by Mary Ellis
Solomon knew he must forge ahead. The time was now to make changes that would preserve their existence in Missouri. “Detweiler is not our sole threat. These are dire times we’re in. Around us horrible events portend a sorrowful end to the Plain way of life. We need to examine our district for others lingering too long during rumschpringe. It’s time they take classes and commit to the church. We need to make sure there are no further infractions to our Ordnung, and we must reduce our dependence on tourists for income. We should separate ourselves from the temptations of sin—to be in this world, but not of this world. Our community is headed down a path of self-destruction like so many Christians before us.”
Sol swiveled on the chair. “Jonas, instruct your Plain employees not to fraternize with their English coworkers. I intend to tell Violet not to strike up long conversations with bakery customers. Many come to the shop more to spy on our way of life than to fill their pantries with bread and baked sweets.”
Jonas glared at Solomon, his face hard and immobile. “And you wish me to instruct Emily and Nora to do the same?” His tone betrayed his opinion of the idea.
“Not Nora, but tell Emily, jah. Selling to English locals is one thing, but encouraging the tourists will only hasten our downfall and eventual judgment.”
The bishop waved a hand through the air. “Solomon, do not make decisions by yourself. That’s why we have four brethren—to reach the best possible solution based on Scripture,” said Ephraim.
“I assure you, Bishop, that I have studied Scripture endlessly since our problems escalated—”
“You mean those passages that support your forgone conclusions,” said Jonas, opening his hands to show thick callouses. “Have you forgotten the Savior’s message of love and forgiveness, of turning the other cheek when wronged? Of not sitting in judgment of our fellow man? That’s God’s domain, not yours or mine.”
Solomon glowered at the deacon. “I haven’t forgotten, but I also remember Paul’s instructions to Titus: ‘If people are causing divisions among you, give a first and second warning. After that have nothing more to do with them. For people like that have turned away from the truth, and their own sins condemn them.’”
Suddenly, Jonas’s brows drew together over the bridge of his nose. “What did you mean earlier…not Nora, only Emily?” He rubbed the back of his neck.
He snorted. “Nora King is not my concern because she never joined the church. But if you are wise, Deacon Gingerich, you would send her back to her family in Maine or in Pennsylvania. You are housing a jezebel—a fallen woman—and in so doing, you condone her sinful behavior. You aren’t managing your household well according to Paul’s instructions to church leaders in the book of First Timothy.”
“Enough!” thundered Ephraim with unusual volume and vehemence. “You go too far with your hasty accusations, Minister. If Elam has evil intentions toward others, why would you listen to his slurs against this young woman’s character?”
Embarrassed, Sol hung his head, realizing too late that he’d overstepped his role. “You are right, Bishop.”
“We will call on this Elam Detweiler to hear what he has to say. He was warned weeks ago, so this will serve as his second warning. We will encourage him to confess his sins on bended knee and join our congregation. If he does, all will be forgotten and never mentioned again. But you’re right, Solomon. If the man refuses, he must be treated no differently than a shunned member. We’ll ask him to leave Paradise or, at least, have no further association with the Amish.”
Ephraim trained his watery blue eyes on Jonas. “Follow your own heart regarding your place of business. But if you choose to let him go, see that he has sufficient severance pay to return to his people in Maine or tide him over until he finds another job and place to live.” The bishop stood, signaling an end to the ministerial meeting.
Sol rose to his feet too, nodding at the others. On stiff legs he sought his fraa in the front room and they started for home, refusing the bishop’s offer of coffee and pie. Paradoxically, he felt vindicated and yet wearier than ever before in his life.
SIXTEEN
And shall be till I die
Solomon remained on his knees beside the bed twice as long as usual that Monday morning. He had plenty to confess and much to be grateful for. He regretted speaking so harshly about Nora to Jonas. Not only did he need the deacon’s support for today’s unpleasant task, but his assessment of the young woman hadn’t been fair or kind. Since her arrival, she had treated his daughter like a sister. And his daughter assured him Detweiler’s claims must be false. Violet was an excellent judge of character and she adored Nora.
