Breath of Spring

by Hubbard, Charlotte

  “My brothers and I will concentrate on your new place now—and just in time, it sounds like,” Micah remarked as he reached for the green beans. “I’m hopin’ Adam Wagler can put in some time with us, on account of how he’s best at all that finishin’ work—and he lives right down the road. We’ll fix up your livin’ quarters first, before we do your clinic and office.”

  “We’ve . . . already started our . . . packing,” Andy’s mother said in her halting voice. Betty Leitner was recovering from a stroke, but wearing a Plain-style dress covered with bright red poppies, she radiated a courage and determination that inspired everyone around her. “Your Rhoda . . . is a godsend, when it comes to . . . tucking things into boxes and . . . convincing the kids to get rid of... stuff!”

  Laughter filled the room again, as seven-year-old Brett grinned at his grandmother’s remark. “Yeah, Rhoda the Raccoon is pawing through all our toys and computer games,” he said. “I bet we’ve donated a hundred boxes to the homeless shelter in Warrensburg—”

  “Maybe a dozen,” his older sister, Taylor, corrected quickly. “And Rhoda’s sewing us new Amish clothes for when we start at the one-room school, too. It’ll be a big change from the classes we’ve got now, but . . . but we really want to do this so she can be our new mamm.”

  Miriam’s heart swelled again, and her eyes got wet. The two Leitner kids really had no idea how major the changes would be once they began living the Plain life, yet she knew Taylor and Brett would do anything for Rhoda. And Miriam was more than ready to welcome these two grandchildren, even before Andy completed what might be a lengthy transition period before he was baptized into the Amish church. Yet another gift I’m so very grateful for, Lord . . .

  Across the table from Miriam, Nellie Knepp laughed and elbowed Annie Mae. “It would almost be worth my stayin’ in school to watch Teacher Alberta when Taylor and Brett start comin’,” she said playfully. “But at the end of this term, I’m outta there.”

  “You know,” Andy responded in a pensive tone, “I’ve been thinking the kids might adjust to their new Amish school more easily if we had them tutored or homeschooled after we move here. With Rhoda already so busy getting us settled, what would you think of becoming our teacher, Nellie?” he asked as the excitement rose in his voice. “We might be coming here sooner than we anticipated—”

  “And havin’ an Amish gal teach ya Deitsch and other Plain ways would be a big help to all of ya,” Bishop Tom remarked. He was seated at the other end of the table, very interested—and invested—in the Leitners’ transformation of faith and lifestyle.

  Nellie set down her fork. “I—I’ve never thought about bein’ a schoolmarm—”

  “But you’d be so gut at that!” Annie Mae declared. “You’ve already been teachin’ our little brothers and sister Sara—”

  “And ya have a steady head and a lovin’ heart,” Jerusalem chimed in. “After all the years Nazareth and I spent in the classroom, I can tell ya that kids need love and patience more than anything else in this world. The way I hear it, kids in English schools aren’t gettin’ nearly enough of that these days.”

  “You are so right about that,” Andy said emphatically. “In my years as a teacher, before my nurse’s training, I became very concerned at the way parental support for teachers was disappearing—and about the level of commitment of some newer teachers.” Once again he focused on Nellie. “I know this is a spur-of-the-moment idea I’ve thrown at you, but if you’re interested, we’ll get the kids started with you as soon as we can on whatever schedule works for you.”

  Miriam fell back against her chair, somewhat amazed at this development. But then, why am I surprised, Lord? You’re here amongst us, workin’ out Your will.

  Nellie was fiddling with her napkin, yet smiling shyly. “I’d like workin’ with your kids,” she murmured. “It might lead to becomin’ a teacher at the school someday. Can we talk about it soon?”

  “Any time you’re ready,” Andy confirmed. “You folks here in Willow Ridge—the way you share so much of yourselves to help my family—are truly an inspiration.”

  The group quieted for a moment. Forks scraped across plates and satisfied sighs confirmed that everyone had enjoyed the meal. Glancing at the desserts on the back counter, Nazareth cleared her throat. “You’ll want to try the hot fudge cake I pulled out of the oven before we came,” she hinted. “And Tom made ice cream to go with it.”

