by Mary Ellis
“I have some overdue letters to write,” said Lewis, drying his hands on a linen towel.
Nora divided salad into four bowls. “I have letters to write as well.”
Emily set the bottles of dressing and catsup down with a clatter. “These are difficult times, ehemann, requiring sacrifice from everyone. A checker game with your bruder in the shade can surely wait another week.” Sarcasm dripped from each word.
Jonas tossed the notecard onto the pile, sat down, and bowed his head. After their silent prayer he stared at Emily, more confused than angry. “Have I done something, fraa, to warrant your disapproval?”
Lewis and Nora exchanged a nervous glance, and then they began devouring their salads.
“Mir leid,” she apologized. “It’s been an exhausting day. We’ll talk later.” Emily poured ranch dressing over half her plate, even the baked beans.
Neither of the Gingerichs, nor their houseguests, ever ate supper so fast. Emily began clearing plates the moment Lewis swallowed his final bite of burger. Nora jumped up too, to scrape her beans into the slop bucket destined for the neighbors’ hogs. While she washed and dried the dishes, she could see Lewis pacing the porch like an expectant father-to-be. Setting the iron skillet on a stove burner to dry, Nora pulled off her apron and fled from the house. The cool breeze on her face felt wonderful.
Lewis caught up with her six paces down the path. “Whoa, slow up there. This heat and humidity has really shortened tempers, no? The sooner it rains, the better.”
“Rain might make no difference whatsoever.”
“I imagine you’re not referring to the weather or crops.” Lewis kept pace at her side, close but not touching.
“Let’s not beat around the bush. I gather you want to talk about Elam.” Nora slowed as they rounded the barn, beyond eyesight of the house.
“There’s something going on at work I think you should know about.”
“Violet mentioned that Elam told—”
“Wait, Nora,” he interrupted. “Violet doesn’t know about this, so let me continue.”
She halted near the fence and grabbed a fistful of chicory. Could he have not heard Elam’s allegations? “Go on,” she said.
“Money was stolen at work a couple weeks ago. I must not have locked the cash register and someone noticed. Elam is the only one I can think of who would steal and then implicate me.” He also reached down for a feathery weed. “Luckily, Jonas doesn’t believe I’m a thief and decided to see what happens.”
“Emily never mentioned this to me.”
“Jonas wanted no one to know, not even her. He thought the guilty party would start boasting about it to his coworkers. Besides, the rumor mill can easily convict an innocent man…or woman.”
Nora felt her face growing warm, despite the cool breeze in the shade.
“Like Jonas figured, Elam couldn’t keep quiet for long. He bragged to the men about buying a used bass boat and outboard motor for a thousand dollars—the approximate amount missing from the drawer.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” said Nora, not sure why she was defending Elam.
“True enough, but he asked the foreman three times when he planned to fire me. I intend to confront him on Monday about this and the other devilment he’s been up to.” Lewis tickled her chin with a long-stemmed wildflower.
Nora grabbed the weed and threw it into the brush. “So you’ve heard the rumors?” She fought back a surge of heartburn, either from the fried onions or stress from her future crumbling before her eyes. She pressed both palms against her stomach.
“I’ve heard. It would be hard not to working at Gingerich’s. Unfortunately, men gossip almost as much as women—almost, but not quite.” He tucked a kapp ribbon that had blown across her face behind her ear.
Nora stepped back from the tender touch of the gentlest man in the world. “Do you believe what Elam says about me?”
“I do not.” Lewis answered without hesitation. “And I told the gossiping men to drop the conversation or I might forget I’m a calm-natured pacifist about to join the Amish church. Everyone took me at my word. We’ll see how Detweiler reacts on Monday. But I won’t have him sullying the reputation of the woman I love and intend to marry.” He lifted her chin with a finger.
