by Beth Wiseman
Ben raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Ach, you’ll see. He’s as mean a man as I’ve ever known, and I bet he keeps Anna locked in her room half the time.”
Jacob scowled. “What? I doubt that. And how’d he get to be bishop if he’s so mean?”
“You know how it works—all done by the lot,” Rubin said. “And I’m guessing back when he was first nominated to be a deacon or minister, he must have had everyone tricked into believing he was a gut guy.”
Jacob knew exactly how it worked. A man must receive three nominations to be considered for a role as deacon or minister, then all candidates would walk into a room with hymnals laid out before them. One of the books contained a piece of paper with a scripture reading on it. Whoever picked that particular book was God’s chosen one to minister. The same process was used to pick a bishop. These were sacred callings.
“What about the deacons and ministers? Do they agree with him? In Ohio, some things were put to a vote before anything could be changed in the Ordnung.” Jacob took another drag from the cigar and coughed again, thinking he wouldn’t miss this particular ban.
“But that’s the problem,” Ben said. “Our Ordnung has never been changed, upgraded, or whatever you call it. Bishop Byler and the ministers and deacons are just enforcing what’s already in the Ordnung. Our parents say things have just been kind of overlooked for years, but now Bishop Byler is taking everything back to the old ways.”
“Do your parents agree with him?”
“Not really. But no one wants to stand up to him and face being shunned—or even if not shunned, shamed.” Rubin stubbed out the cigar and put it back in his pocket.
Jacob pushed back the rim of his straw hat. “That doesn’t sound mean, just strict.”
Ben chuckled. “Ach, well . . . then you go right on over there and ask Anna Byler on a date or to a Sunday singing.”
“I never said I wanted to ask her out.” Jacob thought she was beautiful, and she seemed to have a playful spirit, something he found attractive in a woman. But he wasn’t planning on dating anyone, despite his mother’s encouragement to do so. “I doubt a man of God like the bishop would lock his granddaughter in her room or willingly be mean to anyone. He probably just doesn’t want his district changing with the times. Lots of bishops are that way.”
Rubin took off his hat and ran his forearm across his forehead. “Well, I’d sure ask her out if it weren’t for her grandfather. The bishop we used to have was strict, but nothing like this. Bishop Ebersol was a wise old man. He knew when it was okay to bend the rules. Bishop Byler doesn’t bend on anything, but we’re stuck with him until he dies.”
Anna kept one hand tightly over her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks. She’d come to tell the men that Emma’s mother had dessert and coffee set out for them in the kitchen, but she’d stopped outside the barn door when she heard her name. Is this really what they think of Daadi?
She knew her grandfather was strict. Too strict. Her grandmother was proof of that, hiding prescriptions from her own husband because he preferred her treatment to come from the homeopathic doctor in town. And those herbal remedies had worked . . . at first. But when the symptoms grew worse, he had refused to back down, so Mammi had gone to Dr. Noah behind his back. Anna suspected she hid more than just medications. Maybe all married couples lived like that—keeping things from one another just to keep the peace. Anna would never want to do that.
But she also knew that her grandfather loved her and her grandmother and all the people in his district. Stuck with him until he dies? These jerks don’t know him as a person, don’t know what his motivations are. The only one who seemed to get it—maybe—was the new guy, Jacob. Trembling, she kept her hand over her mouth and listened.
“The biggest thing folks are upset about is not being able to go to Dr. Noah’s clinic.”
Anna leaned an ear closer and recognized Rubin as the one speaking.
“Noah Stoltzfus was shunned by the community a really long time ago. He wrote a book or something.” Rubin paused. “Anyway, he came back and wanted to make up for the way he’d acted by opening a clinic. He’d gotten him a doctoring degree, and he opened a clinic within buggy distance for most of the Amish folks here. It was his way of giving back to the community, he used to say. And his wife, Carley, used to work at the front desk. Gut people and related to some of the families here in our district. At first our old bishop—Bishop Ebersol—wouldn’t let anyone go to Dr. Noah’s clinic, but eventually he gave in because he knew it was the best thing for the community. The hospital is too far to reach by buggy. Most of us could get to Dr. Noah’s clinic by buggy, and lots of times he drove to our haus if it was an emergency.”