His gratefulness stemmed from the bishop and other minister agreeing with him. What would I have done if they failed to recognize the immediate need to act? Even Jonas hadn’t challenged the bishop’s decision to cut off the diseased limb so that the remaining tree might flourish. As Sol struggled to his feet, his final prayer was for guidance and patience. Man could do little on his own, but with divine intervention mountains could be moved. Surely, one wild young man could be sent packing back to the English world where he belonged.
Downstairs, Solomon found Irvin at the kitchen table, finishing a plate of blueberry pancakes. “What happened, son? Did your wife send you away for snoring or for tracking up her freshly washed kitchen floor? It’s hard to imagine your house without food for breakfast.” He chuckled as Rosanna handed him a cup of coffee.
“Nein. I already ate Susanna’s eggs with bacon, and now some of mamm’s pancakes. Can’t play favorites with two good cooks in my life, can I?” Irvin patted his taut midsection. “I had to occupy my time until you came downstairs. Or did you forget about today?” He peered over his thick glasses.
For a moment, Sol stared at his eldest son blankly. “Goodness, the hay. I had forgotten you asked for help yesterday.” He slumped into his chair.
“I’m short a man since Mark’s fraa went into labor.” Irvin lifted his mug for his mother to refill.
Rosanna placed a stack of three pancakes before Sol, and then she encircled his neck with her arms. “Soon we’ll have another kinskinner—maybe by nightfall. I’m hoping for a little girl this time.” She kissed the top of his head.
“Gut, but these things take time, especially as it’s their first boppli.”
“Because it is their first, Mark won’t leave Ann’s side. Can you drive the binder for me? I’ll drive the team pulling the cutting blade.”
Sol drank long and deep before replying. “Jah, but I must leave on district business by three o’clock.”
“Then we’d better get the teams ready to go.” Irvin sprang up and out the door with the agility of a young man.
Sol ate his breakfast and drank a second cup of coffee before joining his son in the fields with far less energy. Later, after he’d washed, changed clothes, and headed to the Petersheims’, his stamina plummeted even further. Jonas had selected today for their visit because Elam had Mondays off. All four ministerial brethren would come after work, each arriving in a separate buggy.
None of them anticipated Detweiler not being home. After they rocked on the porch, sipping Ruth’s weak iced tea for two hours, he finally returned. Elam drove up the driveway fast enough to send chickens scurrying for their lives. James and Ruth retreated inside the house and closed the door, aware they shouldn’t hear possible reprimands. Solomon, Ephraim, Peter, and Jonas left the porch together and walked across the lawn.
The young man parked his car behind the barn and met them halfway across the yard. “Now I can tell who’s who,” said Elam. “While sitting like four crows on a fence, you all looked the same.” He grinned broadly as though they would appreciate his humor. “Hey, isn’t today Monday? Or do I need a new calendar?” An odor of greasy fried food wafted from the paper sack he carried. In his other hand, he held a six-pack of Pepsi.
Briefly, Sol wished the cola had been beer, thus providing an easy entry into their conversation. Jonas got the ball rolling
without preamble. “I heard you went fishing yesterday on your new boat.”
Elam set the food down in the tall grass. “That’s right. I caught a half dozen trout, big enough to fry up for supper, which I just haven’t had a chance to cook up yet. So I bought fast food.” He nudged the bag with his foot. “My buddies caught the legal limit too. Good fishing on Mark Twain Lake, considering we reached the lake at the hottest part of the day.” He turned his ball cap around backward—an absurd custom among the English, in Sol’s estimation.
“Boats with outboard motors don’t come cheap,” continued Jonas. “Josh told me your car recently needed a new transmission.”
“Don’t forget about the trailer I bought, boss. Gotta have a way to carry the boat to the water.” Elam pulled on his scruffy goatee. “You’re probably wondering if I’m the one who stole your money instead of Miller.”
“I am. Was it you?”