  “The kids helped me bake the lime bars, too,” Rhoda said as she stood up to scrape their dirty plates. “When I told them we’d all bring food we made ahead of time, so we didn’t work on the Sabbath, cookies were the first thing they thought of.”

  “You all’re lucky we had any left to bring,” Brett piped up.

  Laughter and pleasant chatter filled the kitchen again, and as Miriam rose to clear the table she feasted her eyes, her soul, on the dear folks who surrounded her today. What a blessing, to have so many new connections and new developments as they moved out of January into February. As Ben had said, last winter she couldn’t have imagined the changes she would be witnessing in this new year—and best of all, she was watching her three daughters grow into fine young women.

  Rachel, Rhoda, and Rebecca possessed different abilities, yet they were triplets in every sense of the word . . . even if Rebecca sported short hair, jeans, and a tie-dye hoodie today. How wonderful it was, that everyone in Willow Ridge accepted her girls even though two of them had chosen uncommon paths. Miriam felt especially indebted to Tom Hostetler for his open attitude—his willingness to consider nontraditional options for her family and for their community.

  And it was Tom who struck up a new topic as they passed around Nazareth’s gooey cocoa cake along with a bucket of ice cream and a big plate of lime bars. “Along with all of these new situations we’ve been discussin’, our district needs to select a new preacher real soon,” he said. He looked at Andy as he went on to explain this. “Because I’ve become the bishop, that leaves only Gabe Glick as a preacher, and a district this size needs two. Truth be told, with his health deterio-ratin’ and with his Wilma needin’ more assistance, Gabe’s asked me to replace him as soon as we can.”

  Everyone considered this as they took their first bites of dark chocolate cake and homemade ice cream. It occurred to Miriam that, except for Tom, she had been a member of the Willow Ridge district longer than anyone else in the room. “Gabe was a preacher when Jesse brought me here as a bride, more than twenty years ago,” she murmured. “While he’s supposed to have that job for life, we can’t argue about why he wants to let somebody younger and healthier take his place.”

  “That’ll involve a process we call the fallin’ of the lot,” Tom continued—partly for the Leitner family’s benefit, and also because it had been so long since they’d chosen a new preacher. “At one of our after-church meetings, members will whisper the name of the fella they feel should be the new preacher—a married man, he has to be. Then the men who get mentioned the most will sit up front at a table. Out of their sight, I will have slipped a Bible verse into an Ausbund—our hymnal—and mixed that hymnal into a stack with the same number of books as we have men. Nobody—not even me—knows which book the verse is hidden in.”

  As Andy, his kids, and his mother listened closely, Miriam ran the names of potential preachers through her mind. There weren’t but a handful eligible for the position.

  “So if a preacher has to be married,” Andy said, his brow furrowed in thought, “how is it that you’ve been selected as the new bishop, Tom? I’m not meaning any disrespect, understand, but you’ve told me your wife left you, and then divorced you . . . and that she’s recently died.”

  “I’m not takin’ it as disrespectful in the least. You’ve asked a pertinent question,” Tom replied quickly. “A lot of Amish leadership decisions depend on the other bishops in the area—and our situation’s more troublesome than usual, what with our previous bishop bein’ excommunicated. Jeremiah Shetler, Vernon Gingerich, an
d Enos Mullet all said right off that Willow Ridge needed a local preacher to fill the bishop’s position immediately, to keep our members united and strong in the faith after losin’ their leader under such . . . unfortunate circumstances.”

  Andy nodded, as did most of the adults around the table. “I can see the wisdom of that. And the folks here couldn’t ask for a more levelheaded, compassionate leader than you, Tom.”

  Their new bishop smiled, but then quickly resumed a more serious expression. “We see it as the will of God, this whole episode in our district’s story. If I’m the right man for the job, that’s the Lord’s doin’—just as we believe that the fella who picks the book with the verse in it has been chosen by God to be our new preacher.” Bishop Tom continued his previous explanation. “He comes to the service that mornin’ as an ordinary man, but when he leaves he’s a servant of the church. That means he’ll tend to our members’ needs—which includes tellin’ them when they’ve sinned and need to confess. He’ll start preachin’ sermons, and he’ll sacrifice time he would’ve been spendin’ on whatever work he normally does, and time with his family. He’ll serve us for the rest of his life. Without pay.”

