by Leslie Gould
We rode along in silence, the moon lighting our way. When I snuck a glance at Elijah, he was smiling, and I realized I was too.
More snow fell in the next week, more than we’d had in years, and I didn’t see or hear from Elijah, not even two weeks later at church. His Mamm said he was ill.
We hoped Leisel would come home for Christmas, but she left a message saying she wouldn’t make it. Between working in a nursing home and the bad roads, she didn’t have enough time for a trip that would take even longer than usual. Jessica, Silas, and his mother, Edith, joined Mamm, Aenti Suz, and me, along with Arden and Vi and their children. It was a happy day, although my thoughts continually turned to Elijah.
I did see him the day after Christmas, on second Christmas, at his parents, when Mamm and I stopped by to deliver the homemade gifts we’d made for them—a quilted table runner and a jar of apricot jam.
Elijah was attentive, apologizing for not coming by. “I came down with the flu,” he said, “and spent a week in bed. I’m just now feeling better.”
We chatted for a few minutes and then he said he’d be heading down to Florida in a few days. “I’ll stop by and see you before then, I promise.”
I said I’d like that. Jah, I was disappointed we hadn’t had more time together, but we would once he moved home.
I hoped Elijah would come by the next day, perhaps to take me for a ride in the sleigh again, or to join us for dinner or even for just a piece of pie in the afternoon. I spent the morning cleaning and then baking, humming one song after another as I worked.
Sadly, by late afternoon it was clear Elijah wouldn’t be stopping by, and I could feel my mood grow darker.
Toward supper time, Arden dragged Gordon into the house as I mashed potatoes to go with meatloaf while Mamm set the table and Aenti Suz filled a pitcher with water.
“Gordon needs some dinner,” Arden said.
“I really don’t.” Gordon grasped a backpack in both hands. “I can get something on the way.”
“He’s going straight into town.” Arden stood at the kitchen doorway, tugging on his gray beard. “He’s going to volunteer at a homeless shelter after working all day in the cold. He needs a hot meal first.”
“Of course we’ll feed him.” Mamm smiled at Arden. “We have plenty.”
My mood brightened a little at the sight of Gordon. He wasn’t Elijah, but after a quiet day I welcomed company. I finished the potatoes and grabbed another plate from the cupboard. “Go wash up,” I said to him. “We’ll be ready to eat in a couple of minutes.”
In no time, Arden had left and then Gordon joined us, dressed in a clean set of clothes. He placed his backpack on the porch and then sat down at the table with us. After a silent prayer, we passed the food around, and Aenti Suz started grilling Gordon about the shelter.
“It’s overflowing with clients right now because of the cold weather,” he said. “We collected blankets at church, and I’m going to deliver them tonight.”
“Who’s going with you?” Aenti Suz passed me the meatloaf.
“Just me,” Gordon answered.
“Why don’t you take Marie along?”
Gordon gave me a shy smile and then said, “She’d be better off here, safe and warm.”
“The roads are all plowed.” Aenti Suz took the potatoes from Mamm. “There’s no danger involved. And your car is warmer than a buggy.”
He laughed a little. “Actually, it’s not.”
“What do you think?” Aenti Suz turned to Mamm. “Wouldn’t it be good for Marie to see what a shelter is like?”
Mamm shrugged.
The truth was, I had no interest in visiting a homeless shelter, but I’d had such a boring day that going anywhere seemed appealing. I turned toward Mamm. “I’d like to go,” I said.
“Great.” Aenti Suz beamed. “I’ll do the dishes so you can leave as soon as you’re done eating.”
Gordon gave me an odd smile. Perhaps he didn’t want me to tag along. Or perhaps he thought I didn’t want to even though I’d just said I did. I wasn’t sure how to interpret his response.
Twenty minutes later, I climbed into Gordon’s car. It was all black, including the bumper, which I was pretty sure he’d spray-painted. And he hadn’t lied about the heater—the car was actually colder than a buggy, mostly because we didn’t have wool blankets over our legs.
