by Jan Drexler
After only a few minutes, the ministers emerged. Preacher Elam held four copies of the Ausbund in his hand. He laid them on the table at the front of the room one by one. Only a single slip of paper rested between the pages of one of those books and no one, not even the ministers, knew which book held the lot.
Preacher Sep looked at the sheet where the names of the nominees had been written. Each man whose name had been whispered at the door by at least three people were the ones to stand for election.
“This is as far as humans can act. From here, we leave the matter up to the Lord. When I call your name, please take your place here behind the table.” Sep cleared his throat. “Shem Fischer.”
Shem’s grin was genuine as he walked to the front of the room.
“Isaac Schrock.”
No one moved. Emma, Isaac’s wife, broke out into a sobbing cry. Finally, from a bench behind Cap, Isaac rose and walked to the front of the room. His steps were slow, his head bowed. Cap nodded with approval. Isaac understood the grave responsibility the minister shouldered if he was chosen by God to fulfill this role. Isaac’s life would be forever changed if he was selected.
In the pause, Cap felt a sudden clench of fear. If his name were chosen . . . But ne, he wouldn’t be nominated. He was new in the district. No one knew him well enough to put his name forward.
Preacher Sep lifted the paper again. “Peter Gingerich. Tall Peter.”
Tall Peter rose from his seat and took his place next to Shem. He eyed the books set before them on the table.
“Christian Yoder.”
The name brought a flurry of exclamations, but Cap watched the older man closely. Christian put his right hand over his eyes, his head bowed. Several men helped to move the table close to Christian’s chair. Shem stood back and watched the proceedings with a scowl.
Cap prayed as he watched each of the nominees pick up a book. Isaac leafed through the pages quickly, then set the book down with a whooshed-out breath of relief. Tall Peter skimmed through the pages more slowly. After he had gone through the entire book, he set his book down next to Isaac’s.
Shem flipped through the pages, then held the book upside down and shook it, frowning. He flipped through the pages again, and then looked at Christian.
Christian Yoder let his book fall open in his lap and stared at it. Between the pages was a light blue slip of paper.
The lot had been cast.
14
The evening had turned to blue dusk by the time the Eden Township group reached home. Naomi walked with Cap, Davey’s hand in hers, but they didn’t speak. After the lot had been cast, Christian and Annalise had started for home in the spring wagon, and the group that followed on foot was too tired to comment on the day’s events.
Naomi’s own thoughts were jumbled. She had whispered Christian’s name into that narrow opening where the ministers had been waiting for the nominations, but she had no reason to, other than she had often wished she could confide in him as she would a minister. No one else in the community could fill the office as well as he would. But after the lot had been drawn, the doubts crowded in. Could Christian fulfill his duties as frail as he was?
When they reached the ford across the Little Elkhart River, Davey tugged at Naomi’s hand.
“Can I go see if there are any crayfish?”
“Not now. This is still the Sabbath.”
Cap reached for the boy’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Tomorrow morning, before I begin my work, I’ll take you crayfish hunting if it’s all right with your mamm. I could do with some crayfish stew for dinner.”
“Could we?” Davey turned to her, his eyes bright.
The familiar turn of her stomach almost brought her automatic “ne.” But when she looked at Cap’s eyes, every bit as expectant as Davey’s, she had to laugh. “All right. But only with Cap. Not by yourself.”
Davey grinned at his friend, but Naomi eyed the dark, flowing water. He would be safe with Cap. She repeated the thought to convince herself.
As they came into sight of home, with the whitewashed barn showing through trees, Davey ran to catch up with Henry. Chore time meant he could change out of his Sunday clothes and into work clothes. Naomi followed him toward the house, Cap still beside her. At the chicken coop, where his path toward home headed toward the woods, Cap grasped her hand in a quick squeeze.
“I’ll come for Davey in the morning, right after chores.”
“You could have breakfast here.” Naomi felt her face flush. She wouldn’t have suggested that yesterday, but after their talk this morning, she could step on the tenuous bridge between them.
Cap smiled, and Naomi answered with her own smile. She couldn’t resist.
“That would be fine. Denki.”
“I wanted to ask you, now that we’re alone . . .” Naomi paused.
He stepped closer to her, waiting for her to continue.
“About the election. What do you think of the lot falling to Christian?”
“I think he will make a fine minister.” Cap’s gaze went past her shoulder, toward the road where the rest of the group was making their way home, and his eyes took on a faraway look. He focused back on her and a soft smile crept across his face. “I was one of those who nominated him.”
Naomi rubbed the edge of one finger. “So was I, but then I wondered if I was right in doing that. He’s been so ill. Have we asked too much of him?”
Cap caught her elbow and ran his warm hand up her arm. “We aren’t the ones who put this burden on him. God is the one who called him to this task.”
The enormity of what Cap said made her catch her breath. “God? I know we say that God chooses through the lot, but it’s just . . . chance, isn’t it?”
His hand gripped her shoulder, then released. Cap blew out a long breath. “That’s what I believed too, until today.”
The dusk had grown deeper. Stars shone in the sky, and in the west, a crescent moon glowed through scattered clouds that were gathered above the trees. Cap’s face, still with that gentle smile lifting the corners of his mouth, was serious.
