the davenport, which did not surprise Susanna. He was always eager for adventure and was not attached to a young woman yet. Pennsylvania or Indiana, it would matter little to him. Timothy had even wondered aloud what the countryside was like farther west than Indiana.

  The other boys shuffled their feet and held the arms of the three identical wooden chairs in which they sat. Their eyes were wide with imagination and unspoken questions. Susanna recognized the expression because she felt the way their faces looked—and perhaps she would appear as wide-eyed as they if she could see her own face. But the boys could not be feeling the consternation that accompanied her confusion.

  “You all know what you are supposed to be doing,” Veronica said. “The corner just inside the barn is where we will gather the items to share with others who can use them. When the time comes, your daed will let the other men know.”

  Stephen, the youngest, scooted off his chair. “May I go with Susanna to see Cousin Noah today?”

  Susanna froze.

  “I like Cousin Noah,” Stephen said. “If he is sick, I want to visit him.”

  “When he is recovered,” Veronica said. “Then you may visit.”

  “Jeremiah Zimmerman said Cousin Noah is not really sick. His mamm has been to visit many times.”

  “Stephen,” Elias said, “do not contradict your mamm.”

  Stephen slunk back in his chair. Elias’s tone was not harsh. It never was. But the Hooley children knew when their father meant what he said.

  “Go on, boys,” Veronica said. “There is much to do. Get started with the mucking, and your daed will be out soon.”

  All four boys stood, and Susanna with them.

  “You may stay, Susanna,” Veronica said.

  Susanna choked back her questions and sat again. Even her father’s eyebrows lifted as he looked at his wife.

  “Veronica,” Elias said, “is something else on your mind?”

  “Did you know Timothy has been to hear Noah preach?” Veronica said. “Mrs. Satzler told me she saw him there. I cannot control if Susanna chooses to attend these … I do not even know what to call them, but I do not want the boys there.”

  “Timothy is more man than boy,” Elias said, “and he is of an age for his rumspringa. We must allow him his curiosity.”

  “He only came once,” Susanna said, “and I sent him home after less than thirty minutes.”

  “You both heard Stephen,” Veronica said. “Will he be next?”

  “No,” Elias said. “He is a child.”

  “A child who hears things,” Veronica said. “’Tis a difficult task to help him understand why he may not do what other children do when his own brother and sister partake.”

  “Stephen is a mild child,” Elias said, “and you are a wise mother. You will do right by him.”

  “It is my opinion that Susanna’s visits to Noah are taking a toll on the family,” Veronica said. “It would be best if she no longer went in the afternoons.”

  “Mamm!” Susanna shot out of her chair.

  “I am serious, Elias,” Veronica said, not even looking at Susanna.

  “I have no doubt of that,” Elias said.

  “I have seen for myself that a brief visit with Noah and Phoebe in the morning can be accomplished without putting the family at risk, but the afternoons are another matter.”

  So this was her mother’s agenda with her visits to Noah. Susanna had no defense against the flush that burned down her neck and through her chest. Her mother had never heard Noah preach, apart from the day he fell under at the end of the church meal. If she would just come one time, she would see that Susanna’s presence was needful, not frivolous, and that no harm would come even if Stephen saw what his friends saw. Most of the children were soon bored and congregated in a wagon bed to amuse themselves while paying little attention to Noah.

  “Of course you will make this important decision,” Veronica said to her husband. “I felt it wise to include Susanna in the discussion because it will affect her directly. But this business with Noah has gone on long enough. It is hurting our family, and it is hurting the church. Look what has happened to Niklaus Zug, one of our ministers. If he can be led astray, what might happen to our children?”

  “I have not spoken to Niklaus about his decision,” Elias said, “so I will refrain from conclusions on that point.”

  Susanna held her breath.

  “And I will not assume that whatever moved Niklaus to make his choice would likewise move Susanna or Timothy.” Elias leaned forward, hands on knees. “I will speak to Timothy and caution him. And the other boys will do as you see fit.”

  “And Susanna?” Veronica said.