  “Oh my,” Rebecca murmured. “That’s a huge commitment. What if the guy says no?”

  “That’s not an option,” the bishop replied somberly. “When a man marries, he also vows to serve the church if he’s selected. When God calls ya, there’s no duckin’ out. No excuses.”

  “And this fellow will serve and preach sermons without going to a seminary?” Andy asked. “How will he know the right things to say—and be able to speak for an hour or more without any notes, the way you and Bishop Gingerich did at Miriam and Ben’s wedding?”

  Tom squeezed Andy’s shoulder. “I like the questions you’re askin’. You’re figurin’ out that for Amish, our faith is everything—our devotion to God comes even before our love for our families,” he replied. “We’ll give this new preacher a few months to study the Scriptures, and I’ll be spendin’ a lot of preparation time with him, too. But once he gets up in front of that roomful of people, he preaches on the day’s Bible passage accordin’ to how the gut Lord leads him.”

  The bishop paused to spoon up some of the ice cream that was being passed around the table. “And when he hears of folks who might be veerin’ off the path—maybe usin’ their teenagers’ cell phones or drivin’ around like Hiram was doin’,” Tom clarified, “he and the deacon’ll have to go tell them, straight-out, that they’ve gone astray. If they don’t put away the gadget or stop whatever they’re doin’ wrong, they’ll get a visit from the bishop and will most likely be instructed to kneel in church and confess.”

  Andy’s expression got very serious. “I’ve read about that in my online explorations, but I can’t imagine most folks would like having their shortcomings pointed out that way. Even in private.”

  “You’ve got that right!” Ben replied with a chuckle. “But our families have been teachin’ us right from wrong since they rocked our cradles. It’s not like a preacher or the bishop is tellin’ us what we don’t already know.”

  “And that’s why, when outsiders say they want to become Amish, we require such a long period of transition.” Tom gazed steadily at Andy, and then glanced at the younger folks seated around the table. “Even our own kids must take instruction, once they’ve decided to be baptized into the church, because it’s a vow they take for life.”

  Tom stroked his steely-gray beard then, considering what he’d say next. “I’d be remiss not to tell ya, Andy, that for every ten English who start down the path to become Old Order Amish, maybe one is accepted into the membership. It’s very rare, because either the Englischer can’t make all the necessary changes, or the district won’t vote him in. Even when he’s left his former life behind to follow our simpler ways, the lifelong members feel he’s still too different. Not fully immersed in the faith.”

  “It’s the biggest challenge I’ve undertaken in my entire life,” Andy agreed.

  “I should also say that while it was a fine thing for Rebecca’s English dat to buy your building for ya,” Bishop Tom went on, “there’ll be folks who suspect you’re usin’ the existin’ electricity for more than Rebecca’s computer business. I’ll be checkin’ on that personally, so I can assure them—”

  “But we’re gonna have solar panels!” Brett blurted. “Won’t that be cool?”

  “Jah, we removed the electrical wiring from the living quarters and even from Andy’s main office,” Micah spoke up. “Once we showed him how we charge our shop tools with solar panels—like Ben and Adam Wagler do—he decided that was the better route to go.”

  “I’ll have a solar panel on top of my clinic wagon, too,” Andy chimed in. “When the Brennemans showed me how to adapt my medical equipment, solar power seemed the ideal way to keep my practice Plain yet up-to-date.”

  “Pleased to hear that,” Tom remarked with a nod. “But understand, there’s still room for abusin’ solar power. I’ve had to get after a couple fellas for runnin’ TV’s their rumspringa teenagers had. And Rhoda knows she’s not to have modern kitchen appliances plugged into your panels, either.”

  “No more microwave popcorn,” Taylor acknowledged matter-of-factly.