“You mean you believe that God decided the outcome of the lot.”
“I know he did.”
Naomi let his words sink in. “But God doesn’t—I mean, he isn’t interested in everything we do.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
She laughed. “Even what I have for breakfast?”
Cap’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “I don’t know why, but I think God is even concerned with what we eat.”
Naomi looked toward the house. Davey had just disappeared through the door.
Cap lifted her hand in his. “Doesn’t Davey occupy your thoughts all day long?”
She nodded, biting her lip.
“You think about what he’s doing, if he’s safe, if he’s happy, if he’s behaving himself.”
“Of course I do. I’m his mother.”
“And God is our Father.”
Her thoughts swirled, none of them clear.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
Cap squeezed her hand once more and then walked away, down the trail toward his clearing. Naomi covered the warm place where his hand had been with her own. Without his presence, she teetered alone at the edge of a cliff. Below her lay a vast, unknown space. Cap believed that God had actually chosen Christian. That he was present in their lives all the time.
If that was true—
She shook herself, clearing her thoughts. Church was church. Stories from the Good Book were stories. Events like that didn’t happen today. Of course she believed in God. Everyone she knew believed in God. She would never think of believing in anything else. But—
The trail leading to Cap’s clearing was empty and dark. Daed’s voice singing hymns in the barn as he did chores floated toward her through the evening air. Chickens clucked and murmured to themselves as they gathered around the chicken coop, ready to be put to bed for the night. She nudged the last ones into the coop and shut
the door. Then she closed the gate of their yard and looked toward the house.
Mamm had lit the lamps in the kitchen and light poured through the doorway onto the porch, making a path across the yard. A path beckoning her home.
A niggling thought pulled at her mind, and she glanced toward Cap’s trail again. If he was right, that meant that everything she had been taught, everything she believed was more than a story. More than a way to live.
What if it was true?
Cap’s chores took only a few minutes the next morning. Since he finished too early to go to the Schrocks’ farm, he worked on putting rails between the fence posts he had set in place last week.
Over the noise of his hammer and the early birdsong, a rhythmic drumming intruded. Quiet at first, when it grew loud enough to catch his attention, he stopped hammering and listened. Hoofbeats. So loud that they must come from a group of horses. He stretched to his full height and looked toward the narrow trail that ran past his clearing. Only hoofbeats, without the accompanying jingle of harness.
Only the gang of outlaws would ride their horses hard like that so early in the morning. He stepped back into the uncleared edge of the forest next to his fence and waited.
The horses and riders galloped by at a pace most riders never attempted on a rough road like this one. As they filed past, Cap saw them clearly. Hats pulled down to their eyes and collars standing up around their ears, it was impossible to identify any of them. Sweat stained the flanks of the horses, and a couple stumbled as they passed the clearing. They had been ridden far and hard, probably all night. Trailing toward the back, strung out along a lead rope, a half-dozen riderless horses trotted with brisk steps.
Then, almost at the end of the line, one of the riders looked at him. Johnny. Still riding with the Smith gang.
When they had disappeared down the road, Cap stepped out of the underbrush. He stared after the riders until the last hoofbeat faded away and the final cloud of dust settled. They had passed by without stopping. Without even looking toward his clearing and the horses picketed between the cabin and the woods. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be back.
Cap swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at the sun. The Schrocks would be waiting breakfast on him if he didn’t get going.
Davey ran to meet him as soon as he emerged from the woods. “Cap! Guess what?”
The boy bounced beside him as he walked toward the house.
“What?”
“It’s my birthday today!” Davey laughed and turned a cartwheel. “I’m eight years old now. I’m as big as Menno.”
Cap laughed along with him, the worry about the Smith gang fading. “Who told you it was your birthday?”
“Memmi did, just this morning. And we’re going to get my box out after breakfast like we do every year.” Davey stopped. “Can we wait to go crayfish hunting? Memmi said we’d look at my things after breakfast, but it won’t take very long.”
Cap gave up trying to make sense of Davey’s words. “The crayfish hunt can wait until you’re ready. But I need to get home before dinnertime, so don’t take too long.”
Davey ran back to the house. As Cap watched him run up the steps to the door, Naomi stepped out onto the porch to halt his headlong flight. She leaned her head down to his to speak to him, and from the slump of his shoulders, Cap could guess that she was reprimanding him. She rubbed his back gently as she spoke, and when she was done, Davey gave her a hug. The boy was careless and never still, that was for sure, but Cap couldn’t find any fault in Naomi’s mothering of him, except being a bit overprotective.
Cap sighed as he started toward the house again. With a boy as headstrong and lively as Davey, he would probably be just as worried about the scrapes he could get into.
“Good morning.” Naomi waved from the porch. “You’re just in time.”
Cap stepped up next to her. “I hear it is Davey’s birthday.”
“We’re having a special breakfast for him. Mamm made all of his favorite foods.”
She tipped her face up toward his, and it was all he could do to not lean down and brush a kiss against her blushing cheek.
“Davey said something about looking at a box before we go down to the river. Will that take long?”