  Elias looked at his daughter. “I suggest that she remain on the farm today with time to think.”

  Veronica nodded vigorously.

  “But if her own searching leads her to return to Noah and Phoebe, I will not stand in her way.”

  “Husband!” Veronica said.

  Elias’s eyes remained on Susanna.

  Slowly, she nodded.

  Susanna kept her word. She did not leave the farm. With plenty of orders to attend to, both for dyes and finished cloth, the hours were well occupied, and she remained occupied in and near her shed. Her mother would look around and see clutter that could be left behind when the family moved to Indiana, but Susanna saw value in every jar, every muslin sack, every pot and implement. She would leave none of it behind.

  The thought of moving was a hideous monster, and she chased it away repeatedly that day.

  She had made no promise not to think of Cousin Noah as she worked, and surely no one would prescribe that she abandon praying for him. When she went to the house in time to help her mother with the midday meal, she thought of Noah and hoped he was eating heartily before falling under. She hoped Phoebe allowed herself respite from the heat of the day. And when the Hooley meal was finished and the washing up complete, Susanna resisted the urge to hitch up her cart and instead visited the garden where she grew some of her own root vegetables to use in dyes.

  When the afternoon sun beat down as she carried a basket of vegetables back to the shed, she slipped her old mare a carrot at the pasture fence but did not let her eyes rest on the cart beside the shed.

  When her mind filled with images of what might be happening at the Kauffmans’, Susanna found the stub of a pencil and a scrap of rough paper and planned the next route she would take to deliver her goods. She would see her customers at church the next day, but only those who lived at significant distance along the edges of the church district would agree to discreetly receive her goods and deftly slip her something in return. The contact was brief and wordless, more like an exchange of gifts than conducting business on the Sabbath.

  When her ears heard the timbre of Noah’s preaching voice, she shook out a length of fabric to banish the sound that she could not possibly be hearing. Surely Patsy was there—and perhaps even Adam keeping his distance along the pasture fence but with a mind to step in if necessary. With a long paddle, Susanna pressed the cloth into the simmering pot, a task that would tie her to the farm for the afternoon. She would let it steep for a deep color, and then she would hang it from the line between the shed and a tree or spread it over bushes to dry, trying all the while not to thi
nk about the errands with which her father had charged Timothy. One of them would take him out to the Zugs’. Her father was a man of his word. No doubt already he had cautioned Timothy against stopping even for a few minutes.

  The crops were growing well and the harvest would be upon them soon enough. Surely even if her father decided the family should move, it would not be until after the harvest. They might sell more of it than usual to supply cash for a move and because they would not need to lay in hay and straw for the animals to last through the winter. But after the harvest? Would her father want to be in Indiana, settled on new land, in time for spring planting?

  He might not leave at all. Moving to Indiana was her mother’s notion, and as her father liked to remind them all, a man’s duty was to lead his household.

  Susanna stirred the kettle, spreading the fabric with her paddle to make sure color seeped evenly into every crevice and wrinkle. When she had begun making and selling dyes, she had arranged the spot for her fire where she had the best view of the Hooley orchards. The trees were domesticated and purposely planted for the family’s needs, but still they reminded her of the lovely wildness of the forest beyond the farm that cradled the Kishacoquillas Valley and that had cradled her life and every affection.

  Indiana. Tears stung her eyes.

  Horse hooves forced her to wipe her face with the backs of her hands and look up. Timothy reined in his horse.

  “All is well?” Susanna said.

  “More than well,” Timothy said. “I met a man, and I think Daed should meet him.”

  “Oh?”

  “He is new to the valley and looking for a farm.”

  Susanna lurched. “Surely you did not tell him ours was for sale.”

  “It might be,” Timothy said. “If God sends us a buyer we did not seek, would that not be a sign of His will?”

  Susanna pressed her lips together, unwilling to dispute her brother’s faith. It was one thing for a sixteen-year-old boy to be enamored of the adventure a move west might bring, and another to seek a buyer on behalf of a father who had not yet said they would move. “Where did you meet this man?” she said.