Love Finds You in Nazareth, Pennsylvania

by Melanie Dobson

  Her prayers would continue, that Indians would listen to the good news, that they would follow the Savior. And that Christian and Samuel would be safe in the midst of the turmoil.

  And when God allowed it, she prayed He would lead Christian safely home to her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Indian children gathered on bear rugs around Christian’s feet in the warm lodge, their parents standing behind the circle. Many of the warriors’ arms were crossed, their eyes and hearts hardened against any news white men might bring, but they waited in silence for Chief Langoma’s nod to begin.

  Christian ate from the platter of boiled trout Chief Langoma served him. Skepticism seemed to bleed through most of the villages they had visited this winter. Some chiefs allowed him to share the story of the Christ Child, while others commanded Samuel and him to leave when they began to speak about their God.

  In all the villages they visited, only one Indian had inquired in private about following their Savior—a woman with the English name of Mary. He had wanted to baptize her, but she feared her clan might kill her if she rejected the many gods of their people to follow the Savior. Every day he prayed for her, that she would decide to follow Christ in the face of persecution. Even if her tribe stole away her body, God would protect her soul.

  Joseph remained in Gnadenhutten to help Elias complete the gristmill, but as Christian and Samuel wandered from village to village this winter, seeing little fruit from their labor, his mind wandered back to Chief Langoma and his people. The last time he had seen the tribe, they were dancing and chanting around their barrel of rum, but now they stood like statues with the adults glowering at him in the firelight.

  He wasn’t sure which was worse, the Indians’ animosity or their unruliness, but he refused to be intimidated. Samuel told him he had to do more than tell a story to the Indians; he had to demonstrate God’s love through humility and grace. He wasn’t sure how, exactly, to demonstrate these when they were so angry. But Chief Langoma had said he had lost a child. Perhaps his clan would understand what it was like for God to sacrifice His son.

  Christian sat down on a rug in front of the children and folded his hands. At least the children were eager to hear his words.

  When Chief Langoma nodded at him, he took a deep breath. And then, as Samuel translated his words, he began to share the grandest story of them all. He told of a little baby born in a cave, of the animals that crowded around the baby and his mother. He told how this boy, birthed in the hay, was sent from the God above all gods as a sacrifice.

  And with those words, he watched the shift in their eyes. They understood sacrifice.

  Talking faster now, he told of the boy in a faraway land who grew up to be a carpenter. Of a man who could turn water into wine and even make the eyes of a blind man see. Of a man who was accused of doing wrong when He’d sought nothing but truth and righteousness.

  As many times as Christian had told the story of God’s Son, it never grew old for him. So many had never heard that God loved them, that God could forgive their sins. They didn’t know that Christ had died for them.

  “And then,” he said, scooting closer to the children, “the soldiers beat this innocent man with a whip and put a cross on His back. They forced Him to walk through the streets while people laughed at Him. Spat at Him. They didn’t know it, but they were mocking the one person who could help them. The one person who could rescue them from the bad things they had done.”

  Even as he spoke, Christian felt the weight of his own words. The story breathed power through him, no matter how many times he told it.

  Christian flung out his arm and pretended to pound a nail into his wrist. He told how the soldiers pounded nails through the arms and feet of the one man who had never sinned. He told them how the Lamb of God had to die so that each of them could be saved.

  “The sky turned black when Jesus died, and the earth shook.”

  One of the Indian children spoke, and Christian turned to Samuel for interpretation.

  “He said the gods must have been angry.”

  “It wasn’t the gods you know,” Christian said with a shake his head. “Our God is love and justice and mercy, and His heart broke as He watched His only Son die. He loved Him, you see, as only a Father can love His child.”

  Behind the children, several of the warriors had dropped their arms to their sides while listening to the story. The animosity drained from their eyes and changed into expectation. Perhaps a bit of their hearts tore as well at the thought of losing a son.

  “Christ didn’t stay on the cross.” Christian’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Nor did He stay in the grave.”

  He paused as his audience leaned forward, letting them wonder about the man who didn’t stay in His grave.

  “Three days after His death, the ground rumbled yet again, but this time the land brought forth the Christ Child instead of stealing Him away. This time Jesus unwrapped the clothes that bound His body and walked out of the tomb.

  “Can you imagine it?” Christian asked and then waited for Samuel’s interpretation.

  “Can you see the faces of those who had seen Jesus die?” he asked. “They knew He was gone—they had wrapped and buried Him in a tomb three days before. But now, now He was here among them again. The scars were still in His wrists and his feet, but He was alive again. Alive and willing to forgive anyone who asked.

  “God already made the sacrifice. You and I must only accept this gift of forgiveness. Of freedom. We are no longer bound to the evil in this world.”

  He reached for another piece of the white trout meat as the Indians around him peppered Samuel with questions. Samuel answered them on his own.

  One of the women brought Christian a wooden bowl steaming with hot liquid and a large spoon. He dipped the spoon into the bowl and tasted blackberry and chicory as he sipped it.

  We are no longer bound….

