What on earth was that? Nellie wondered the whole way through the meal.
After they’d finished, Dat resumed his prayerful mood and bowed his head, offering the usual silent blessing this time.
Half Amish prayer . . . half not?
Nellie rose to clear the table with Nan’s help, telling Mamma and Rhoda to stay seated. As she worked, putting away food and scraping clean the plates while Nan got the water ready for washing, she kept trying to sort out what had just occurred. She’d heard her father pray aloud with her own ears, addressing God as he would someone he knew well.
When at last the kitchen was clean, Dat asked her and her sisters to come and sit at the table, a departure from their usual evening Bible reading, when they were allowed to sit wherever they wished, perhaps even playing checkers or doing something else while he read. Not this night. Dat asked them to listen carefully as he read from passages in the Gospel of John she’d never heard in her life.
The Scriptures told of a man whose name was unfamiliar to her: Nicodemus. Full of questions, he was. Just as I’ve been since Suzy passed away, Nellie thought. She liked this new story from the same old Bible Dat had read from since they were born.
He paused and rested his gaze briefly on them before going on to the next verse. “ ‘He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him.’ ”
Nellie found herself fighting back tears. She reached into her pocket and squeezed Suzy’s Kapp strings, wanting to ask her father to read the verse again. If only poor Suzy had the everlasting life promised to those who believed on the Son. Was the wrath of God abiding on her?
Not wanting to draw attention to her state of mind, Nellie Mae headed upstairs and closed her door as soon as Dat excused them. She longed to be free of the guilt she carried in her heart, but she had no way of knowing if that was possible.
Her legs felt too weak to hold her, so she knelt beside her bed for the first time ever. Because she didn’t know what to say to the Lord God and heavenly Father, so tongue-tied and ashamed was she, Nellie merely wept.
Dat began to make a routine out of reading from the New Testament following breakfast and again after supper. By week’s end, he had read them the entire book of John. Nellie had especially enjoyed the story about the woman who’d come for well water and left with something better, her soul satisfied. The Lord’s abundant water . . . life-giving.
How tantalizing it seemed. Evidently Mamma thought so, too, for Nellie Mae found her reading on her own, right where Dat had placed his long blue bookmark. As relieved as Nellie was to see the rosy glow returning to Mamma’s countenance after all these depressing weeks, she was hesitant to discuss this with her mother.
Gladdened, yet perplexed, Nellie prepared for her second date with Caleb, taking extra care in twisting the sides of her hair back into the hair bun, smooth as can be. She scrubbed her face and chose her crispest, whitest Kapp. Then, waiting till dusk, she slipped out of the house, presumably unnoticed. Nellie was sure Mamma and Nan knew she was going out, but which boy she was seeing was anyone’s guess.
Nellie made her way down the road to meet Caleb, wishing Nan hadn’t seemed so put out this week at having to help a lot in the shop—peeved at everything, really. “That might change soon with Mamma starting to feel better again,” she whispered to herself, eager for the day when her mother would be up to returning to the bakery shop.
Caleb had not asked Nellie to wait tonight at any particular spot along Beaver Dam Road, so she made her way near the grassy shoulder, conscious of the somber stillness of every tree. The sky was awash with thin clouds. How fragile they seemed . . . like the way she felt, realizing her words had the power to kill or build her friendship with Caleb.
I best be biting my tongue this time.
She glanced down at her plum-colored dress and fresh black apron, all ironed for the evening. Her black shoes were well polished, too, as if for Preaching.
An open buggy passed by just then, and a few minutes later, another. Each time she kept her head down so as not to be recognized. She did not care for any more gossipy accounts of her doings from Nan.
Niemols—never again!
She puffed in disgust at the audacity of the deacon’s daughter, taking the underhanded route by persuading her friend to spy on Nellie—or so she assumed. Of all the nerve; it was exactly like Susannah to behave so. All the same she was not about to allow her aggravation to spoil the evening. She wondered if it would be only a few hours at the Singing, then some riding, and home again. Or would he keep her out all the night long like Nan’s beau?
