The Roll of the Drums

by Jan Drexler

  “It’s all right,” Mamm said. “She already talked with us. At least something good will come out of the last several years.”

  Ruby glanced at Gideon, wondering what he thought of their conversation, but he seemed to be paying no attention.

  Finally, when it was time for the children to go to bed, Daed sat in the front room with Mamm. Gideon was already in a chair when Ruby came downstairs to join them.

  “Are you finally going to tell us what you did this afternoon?” Mamm asked. “You are being very mysterious.”

  “We didn’t want the children to hear.” Daed leaned his forearms on his knees, his head bent. “We discussed whether we should tell anyone, but Gideon thought folks should be aware.”

  “Of what?” Mamm looked from Daed to Gideon.

  Ruby glanced at Gideon. He leaned on his knees like Daed, his head in his hands.

  “What happened?” Ruby whispered, knowing their voices could carry up the stairs. “Is it the raiders like you feared?”

  “They have a camp in the Beilers’ woods,” Gideon said. “I counted five of them, but there may be more. They had ten horses, including the Beilers’ driving horse.”

  “How could they be so close without any of us noticing them?” Mamm asked.

  “They work at night, stealing food, livestock, money. Whatever they can find.” Gideon lifted his head, glancing at Ruby, then looking at Daed. “They won’t hesitate to kill anyone who opposes them.”

  “We wouldn’t get in their way,” Mamm said. “They are welcome to anything we have—”

  “They don’t know that,” Gideon broke in. “They assume everyone is just like they are and will fight to keep what is theirs.”

  “What did Amos say?” Mamm turned to Daed.

  “He said we should give them what they want and wait for them to move on.”

  “That sounds sensible to me.” Mamm sat back in her chair.

  “But they won’t do that.” Gideon sat up, frustration in his voice. “They will stay here until they get what they want or destroy everything. I don’t know how they escaped being captured at the same time as their leader, but I heard them talking about where they were going to meet him. What they don’t know is that he won’t be there.”

  Ruby leaned forward. “What can we do? We won’t fight against them, but it seems like that is all they understand.”

  “Amos says we should go about our usual business.” Daed brought the tips of his fingers together in a peak. “If they steal our food, we will grow more. If they steal our animals, we will buy more. And we wait for them to move on.”

  Gideon rubbed his open palm on his knee. “You know I don’t agree with that. Those men will take everything we have until our children are starving and we have nothing left. They’ll destroy the crops in the fields so we won’t have any food for next year, either.” His hands closed into fists. “If we sit and do nothing, evil will win.”

  “You have forgotten one thing, Gideon.” Daed bowed his head again. “Obeying our Lord is the most important thing we can do. Amos is right. We cannot fight them or resist them. We are called to turn the other cheek.”

  Gideon’s fists clenched and unclenched, then he got up and walked out of the room and out into the barnyard. Daed started to follow him, but Mamm stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Let him go. He’s talked to you enough today. He needs to sort through this on his own.”

  Ruby slipped out of her chair and followed Gideon. When she reached the porch, she saw him leaning on the pasture fence, silhouetted against the rising moon that was nearly full. Other than Gideon, the barnyard was empty, even though she almost expected to see soldiers creeping from the shadows. She shivered, then ran to Gideon.

  “Are you going to try to convince me to see your daed’s point of view?” He moved over to give her space to lean on the top board of the fence next to him.

  “I don’t know what to think.” She stood close enough to Gideon that she could feel the warmth of his arm through her dress sleeve. “Lovinia and you both have told me how terrible it was for you in Maryland. You’ve lived through it, and you’re afraid of the same thing happening to us here.”

  Gideon turned to face her. “Abraham and Amos want to follow the teachings of the church. Teachings have been tested time and time again in the last two hundred years.”

