It seemed to David that those seemingly minute details of daily life that were given attention in the book of Leviticus revealed God’s desire to be involved in daily business. Even a pot on the stove could be considered holy, if cooking were done for the glory of God. Even the bells on a horse’s harness, the prophet Zechariah declared.
In a flash of insight, he realized what had been nagging at him lately like an intermittent squeak in a buggy wheel, barely audible. Now he knew what it was: the daily business of the Stoney Ridge church members was growing increasingly secular. How had he missed it?
Just yesterday, at the store, he’d asked Edith Fisher Lapp why she had advertised her fresh eggs for sale in the local paper as Amish eggs.
“Times have changed,” Edith had said. “People like everything Amish now.”
Edith had given him a broad grin as she explained her logic. Her smile may have appeared innocent to the untrained eye, but David thought he detected a mercenary’s gleam in it. “Why,” she asked, “should we let the non-Amish benefit from our brand?”
Our brand? The very thought chilled him.
It was well known among the Plain People that whenever a product was advertised as Amish, it wasn’t Amish. Even if products had been made by the Amish, if advertised as such, the actual retailer was non-Amish, brokering for the Amish. That was their tradition, their custom. To declare a product as Amish, a people set apart, was the very opposite of being set apart.
Something seemed to go missing as the economy of Stoney Ridge started to blossom, then bloom. He saw it clearly now, in dozens of ways.
Families weren’t as quick to help each other the way they used to. The most recent example was when the sisters of the Sisters’ House finally took a turn to host church, and four neighbors paid a cleaning service to clean in their stead, rather than offer to step in and lend a hand, as was their custom.
He could hear Birdy gently scold him, almost as if she were seated beside him in the buggy. “David, you know what kind of clutter and mess was in that house. Even with your niece Gabby chipping away at it for four months, she’d only made a dent in the clutter. Getting a few rooms ready to hold a church service in it was a miracle. I don’t blame the sisters’ neighbors. It would’ve taken them a month of Sundays to get it ready. The professional cleaning crew left exhausted!”
Perhaps the condition of the Sisters’ House did present unusual circumstances. Birdy would say David was only looking at the negative signs of prosperity, and she would be correct. Prosperity had its benefits. It was a good thing to see new families moving into Stoney Ridge rather than moving out. It was a good thing to see the relief in his church after such a long, hard spell. It was like the first rain after a prolonged drought.
But in those hard times, those drought years, there was a sense of unusual, heartfelt companionship among the church members. They were all in this up-and-down-and-everything-in-between journey of life together.
He thought back to the love that poured from the community to Ephraim Yoder’s widow and son: the property tax bill that an anonymous donor had paid, the gift of a trained buggy horse by Galen King after the old horse went lame, a grocery shower box at the Bent N’ Dent that was continually getting refilled, the blacksmith who refused to charge them a cent for horse shoeing, sympathy cards that flooded their mailbox for months, the ice cream cone that Hank Lapp treated Yardstick Yoder to each time he saw the boy dash into the Bent N’ Dent.
When was the last time the church had gathered as one, without having to be asked, to care for one of their own as they had for the widow of Ephraim Yoder? David couldn’t remember. Certainly, there were acts of charity and kindnesses. Barns that needed building, fields that needed harvesting. But something essential seemed to have gone missing in their great prosperity and he wasn’t sure how to bring it back.
David forced his attention back to the book of Leviticus. It was a time of preparation for when the Israelites would be entering the land of Canaan, a culture that they were perfectly at home in. The Hebrews knew the Canaanite languages, customs, the practice of celebrating many gods. Moses was giving them holy tools to live with daily discernment, to avoid contamination of pagan cultures, and to be fiercely loyal to the one true God.
Moses was teaching them to say no to the culture when they had to.
David leaned back in his chair, floored. Something had to be done in Stoney Ridge, but he couldn’t figure out what.
