by BJ Hoff
At first she’d refused to let them in, but Asa had looked so desperate and seemed so kind—and Jeremiah, well, he appeared to be no threat, barely alive as he was.
Nothing had been the same since that night. And somehow she knew nothing would ever be the same again.
She drew a long, shaky breath, looked down at the Bible on the table in front of her, and began to read. Soon she found herself searching the Scriptures for those verses having to do with fear or, rather, courage in the face of fear.
“The Lord is with us: fear them not.”
“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
“Fear thou not; for I am with thee.”
“The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.”
On through the next hour Rachel read and prayed. She prayed for courage and steadiness, no matter what might lie ahead. She prayed for a wall of protection around her family and friends, around the entire Plain community—and around Jeremiah.
Finally her spirit grew calm and peace settled over her. She put her Bible away, extinguished the lantern, and went back to bed. And though she still keenly felt the echo of loneliness in her house and in her soul, after a time she fell asleep, with the reassurance of God’s Word whispering to her heart, “Fear thou not; for I am with thee.”
29
CARING FOR THE BISHOP
That healing gift He lends to them
Who use it in His name;
The power that filled His garment’s hem
Is evermore the same…
That Good Physician liveth yet
Thy friend and guide to be;
The Healer by Gennasaret
Shall walk the rounds with thee.
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
David Sebastian left the house of Isaac Graber with no small measure of concern for his patient.
The bishop had him worried on a number of levels, not the least of which was his diabetes. The elderly Graber was a man of considerable girth who loved to eat. He insisted that he stuck faithfully to the diet David had advised him to follow and didn’t overindulge.
David believed him. He was an Amish bishop, after all, not the sort of man given to dissembling.
Yet his weight had ballooned over the past months, and for some time now, David had suspected the additional pounds were to blame for the man’s increasingly labored breathing and decline in activity. Frequently this was the kind of thing that perpetuated itself—a weight gain led to less activity, and decreased activity commonly led to a weight gain. The problem was compounded by the bishop’s age. He was only a few days short of turning 82.
Added to his concern about Bishop Graber’s physical problems was a growing uneasiness about the man’s mental condition. The aging bishop was showing signs of waning mental faculties, perhaps even the onset of dementia. If true he could experience the decline of rational thought processes, a more severe form of memory loss than normally associated with the aging process, and an unpredictable, uncharacteristic—especially for the bishop—tendency toward confusion in decision making.
After he left the Graber home, David decided to drive into Riverhaven, thinking he might stop and have lunch with Gant. He couldn’t discuss his suspicions about Bishop Graber, of course—not even with his closest friend. Not even with Susan for that matter. Not only would it be unprofessional, but it simply wouldn’t be the Amish thing to do. He supposed he’d been “Amishized” enough by now that he would do things in keeping with the Plain way.
But lunch with his mercurial-witted Irish friend would, at least temporarily, help to take his thoughts off more troubling matters, such as the bishop’s state of health and what it might mean if the man continued to fail. After all, if Isaac Graber were declining both physically and mentally, decisions would have to be made.
Bishop Graber was a widower of several years now. He lived in the Dawdi Haus alone, the “grandparent’s house” connected to the home of Noah, his youngest son, and his family.
The Amish took care of their own. When a man was no longer young and became unable to farm, the homestead passed to the youngest son and the parents moved into a smaller house on the property, a house provided just for them.
Noah Graber, the bishop’s son, was a busy farmer with eight children and a wife who undoubtedly worked from dawn to dark taking care of those children, her husband, and their home. But it went without saying that they would look after the patriarch of their family in a loving, caring fashion.
No, David’s concern had nothing to do with the quality of care Bishop Graber would receive.
The question gnawing at him as he approached the crossroads and prepared to turn right onto the road that led to Riverhaven was actually one mired in his lack of knowledge as to how things were done in the “governing” processes of the Plain community.
What happened, for example, when a bishop or another member of the ministerial body responsible for the overseeing and spiritual guidance of an Amish district could no longer perform his duties?
Was Bishop Isaac Graber approaching that point?
David wasn’t certain. He had to allow for the possibility that this was a temporary lapse, that the bishop would snap out of his present malaise and recover from the disturbing symptoms he’d been experiencing.
But as a doctor with years of experience, he knew that while at least a partial recovery might be possible, it wasn’t probable. And as the bishop’s personal physician, where did his own responsibility lie? What would happen if he reached the point that he no longer believed Isaac Graber was capable of fulfilling his position as bishop? Who would need to be told?
Or would Bishop Graber take the matter into his own hands and make the decision that was best for his people?
More to the point, if and when the time to act finally came, would the bishop be able to make the right decision?
As it happened Gant was out of the shop when David stopped by. Terry Sawyer explained that his employer had driven to Marietta that morning to “tend to some business” and most likely wouldn’t return until later in the afternoon.