“Not anymore.” Anna heard Ben jump in. “Almost all of Dr. Noah’s patients were Amish. I heard he might even close down his clinic now. A real shame.” He paused, and Anna could hear rustling, as if someone had stood up or moved around. “And I know it’s Bishop Byler’s fault that Lizzie Miller died a couple of months ago. Sarah Jane begged Bishop Byler to let Dr. Noah treat her stepmother, saying the distance to Lancaster was too far for the old woman, even by car. I was young when Lizzie’s husband died, but Jonas was somewhat of a legend around here, and I doubt he’d be too happy that Bishop Byler practically killed his wife.”
Anna gasped before she rushed into the barn, not even attempting to hide the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Liar! You’re a liar, Ben!” Anna turned and pointed a finger at Rubin. “And I wouldn’t go out with you, Rubin Fisher, if you were the last man on the planet!”
Ben moved toward her, but Anna backed up and held a palm out in front of her. “You’re so wrong about him, about Daadi! About everything!” Anna knew for sure that her grandfather had nothing to do with Lizzie Miller’s death. He’d gone to their house several times and offered to have a driver take Lizzie to the hospital. Anna and her grandparents had always included Lizzie in their prayers. This was a nasty rumor—one of many, Anna was sure.
“We’re sorry, Anna.” Rubin was walking closer to her too. “We didn’t know you were out there listening.” He raised one eyebrow. “Eavesdropping?”
“Shut up, Rubin! Just shut up!”
Then before she said things that went against her upbringing, she ran out the door, across the yard, and toward the road. Once she got to Black Horse Road, she crossed the street and ran as fast as she could through the field toward home. She hadn’t gotten very far when she heard footsteps rustling in the high weeds behind her. She looked back to see Jacob Hostetler.
She turned around, tried to catch her breath, then yelled, “Don’t follow me, Jacob. I want to be left alone.”
When he kept on running toward her, Anna spun back around and ran faster until she couldn’t hear Jacob behind her anymore. Still in the field, she fell to her hands and knees and sobbed. She loved her daadi. She loved both her grandparents. They were the only parents she’d ever known. They’d been strict, no doubt, but she’d never felt unloved and had certainly never been locked in her room. Jerks.
She cried harder as anger at the men pressed down on her.
But even worse was having to admit to herself that some of what Ben and Rubin said was the truth.
2
JACOB COULD HAVE RUN FASTER AND CAUGHT UP WITH Anna, but he’d respected her wishes and turned around. During his walk home, he wondered if what Ben and Rubin said was true—and if it was . . . poor Anna. Thinking about her provided a temporary distraction from his own problems, but as his family’s farm came into view, the heaviness settled around his heart. Mealtime was always the worst.
Jacob spotted Eli and Abraham outside as he neared the house—an enormous farmhouse that had been restored before Jacob’s family had made the move from Ohio. The Amish family who owned the farm had chosen to downsize because the father had taken ill. With a fresh coat of white paint on the outside, a new tin roof, and a white picket fence, it should have been the most inviting house on the road. But as Jacob drew nearer
, he could see that his mother and sisters still hadn’t done anything with the flowerbeds that ran the length of the porch. They remained as barren as all their hearts.
“Need some help?” Jacob walked to where his brothers were brushing down Bolt, a retired racehorse they had bought when they arrived in Paradise.
“Nee, we got it.” Eli ran the brush the length of the animal, who bobbed his head in pleasure over the rubdown. The little spot of white between the horse’s ears seemed to twinkle against his glossy black hide.
Jacob nodded to his twelve-year-old brother, then eased around to where Abe was standing. The seven-year-old reached as high as he could, smoothing the animal’s sweaty flanks.
“Bolt looks worn out.” Jacob scratched the horse on the snout.
“Mary Jane and Anna Mae went visiting.” Eli stowed the brush in the bucket, then grabbed the reins, clicking his tongue for Bolt to follow him to the barn.