Dok was picking up a package at the post office in town when she saw Matt across Main Street, bending over to talk to a little girl. A red balloon bobbed over his head. “Matt. Hey there, Matt!”
He stood up and the red balloon rose with him. “Well, hey there yourself!” he said, his lips spreading into a broad smile as she crossed the road. If he thought less of her after their last meeting, it didn’t show.
“Morning.” She was smiling back before she knew it. Something about a grown man not embarrassed to carry on a conversation as he held a red balloon struck her as amusing and she nearly giggled. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Okay . . . give me a sec,” he replied, as in, Consider it done, but he didn’t look up at her. He had crouched down to tie the ribbon that held the balloon around the little girl’s wrist. “Tiffany just got this balloon from the shoe store, but it nearly got away from her.”
“He chased it down the street and caught it, just in time,” Tiffany said with a lisp. She coughed once, then twice, enough to catch Dok’s attention.
“Where’s your mom, Tiffany?” Dok asked.
Tiffany coughed again and pointed to the door of the shoe store, just a few feet away.
“Tell her I’d like to speak to her for a minute.”
Tiffany went into the store, balloon trailing behind her.
Dok looked at Matt. “I’m surprised you have time for balloon chasing.”
“It’s a funny thing about time. There always seems to be enough of it for the things that really matter.”
She wondered if that was a remark aimed at her, then dismissed it. Matt wasn’t subtle or evasive, not like Ed Gingerich. If Matt had something to say, he’d just say it.
“So, what’s this about a favor?”
She handed him her newly printed business cards. “Would you take these to the police station? Maybe, pass a few around?”
“Absolutely.”
The shoe store door opened and Tiffany’s mom came out with a curious look on her face. With one hand, she held onto Tiffany. In the other hand was a shopping bag filled with shoeboxes. “Tiffany said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes. I was concerned about her cough. It sounds like it might be bronchitis.”
Her mother frowned. “I know. It’s getting worse. We’re new in town. I haven’t found a doctor yet.”
Matt whipped out Dok’s business card. “I just so happen to know of an excellent doctor.” He handed her the card. “She comes highly recommended. I go to her myself. If I were you, I’d hurry home and call for an appointment. Dr. Stoltzfus books up fast, but I’ll put in a good word for you. Wouldn’t surprise me if she could even squeeze in little Tiffany this very afternoon.”
The mother read the business card and beamed. “I will! I’ll do it right now. Thank you.”
Matt winked at Dok and took the bag from Tiffany’s mother, then walked them both to their car.
As she watched them go, she thought of Matt’s remark about time. There always seems to be enough of it for the things that really matter.
Was that really true? The words hovered above her head, like the red balloon that bobbed along with Tiffany. So different from Ed’s view of time. He was always in a rush, always planning for the future. His future.
It wasn’t Ed’s fault, she quickly rationalized. Modern medicine required haste to be profitable, but there was a terrible cost that came with haste. Deep down, on some level, she had to admit that if she hadn’t been terminated to protect Ed’s error, she would have quit soon. She had been grow
ing increasingly discontent for a long while.
Actually, Ed’s error did her a favor. It pushed her out the door and into her own practice, thanks to a little help from Matt Lehman. She had a chance to be the kind of doctor that patients needed. And now, thanks again to Matt Lehman, she had her first official patient. Two, if you counted her brother David, whom she had forced to come. Three, if she counted Matt, who said he was her patient even though he hadn’t come in to her office for anything other than bringing her a caffè latte.
Having Matt Lehman as a friend, she just now realized, was like having your own personal guardian angel.
Jesse stopped by the Bent N’ Dent to pick up a package and was horrified to discover Jenny Yoder behind the cash register. “Where’s my father?” he asked her in a flat voice.
“Bishop duties. He had a phone call about someone having a problem with his neighbor. He had to go.” She snapped her fingers. “Like that. Out the door.”
“So he asked you to watch the cash register?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She answered him in a tone of a mother speaking to a slow-witted child. “Because that’s what a store employee does.”