For half a second Nora gazed into his eyes and saw nothing but love and acceptance there. Yet despite that and the guilt and shame ruining her digestion, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth. “You should do no such thing. I won’t have you fighting or threatening him on my behalf. Those who choose to believe him will do so regardless. By confronting him, you’ll jeopardize your job as well as your standing with the bishop. And for what?” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I know Elam would never admit he stole. And he won’t recant his accusations about me.” She batted away a bead of moisture forming on her lip. “It’s enough that you wish to defend my honor, Lewis.” My honor? The false words burned in her throat as tears flooded her eyes.
Far away, some Englischer honked his car horn, perhaps at a dog that wandered too close to the road. Overhead, sparrows and wrens chattered high in the tree branches while settling down for the night. And inside her chest, Nora’s heart pounded so hard she feared a rib might crack.
Lewis waited, patient as always, to see if she would say more. “Because you insist, I won’t confront him about you, but I will ask how he paid for a fishing boat when his car had just been in the shop for repairs.”
“Agreed. Are we looking at the pond tonight or not? It will soon be dark.” Nora tried to step past him, but he blocked her path.
“The pond can wait. Is there any truth to Elam’s gossip?” Lewis gazed to the left where a deer and fawn had crept from the thicket to nibble wind-blown apples on the ground. A muscle tensed in his neck, betraying tension equaling hers.
“Some of what he said is true, but not all. I’m not proud of how I behaved while a guest at Thomas and Sally’s.”
“Considering we might become husband and wife this fall, don’t I have the right to know fact from fiction?”
Nora shifted her weight to the other foot, drawing the doe’s attention. For a second, the animal and woman locked eyes—both terrified, but for very different reasons. Then the deer nudged her baby, and they sprinted back to the protective cover of the brush and woods beyond.
How she wished her safety could be so easily restored. “No, Lewis. Despite whatever rights you feel you have, I won’t discuss my past.” Nora swatted a mosquito feasting on her arm. “It’s too buggy tonight to go to the pond. I’m heading to my room to read instead.” She turned and walked away—waiting, hoping, praying—for what? For him to declare, “I love you no matter what you did? I want no one in my life but you?”
But no one followed her as she approached the barn. And no declarations of everlasting love carried on the evening breeze. As she had been while fleeing Maine, and also when leaving Lancaster County, Nora King was alone in the world.
Lewis watched her go with a sinking feeling in his gut. Separation from his home and family, learning a new job with Englischers, being accused of robbing the cash register—all paled compared to Nora turning her back on him. Doesn’t she love me? Was this trip to Missouri the foolish, desperate act of a lonely man? Why can’t she tell me the truth about her past?
He wandered down to the pond in the growing gloom. Dusk brought forth impenetrable shadows on both sides of the path, while hordes of biting insects took flight from the shrubbery. A three-quarter moon rose above the trees, casting a shimmery glow on the water. Now and then, fish broke the surface as they leaped into the air for an evening snack. Lewis stared at the murky pond—which concealed the depth, quality of water, and nature of the bottom and shoreline. A creature might wade in for a cool drink, expecting a sandy foothold and clean water, only to become entangled by thick water hyacinths or mired in oozing mud where living things would soon meet a premature, toxic death. Was this also the nature of a woman’s heart—deceptive, ens
naring, and ultimately destructive?
Fatigue was making him overly dramatic—like an Englischer. Lewis picked up a flat rock to skim across the surface. Once, twice, thrice it skated across the water until it sank to the bottom—a normal, natural pond bottom, without insidious green monsters hoping to drown hapless deer.
Nora was no green-eyed monster either. She was a spirited woman who would rather forget past mistakes. Lewis believed she no longer cared for Elam. If anyone had captured her heart, it was him. He could live with her errors in judgment. He could even accept she’d been in love with another man. But he couldn’t accept her refusal to tell the truth. Marriage was a lifetime commitment, and life usually was long and filled with pitfalls. Without honesty, there could be no trust. And without trust, love would soon wither like young plants in the hot sun. He’d heard that beauty fades and passion wanes, but trust nourishes love like a gentle rain. That was the kind of marriage his parents had. And that was what he wanted for himself with Nora, but their future was up to her.