  The words filtered through his mind as the Indians continued to speak around him. He’d traveled for months now, sharing the forgiveness of Christ with different Indian nations and clans, but even as he spoke about God’s forgiveness, he realized suddenly that he had yet to allow Christ to forgive him of his sins. He still clung to the sin that tormented him.

  Why could he not let it go?

  Nothing had been the same since that night he had followed Catharine out into the darkness back in October, but after they had talked, when she finally told him the truth, some of the bitterness he’d harbored against the elders, against the lot, began to melt away.

  But his search for the truth had caused harm, irreparable perhaps. After that night in Gnadenhutten, Elias’s love for Catharine seemed to crumble, and it was Christian’s fault. His sin remained in him even though what he thought was love wasn’t love at all. It was lust. He had wanted her to fulfill his needs as a wife and a companion; he hadn’t wanted to care for her. Not like Elias, who cared very much for her, so much that Christian’s secret had crushed him.

  He worried about Elias even as Christian tried to transform his own mind with the promise of the Gospel. God clearly hadn’t wanted him married to Catharine, but what did God want of him?

  Back in Marienborn, he’d thought God wanted him to share the truth with the Indians. He thought hundreds of them would decide to follow Christ once he shared the Gospel. He’d come to Pennsylvania to be used of God, but perhaps God didn’t need him as much as Christian wanted Him to.

  His dreams of Catharine persisted, but instead of relishing them, he fought against them.

  “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

  The Scripture blazed through his mind, and in that moment, he knew exactly what he had to do. A long time ago, he had asked God to forgive his sins and God had done that. But even as he traveled around now, sharing the good news of this forgiveness, he hadn’t allowed Christ to forgive him of his sin against Catharine or against himself. Or his sin against
Susanna. He clung to the pleasures of his sin even as it tormented him.

  He glanced around the crowded room, at Samuel as he continued answering questions. God was using Samuel to share his love with the native people; why did he need Christian to come as well? He started to stand—Samuel had told him before that the white men often hindered an Indian’s decision to follow Christ. Tonight he would leave and let this clan decide as a tribe what they wanted to do.

  Instead of sending him away, though, Samuel pressed on his shoulder. “Sit,” he whispered. “This time you must wait.”

  Christian sat back on the rug and listened to banter he didn’t understand. Samuel had been so patient with him, trying to help him understand the language, but he struggled with the pronunciation and the accents, straining to remember even the basic words. He thought he could remember the words if only he could read them, but the Delaware language was spoken, not written. So he kept trying—and failing—to learn it.

  So as the Indians discussed the story, he watched the snow fall outside the window until darkness covered the white. And he wondered what Susanna was doing in Nazareth tonight. Very soon, the community would be celebrating the story of Christ’s resurrection with song and a special love feast of coffee and sweet rolls. When he and Samuel were done here, they would return to Gnadenhutten so they could travel back with the Wittkes and Schmidts for Easter. For Susanna’s birthday.

  An hour or two passed, the talk growing more animated as the folded arms transformed into gestures, wide and strong. Then Chief Langoma lifted his arms, and the murmuring ceased. He spoke in the language of the Delaware for the benefit of his people.

  Samuel interpreted the chief’s question. “How do we get this forgiveness of our sins?”

  Christian leaned forward. In the few words he’d learned from their language, he said simply, “You must ask God for it.”

  The chief paused a moment, everyone looking at him. “We will ask.”

  Stunned, the reply froze on Christian’s lips. In all the places they had traveled during the past few months, all the stories he had told, this was the first time an Indian wanted this gift.

  Finally he nodded. “We will ask together.”

  Christian bowed his head, Samuel interpreting his prayer beside him. He asked God to forgive the people around him, His children, of their sins. He asked the almighty God to empower each of them with His spirit to avoid the temptations of the world and follow Him into the light.

  When he finished his prayer, the chief clasped his hand and shook it. “You promised us peace,” the chief said. “And you have abided by your promise.”

  “It is God’s promise,” Christian said. “He desires each of us to be peacemakers.”

  It was what God desired, but he had failed miserably with the Schmidt family.

  Christian spent hours reading the New Testament to the tribe over the next two days, and Samuel interpreted the words. The questions poured out of the Indians. What is a neighbor and how do you love them as yourself? How will a meek person inherit the earth? Where could they get the salt that never loses its savor?

  He and Samuel wrestled and prayed through each question, for wisdom from the Lord. He didn’t want to lead them astray nor did he want to leave, but the others were waiting for them in Gnadenhutten to return to Nazareth for the spring.

  Before they left, the chief presented Christian with a gift of leather leggings to wear over his breeches. Then he held up the belt of wampum that Christian had delivered on their first meeting.

  “It is my covenant to you,” Chief Langoma said as he handed the belt back to him. “We will serve this Child of the High God with you.”

  Christian took the belt and strung the beads through his fingers. It was a testimony of all their Savior had done in this village, and he would be faithful to return to his new brothers and sisters to encourage and teach them about the ways of God.