  “The martyrs died for their faith.” Ruby’s fingers grew cold. Would the Good Lord call them to be martyrs at this time? To sacrifice their homes, and possibly their lives? “When our ancestors’ faith was tested, do you think they questioned whether or not they should follow Christ’s teaching?”

  “I wonder if they were as torn as I am.” Gideon’s quiet voice echoed in Ruby’s ears.

  “They must have been. I don’t understand, though. We try to live in peace. We try to treat others the way we want to be treated. And yet, time and again the world is against us. We’re not supposed to fight, and we’re not supposed to resist, but it seems like we’re fighting a battle all the time.”

  “‘For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.’” Gideon rubbed the side of his nose. “Paul wrote that in the letter to the Ephesians. We are fighting a battle, a spiritual one. But sometimes flesh and blood gets in the way.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Gideon looked across the pasture, silver in the moonlight. “We obey God, and we trust him. Your father is right.” His shoulders slumped. “But I fear that the children will suffer even more than they already have.” He put his arm around Ruby and drew her close. “And I worry about you. Your family. The community. What will happen to us tomorrow, or the next day?” His hand on her shoulder squeezed tight. “Most of all I fear that I will fail. That I won’t be strong enough.”

  Ruby covered his hand with her own. “But the Good Lord is strong enough. Depend on him.”

  “I’ll try.” He smiled at her. “That’s all I can do.”

  14

  Sunday morning worship was at Abraham and Lydia’s home. The house was hot and close with the entire community in the big open room. The benches were crowded together, and Gideon was wedged between Abraham and Samuel. His children were sitting with Ruby and Lydia, like usual, and he was glad to be able to concentrate on the worship today.

  His mind was still in turmoil. Saturday had been a quiet day. He had mowed hay from sun up to suppertime and had seen no sign of rebel soldiers anywhere. If he hadn’t seen their camp last week, he wouldn’t have believed they were in the area. His conversation with Ruby the other night hadn’t solved anything, and his questions still hung in the air. Was he strong enough to face the rebel soldiers without fighting? Could he stand by and do nothing if they came to his house? If they harmed his children?

  Mein Herr . . .

  His prayer died away before he could form words to say. How should a man pray in times like this?

  The hymn ended, and Harm Bontreger called the number for the next hymn, das Loblied, the hymn of praise sung in every Sunday morning service. That was followed by a sermon from Amos.

  Since he was the only minister in attendance until after the election that afternoon, his sermon went on for much longer than normal. The Scriptures for this Sunday were from Luke 12 and 13, a section of the Bible filled with illustrations appropriate for this time of the summer when the farmers were bringing in the hay, but Amos went to the end of chapter 13 for his text. As he preached on the narrow door that leads to salvation, Gideon had a hard time following his points, until he realized that Amos was talking about someone specific.

  Even though he didn’t name this person, the more he talked, the more Gideon understood that Amos was talking about him. He twisted the Scripture to make it sound like Gideon was the man who came to the gate and who the Lord did not recognize. A stranger. An evildoer. Then he wandered from the text, accusing him of all kinds of sins
, including being a false prophet and a fornicator, taking advantage of the innocent people of the valley.

  Gideon nearly walked out, but then saw that no one was looking at him. No one else had identified the unnamed man in the sermon as him.

  Then Amos drew to the end of his sermon. His face was red, and his hand shook as he pointed into the congregation.

  “The sinner is here among us. He and his woman of Babylon. They are in our midst and will bring destruction on us all if we don’t cast them out into the darkness!”

  As soon as Amos started toward his seat, folks on both sides of the center aisle erupted in conversation. Gideon was certain they had never heard a sermon like the one Amos had just delivered. He certainly hadn’t.

  Abraham went to the front to address the congregation. It was customary for other ministers and men of the church to bring up their own points concerning the sermon text or to question the preacher. He waited until silence had descended again, then cleared his throat.