“Sorry,” he said, as he wiped the inside of the windshield with an old towel. “Along with the heater not working, the defroster is having problems too.” He smiled at me. “They seem to be connected.”
We didn’t talk much as he turned on the New Holland Pike and headed toward the city, but after a while, he asked if I minded if he sang.
“Of course not.” I wrapped my arms around my middle, hoping to generate some warmth.
“Do you know ‘It Is Well with My Soul?’” he asked.
I shook my head. We sang a lot of Englisch hymns at singings, but I didn’t recognize that one.
He began it. It was a pretty melody, and the words were haunting. “‘When peace like a river attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll, Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say, It is well, it is well, with my soul.’”
Whatever my lot. I thought of the exciting lives my sisters were living while I waited for what was next for me. Three weeks ago, I felt sure it was Elijah. But he’d pretty much ignored me since then.
I sighed. I needed things to be well with my soul.
Gordon sang the last note of the song as we neared the city, and then said, “I often lead singing at the shelter. The songs are snippets of God’s truths. Many of the clients won’t listen to us talk about the Lord, but they love to sing.”
“Oh?”
“Jah. For people with a lot of worries, the music grabs their attention right away. They’re more likely to remember the words of a song than the words of a sermon.”
That made sense. My very first memory was of singing at church, long before I could understand the sermons.
Gordon stopped at a traffic light. “The shelter is downtown,” he said. “We don’t have much farther to go.”
“Are there a lot of homeless people in Lancaster County?” My head was turned toward a bank of snow at the edge of a street. A few lonely souls walked along the sidewalk.
“I’ve read there’s between three hundred and four hundred on any given day,” he said. “The third most of any city in the state.”
That surprised me. “Are all the homeless men?”
Gordon shook his head. “There are plenty of women and children too. We do our best to refer to clients at the shelter as ‘unhoused’ rather than homeless.”
“Why?”
“Well, ‘home’ doesn’t always refer to a building. A tent can be a home. Or a car. Or a shelter. Many of these people have a sense of home and community. What they need is a house or apartment. A safe, warm, permanent place to live.”
I nodded, not being able to truly comprehend needing a house—or a home. I turned toward the window, gazing at the row of houses. Some had lights on inside. Others were completely dark. A young boy without gloves on his hands ran up the steps to one at the end of a block.
Soon we were in the heart of downtown with tall buildings and lots of people dressed in warm coats and hats and gloves rushing down the sidewalks. Gordon parked the car and pointed to a brick building across the street. “That’s the shelter.”
Gordon climbed out of the car and then hurried around to my door and opened it. He gave me his hand, saying, “It might be slick.”
Once I was out of the car, he opened up the trunk, which was stuffed with blankets, including several handmade quilts. We grabbed as many as we could—about half—and crossed the street at the light. There were a few people smoking outside of the building. Gordon, over the top of the stack of blankets, greeted one of the men by name. The man hurried up the steps and held the door for us. As we passed through, Gordon introduced the man—Walter—to me.
&nbs
p; The man greeted me warmly, saying any friend of Gordon’s was a friend of his.
Once we were inside, a tall, middle-aged man with a bit of a belly stepped out of an office. “Thank you, God,” he boomed and then slapped Gordon on the back. “This is exactly what we needed tonight.”
Gordon quickly introduced me to Tony, and then said, “We have more blankets in the car. And I brought my guitar too.”
“Perfect,” Tony said. “We’re just finishing supper. We’ll sing in the dining hall.” He took the stack of blankets from Gordon. “Take Walter with you to get the rest and put those in the men’s hall.”
Tony indicated I should follow him, I guessed to where the women slept. We headed up a staircase with the load of blankets, and then stepped into a room where workers were spreading out sleeping pads.
“Look what just arrived!” Tony held his stack of blankets high.
The workers turned toward him. One of them shouted out, “Hallelujah!”
“All freshly laundered,” Tony said, “and ready to use.”