  Andy smiled at his kids. “I appreciate your honesty, Bishop Tom,” he murmured. “I believe we’re all working together on this, though. And I believe Rhoda’s the woman God intends for me to marry . . . the mother my children so badly need after my first wife divorced me and left us all behind. That’s the best incentive a man can have.”

  Once again, Miriam felt as though her kitchen was filled with love and the presence of God Himself. Rhoda’s face turned a pretty shade of pink as she slipped her arms around Taylor’s and Brett’s shoulders. The way those kids gazed up at her tugged at Miriam’s heartstrings, too.

  “So who-all might be eligible to preach?” Jerusalem asked as she cut into her chocolate cake. “What with comin’ to Willow Ridge just last fall, I might not know all the men we’re talkin’ about—except, of course, that our Bennie is now up for consideration.”

  “Jah, he is,” Tom confirmed. “Henry Zook comes to mind, and Ezra Brenneman—”

  “And my sister Leah’s husband, Dan Kanagy . . . and Preacher Gabe’s son, Atlee Glick,” Miriam added as she, too, made a mental trip along the roads that crisscrossed their rural district. Her gaze lingered on the row of sturdy young men seated across the table from her. “And now you’re eligible, as well, Micah,” she said, smiling at Rachel’s new husband. “Yet it seems we have nearly as many single fellas in town as we do married ones.”

  “From what I’ve seen of how the preachers here and back in Lancaster have to deal with family disputes and issues with the local government,” Luke said as he took two lime bars, “it makes sense to me not to get hitched. Why would I want to take on such a load of other people’s business while sacrificin’ my own?”

  Ben stiffened in his chair. He had spoken to his two younger brothers often since they’d arrived, about how they were twenty-eight and thirty and still not members of the Amish church. Bishop Tom seemed taken aback by Luke’s tone, as well, while Nazareth and Jerusalem frowned at each other and then at their two younger nephews.

  Miriam cleared her throat. “You make a point, Luke,” she said, striving to speak with patience. “My Jesse served as the deacon of this district for most of his married life, and my brother Moses is a preacher, so I can tell ya firsthand about the hours of discussion and intervention and prayer that go into livin’ your life on behalf of others. It’s no small burden for a man’s family to bear, either. But I believe that preachers, deacons, and bishops who’ve sacrificed wages here on Earth go on to reap greater rewards in Heaven.”

  “Hear, hear,” Jerusalem murmured.

  “Ya said a mouthful, Miriam,” Nazareth agreed as she patted Tom’s arm. “There comes a time when we all have to take responsibility and be accountable for the gifts and talents the gut
Lord has given us.”

  Ira rolled his eyes and his spoon clattered into his empty bowl. “From what I can see of Bishop’s Ridge, Hiram Knepp didn’t sacrifice much in the way of wages,” he retorted. “He was surely makin’ money hand over fist—”

  “And that’ll be enough of such talk at this table.” Ben stood up slowly, glaring at his brothers. “I’m ashamed of ya, speculatin’ about Annie Mae and Nellie’s dat while they’re sittin’ right here amongst us. You were raised better than that.”

  The sudden silence squeezed every person in the room, like a shoe laced up too tight. Miriam sat up straighter, believing Ben was absolutely right to chastise his brothers’ careless chatter. Andy’s eyebrows rose and his two kids knew better than to make a peep. Tom looked as close to delivering a lecture as Miriam had ever seen him, while her three daughters wore stricken expressions. Poor Nellie was blushing, staring down at her lap.

  But Annie Mae leaned forward to look down her side of the table at the two Hooley brothers. “Jah, it’s true that our dat kept some mighty big secrets and that he’s done things folks are shakin’ their heads over,” she said in a low voice. “But he’s human, like we all are. And though he doesn’t seem inclined to confess or to ask our forgiveness—and though I don’t like it one bit that he’s run off to start another town, or that he took our innocent brothers and little sister with him—in the end, he’ll answer to God, ain’t so? Just like every one of us will.”

  Once again the kitchen seemed to hold its breath. Ben placed his hand on Annie Mae’s shoulders. “Ya said that just right, young lady,” he murmured. “Bless ya for remindin’ us to look to our own issues before we judge anybody else’s.”