She could only imagine what Caleb had planned. Most of all, she hoped he would not press her anymore about Suzy. She might not be able to restrain her frustration tonight. She would do all she could to keep him talking about more pleasant things.
Spotting his courting buggy, Nellie Mae put on a big smile and waved. His hand went high into the air in a grand return wave, and her heart took flight.
Goodness’ sakes . . . I’m done for!
CHAPTER 16
Betsy felt overjoyed to have some time to herself. Reuben had left the house to hitch up the horse and carriage to run an errand over at Ephram’s. That gave her plenty of opportunity to read, what with Nellie out with a beau and Rhoda still not back from the Kraybills’. Nan was out taking a walk, or so she’d said.
“ ‘Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment: who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain. . . . ’ ” Betsy read where the page had fallen open, which happened to be the Psalms. Bishop approved, she thought, and glad of it.
She was compelled to read the entire psalm, curiously taking a close look at God’s description of himself as being “clothed with honour and majesty.” But it was the reference to light that fascinated her most.
Closing her eyes, Betsy imagined what a covering of light would look like—the heavenly Father’s garment, full of goodness and love. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, taking in the picture she saw in her mind’s eye.
The Lord God of light and love sent His Son to us . . . for a reason. How happy, even joyful that thought made her husband. Betsy’d never thought of the Scriptures the way Reuben had recently described them.
Life-giving.
She read further, wondering what had prompted Reuben to want to read the Good Book so often . . . and for such long stretches at a time. How had he come upon the chapter he’d read to her last Saturday? Had he purposely searched out new sections to read?
She honestly didn’t understand his desire for what he called truth. Their heritage held her fast. Wasn’t the truth to be had in the lessons of their forefathers—in their Ordnung?
Opening her eyes, she read the next verse and the next, until she had read the entire chapter—all thirty-five verses.
Captivated, she went back, now reading aloud. Pondering each sentence, she felt the urge to move on to Psalm 105, except Nan came running into the house, sniffling.
“Sorry, Mamma . . . I, uh, need to be alone.” Nan hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
Ach . . . troubles with a boy, likely.
She would wait a bit, then head up to see if Nan wanted to talk as she sometimes did, although that daughter would hem and haw and never come right out and say what was bothering her. Oh, but Betsy knew. She well remembered her own courting days. All the pain of them . . . and the joy, too.
Returning to the Scripture, she read Psalm 105 through twice, and having done so, she felt torn—both with gladness and an alarming feeling that she had somehow sinned.
Reuben dreaded stopping by Ephram’s tonight, scarcely knowing how to conceal his elation at the change in his soul. It had taken him over in the oddest way, making him feel almost like a boy and as light as grain on the threshing floor. The Good News had nothing to do with a set of rules. It was a love story . . . between God and the human race.
He’d reached the point of wa
nting each of his sons to know this same jubilation that he had already begun to reveal in part to his daughters. Betsy knew all, of course, and he’d already set to praying unceasingly for her to come to the light, just as he had. Clear out of the blue, nearly knocking him between the eyes.
Yet he had not sought it, much like the handful of ministerial brethren back two decades ago whose spiritual eyes were also opened upon reading Scripture. Like him, they had not pursued this path, as it were . . . having believed all along that truth was literally their tradition. Till a week ago Reuben had failed to grasp that this could have occurred without any conscious effort on their part. Would his sons now view him in the same puzzled way?
With some degree of apprehension, Reuben returned sundry tools to Ephram’s barn, hoping to avoid seeing his son just yet.
Closing the barn door, Reuben glanced back at the house. Ephram was moving toward him carrying a lantern and his walking stick, his sturdy shoulders seemingly bearing a load that made him old before his time. “Hullo, son!” he called.
“Daed . . . you didn’t have to make a special trip over here, and after dark yet.”