“It depends. Last year he spent all day looking at the things in the box, but other years he hasn’t done any more than glance at it.”
“What makes it so special?”
Cap followed Naomi into the kitchen. The table was already set, waiting for the men to come in from the barn. Lydia waved a good morning to him from the stove where she was cooking potato pancakes. Cap breathed in the delectable aroma and stepped around the table to the sitting area. Davey sat on the floor, tracing the ornate painting on the top of a small chest with his finger.
“This is the only thing Davey has left from his first family,” Naomi said, stepping next to him. “It’s his parents’ marriage chest. It has some of their things in it, along with papers like their marriage certificate and Davey’s birth record. After breakfast, we’ll open it.”
“You can see everything in it.” Davey smoothed his hand over the chest. “It’s mine, but I want you to see it.”
Once breakfast was over, Davey pulled Cap back to the chest. “We have to wait for Memmi to wash the dishes. Can you read what these words say?”
Cap traced the ornate letters with his own finger. “Muller. And there’s a date. 17 July, 1837.”
Davey’s finger followed Cap’s. “That’s when they got married. And then I was born, and then my baby sister.” The boy’s voice was hushed, reverent.
The words echoed in the empty chambers of Cap’s heart. “I’m glad you have this box.” He put his arm around Davey’s shoulders. “It’s good to remember what you can about them.”
“I don’t remember anything.”
“But you have this box to help you learn to know them.”
Davey nodded and leaned against Cap.
Naomi came in from the kitchen, followed by Lydia. Eli and Henry had gone back to the barn as soon as they had finished the kneeling prayer after the meal.
“Are you ready, Davey?” She dried her hands on her apron.
Davey nodded and reached for the clasp. He twisted it and raised the lid. Inside, on top of everything else, was a white lace shawl, knitted out of fine wool. Davey ran his hand over it, then lifted it out and laid it to the side. Beneath it was a tiny blue gown with lace on the hem.
“We think this was probably Davey’s when he was a baby.” Naomi held the gown up. Tiny sleeves extended on either side, and the skirt was so long that it spilled onto her lap. She folded it again and smoothed over a wrinkle with a gentle touch.
Next was a china plate with delicate roses painted around the edge, some more pieces of linens, and then some papers.
“There aren’t any toys.” Davey brushed his hand over the papers. “But these tell what my name was when I was a baby, don’t they, Memmi?”
Cap lifted the top sheet. It was a certificate of baptism from a church in Philadelphia. The baby that had been baptized was named David Charles Muller, born June 1, 1838. The next paper was the marriage certificate for Edwina Schlachter and Charles Muller. Below them were other papers. One was the deed to a parcel of land in Steuben County, Indiana, dated 1840. Below were baptism certificates for Edwina and Charles.
Cap put the papers back in the chest. Naomi handed the other things to Davey one by one and he laid them on top of the papers, closed the lid, and fastened it. Cap glanced at Naomi. With those papers, she could find Davey’s relatives, if she wanted to. Or perhaps Davey might want to when he was grown.
He watched Davey trace over the painted letters on the lid once more as he tried to ignore the clenching feeling in his stomach. If Davey wished, he could leave them one day. He could go off into the world to find his relatives and never come back.
After Cap and Davey went to the river, Naomi helped Mamm set the washtubs up on the grassy space near the cl
othesline.
“We have a beautiful morning to wash, don’t we?” Mamm poured a bucket of water into the first tub, and then lifted her face up to the sunny sky. “There is nothing so lovely as a June morning. God has blessed us.”
Naomi added a paddle full of soft soap to the water and swished it around as Mamm went back to the house for more hot water. She had heard Mamm talk about God’s blessings all of her life, but since Cap had said he believed God was actually present and active in their lives, the words took on new meaning. She glanced up at the sky. Puffy white clouds drifted toward the east, looking as solid as the pillow on her bed. If God was as real as Cap said, he could be peeping over the edge of one of those clouds, watching her stir the wash water.
She shook her head and chuckled as Mamm brought another bucket of hot water to pour into the tub.
“What are you laughing about?” Mamm tested the temperature of the soapy water with one finger.
Naomi shrugged. “I was just wondering if God was watching me work this morning.”
“Of course he is.” Mamm picked up the first white shirt from the basket on the ground, shook it, and tossed it into the tub. “He sees everything we do.”
Naomi glanced at Mamm’s face. No, she wasn’t teasing. “Everything?”
Mamm tossed an apron into the tub and looked at her. “God knows our hearts, our thoughts, and our actions. Nothing can be hidden from him.”
Biting her lip, Naomi stirred the hot, soapy water, pushing the clothes around until they were all under the suds. Thinking that God was watching made her want to hide somewhere. Mamm was still looking at her.
“How do we know he’s interested, though? Why would he even care whether I wash the clothes or cut Davey’s hair? He has better things to do, doesn’t he?”
“What can be better than taking an interest in the activities of his loved ones?” Mamm started sorting the rest of the clothes into piles. “Knowing that he does makes it easier to be parted from Annie and her family. I still miss them, but knowing God is watching out for them keeps me from worrying about them.”
