Holding a Tender Heart

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “The bishop himself!” Henry said. “Don’t you have a deacon anymore?”

  “Seems you know you’re needing one,” Bishop Beiler replied as he climbed down to tie Milo to the hitching post.

  Henry’s pleased look never dimmed. “I’ve been behaving myself tolerable, I think.”

  “I guess we’ll see about that.” Bishop Beiler pasted a pleasant expression on his face. “Have you time for a little talking? Perhaps in the barn where we can sit on a hay bale?”

  “This looks like a right smart spot to me.” Henry leaned against the buggy wheel. “I can’t imagine what there is to say unless Joe Weaver’s been driving Englisha vehicles again.”

  The man has his gall, Bishop Beiler thought. He swallowed. “Joe’s been behaving himself—at least from what I know. That isn’t the report I’ve been hearing about you though.”

  “Ach.” Henry twirled his straw hat in his hands. “You know how people talk. It’s mostly hot air, I suppose…whatever it is you’ve been hearing.”

  “Seems like you can’t stay off rubber-tired tractors, I’m told. Done bought your own—with rubber still on it.”

  “Now that’s a nasty thing to be saying around.” Henry didn’t appear happy in the least. “I wish people would mind their own business like Da Hah tells them to. Isn’t that in the scriptures somewhere? I think Deacon Mast just read it in church last Sunday.”

  The bishop hid a smile. “It may be, Henry. But that’s not the point we’re discussing. We’re talking about you now. About how you’re behaving yourself.”

  “Okay…” Henry seemed to ponder the point for a moment. “I will confess I did buy a new tractor, but there’s nothing indecent about that. Come see for yourself.” Henry waved his hand to the side and led the way to the barn door.

  Owning a new tractor was within the rules of the Ordnung, Bishop Beiler thought, so why had Henry wanted to speak outside all this time? He was hiding something.

  Henry pushed open the barn door and said with a flourish, “See! Brand-new but perfectly within the Ordnung.”

  Bishop Beiler walked up and ran his hand over the steel-rimmed tires on the back of the tractor. “It does look like it, and, yah, it is brand-new. And you sure couldn’t be working in the fields with these magnificent steel wheels.”

  Where Henry had gotten the steel rims was hard to tell. These had to be custom made for such a new tractor model. Most of the Amish purchased the oldest tractors they could find for that very reason.

  Henry didn’t appear pleased at the bishop’s detailed inspection. “I got a lot of money in the thing, but it’s what I wanted.”

  Bishop Beiler met his gaze. “I’m sure it came with rubber tires when you bought it. Did those stay at the dealer?”

  Henry didn’t say anything, which didn’t surprise the Bishop at all. He sighed inwardly. He was too old for this kind of work. That was the reason deacons were assigned to tasks like this. They could best ferret out this kind of maneuvering. The bishop was sure Henry had used the rubber tires and now had them hidden somewhere with plans to get more use out of them later. That was the only scenario that made sense. The bishop looked around and then walked over to a dark corner of the barn. He poked around a pile of gunny bags with his foot. A huge rubber tire appeared, followed by another one. He turned and faced Henry. “Would these be the ones you were seen using the other day?”

  “I’m taking them back to the dealer,” Henry said at once. “I had to bring the tractor home. I switched the tires for the steel rims when I got it home last week.”

  “Which means you got a little use in while you had the chance. And the tires are still here. I’m disappointed in you, Henry. You know better than this.”

  Henry sputtered. “Okay! I took it for a few rounds in the field with the regular tires, that’s all. But that shouldn’t be a huge matter of concern.”

  Bishop Beiler sighed aloud this time. “You will take the tractor and the tires back to the dealer. This temptation is too much for you, Henry. Do that and we’ll settle for another church confession—but on your knees this time.”

  “Surely not, Bishop Beiler!” Henry appeared shaken. “I can’t do that…really!”

  “I will consult with the other ministers before making a final decision, of course,” Bishop Beiler said. He saw a look of hope flash on Henry’s face. “Henry, they’ll probably think I’m going too easy on you even with those two conditions.”