Reuben waved off the comment. “A nice night, so I saw no reason not to. Besides, tomorrow’s goin’ to be awful busy.”
Ephram leaned on his walking stick. “Someone else dropped by unexpectedly this afternoon.”
He waited for Ephram to say more. “Who might that be?”
“A right fancy fella wearin’ a tie—Mr. Snavely, he said he was.” Ephram pulled a white business card out of his pocket. “Gave me this . . . said I should look him up.”
Reuben peered at the card in the lantern’s light, noticing the image of a tractor.
“He said something else, too.”
Reuben didn’t like the way Ephram was frowning. “What’s that?”
“He stopped by your place, too . . . talked to Mamm.”
This was the first he’d heard of it.
“Mamm didn’t mention anything?”
“Nary a word.” Reuben chuckled. “You know your mother. She only tells me what she wants me to hear.”
Ephram nodded toward the house. “Our women . . .”
Yet Reuben didn’t know what to think of this. Betsy had talked with a tractor salesman? How long ago? “I doubt Mr. Snavely got very far talkin’ over such things with your mother.”
Ephram pushed on his stick again, digging it down, like a stake. “To be frank, Dat, I’ll have nothin’ at all to do with them tractor folk.” He raised his lantern. “If you understand my meaning.”
That he did. And good for Ephram. In fact, Reuben would’ve been right there with him, standing firm in the Old Ways, had he not read the Gospel of John . . . and so many other eye-opening passages, too. For sure and for certain, he’d be taking Ephram’s side if heaven hadn’t opened the eyes of his understanding about the Ordnung. If it was wrong on some things, who was to say it wasn’t wrong on others, too?
“Well, don’t know ’bout you, but I’d best be getting home. The air’s turnin’ chilly,” Reuben said, heading toward his horse and buggy.
“So long, Dat.”
Reuben stepped into his buggy, anxious to return to Betsy—and to the Good Book. Jah, eternal life. Such a wonderful-good gift.
In time, at exactly the right moment, he’d have a sit-down with Ephram.
Caleb had a big talk going, and Nellie was delighted to listen. He was telling her about the hayride next Sunday night after the Singing. “There’ll be plenty of goodies to eat and lots of group games and whatnot. Will you go along, Nellie?”
She smiled, knowing the night was young yet. She nodded her head, forgetting he couldn’t see her response; nightfall was so complete. Then when she realized he was waiting for an answer, she quickly asked, “Where will it be?”
“Over at the stone house near Mill Road. The deacon’s sister’s place.”
Susannah’s aunt!
She groaned inwardly. Would she never escape that girl’s scrutiny?
“Sure, I’ll go,” she replied, nearly grinning at herself.
He surprised her by reaching for her hand. “I’d like to be the one to take you home following . . . all right?”
Why was he asking her so far ahead? Why not pair up at the actual gathering, as was their way? Oh, the flickers of excitement every time he touched her hand!
“Sounds just fine.”
From the moment she’d stepped into Caleb’s open buggy tonight, she had felt a sense of rightness, as if somehow she was supposed to spend the evening with him. Supposed to enjoy the starry night and the whispers of the dark trees. Something within her urged: Trust your heart. . . .
“When do you think you’ll join church, Nellie?” The question startled her.
Well, he certainly didn’t leave any stone unturned, this boy. Caleb leaned close for a moment, like he wanted her to know he, too, was contemplating making his life vow.
“I haven’t thought much ’bout it.” That was the truth. “Why’re you askin’?”
“Have you considered it?”
“Not yet.”
He paused. “Do you plan to put it off?”
“Just bein’ honest. It’s still early in my Rumschpringe . . . same as it is for you.”
He was chuckling now, and she didn’t know what to make of it.
“You’re laughing at me?” she said.
“A little.”
“What for?”
“You’re so easy to kid, Nellie.” He squeezed her hand.
He thinks I’m gullible. . . .
