Typically, the hardest parts about a shunning were the embarrassment and the fact that the person couldn’t stay for any of the after-church meals and couldn’t attend any kind of fellowships or singings.
But this kind of shunning?
Be me to her. The phrase returned, jarring him out of his self-centered thoughts.
With several files in hand, he turned to Mahlon. “Bills have to be paid for Daed’s household and the shop.” He tossed the information onto the desk. “Grey’s going to need your help, and you have to try. You said you would stay next week instead of going on your trip. But will you stick around until I’m no longer being shunned?”
“Why are you letting this happen over an outsider? I could understand if your own heart pulled you to step outside the Ordnung, but some stranger coming through?”
Ephraim didn’t miss that Mahlon hadn’t answered his question. “She showed up and needed help. I couldn’t exactly say ‘Could you come back next year when my Daed is better and when Mahlon gets his head on straight?’”
“Get my head on straight?” Mahlon mumbled. “Try being more direct next time.” He leaned in. “Who is she?”
“Someone who’s paying the price for her parents’ choices—just like the church leaders always warned us about when we were growing up.”
“She has Amish roots?”
Ephraim nodded. “She doesn’t know. She thinks her mother had Amish friends.”
“If her life is an example of what happens when relatives from the past have left the church, I’ll hold on with a death grip.”
“One would hope you’d hold on to the Old Ways because you believe in them.”
“You’re in no position to lecture me.”
Ephraim changed the subject. “I hate to bother Grey at home, but I think we should go by his place tonight and prepare him for what’s going to happen next week. It’ll help Monday go smoother. If you need to know something, ask Grey. But he’s going to need you to do your part plus some.”
The shop door opened, and Deborah and Anna Mary walked in.
Anna Mary’s eyes reflected worry. “Is it true? Starting Sunday?”
He moved to her and wrapped her in his arms. She’d handled hearing about Cara staying in his home pretty well. But learning that the shunning had been confirmed and that it’d begin so soon seemed too much for her. He hated it, but he had to warn her about the enforcement of his shunning, beginning Sunday, and she would barely be allowed to acknowledge his existence until the ban was over.
Mahlon went to Deborah and whispered something, causing her to nod. So much rested in Mahlon’s hands over the next few weeks or months. Ephraim hoped he was up to it.
The sound of rain against the tin roof pattered its way into Ephraim’s dream, stirring him. The cement under his pallet and the aches running through his body assured him he was too old to sleep on the floor. The dream of God calling to Cara through thick clouds and strong winds slowly faded. How many times during the night had he dreamed of God calling to her? And how many times had she spit at Him and walked off?
He sighed. Right now Cara didn’t even believe in God, so she wasn’t spitting at Him. Maybe it was just a dream—more about his own fears than a hazy premonition.
He sat upright, waiting on energy to start flowing. After today he’d have no job and no fellowship with friends and family. He missed his life already. Running the shop, baseball and volleyball games, church, community meals, singings, family—all of it was a part of who he was.
During the service the preachers would contrast his actions with the wisdom of the Word. The bishop would explain his decision and then share his edict, and Ephraim’s life would become immediately and intensely silent.
A cup of coffee and a shower would feel really good about now. Instead he went to the half bath in his office and washed up in the mud sink. He wouldn’t chance seeing Cara this morning. He didn’t want her to catch a hint of what was going on. She had more than enough to handle without his adding guilt to it.
She deserved to know who she was and that she had relatives here in Dry Lake. And he intended to tell her when the time was right, but first the community needed to become more open and more tender toward her. They would, given time. But right now they were reeling from the news that the drunken thief Ephraim’s father had warned them about had shared a night with Ephraim in his home. They would assume she was her mothers daughter and want to get rid of her. He’d tried to explain to both his Daed and the bishop about Cara’s good points and why she needed a second chance, but they didn’t feel they could trust his judgment. A few believed him—Deborah, Mahlon, Anna Mary, and a couple of friends—but no one else. Not yet. But they would. They were good people. Even the shunning was out of love and a desire to redirect Ephraim, not out of spite or anger. But they were letting fear help make their decision. The events with Malinda leaving Dry Lake the first time took place when he was a toddler, so he knew only some of the baggage through hearsay. What he had heard was hefty enough.
The scariest thing of all was that even if Cara had the means to leave Dry Lake right away, he didn’t want her to. There was something about her, something as strong and fascinating as it was vulnerable and frozen. He’d never seen anything like it in another human. No wonder God called to her. Even He didn’t like being shut out from such a rare being.
Since Ephraim wouldn’t give the bishop a set date for Cara to be out of his home, the bishop refused to set a date for the shunning to be over. So today began a blurred journey with no definite end. He could still come to church, and he would.
He drew a slow breath, trying to dispel the weight of his reality.
After shaving and practically bathing in the mud sink, he put on his Sunday clothes and walked into the shop area. All woodworking equipment had been moved to the sides, and benches were lined up for the church meeting—the men’s side to the right and the women’s to the left-facing one another with the “preachers’ stand” in the middle. In an hour people would begin arriving. Even though the bishop had been scheduled to be at a different church today, he’d come here instead. Just to carefully and gently declare Ephraim shunned.