  Henry scowled. “I find neither of those terms acceptable, Bishop. A man should not be blamed when he drives his new tractor around the field a few times before he changes the tires.”

  It was more than a few times, based on Rhonda’s report, but the bishop didn’t want to say anything that might reveal his source of information. He shook his head. “Think about it, Henry. I’ll consult the others, but you’d better plan on taking that tractor back.”

  Henry said nothing but looked quite glum as Bishop Beiler turned and went outside.

  He hoped Henry would see the sense in his punishment. One thing was certain—the ministry couldn’t allow a brand-new tractor that could use rubber tires to be in the hands of someone with the problem Henry had. It would turn into a merry chase trying to keep the verboten tires out of Henry’s reach. And who needed those kinds of games? His bishopric would turn into the laughingstock of the Amish world.

  He reached the hitching post, untied Milo, and climbed into the buggy. Swinging Milo around in the lane with a smart slap with the lines, Bishop Beiler sighed again. His Saturday church work should be done now, but it wasn’t. That much was clear. Henry hadn’t taken the rebuke well. So now the bishop wouldn’t be returning home to think peaceful thoughts for the rest of the evening. Rather he’d be remembering Henry’s scowl and probably lie awake half the night concerned about what was going to happen.

  Surely Henry had no plans to flaunt the Ordnung outright, did he? There was not a member in the community who would vote to overlook such action. They knew everyone had to obey the rules or no one would. What course did Henry have but to obey? None that were acceptable, the bishop thought. He’d bring the matter up in the next ministers’ meeting. They would agree to an action, inform Henry, and then wait. Maybe a little time would soften Henry’s resolve so he could accept the correction. It often worked that way with members who transgressed. If they were pushed too hard, nasty things could happen. Things no bishop wanted to consider for his people. All around them were liberal churches just waiting to snatch up any dissatisfied members of his flock. They wouldn’t get a chance with Henry if the bishop could prevent it. And yet some kind of repentance on Henry’s part was necessary. He’d have to bend the knee this time. In his heart first, followed by a confession in front of the church. There was no other way to maintain discipline and help Henry.

  Bishop Beiler urged Milo on. Now that he’d made up his mind, a level of peace flooded his heart. He would take the rest of the day off once he arrived home. He’d read scripture for the possible preaching of the Word at the next Sunday service. Saloma or one of the girls might even bring him a glass of apple cider from the stock they had stashed in the basement. Da Hah had blessed them with great bounty last year.

  “Get up, Milo!” he hollered out the windshield before he settled comfortably into the buggy seat for the ride home.

  Twenty

  The following morning Bishop Beiler sat in his rocker as the early sunlight flooded into the living room. The words in his open Bible ran together as his thoughts wandered. It wasn’t a pleasant task that lay before him. Even after much thought, something about Henry’s attitude was still troublesome. This situation seemed like more than the normal rebellious streak that often seized an erring member and lasted for a short season. This might turn into more of a difficult case than what it already was. Perhaps he should back down from his threat of a knee confession. Such extreme humiliation on the part of a member in front of the whole church was always an unfortunate occasion and disliked by everyone. Henry
considered himself a man of moderate esteem in the community, and such an action would affect him deeply.

  That was the problem with men who thought themselves better than others, Bishop Beiler told himself. He rocked while he considered the matter. Nee, Henry had been warned. And the bishop had already taken a risk when he’d suggested and the ministers had agreed to involve the Englisha neighbor the last time they’d dealt with this. Henry had been given his chance, and he’d chosen to go around the barriers set up for his own protection. There was no option but to proceed as planned. The bishop focused on the page in front of him, but he glanced up when Verna tiptoed in.

  “Do you have a moment, Daett?”

  He closed his Bible at once. “Why, of course, Verna. For my eldest daughter, I will always take the time.”