“Wait. You work here? At my father’s store? When did that happen?”
“Yesterday. I saw the ‘help wanted’ sign in the store window and asked your father for a part-time job. He said yes.” She gave him a smug smile. “I started today.”
Jesse felt his shirt collar tighten. Jenny Yoder was everywhere. Everywhere. She was closing in on him, like a predator on the heels of its prey. Like a hunter adjusting the rifle’s scope to aim at the target. He had a giant red bull’s-eye on his back.
For a while she said nothing more, she just stood there looking at him curiously, in a way that made his palms sweat. “Are you okay? Your face is turning red. It’s brighter than your hair.”
Memories flashed across his mind. Jenny Yoder beating him in the third-grade spelling bee. Beating him out for the fourth-grade math prize. Then, the worst defeat of all. She beat him in the fifth-grade fifty-yard dash!
“I have . . . to go.” He backed out of the store, bumping into aisle ends as he made his way to the door. Outside, he gulped in fresh air. This was turning into an alarming situation. He felt as helpless as a newborn lamb, left alone in a pasture, with a vulture circling above. Waiting. Just waiting for the vulture to swoop in and make off with him.
The bells jingled as the door opened. Jenny held out his package to him. “You forgot this.” As soon as he reached for it, she dropped it in his outreached hands and shut the door in his face.
He looked at the brown package in his hands. For once, Hank Lapp was right. Spot-on. Jenny Yoder was surely here to trap him into matrimony.
David hitched Thistle’s reins to the post and went looking for Birdy. He found her out back, pruning her tomatoes. She got to her feet when she saw him, her face bright with good humor.
“Hello there.” He gathered Birdy up in his arms, and she rested her face against his neck. “How was your day?”
She pulled back to look at him. “Amazing. Astonishingly wonderful.”
He smiled. “What’s made it so particularly wonderful?”
“You. You’re home early. Let’s pack a picnic supper and take the girls to the top of the ridge.”
He winced. “I need to head over to the Zooks’ to settle a dispute with a neighbor that’s getting out of hand. Something about a cow leaning its head through the rails to eat grass.”
Her expression fell.
“I’m sorry.” He kissed her forehead.
“Don’t be.” She recovered her composure. “It’s part of the package. Everybody needs you. You fix everything, from broken hearts to broken fences.”
“Just don’t ask me to plow behind eight mules.”
For some reason, the thought of him behind eight mules made her laugh, one of her real letting-go laughs, where she couldn’t stop giggling. Was it that hard to imagine him as a farmer? Probably.
He kissed her between her giggles and went into the house to change his coffee-stained shirt. Earlier today, Patrick Kelly arrived at the store with Nyna the Mynah. The store was empty and there was some coffee left over in the pot from the morning’s fresh brew. Just one cup, he rationalized. He hardly ever indulged himself, but now and then, he couldn’t resist the temptation. He was concentrating so carefully on pouring coffee into his mug that he hadn’t heard the door jingle to announce their arrival and suddenly Nyna squawked, “Repent, O sinner!” and David swung around so quickly he spilled his coffee.
Did he try to fix everything? Of course he did. A little fixing, anyway. That’s what bishops did best.
Abram Zook met David at the turnoff to his driveway. “I have news to tell you, David.” Abram’s voice was flat and expressionless, and David felt a hitch in his gut.
But Abram’s tone could have meant anything, from the celebration of his newest great-grandchild to the death of his favorite dog. Under the best of circumstances, Abram’s craggy face was solemn and soulful. His hollow cheeks were fringed by a wiry untrimmed beard, his bald head was ringed by a circle of fuzzy gray hair. His expression never changed.
“Birdy called while you were driving over here. Thelma Beiler is in the hospital. Something real serious. She’s going to meet you there, Birdy said.”
Abram Zook’s fence problem with the neighbor would have to wait.
David was desperately sad as he made his way to the hospital.