  “Your sermon was very vivid in its descriptions, Preacher Amos,” he said. “But it sounded as if you had someone specific in mind. I am sure you did not mean to accuse anyone directly, but perhaps you meant your tone to be an illustration of what could happen within our midst.” He scanned the congregation. “Any of us can fall victim to the wiles of sin, and we must all be on our guard.”

  Amos shook his head, but Abraham smiled and went on, speaking on the same passage Amos had focused on, but using the parable to encourage them all.

  “Strive to be humble and pure, always seeking the good of your fellow man,” he concluded. “Be content to linger behind, letting others go before you, knowing that in our Lord’s kingdom, the first shall be last and the last shall be first.”

  After Abraham sat down again, another man rose to speak, focusing on an earlier parable in the same chapter of Luke. Amos sat in his seat on the front bench, his back hunched and his head bowed. Gideon knew Amos had meant to accuse him of something, but Ruby couldn’t be the “woman of Babylon” he had mentioned. He wasn’t even sure what Amos had meant by that.

  The service concluded without another mention of Amos’s sermon, and the women started preparing for the fellowship meal. Gideon helped to convert the benches to tables, then went out to the porch to wait for his turn to eat. He leaned against one of the posts, looking up the hill toward the Beilers’ farm. No hint of woodsmoke hung in the air above the trees, and he didn’t hear any sounds that didn’t belong to a peaceful Sunday afternoon.

  Levi came out of the house and stood next to him. “I’d like to apologize for Father. He was out of line in his sermon. I don’t think he meant to say everything he said.”

  “I’m not sure what he meant to do.” Gideon looked past Levi’s shoulder into the house where Amos was talking with Simeon Keck. “If he thinks I should be under the discipline of the church, he went about it the wrong way.”

  Levi turned to look into the house, then stepped closer to him. “I think he was trying to make an illustration, like Abraham said. You might not be the one he was talking about. There are some folks in the community who are hiding sins from the past.”

  Gideon’s fingers grew cold. No one knew what he worked so hard to keep in the past, did they? He had never mentioned it to anyone, not even to Lovinia.

  “Do you know this for certain?”

  Levi’s perspiring face turned pale. “Ja, I know this for certain, but I can’t talk about it. Not yet. It is something I overheard.”

  Relaxing, Gideon moved away from the porch steps as a couple younger boys ran out of the house, intent on their own plans for the afternoon. “Perhaps you are mistaken. Perhaps the one you overheard was talking about something else.”

  He nodded slowly. “Perhaps, but I don’t think so.”

  “Is it something serious? Something that would affect the church?”

  Levi glanced into the house again. “I’m not sure. Do you think that all sin has to be exposed? Especially if it is something that happened long ago?”

  Gideon’s mind flashed to the dying boy at his feet, and he closed his eyes. He just wanted to forget his sin but covering it up wasn’t working. It was still there, haunting him, drying up his spirit. What did the psalmist say? For day and night thy hand was heavy upon me . . .

  “When we hide sin, it affects us. It should be exposed and confessed, at least to our Lord if no one else. In one of the psalms, David wrote about keeping silent about his sin, and how God’s hand was heavy upon him. But when he confessed to the Lord, his sins were forgiven.”

  He couldn’t look into Levi’s eyes. His own words mocked him. He had taken his sin to God time after time, but he still carried its weight like an anchor around his neck. He had seen God’s forgiveness in other people’s lives and he believed in God’s grace and mercy, but not for himself. He could counsel others, but he was still dying inside.

  “What if the person doesn’t acknowledge it as sin?” Levi wiped the sweat off his nose. “What if they live their lives thinking that hiding the sin is enough?”

  Gideon opened his hand, showing Levi a splinter embedded in his palm. “I got this splinter while I was cutting hay yesterday. If I ignored it and left it there, it would either fester and cause me a lot of pain, or the skin would grow over it. It could remain there for years, always a bit sore. I could continue to ignore it, but it would still be there.” He rubbed at the splinter, but it was too deep for him to work it out on his own. “When we try to cover up sin, it is the same. We become calloused, thinking it doesn’t affect us. We might even think it is gone. But that unconfessed sin is still there.”