I thought of the Mennonite women who had washed each blanket and quilt, making sure the donated items were clean and ready to bless someone in need.
Two of the workers approached us and took our stacks. As we turned to go, they were already placing the blankets on the pads.
“Does each person only get one blanket?” I asked.
“It’ll depend on how many people and how many blankets,” Tony said. “But our numbers the last two weeks have been the highest ever. The last few nights some of our clients only had a coat to wrap up in.”
I followed Tony back down the stairs to the foyer as Gordon and Walter came back into the building. Gordon carried another stack of blankets in one hand and his guitar in the other.
“Take those on downstairs,” Tony said. I guessed that was where the men slept.
“Marie,” Gordon said. “Would you grab my guitar?”
I took it from him and then stepped against the wall to wait, balancing the weight of the instrument. It felt good in my hands.
“Come on into the dining hall,” Tony said to me. “Gordon will find us soon enough.”
I followed Tony toward the clatter of dishes. Rows of tables were filled with men, women, and children. Most wore their coats. All shoveled food into their mouths. Some sort of noodles with chicken. And peas, green salad, a roll, and a cookie. Some drank red punch while others had coffee.
Tony clapped his hands and then spoke loudly. “Gordon just arrived with his guitar.”
A man at the table closest to the door laughed and pointed at me.
“Ah well,” Tony said. “You’re right, this isn’t Gordon. This is Marie. Gordon will be joining us shortly. As soon as the meal is over, we’ll spend some time singing.”
Several people smiled at me as I stepped back against the wall, trying to hide my discomfort. Even from where I stood, there was an unwashed odor in the room. Several of the people, both women and men, had dirty fingernails. Didn’t they know to wash their hands before they ate? I’d always been taught that cleanliness was next to godliness. Perhaps they hadn’t.
One of the women’s coats was open, showing an immodest top. Another woman’s hair was a ratty mess. Surely she could comb it out and at least braid it.
I took a shallow breath, impressed that Gordon volunteered on a regular basis. A few minutes later, he slipped into the room and took his guitar from me.
As the clients finished up, they took their trays to the back of the room where there was a kitchen and several workers who scraped and rinsed plates.
I asked Tony if the kitchen workers were part of the staff.
“Oh no,” he said, “they’re all volunteers. This is our regular Monday night crew, but we also have groups—scouts, different churches, sports teams, and students looking for volunteer hours who all come in on a regular basis.”
Gordon pulled an empty chair from the table and placed it in the front of the room. I sat down at the first table next to a woman with a little boy with curly hair. I asked him his name and he answered, “Rory.” He appeared to be five or six.
“Do you go to school?” I asked.
He glanced at his mother and then muttered, “Sometimes.” Then he scrunched up his nose and asked, “Why are you dressed that way?”
His mother nudged him and said, “Don’t be rude.”
“No, it’s all right.” I smiled at him. “I’m Plain. We believe in dressing modestly. That’s why I wear this dress and cape.” I patted my head. “And a covering on my head.”
“It’s kind of cool.” He smiled back, his eyes twinkling. “I guess.”
Gordon began strumming his guitar.
The woman leaned toward me. “How do you know Gordon?”
“He works on my family’s farm.”
“So, you’re Mennonite too?” She didn’t appear to be too much older than I was.
“No. Amish.”
“Well, thank you,” she said. “For coming here tonight. We all appreciate everything Gordon does for us.”
I was about to ask what all he did, when he began singing a song I didn’t recognize, but the clients did. They sang with him.
I hummed along to the songs I didn’t know, picking up the words and tunes, and then belted out the songs I recognized: “Amazing Grace,” “The Old Rugged Cross,” and “How Great Thou Art.” The Amish never sang with instruments, but I found my voice quickly matching the music from Gordon’s guitar. All of it lifted my soul, as a sense of joy filled me that I hadn’t felt since before Dat had died. Soon I realized I was tapping my foot—and then I noticed Gordon was too. One time, he caught my eye and smiled.