“Well, since I’m this close,” David said, “I might just pay that new daughter of yours a visit and see how she’s coming along. Think your wife would mind if I dropped in?”
“’Course not,” said Sawyer. “Ellie would be right glad to see you, I’m sure.”
So a few minutes later, David stood at the window of the Sawyer’s sitting room holding a rosy-cheeked, cooing baby girl who looked remarkably like her momma.
“I’d say she’s thriving, Mrs. Sawyer. I do believe she’s grown since I was here last week.”
Ellie Sawyer smiled and came to stand next to them. “I’m so glad to hear you say that, Doctor. She’s such a good baby too. She scarcely ever cries, and she seems perfectly content most of the time.”
“Ah, then you’ve got a little charmer, all right. I expect her daddy thinks she’s pretty special too.”
David was surprised to see a shadow cross the young mother’s face. It was quickly gone, but he didn’t think he’d imagined it—especially when she hesitated before replying to his remark.
“Yes, Terry’s…very proud of her.”
David passed little Naomi Fay back to her. Trying for a casual tone, he said, “So—how long have you and Mr. Sawyer been married?”
“Going on three years now,” she said, cuddling the baby close.
Ellie Sawyer spoke with a soft drawl, her voice so quiet David had to stoop slightly to hear her.
She was a small woman, quite petite and delicate in appearance, a pretty little thing with light blonde hair and large blue eyes. Although she gave the impression of fragility because of her diminutive size and fine features, David somehow sensed that she might be stronger than she looked.
“Well,” he said, “we hope you’ll like it here well enough that you’ll decide to stay.”
“Oh, I d
oubt that’s likely,” she said. “Terry is already getting restless. He’s anxious to move on to Indiana. He’s always found it hard to stay in one place very long.”
David didn’t much like the sound of that, not for a man with a wife and a new baby. “You have family out there, do you?”
She nodded. “Terry has an uncle who’s going to let us have a piece of land to farm. It won’t be very big, and we’ll have to build us a house, but maybe we can finally put down roots.”
David thought he detected a wistful note in her voice. “It’s always good to have a place of your own.”
“I expect so,” she replied, her tone vague as she shifted the baby from one shoulder to the other. “We’ve already moved around a good bit, so I hope once we get to Indiana we can settle in and stay there.”
“Have you decided when you’ll be leaving?”
She glanced away. “We don’t really have the money just yet. Terry will have to work awhile longer before we can go, and I don’t want to start out on a trip like that until the baby is a bit bigger.”
“That’s good thinking, Mrs. Sawyer. It would be best to wait, for the sake of the baby if for no other reason.”
Again her expression darkened. “Terry, he’s talking of going on ahead of us, getting things ready and such.” She hesitated, then added, “He’s thinking that by the time he comes back for us, Naomi will be more ready to travel, and so will I.”
So that was what had her worried. It was only natural that she wouldn’t like the idea of being stuck here alone in a two-room flat with no family but a new baby.
“Perhaps he’ll change his mind,” David said, meaning to reassure her. Worry was no good for her or the baby.
The look she turned on him plainly indicated that she had little hope of that happening, but she merely said, “Perhaps,” and dropped the subject.
Watching her David suspected that she was more concerned about their situation than she was letting on, but it wasn’t his place to dig any deeper.
Before leaving he did inquire as to anything they might need, but when she assured him that “thanks to Captain Gant” they were doing all right, he said his goodbyes and left without further discussion.
As he drove away, David couldn’t quite get Ellie Sawyer and her circumstances out of his mind. The young woman was seemingly trapped in a situation that was none of her own doing. Apparently her husband was, in her own words, getting restless. She’d also indicated that in only three years they had already “moved around” quite a lot. That didn’t necessarily bode well for the future.
They had a newborn baby, no real provisions of their own, and apparently their only funds were whatever Sawyer had managed to earn working for Gant. In such a short time, that couldn’t be much.
As long as they were here, Gant would see to it that they didn’t lack for anything. David had also slipped his friend some money to help out, as well as foregoing any medical fees owed to him. But once they left Riverhaven, they would be on their own, at least while they were on the road.
There was no mistaking Ellie Sawyer’s reluctance to move on just yet, but clearly she was also resistant to the idea of staying behind without her husband. He couldn’t help but empathize with her dilemma.
He sighed and slowed the buggy a little. Susan said he drove too fast, and he supposed he did out of habit. He was so often racing to an emergency that driving fast was simply the norm for him.
Susan had also suggested that he fretted too much about his patients. She seemed to worry that he’d eventually make himself ill. The thing was he had always found it difficult to detach himself from concern for a patient. He supposed it was just his nature.
In any event he didn’t expect he’d be changing, not after all these years. He would probably always carry more burden than he ought to for those he treated, a thought that again brought Bishop Graber to mind.
He tried to guard against anticipating the worst, but just in case it should become necessary, how would he handle the situation with the ailing bishop?