  “What do I do?” Levi looked miserable. “I can’t talk to this person. They have no idea that I know.”

  “Pray that God will prompt them to confess or pray that he will show you the right time to expose what you know.”

  “You’re saying I should leave it to God.”

  “I’m saying that you need to listen to God’s prompting. Be ready to act if needed, but wait for him.”

  Levi nodded. “Yield my worries to him rather than take the matter into my own hands.”

  Gideon patted Levi on the shoulder as Amos called the people to prayer before the fellowship meal. “Ja, for sure. Gelassenheit.”

  Levi looked at the plate he had filled for his Sunday dinner. Cold ham, slices of cheese, and bread smeared with apple butter had looked appetizing, but suddenly he wasn’t hungry. His talk with Gideon before the meal gave him much to think about, but other worries intruded. Was it nerves about the coming election this afternoon? Or concern about the encampment of soldiers in the woods behind their house?

  Mother hadn’t slept well since Gideon had told them who was camped back there, but Father chose to ignore them, saying they would go on their way soon, that drifters always did. Levi’s head pounded like a drumbeat, pulsing in the summer heat. Father was good at ignoring unpleasant things. He pushed his plate toward Caleb Lehman, who was sitting between him and Millie’s new beau, Wilmer.

  After talking with Wilmer and getting to know him a little bit, Levi approved of him. He didn’t seem to follow the change-minded teachings of the folks up in Oak Grove and was interested in moving to Weaver’s Creek. He was a good, solid Amishman, although Levi would wait to tell Millie what he thought. If he told her that he liked Wilmer while she was in the rebellious mood she had been in lately, she might just throw the poor fellow off in a show of independence.

  Meanwhile, he chatted with Wilmer and Caleb, waiting for the meal to be over so they could finish the day’s business. After talking with Abraham and a few other men from the congregation, Father had agreed to elect two new ministers this afternoon. A community needed more than one or two men to lead it, Abraham had argued, and Levi agreed. Father held too much power as the only minister, and that power needed to be divided among all the ministers. The church also needed a bishop, a role Father had taken on by default. They would select their new bishop from among the ministers whe
n they met again in two weeks.

  When the fellowship meal was finished, the members of the church met back inside the Weavers’ house for the election. Levi chose a seat in the back of the room with Caleb, Henry, and Wilmer, where he could observe the proceedings. Father had wanted him to sit in front, but he preferred to stay in the background today. His head still throbbed, and the heat was oppressive. The sounds of the children playing in the yard drifted in through the open windows and doors, and every once in a while, a little breeze did too.

  As the only minister present, Father went into the bedroom next to the kitchen alone.

  “Another minister should be with him,” Levi said in a whisper.

  Caleb looked at him. “Why?”

  “There should be more than one man to hear the nominations. We should have asked a bishop from another community to oversee the election.”

  “It’s too late now,” Caleb answered.

  Levi nodded. It was too late. He should have thought of it earlier. But it wasn’t until this moment that he realized how Father was in the perfect position to sway the election to the result he wanted. All he had to do was to claim that the names he wrote down were the ones who had been nominated, no matter which names had been whispered to him by the people.

  The folks filed to the door one by one. They had been instructed to nominate two men, so the process took longer than usual. When Levi reached the door, he whispered Gideon’s name and Abraham’s name. Father made no sign that either name surprised him, or that he even recognized that Levi was there.

  Afterward, Father emerged from the bedroom with a list in his hand. Every man who had received two or more nominations would be the ones called to the front.

  “Abraham Weaver,” Father read, and waited for Abraham to make his way to the front. “Simeon Keck.” Another pause. “Johan Lehman.”

  Father stopped, then glanced at Mother. He looked at the paper again.