When Lewis smacked his cheek for the third time, he abandoned the mosquito grove and headed back to the house. A sole kerosene lamp burned on the kitchen counter, signaling that Emily and Nora had gone to bed. But Jonas sat at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. An Amish newspaper and his Bible lay nearby, unopened.
“Won’t that caffeine keep you awake tonight?” asked Lewis, opening the refrigerator door. He selected a can of orange soda and joined his host and boss.
“It’s doubtful I would be able to sleep anyway. Too much on my mind.” Jonas met his eye, looking older than his thirty-five years. “Why is your face bleeding?”
“I scratched at bug bites, trying to figure out my life.”
“How did that work down by the pond?” Jonas clutched his mug with both hands.
“About as well as it has in here.” Lewis stretched out his long legs. “But at least you didn’t lose a pint of blood.”
Jonas’s laughter rang hollow in the quiet room. “Elam’s causing trouble for you and Nora, isn’t he?”
“Only if we let him, but I refuse to give him that satisfaction.” He drank several long swallows, savoring the sweetness.
Jonas studied the flame sputtering behind the clear glass shade. “Like I thought, Elam has been bragging to his Amish friends. He told Josh you would pay the price for stealing another man’s girl. That soon you’ll be heading back East with your tail between your legs.” He locked gazes with Lewis.
Lewis fought back a wave of anger. “No one can steal another person’s affection. Either you have their love or you don’t.” He finished the can of soda.
The older man nodded, stroking his beard. “I heard something else too. Elam invited some English friends out on his power boat tomorrow afternoon. He plans to trailer it to Mark Twain Lake and go fishing.”
Lewis blinked. “You heard about his new boat?”
“I did, but we can’t prove he used Gingerich money to buy it. Suppositions are all I have, and I won’t act on assumptions. But I know you didn’t steal from me. I knew that right away.”
Lewis exhaled and ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Danki for your trust, Jonas, but I regret causing problems at the lumberyard. If you like, I’ll look for another job.”
“No, you will not.” Jonas thumped his empty mug on the table. “You’re not going anywhere. At least, not over this. As early as tomorrow evening, the matter will be out of our hands. Josh and Seth have talked to Solomon Trask about Elam’s threats and about him buying a boat, so we shall bide our time. Put it out of your mind for now.”
Lewis struggled to his feet, tired beyond description. “It’s not what Elam says or has done that’s troubling me, but I appreciate your confidence and concern.”
“Gut nacht, Lewis.” Jonas slipped on his reading glasses and opened his worn Bible.
Lewis wearily climbed the steps, suffocated by the heat in the stairwell. How he wished he was back home in Maine, where summers were cooler and far less complicated. Just for a moment, he wished he’d never chased this pipe dream into the flatlands of Missouri.
Solomon shifted on his chair, his back spasms worsening with each passing minute. No breeze stirred the curtains in the airless living room. His grandchildren squirmed on the couch, while the eyes of his daughters-in-law had glazed over long ago. Violet watched him from her wheelchair, while even Rosanna’s face pleaded for an end to the morning devotions.
“In conclusion,” he said, “I’ll read Revelation sixteen, verses five and six: ‘You are just, O Holy One, who is and who always was, because you have sent these judgments. Since they shed the blood of your holy people and your prophets, you have given them blood to drink. It is their just reward.’” He snapped shut the Bible. “Today, I go to the bishop’s home for an important meeting with the ministerial brethren to decide the fate of our distressed district. I hope you will pray for the proper solution to our woes.” He gazed over his family as they bowed their heads.
Perhaps they prayed for a summer shower to bring relief from the oppressive heat. Maybe they prayed for no interruptions during their afternoon nap in the hammock. Or perhaps they merely prayed for devotions to conclude, releasing them to the cool shade outdoors. Sol would never know. His wife, daughters, sons, their spouses, and grandchildren filed from the room as soon as he uttered a final “Amen.”