  Verna shifted nervously on her feet, and he motioned for her to sit. He figured he already knew what the problem was. Verna’s dark countenance had hung over the house all morning again, even with her best efforts to hide it. She likely knew by now the reason for his trip to Henry’s place yesterday. Her worry that Joe Weaver would never come back had increased, he was sure.

  Verna made no attempt to hide her concern. “Will Henry Yoder be under discipline again?”

  Bishop Beiler cleared his throat. “I went to visit him yesterday, but beyond that it might be best if church matters were not discussed at home. Let me assure you, though, that Joe’s name was not mentioned.”

  “So this time it has nothing to do with him?” Verna’s face brightened considerably.

  Bishop Beiler nodded. “This time Joe is out of it.”

  “And you are sure?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

  Bishop Beiler was silent. The way she asked the question made him hesitate. Did he know everything? Maybe Henry had more tricks up his sleeve and hadn’t revealed them ahead of time.

  “I believe so, Verna,” he finally said.

  She struggled to keep the look of despair off her face. “I hope so because I do so miss him, Daett.”

  You haven’t even dated him that long, he wanted to say…but he didn’t. His daughter’s heart had obviously settled on the boy. It would be best if he refrained from negative comments. She could do much worse, he supposed. “Perhaps Joe will come back soon,” he said. He touched her hand and spoke with great tenderness. “Da Hah’s work must be done, Verna. Let us pray that Joe will not see things in the wrong way, shall we?”

  Verna nodded and bowed her head as her daett prayed. A moment after his “Amen,” she was gone.

  Bishop Beiler sighed. This was too much for one man. He shouldn’t have to lead the church and raise a family at the same time. The lot of bishop should only fall on old men whose children were solidly in the faith and safely married. Was that not the scriptural recommendation on the matter? And yet these were wishful thoughts. Since the days of bitter persecution endured in Switzerland, the members of the faith had decided that a martyred minister must be replaced immediately. And most of the movement’s adherents in those days were young. There had been no other option, and now tradition had settled in. Da Hah chose whom He willed, and He gave the man the grace to carry the load. Somewhere there was aid for him, he decided—if he would only believe.

  He tried to focus again. He stared at his Bible as the bustle of the house continued around him. All he could see, though, was the smiling face of Henry Yoder as he stood outside his barn yesterday. Against that backdrop lay the upcoming ministers’ meeting at Cousin Benny’s place.

  “Isn’t it time you get ready for the services?”

  Saloma’s voice made him jump. “Yah, it is.” He laid his Bible aside. “The time was getting away from me.”

  “The girls have already gone,” she told him. “We must not be late.”

  The house had grown quiet but he hadn’t noticed. He rushed to change into his Sunday clothing. He’d harnessed Milo when he did morning chores, so the horse was ready and waiting inside his stall. They wouldn’t be late.

  “I’ll have the horse up in a minute,” he muttered after he came out of the bedroom. He grabbed his black felt hat and sprinted out the door.

  Saloma was waiting for him beside the buggy when he came out of the barn with Milo. She held up the shafts, and they had Milo’s harness attached in minutes. Saloma climbed into the buggy. He threw his wife the lines and climbed in himself. The bishop took the reins and hollered, “Get up!” Milo twitched his ears and took off with a leap. Soon he settled into a steady trot. Around them, others joined in, making a procession all headed to the same place.

  “Debbie’s sure a blessing at the house,” Saloma ventured. “She’s so taken with our way of life. She loves the place, and her words to Lois are like those of Da Hah speaking right through her.”

  The bishop listened as he drove. Saloma probably thought he needed encouragement this morning, what with his spirits so low over Henry Yoder’s case.

  “She baked her first loaf of bread Saturday,” Saloma continued. “With Lois helping her, of course.”

  “That’s gut.”

  “She’s touching Lois’s heart deeply. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

  “Yah. I was thinking on that the other morning. I keep forgetting the gut things we do have—what with Verna’s sorrow hanging over us. Did you hear her speak with me this morning? I’m afraid I had nothing wise to share with her.”

  “We can only pray.” Saloma’s hand found his and squeezed. She didn’t do that often anymore, but they were not too old for love. That he also forgot sometimes. Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t kissed her in a long time.