“That’s gut.” Jacob tagged along behind his brothers, raising his hand to his forehead to block the setting sun. “Where’d they go?”
Eli shrugged as he led the horse into the stall. “I don’t know. Mamm just told them they needed to go make friends with the neighboring families. They didn’t want to, though.”
Jacob sighed, sad to hear that Mary Jane and Anna Mae hadn’t made the choice to venture out on their own. “You all need to make some new friends.”
“What for?” Eli shrugged.
“I played volleyball today, and I met some fine folks.” But Jacob had gone only to set an example for his siblings, and now he almost felt guilty for enjoying it.
Eli closed the latch on the stall, then whirled around. “I had plenty of friends back home, and I don’t know why we moved to this stupid place.” Eli rushed off, and even though Jacob called after him, the boy kept going.
Jacob leaned down in front of Abe, playfully tipping the boy’s straw hat until it covered his eyes. “You want to make some new friends, don’t you, little man?”
Abe pushed his hat back, and Jacob could see that Mary Jane had cut their youngest sibling’s blond bangs much too short again. “I guess so.”
Jacob straightened. “Let’s go wash for supper. Just keep praying, Abe. Everything is going to be okay.” He put his hand on his brother’s back, and they walked toward the house, stopping at the water pump outside before they climbed the porch steps.
As they walked into the living room, Jacob breathed in the aroma of freshly baked bread, and for a few seconds there was a sense of normality. In the kitchen, Anna Mae and Mary Jane were setting out jams, jellies, and bread while their mother stirred something on the stovetop.
“How was the volleyball game?” Mamm kept stirring but turned around and smiled. Cora Hostetler did her best to put on a happy face each day for her family, but the dark circles under her eyes told another tale. Jacob still had lots of sleepless nights as well.
“Gut. Nice folks.” He took his seat at the large oak table in the middle of the spacious kitchen, as did Abe and Eli. “Although I’m still no gut at volleyball.” He chuckled, hoping to get a glimpse of joy . . . out of anyone.
“You don’t realize your own strength.” Mary Jane set a bowl of mashed potatoes in the middle of the table, the hint of a smile on her face. “That’s why you always knock it out of bounds.”
“Maybe.” Jacob leaned back in his chair as his sisters set the table. It was hard to believe that the twins had started their rumschpringe, although you’d never have known it. They weren’t taking advantage of the freedoms that went along with the running-around period. “Where’s Daed?”
“He is . . . resting.” Mamm avoided everyone’s eyes as she ladled gravy into a small bowl. “I’ll take him a plate later.”
Jacob scooted his chair closer to the table and didn’t say anything. This was how it was most nights—their father either resting or not feeling well. John Hostetler rarely ate breakfast with the family either. He left before anyone got up, farmed all day, and went to his room. Jacob hadn’t even seen him in two days. Daed didn’t want help out in the fields, so Jacob had gotten himself a job in town at the lumberyard. Eli was working too, tending to a widow’s farm animals. Both Jacob and Eli were glad not to be in the fields, but Jacob missed the way things used to be.
The girls did most of the farm chores—milked the cows, gathered eggs, and mowed the yard—as well as helping Mamm with the sewing, cooking, and cleaning. Young Abe fed the pigs, goats, and horses, and Jacob was sure the girls pawned off some of their easier chores on him. He hoped someone would feel motivated to plant the flowerbeds soon.
Once everyone was seated, the family bowed their heads in silent prayer before beginning to fill their plates. Jacob glanced at his father’s empty chair at the end of the table, then envisioned the spot where Leah used to sit.
Why can’t God put the pieces of our lives back together again?
Anna pushed peas around on her plate as Ben’s and Rubin’s words echoed in her ears. Without lifting her head, she raised her eyes to her grandfather and watched him taking a bite of butter bread. He was the only father she’d ever known, even though she’d always called him daadi instead of daed, the same way she called her grandmother mammi and not mamm. Mammi had explained that it was out of respect for Anna’s parents. “They will always be your parents,” she’d said from the time Anna was young, although Anna had no memories of them.