Only Violet remained, pale and anxious in her wheelchair. “What will happen today, Papa? Something awful? You read from the book of Revelation as though anticipating disaster.” She rolled closer to him, not toward the door to the porch.
Sol reached out to pat her head as though she were still a little girl. “I seek to avert calamity with my actions. Don’t be afraid, dochder.”
“Shall I go with you to offer support?” She clutched his hand tightly.
“Nein. You stay here and pray for your friends and family. God listens to the pleas from innocents such as you.” Solomon turned to find his wife, leaving Violet in the stuffy front room. Within minutes, he and Rosanna climbed into their buggy and were on their way. Irvin raised his hand in farewell from the porch.
After they had both been lost in thought for miles, Rosanna tried to lift his spirits. “Things are often darkest before the dawn.”
“Dawn might not be coming soon for the Amish of Paradise,” he murmured, more to himself than her.
If the mood inside the meeting was any indication, the minister had prophesized correctly. After the wives left to sew in another room, Bishop Ephraim wasted no time with pleasantries. “I heard there’s trouble at your lumberyard, Deacon Jonas. You suspect one of our people has stolen money and blamed another Amish man?”
Jonas cleared his throat. “That’s what I suspect, but I have no concrete proof. The man admits no wrongdoing, so I have only theories and conjecture.”
“How we must appear to the English—robbing each other and bearing false witness to cover our tracks.” Ephraim shook his head sadly, and then he scrubbed his palms down his face.
“It isn’t how we look to Englischers that should concern us, but how we look to God,” said Sol. “It’s His judgment we should fear and His reprisals.” Three pairs of eyes focused on him. “Elam Detweiler isn’t ‘one of our people,’ Bishop. He’s a fence-sitter at best, and, more likely, an outcast from his former community, sent away because of repeated infractions to his district’s Ordnung. He hasn’t been baptized into our faith, nor does he accept our customs or traditions. He’s caused problems for the family where he rents a room, concerning his car and use of alcohol.” Sol drew in a breath before he fainted from lack of oxygen.
Ephraim, Jonas, and the younger minister, Peter, looked saddened rather than disgusted, the emotion Solomon was experiencing.
“Go on,” prodded the bishop.
Sol held up his Bible. “This morning I pored over both books of the apostle John, searching for guidance with Elam. Let me read a passage from First John, chapter three: ‘When people keep on sinning, i
t shows they belong to the devil, who has been sinning since the beginning…Those who have been born into God’s family do not make a practice of sinning…So now we can tell who are children of God and who are children of the devil.’” His voice shook with fury.
“What would you have us do, Brother Solomon, with this young man?” asked Ephraim.
“Our only choice is clear. In Second John, we learn: ‘Anyone who wanders away from this teaching has no relationship with God…Anyone who encourages such people becomes a partner in their evil work.’ We must drive him from our community. The Petersheims should tell him to move out, and you need to fire him, Jonas.”
Jonas leaned forward in his chair. “Without proof that he committed a crime? You wish me to convict him based on speculation?”
“I wish you to pluck a rotten apple from the barrel before it turns the entire harvest wormy. Our young people are our future. Elam influences them with his fancy clothes and fast cars, and now a powerboat.” Solomon let his voice rise with agitation. “More of our youth will extend their running-around period and take up strong drink and carousing on weekends. Whether or not he stole the money, the man is a poison to our district!”
Bishop Ephraim held up a hand. “Those are strong words.”
Solomon nodded in agreement. “They are, but I haven’t reached my conclusion without hours spent in contemplation.”
“Couldn’t we pray for this young man that he be restored to the fold?” asked Peter with youthful optimism.
“Elam has never been in the Amish fold. He has remained a thorn in the side of his former community and now ours.”
Peter stared down at his polished black shoes, deep in thought. Jonas gazed out the window as though distracted by a chattering squirrel in the tree. Ephraim focused on his liver-spotted hands folded atop his Bible.