  “What are you thinking, Adam?” she asked teasingly.

  He noticed her eyes were twinkling when he glanced at her. Saloma knew gut and well what he was thinking. And she was pleased to have distracted him from his worries. But it would not do to pull into the meeting place while he was thinking of kisses—even if they were with his own frau.

  “You’re sweet!” he told her. “And you know what I’m thinking.”

  She squeezed his arm as they turned into Benny Beiler’s lane. He pulled to a stop at the end of the walk.

  “You look handsome this morning,” she said as she climbed out of the buggy. She paused to send an adoring look up at him.

  Pretty soon he would blush like a young bridegroom, he thought. But she did know what needed saying to lighten his load. He sobered as he pulled forward and came to a stop beside the line of buggies. Several of the younger boys ran up to help him unhitch.

  “Gut morning, Bishop,” they sang out, their cheeks rosy.

  “Have you been playing in the barn and falling down the haymow?” he teased.

  “Oh, nee!” Their faces were horror stricken. “Daett won’t let us play anywhere on Sunday mornings except behind the buggies. We might tear our clothing.”

  “I think that’s a gut idea,” Bishop Beiler told them as he led Milo forward while two boys held the buggy shafts. They lowered them to the ground with a flourish. They are the hope of the church, the bishop thought as he led Milo away. This was the young blood that grew up right under the adults’ noses. And often the boys didn’t receive the notice and thanks they deserved. He was glad they felt comfortable enough to help him unhitch. And they had even called him bishop! Perhaps he wasn’t doing everything wrong as he clutched at the helm of the church. He led Milo into the barn.

  After tying the horse among the other ones, the bishop went outside and greeted the line of men gathered beside the barn. He shook their hands and said, “Gut morning.” He made sure Henry Yoder got an extra hearty handshake. At the end of the line he took his place and pulled his pocket watch out. There were still a few minutes before it was time for the morning’s trek inside. Saloma had been correct when she hurried him along though. A bishop who arrived late for the service was not setting a gut example.

  Beside him Minister Graber asked in his high-pitched voice, “How’s your first cutting of hay coming along?”

/>   “Didn’t dare try it last week.” Bishop Beiler chuckled. “‘Rain’s threatening,’ I thought, and Emery agreed. Don’t tell me yours is in.”

  Minister Graber tucked his overflowing stomach inside his britches. “I’m afraid so. Though it did catch a shower right after the cutting, but we should be okay.”

  Minister Kanagy leaned forward with a grin. “Next time check the barometer before you cut hay. She was a-goin’ down last week.”

  They all laughed. Minister Graber’s aversion to the commonly used barometers was well known. He declared his nose a better indicator of weather than that Englisha invention.

  Bishop Beiler pulled out his watch again. “Well, we’d best be going on in.”

  The others nodded and followed him at a slow walk toward the house. Behind him the men fell in line by age. They jostled playfully when things got mixed up. The mood was gut this morning, Bishop Beiler thought. Henry Yoder must not have run his mouth yet. Maybe he hoped if he kept a low profile the matter would blow over.

  He forced his thoughts back to the present and took a detour through the kitchen. There he shook a few of the women’s hands. The other ministers followed his example, but the other men and the boys had split off and gone into the living room. By the time the bishop took his place up front, the benches on the male side were full.

  The women soon filed in, followed by the unmarried girls, and then the younger girls. When everyone was seated, the first song number was hollered out. Bishop Beiler stood at the first note and led the ministers upstairs. Now that the moment had arrived, his thoughts weren’t quite as dark. Perhaps Da Hah was already giving His grace to bear the duty of the moment.

  He opened the first bedroom door he came to and found a row of chairs set up. The others sat down when he took his place. Deacon Mast closed the door with a soft click, and Bishop Beiler cleared his throat. “Gut morning again. Da Hah has given us a fresh day in which His work can be done. We must remember to always give thanks for the gifts from His hand. So why don’t we pray first?”