“When do you plan on joining?” She was stepping out of bounds slightly. A girl scarcely ever asked this of a boy, since being baptized into the church was usually followed by a wedding the next month. But he’d put her on the spot, so why not?
“I’ll join a year from now—next fall,” he stated.
“You know this for sure?”
“Why put off what I plan to do anyway?”
She frowned, glad he couldn’t see her expression. No streetlights shone here as they did near the main highway.
These back roads he was taking her on were perfect for obscuring facial responses.
Caleb continued. “I’ll start baptismal instruction when the time comes. When Deacon Lapp offers classes next summer.”
Susannah’s father . . .
The silence that followed was one Nellie Mae didn’t feel worthy to fill—just as she didn’t know how she could possibly kneel before the Lord God and the congregation of the People and say all the things required. Not with all the shame she carried around in her soul.
“We could take the classes together,” he suggested.
With all of her heart, she wanted to say yes. Sure, Caleb, I’ll do that with you . . . and I’ll be your sweetheart-girl, too.
“Nellie?” He turned and was mighty close. “I’m askin’ you.”
The tears came too suddenly to stop them. Wasn’t this the very thing she’d wanted . . . for Caleb to show how much he cared?
“Aw, you’re cryin’.” He reached around her, holding the reins with one hand. “Nellie . . . honey . . . whatever’s wrong?”
She couldn’t speak, though she wanted to. He must’ve understood, for he didn’t press her further, instead letting her cry on his shoulder, her face against his black woolen coat.
Then almost before she realized it, the horse was pulling the buggy off the road, beneath a towering old tree. He waited for the horse to come to a halt before resting the reins on his knees.
Turning to her, Caleb cupped her face in his hands. “Listen, Nellie . . . you take your time, ya hear? Making the kneeling vow is the most holy thing you’ll ever do. The most important, too. No one can tell you when you’re ready.”
Oh, I might fall too hard for him if he doesn’t quit talking like this. She felt the warmth of his breath on her face—his intense, yet tender nearness. She thought he might want to kiss her if only to cheer her up.
Slowly, though, he
moved back, his eyes still on her. “We mustn’t . . .” He stopped short of saying what she knew he meant.
He likes me more than a bushel and a peck, she thought. Yet as happy as that knowledge made her feel, she had some figuring out to do before she could fully commit to taking the baptismal vow.
In every way, Caleb Yoder seemed to know precisely what he wanted.
CHAPTER 17
Betsy had made several attempts to draw Nan out, to no avail. Her poor daughter merely shook her head, expression gloomy. Truth be told, Nan looked to be pouting, sitting there in her corner of her bedroom.
Somewhat mystified, Betsy studied this pretty girl who was typically full of life. Her delicate features were enhanced by the lovely blue of her big eyes—a striking contrast to her dark brown hair. She’d often thought them a fine combination of Reuben’s deep brown hair and her own blue eyes. Nan’s looks were the kind to readily attract a boy’s attention . . . though it appeared not enough to keep it.
“Looks like you’d rather sit here alone, then?” she said, her final try.
Nan nodded unconvincingly, tears welling up.
Betsy went and stood near her, slipping her arm around Nan’s slim shoulders. “You can trust me with whatever’s bothering you, dear.”
Nan’s lower lip quivered. “It just ain’t fair, that’s all.”
Leaning her head atop her daughter’s for a moment, Betsy stroked her back, trying to soothe her. “Jah, life may seem ever so unfair at times, no doubting that.” She well knew there was no sense in discussing grievances, and she would not inquire about the boy who’d ditched her forlorn Nan. Doing so would hush her girl right up. Why, she’d been much the same way around her own mother, after once being jilted.
Nan sobbed into her hands as though she’d lost nearly everything she’d ever cared about. “Oh, Mamma, I loved this boy . . . I did.”
Silently Betsy pulled Nan into her arms.
“And he didn’t love me, not like he said.” More sniffling.
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