Hating the hours that lay ahead, he felt more alone and nervous than ever. He sat on a bench. “God?” He whispered the word, wishing he knew what to ask. A thousand memories of growing up within this community flooded him. Even though he’d left for a while before officially joining the faith, he’d never hurt anyone—not like he was doing now. He’d been barely twenty and a nonmember when he headed for New York. Now he was a man, and he’d made his choice to join the faith long ago. So what was he doing in this mess?
The aroma of coffee rode on the air, and he looked up.
His father sat down on the bench beside him and held out a mug of coffee. “Did you sleep here again?”
Ephraim took the cup. “Ya.”
“Son, what are you doing?”
He sipped the coffee, enjoying that his father knew the exact amount of sugar and cream to put in it. “I don’t know, Daed. The right thing, I hope.”
No one wanted him shunned, not the bishop or preachers or friends or family, but without discipline and holding one another responsible for following the Ordnung, their faith would have scattered in the wind long ago.
For Ephraim’s refusal to adhere to correction, as the bishop called it, he wouldn’t be allowed to work or have visitors come to his home, and he couldn’t be spoken to until the bishop changed the boundaries of his discipline.
In spite of wanting to always submit to the Ordnung, he found himself at odds with it. But if that’s what it took to offer at least a tattered, faded image of who God is to Cara and Lori, so be it.
“You said she doesn’t see things like we do. But is she at least a believer?”
He shook his head.
“Whatever she does believe could have the power to draw you away from the one true God.”
Ephraim stared at the caramel-colored liquid in his
mug, wishing he had the right words. If he took days to explain everything to his Daed, he still wouldn’t understand. He’d only warn his son with Scripture and fret over Ephraim’s difference of opinion. There was plenty written in the Word to support both sides—avoiding those in and of the world and reaching out to them. Wrangling about it would solve nothing and only put more distance between them.
Ephraim wrapped his hands around the mug. “Why did Cara’s mom leave?”
“Malinda was engaged to one of our own. He’d gone to Ohio to work for his uncle for the summer. Her father hired Englischers each summer to help with crops. That summer before the wedding season, she fell for one of them. The Amish man she was engaged to had no hint she was falling for someone else. A few weeks before the wedding, she took off with the Englischer. Malinda’s fiancé said she was pregnant with the Englischer’s child and had no choice. Your mother never believed it. I figured she must’ve been, though, because she never came back here—not until years later when she feared she couldn’t keep Cara safe from her drunken husband.”
They sat in silence, watching the rain. When the sounds of horses and buggies and muted voices filtered into the place, Ephraim knew his time to share anything with his Daed was drawing to a close. “I don’t know what all happened with Malinda, but Cara was raised in foster care, and her life’s been a nightmare. I feel God calling to her. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think He’s asked me to show Him to her. That’s all I want to do.”
His father gazed into his eyes. “I believe most of what you said is truth.”
“Most?”
He raised a brow. “That’s all you want?”
Unable to continue looking his Daed in the eyes, Ephraim turned to stare out the open double-wide doors.
“I’ve seen the way you look at her, Son. She calls to you in ways you’re not owning up to. And she’ll break you in ways no one will be able to fix.” His voice wavered.
Anna Mary stepped into the shop, looking pale. The skin around her eyes was puffy as if she’d been crying for hours.
Daed shook his head. “Even she won’t be able to repair what Cara will do to you.”
Fear shivered through Ephraim. Was he tricking himself into thinking God wanted this of him? Were his own hidden motives pulling him?
Unsure whether to go to Anna Mary or not, he stayed put. She took a seat on the women’s side. One by one families arrived, taking seats according to gender and age group without speaking. By sunset last night, news of what today held had spread throughout the community.
The service began as any other. Soon the songs were over, and the first preacher stood to share his message. Ephraim’s father followed. The aroma of food cooking wafted through the air, and he knew Cara had started a fire and was baking something. Anna Mary’s eyes moved to his. She knew it too. In spite of their reality, she offered an understanding smile. He could only hope she’d hold on to that accepting spirit throughout this ordeal.
With the women’s benches set to face the men’s, his and Anna Mary’s eyes kept finding each other. The three preachers, including his father, took turns speaking, each for nearly an hour. Children went to the bathroom and came back. Mothers who needed to nurse their infants went into a large storage room at the back of the shop, where chairs were provided, returning later with sleeping babes.
The bishop stood before the congregation, speaking in their own language about how the Amish couldn’t afford to let the children of those who’d chosen to leave the church waltz right into the community and cause the baptized ones to disregard the Ordnung.
He held up a German Bible. “Scripture says to suffer not a man to touch a woman and to refrain from the appearance of all evil. How then can a man share a home—a one-bedroom home—with a woman, even for a night and be considered in submission to the Ordnung? Where the heart is, the flesh will follow.”