There were only three men he could approach with such a request without violating the Amish tenet for privacy. He could seek the confidence of one of the two ministers, Abe Gingerich and Malachi Esche, or the lone deacon who served among the ministerial brethren—Samuel Beiler.
He dismissed Samuel Beiler from his mind right away. He had known Beiler for several years, had delivered two of his sons, and treated his late wife during her illness. He’d found the Amish deacon to be a seemingly cold man with an unmistakable disdain for anyone outside the Plain People’s community. Even with David, his own family physician, he had rejected any overture of friendliness.
Besides, he had known—no, he’d suspected—certain things about Beiler that to this day stirred in him a dark uneasiness. He wouldn’t be comfortable speaking to him about the bishop or anyone else.
Abe Gingerich was one of their two ministers and a good man. So was Malachi Esch.
He knew immediately that he would be most at ease speaking with Malachi. He disliked the idea of burdening the man, who was undoubtedly still grieving the loss of his wife, Phoebe. But perhaps when and if the need arose to alert someone to the bishop’s failing health, a sufficient length of time would have passed that Malachi might have moved beyond the grieving process.
For now he thought the best he could do would be to monitor the bishop’s condition and say nothing. He could also hope it would ultimately be unnecessary for him to consult anyone else, that either the bishop himself or a family member would take care of that part of things. After all, he found it hard to believe that no one else had noticed the changes in Bishop Graber. Surely at least a member of the family or perhaps one of the ministerial brethren had seen signs of the bishop’s failing health and mental illness.
His mind circled back to Ellie Sawyer and her husband. He did think he might mention his concern for the couple to Gant. After all, it seemed only fair that his friend be alert to the fact that his part-time employee might not be around too long.
Clearly Sawyer’s wife suspected that might be the case.
30
WORDS FROM A FRIEND
Did you know that I waited and listened and prayed,
And was cheered by your simplest word?
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
When Gant heard that Doc had been in town looking for him earlier in the day, on impulse he decided to pay him a visit that same evening.
Gant wondered if anything in particular had brought him to the shop. Even if that wasn’t the case, he had a question or two of his own he wanted to raise with his friend. Besides, they hadn’t talked alone in quite some time. They were due for a visit.
He hoped he might catch a glimpse of Rachel if she happened to be outside as he went by, so he slowed Flann to an ambling walk. But when there was no sign of her, he signaled the big gelding to resume his earlier pace as they went on down the road.
In front of Doc’s house, Gant stayed in the saddle a moment, his gaze scanning the property. Thanks to Doc Sebastian’s generous offer, this was where he had stayed during the final weeks of his recovery after being shot last winter.
It was a small house, owned and sometimes used by Doc Sebastian—mostly in the winter—to be closer to his Amish patients when the weather was bad or when he had an expectant mother nearby about to deliver. But after beginning the process to turn Amish and becoming engaged to Susan Kanagy, the doctor had sold his home place, a farm between Riverhaven and Marietta, and took up residence here, at the far edge of the Plain People’s community.
Over the past couple of months, he’d had an extension added for office space. Gant had done some of the work, Gideon part of it, as well. Of course, Doc and Susan planned to live at her farm after their marriage, but he would still need at least a small office, and with some more work and redecorating, this place should serve him well.
Because he had been a physician to the Amish for several years, once he made his vows for conversion and married
Susan, he would still be practicing medicine—but only among the Amish. The bishop had stipulated there would be no outside “doctoring” to others. Gant saw this as one more example of too much control on the part of the Amish leadership, but even though Doc admitted that he didn’t like this turn of events, it came as no surprise—he’d expected his practice would be limited after his conversion.
In fact, Doc being the man he was, had already been contacting other physicians and medical colleges in an attempt to attract another doctor to the area.
Gant had liked staying here during his recovery. He’d enjoyed getting to know some of the Amish neighbors, and he’d appreciated the quiet, natural beauty of the countryside.
Over time, however, he’d become aware that the seeming peace of his surroundings was a deceptive one, for the Riverhaven Amish had been plagued with an ongoing series of vandalism, pranks, and thefts.
Eventually the harassment escalated to an attack on Rachel’s little sister, Fannie. The girl had been tormented by a group of boys she believed to be Englisch. They had teased her, shoved her, and actually kicked her about until she fell unconscious in the snow.
Fannie recovered, but not Phoebe Esch, the latest victim of the horrors wreaked upon these good people. No doubt Phoebe’s death had left the entire community wondering what might come next.
Suddenly the screened door at the front of the house swung open, and Doc stepped outside.
“Well. Are you going to sit out there admiring my house the rest of the day, or are you coming in?” Doc chided him.
Gant grinned, his spirits brightening somewhat at the other’s good-natured dig. He had no doubt but what he could look forward to more of the same for the rest of the evening.
It was still early in October, but the evening was cold—cold enough that Gant’s bad leg had begun to ache even more than usual by evening.