He stopped Thistle at the intersection and paused. Dok. He wanted Dok with him for this. He had a sinking feeling about what he would be facing. On top of that, he had no stomach for hospitals; he disliked the antiseptic smell of them, the clinical business side of healing, the sorrow and uncertainty that filled the halls. He had never been able to walk into one without awful memories flooding him from that time when Katrina, his oldest daughter, spent weeks in intensive care, recuperating from the buggy accident that had taken the life of his wife Anna.
He made a right-hand turn at the intersection and drove straight to Dok’s practice. She was in the middle of setting up her computer as he explained about Thelma. Without a word, she switched off the computer, picked up her keys, and drove him to the hospital. Once there, she went straight to the nurse’s station to find out what she could. All business, Dok was, and David was grateful for her professional expertise. He sat in the waiting room, taking a moment to pray.
Within minutes, Dok returned with the on-duty Emergency Room physician.
“You’re family?” he said.
“Yes. Yes, she’s family.” As far as David was concerned, Thelma was like a mother to him.
Satisfied, the doctor explained that Thelma had an aortic aneurysm in her abdomen. “You need to talk to her,” the doctor told David. “She’s stable, but it’s on the verge of rupturing. Immediate surgery is the only option to save her, but apparently she’s very uneasy about it.” He walked them down the hallway toward Thelma’s room. “You’ll talk to her, right? Get her to see it’s the only way?”
“I’ll talk to her.”
Dok leaned a little closer to David as they stopped in front of Thelma’s room. “They’re going to press her hard for surgery, but I have to warn you. It’s a big surgery, with a long recovery in intensive care. There’s a better than likely chance that her kidneys wouldn’t make it, and a minimum 10 to 20 percent risk of death.”
David had his hand on the door to push it open, but he didn’t push. Not with that additional piece of information. Instead, he closed his eyes and searched his memory for a Bible verse to settle his heart. What came to mind was a verse from a psalm he had read just this morning: “Thou has beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.”
Yes. Beset. Around, enclosed, hemmed in.
Lord, thank you for besetting this dear woman, who has been such a significant person in my family’s life. Thank you for surrounding her, David silently prayed, for hemming h
er in, for enclosing her in your love.
David walked into the dimly lit room. Thelma looked so tiny and frail, lying there in the bed with the little prayer cap on her head. Birdy sat perched on the side of the bed, and stood as soon as David came in, a relieved look on her face.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Birdy said, reaching a hand out to him.
He stood next to Thelma’s bed, still holding Birdy’s hand, and explained all that the ER physician told him, plus what Dok had added. “Surgery has some risks, but it’s the only option to save your life.”
Thelma listened carefully, her hands clasped on her abdomen—probably the very site of the aortic aneurysm. She lifted her head and fixed her eyes straight at David. “I don’t want surgery. I just want to go home.” She had lived a long life, she said. Her health had grown increasingly fragile over the last few years. “I’d asked God to give me enough time to see that my home was in good hands.” She lifted a small hand. “And hasn’t the good Lord answered that in a wonderful way, David?”
Hadn’t he, though. Thelma had taken in David’s daughter, Katrina, during a stressful time in her life. She swept Katrina under her wing to help establish Moss Hill as a business of moss farming, and Katrina had become like a daughter to Thelma, who had lost her only son years ago. Then Thelma rewrote her will so that Katrina would inherit the property. And that was before they had any knowledge of the oil traps, sunk deep into the hillside, just waiting to be discovered. Yes, God had provided an answer to Thelma’s prayer in a miraculous way.
“David,” she said, her reedy voice steady and determined, “I’ve been measuring my remaining days in coffee tablespoons for the last six months. I don’t buy green bananas anymore. I just want to go home.”
She didn’t mean Moss Hill.
The ER doctor came in and emphasized again that surgery was the only option, that if Thelma refused treatment, she would die. She understood, she said. In that case, the doctor wanted to admit her so that she remained in the hospital.
The Devoted Page 13