He set the Bible down. “Ephraim is telling us that his heart isn’t with this woman and that his flesh won’t follow anything but God. But I think he’s lying to himself. I don’t believe he’s committed the sin of fornication, not yet. But even so, can we allow such rebellion? Unless boundaries are set up and those under the submission of the church stay within those boundaries, our standards of accountability are no better than the world’s. We have no choice but to offer discipline in love in hope”—he looked at Ephraim for the first time—”in great hope that he will choose to stop going his own way and instead follow the ways of his people. The ways of the Ordnung.”
“Better Days, come back here.” Lori’s voice came through the open door and echoed within the tin building. The bishop continued as if he’d not heard her, but every eye started scanning outside.
“Better Days!”
The puppy ran into the shop, quickly followed by Lori.
“Lori Moore.” Cara rounded the corner, wearing her jeans and tight sweater that showed an inch or so of her belly. She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes showing obvious alarm. “Lori,” she whispered and motioned for her daughter to come back out of the building.
Every eye moved to Cara. Whatever relatives she had inside Dry Lake, those who knew or would soon know who she was, would not easily let go of their shock and offense at such inappropriate dress. Especially on Amish property during a church service.
Lori pointed at Ephraim. Cara shook her head, but the little girl walked straight to him and sat beside him. “Mom told me not to leave the yard. She’s gonna be so mad at me. Can I stay here?” She whispered the words, glancing to her mother as she spoke.
He saw bits of Cara in her. Smart. Strong willed. Defiant. And alarmingly shrewd.
Cara studied him for a moment, and he gave a nod. Lori probably thought she’d won, but the look in Cara’s eyes said her daughter was in plenty of trouble. The least disruptive course right now was for Lori to stay. Besides, how wrong could it be for a fatherless child to want to sit with a man—to feel the comfort of his presence, the way he had as a child with his own Daed?
Thankfully, whatever the bishop had to say about the shunning would all be spoken in High German or Pennsylvania Dutch. Lori wouldn’t understand a word of it.
Cara left, and Lori crawled into his lap. Her cool skin reminded him that she didn’t own a sweater for the warmer weather of springtime—only an adult-size hoodie that dragged the ground. The dampness from the earlier rain clung to her, and he wrapped the sides of his black coat around her. The shivering soon stopped.
By the time the bishop stepped forward to give his summation of Ephraim’s wrongdoings, Lori was relaxed and peaceful in his arms and the dog at his feet. It was not an image anyone in the room approved of. But as the bishop explained everything to the congregation, Ephraim found Lori’s presence comforting. His district would have to turn their backs on him, but he would not turn his on Cara and Lori.
The bishop asked Ephraim to stand. He shifted Lori to his left arm and stood. She watched, wide-eyed, but she didn’t wiggle to get down. If she’d never been in church before, she might not think that much about what was going on.
The bishop gestured toward him, and from their seats the congregation faced him, each one seeming to stare at him with sadness and confusion.
“Until further notice you will not speak to him or do business with him. I want to encourage you to write him letters, reminding Ephraim of who he is to you and the calling God has placed on his life. Tell him how much you miss him, and share God’s wisdom as you see fit, but there will be no visitations until he removes the woman from his home. Does everyone understand and bear witness to this act?”
“We do.”
The echo of their agreement rang in his ears. He glanced to his father, who had tears in his eyes. The stricken look on Anna Mary’s face bothered him, and he hoped she had the strength to endure the rumors that were sure to circulate after today.
“Then as an act of obedience that we may cause him to submit to the teachings of our forefathers, we begin this journey with great grief, and we will
pray for him daily.”
Ephraim remained standing as the bishop prayed. When he said “amen,” the muffled sound of loved ones leaving without a word spoken rocked him to his soul. Anna Mary wept softly, and she didn’t budge until her mother placed her hands on her shoulders and guided her out of the building.
Lori watched the people filing out in stony silence. “What are they doing?”
“The service is over,” Ephraim whispered.
When the place was empty, he sat. Lori leaned her back against his chest, asking nothing.
It was over.
And yet it was the beginning.
His head pounded worse than his heart, but he collected himself as best he could before heading for his house.
As he stepped inside, he heard Cara in the storage room. “Lori Moore, is that you?”
The little girl’s eyes grew large.
Cara came to the doorway, wagging her finger at her daughter. “What did I tell you—”
Ephraim raised his hand. He’d had all the controversy he could stand for one day. “Don’t. Not now.”
Cara raised her eyes to his, clearly ready to challenge him. Understanding flickered through her eyes. “You okay?”
“Ya.” He set Lori’s feet on the floor. “And you obey your mother when she tells you something.”
He’d spoken softly but Lori’s eyes filled with tears. He’d never been so weary of emotions battering like a tempestuous sea. He wondered how Cara had managed to cope all these years. She’d moved from one loss to another—always fighting to survive, always having people turn their backs on her or worse—and yet she did what needed to be done without giving up.
The Hope of Refuge Page 17