  “It is our covenant,” he promised the chief. “For me to pray for your people and serve you in whatever way I am able.”

  With a square piece of wax, Catharine drew a cross on one side of the egg and rose petals on the other. She placed the egg in a basket, and across from her, Susanna dipped it into a ceramic pot of water boiled with rose hips to dye the egg a deep red color. This was a new tradition for her and the other sisters who’d yet to celebrate Easter in Pennsylvania, but those who had lived here for several seasons said the children enjoyed finding the colorful eggs hidden in the yard that surrounded the Nursery.

  Catharine picked up another egg and started to draw again. It was hardly the artwork that she’d once created with her needle and thread, but it gave her mind and hands something pleasant to do this evening. Something to help her stop thinking about Elias and their baby.

  She and Elias had spent more than six months together in the wilderness. Months that were supposed to be filled with marital bliss. But Christian Boehler, in his selfishness, had destroyed their delight in being together. Everyone in Nazareth would soon learn of her husband’s disdain for her. And Christian would return any day now. What else would he destroy for her?

  It didn’t matter what happened so long ago. She and Elias were married now and she, for one, had been happy in her marriage. It wasn’t her fault that Christian couldn’t let go of what he’d imagined and embrace the wife God had given him. Neither she nor the lot had agreed to their marriage.

  His foolishness had cost both of them. Or at least it cost her the trust and admiration of the man she loved. Elias had avoided speaking with her after he confronted Christian, and it wasn’t like there was a bedchamber in Gnadenhutten for the married couples to meet or a laboress to coordinate their times together. It was assumed that they would steal time together on their own. Before it turned cold, Rebecca and Joseph had often snuck out together, but after that fateful night with Christian, Elias no longer whispered invitations to her.

  She pushed so hard on the wax, the boiled egg cracked in her hand. She placed the egg in a separate basket. They wouldn’t color it, but the Brethren would still eat it.

  “Are you okay?” Susanna asked.

  “As well as I can be.”

  Elias’s trust had faded with Christian’s words, but when she could no longer hide the baby within her, when he stopped to question her, she answered his questions. And she had to tell him the truth—that she had suspected she was expecting a child soon after they arrived in Gnadenhutten.

  He was furious at her for keeping this secret from him, but when he asked if the child was his, she’d almost slapped him.

  The baby was his, but Elias never spoke of it. Her deception had cost her—had cost both of them—and she spent hours trying to figure out a way to win him back. She couldn’t imagine continuing on here in the shadow of Elias’s hatred. It would break her.

  Another egg cracked, and Susanna reached over and took it from her hands.

  “Sit down,” she said.

  “I’m fine.”

  Susanna shook her head. “You need to rest, Catharine.”

  The baby kicked her, and she backed away from the table of eggs and dyes. She didn’t need to rest, but perhaps her anger was aggravating their child.

  She put her head in her hands. She never should have left Marienborn. She’d sought freedom and received it, but she didn’t want to be here. Nor did she want to go back to Marienborn. She wanted to return to her home in London, to her servants and her painting and to a nanny who would help her care for the life within her.

  She didn’t know how to care for a baby, not even for the first year like they did among the Brethren. When she was a child, she’d been cared for by nursemaids who changed her clothing and fed her and sung her to sleep. Her mother was more of an apparition, floating in and out at mealtimes and between social events. She’d often dreamed of the day when she would become an apparition like her mother.

  How was she supposed to care for this child with no husband and no nursemaid?

  The thought terrified h
er.

  She’d lost Elias’s trust already, and she couldn’t imagine what he would say if she told him she was unable to care for a child. He was too good a man to divorce her, with or without the commands of the Scripture, but if she told him this final revelation, the love they once knew, the fragile thread that might remain, would be lost forever.

  Susanna slipped away from the table of eggs and sat down on the bench beside her. She slipped her arm around Catharine’s shoulders and hugged her.

  “What is wrong?”

  The baby kicked Catharine again, and she rubbed her side. She didn’t know the exact date that she conceived, nor did she know the signs of when a baby was supposed to arrive, but it seemed to her that this child was ready to enter into the world.

  When she didn’t answer, Susanna asked again. “Are you all right?”

  Catharine looked into the light eyes of her friend, already mourning the loss of their friendship. Once Susanna found out about her and Christian, she would hate her too.

  “Nothing is right anymore.”

  “Did something happen between you and Elias?”

  She hesitated. How was she supposed to tell Susanna the truth?

  “Gnadenhutten wasn’t what I expected,” she said. “But you would have liked it there. The Indians are all striving to serve the Savior and work together as a community. And most of them live as families so they can raise their children in their homes.”

  “Catharine—” Her friend’s voice was gentle but strong. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  Catharine rested her hand on her belly, and then she conceded. “Elias and I quarreled.”

  “On your way home?’

  “No,” she said. “Not long after we arrived in Gnadenhutten. And then when he found out about the baby…”

  “He was angry about the baby?”

  She shook her head. “He was angry that I didn’t tell him sooner about our child.”

  “You must have known he would be upset.”