She forced a bite of peas into her mouth, chewing slowly, her mind whirling with conflicting thoughts. She loved her grandfather and couldn’t stand the way some people perceived him, yet part of her understood the criticism. Does everyone think he is a bad bishop?
Glancing around the kitchen, she realized it was perfectly displayed the way her grandfather wanted everyone in their district to live. All of their windows in the entire house were covered with green shades, something that used to be uniform within the district. Many had veered from that, but Anna knew her grandfather was making house calls to correct that.
Her eyes drifted to the countertop, bare except for the canisters that held baking ingredients. No trinkets or decorative tins. No vases. Nothing out of place. The white clapboard walls were bare too, without even a calendar or clock. Three years ago they’d finally gotten a gas oven—after a spark from the wood-burning stove started a fire in the kitchen. There were no propane lights, just lanterns, and the modest home was furnished only by simple pieces her grandfather had built. Some of the pieces were fifty years old, like the oak coffee table in the living room. The sturdy table would probably last forever.
“How was the volleyball game?” Her grandfather didn’t look up as he scooped another forkful of pot roast.
“Gut.” She paused, still watching him. She’d always known that he was strict and was aware that he’d grown even sterner as a bishop. But until today she hadn’t realized how much some people disliked him. “There’s a new family in town, living in the old Zook place.”
Daadi nodded, finally looking up at her. “Ya, ya. I hope they will be at worship tomorrow.”
Anna thought about Jacob and wondered if it was just a matter of time before he disliked her grandfather too. Probably.
She studied her grandmother’s plate, noticing that she didn’t have any bread or buttered noodles on it. As usual, she had her bottle of cinnamon pills from the homeopathic doctor on the table. Her grandmother would take two when she was done eating, and they’d help curb the glucose spike that usually happened a couple of hours after a meal. Then she’d most likely go upstairs and take the pills from Dr. Noah, the ones Daadi didn’t know about, a form of insulin. Anna had asked her grandmother repeatedly why she didn’t just tell him that she needed the prescription pills. Mammi just shook her head and said it was better this way. It wasn’t exactly lying, but it wasn’t being honest either.
“I paid a visit to Sadie and Kade Saunders this afternoon since they’ll be hosting worship service tomorrow.” Her grandfather reached for another piece of butter bread.
“It pleases me that their family follows the Ordnung in almost everything they do.” Daadi paused to scoop mashed potatoes onto his slice of bread, something he’d done for as long as Anna could remember. “And they are raising fine kinner, an even harder job than most since young Tyler is special.” He took a bite of the potato bread, as he often called it. “And if an Englisch man like Kade can convert to our ways, adhere to the Ordnung, and follow the rules set forth by the Lord, then the rest of the district should be able to follow his fine example.” Daadi gave a taut nod, almost dipping his gray beard into his plate.
Anna remembered years ago when Kade came into their lives with his young autistic son, Tyler. He’d married Sadie, who was a widow, and they’d gone on to have a daughter, Marie. Anna could also recall how unhappy her grandfather had been about the arrangement in the beginning. He’d been sure that Kade would never be able to make the switch from wealthy Englisch man to a baptized member of their community.
But Daadi had come around. He wasn’t as rigid as some believed. Anna thought again about Rubin’s and Ben’s cutting remarks. It shook her to think they blamed her grandfather for Lizzie Miller’s death. Ridiculous. She was lost in her thoughts when someone knocked at the door.
Daadi groaned. “Who would be calling at the supper hour?” He shook his head, and Anna’s grandmother got up quickly from the table and headed toward the living room.
Marianne glared at Hector and spoke in a whisper. “What are you doing here?” She took the small box from his hands, shaking her head. “This is not our agreed upon time.” She paused, blowing out a breath of frustration. “And what are you doing here on a Saturday anyway?”
“I couldn’t help it, Mrs. Byler. I had tons of deliveries today, and I’m running behind schedule.” Hector shrugged, his dark hair wet with sweat, his brown eyes begging for forgiveness. “And this package was marked for Saturday delivery.” He gave a quick wave before running down the porch steps and back to his UPS truck.