I felt a freedom I hadn’t since I was a girl, from back before Mamm warned me about being prideful about my voice. No one would tell how loudly I was singing. Certainly not Gordon, nor anyone else in the room.
Tony closed his eyes and held his hands up as Gordon started another song. “Lord of all . . .”
I had to consciously hold my arms down. I wanted so badly to raise them. To sway to the music. To allow my body to express the harmony I felt inside. The love of Christ, and the joy in the Lord that music created.
Of course I didn’t raise my arms or sway to the music. I stayed put, in my place.
Gordon’s voice increased in volume. I didn’t want the singing to end. The only consolation was the ride home with Gordon, when hopefully we could sing some more.
My chest grew tight as a memory flooded through me. Dat, playing a harmonica in the barn. Me, singing along—a song, perhaps a hymn, although I couldn’t remember now which one. Jessica was shoveling grain into a trough while Leisel cradled a kitten. All the while, Dat and I were making music together and it was filling me up in a way I never thought possible. But by the look on his face, I knew he’d experienced the feeling before.
Gordon held on to the last note of the last word—“Hallelujah!”
The music and word reverberated through my being and I held on to the note as long as I absolutely could.
Once it ended, Tony walked up to the front and stood next to Gordon. “Hold on to these words, to this music,” he said. “Know that God wants to lead you, that He wants to provide for you, that He wants you to trust Him.” He smiled at the group, making eye contact as he scanned the room. A shiver shot down my back. I sensed a genuine love in both Gordon and Tony for the people they served. “Let’s bow in prayer,” Tony said. As he prayed, I shivered again, especially when he asked a blessing on everyone who was in the room and those who might still be out in the cold on such a bitter night.
After he said “amen,” Rory ran up to Gordon while his mother slowly stood. When she did, her coat opened and I could tell she was pregnant and probably due soon. She took a step and then let out a gasp.
Coming out of my reverie, I reached for her arm. “Are you all right?”
She groaned and swooned. I held on to her as best I could as she slid to the ground. I couldn’t keep her up, b
ut I did prevent her from hitting her head. “Gordon!” I yelled as I knelt beside the woman.
Thankfully he heard me and rushed toward us. “Chrissie,” he said. “What is it?”
But she didn’t answer. Her eyes had rolled back in her head.
Gordon shouted for Tony. “Call 9-1-1.” Then he said to me, “Take Rory to the kitchen. Stay there until we know what’s going on.”
4
We sat in the emergency department waiting room with Rory until Tony, who had been out in the hall making phone calls, told Gordon to take me home. “I’ll give you a call in the morning,” he said, “and let you know how Chrissie is.”
I stood. “What about Rory?” He couldn’t spend the night at the hospital.
“His grandmother is on her way.” Tony reached down and patted the boy’s shoulder as he spoke. “She’ll take him home for the night.”
I had a million questions but didn’t want to ask them in front of Rory.
“Thank you, both of you,” Tony said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.”
Gordon shook the man’s hand. “Call me if you need to. I can come back in, no problem.”
Tony nodded and then embraced Gordon. They slapped each other on the back and then let go. Then Tony shook my hand, and Gordon and I both told Rory good-bye. I knelt down beside him. “Remember the last song we sang tonight? The one about how the Lord holds us close, always?”
He nodded.
“God, who created the entire universe, is here with you tonight. He loves you, and He loves your mom.”
“And the baby?”
“Jah,” I said. “He loves all of you.”
Rory nodded, and I patted his shoulder and then stood. Gordon and I slipped out of the waiting room and then on down the hall, through the doors of the warm hospital and into the freezing night.
We didn’t speak until we were in the parking garage and inside Gordon’s car, but then I couldn’t help but ask, “If Rory’s grandmother is coming to get him, why aren’t he and Chrissie living with her?”
Gordon started the engine and then turned his head toward me. “It’s hard to understand, but often these situations are more complicated than they seem.”