A smirk, not a smile, tugged up the corners of Elam’s mouth. “You have electricity running your lights and computers. Maybe you should have invested in security cameras. You’ll never know for sure since you won’t take my word for it.”
“You’re right,” said Jonas. “I have a hard time believing anything you say. That’s why I want you to look for another job. I’ll give you a recommendation because I have no proof, but I can’t trust you. And I don’t want men on my payroll I can’t trust.”
Elam’s wry humor faded. “You’re firing me?”
“Correct. I’ll give you two weeks to line something up, plus an extra two weeks of severance pay. But after that, I want you gone.”
“Why did you drive all the way here with reinforcements?” Elam nodded at the other elders. “This could have waited until I came to work tomorrow.”
Ephraim cleared his throat and stepped forward. “The district is concerned about habits you’ve developed, son. You’ve been straddling the fence between the English world and ours for a long time. You’re already twenty-two. That’s old enough to decide who you want to be.”
Something about the bishop’s suggestion riled Detweiler. “I’m not your son,” he snapped. “My dad’s been long in his grave. Besides, I know exactly who I am. And it’s not like any of you.”
Sweeping off his hat, Sol thumped it against his leg, but Ephraim raised his hand to control the discussion. “We have noticed that. Maybe I should have approached you formally to invite you to services. You’re welcome to take classes in preparation to join our congregation. Once you’ve been baptized, past transgressions are erased and never talked about again.” Ephraim looked from Jonas back to Elam.
“If I join, do I keep my job?” He crossed his arms over his St. Louis Cardinals T-shirt.
“No, my mind is made up about your employment.” Jonas stared at the younger man with equal determination.
“Ha!” Elam barked a laugh that cut through the humid air. “I was just curious as to what you would say, Jonas. I have no intention of becoming Amish, either here or back in Maine.”
“Then we must ask you to leave the Petersheim household.” Solomon could remain silent no longer. “They have young children who don’t need your influence in their lives.”
“Is that right? James and Ruth know about this?” Elam straightened to his full, impressive height.
“They do,” said Sol. “They wish to do what’s best for the district.”
“My rent is paid up until the end of the month.” Elam shifted his weight and leaned toward Sol menacingly.
“You can stay until then or get a refund for the unused portion.” Ephraim stepped closer to Elam—a mouse-sized man against Goliath. “No one wishes ill-will toward you. In the end, you’ll soon discover it’s best for everyone if you find an English place to live and work.”
Elam gazed at the elderly bishop—a grandfather twenty times over—and softened. “You’re probably right. Paradise has just about bored me to death.”
“But sleep on it before making up your mind. Should you decide to remain Amish and become one of us, come see me.” Ephraim pulled a note from his inner pocket. “I wrote down the address and directions of how to find my house.”
Elam took the paper and slipped it into his jeans.
“But it will be Amish by our rules, not interpreting the Ordnung as you see fit,” added Solomon. He couldn’t resist taking a stand against this potentially deadly adversary.
Elam closed the distance between them. “I knew you never liked me. I don’t reckon you like many people. Just be glad your daughter takes after your wife and not you.” His sly grin returned for a final appearance.
Peter—a man of equal stature as the bishop—separated the two men with one hand on Sol’s chest and one on Elam’s. “There is no need to turn things personal here.”
Elam walked away, shaking his head. “Time for supper anyway, before my food turns ice cold. I trust you gentlemen can find your way out. Just use the same driveway you rode in on.” Hooting with laughter, he ran up the Petersheim flagstone path to the porch.
Once Detweiler closed the door behind him, everyone stood in the yard for another minute. Solomon feared the bishop might censure him for his display of temper, but Ephraim and the others looked every bit as tired as he felt. They shook hands and headed for home…each lost in his own thoughts.
Solomon soon fell fast asleep with his chin lolling on his chest. It was a good thing his mare, Nell, knew the route, or who knew where in Missouri the minister might have ended up.
Jonas bid the other elders good night and climbed into his buggy. What a long drive he faced, alone with his misgivings and burden of shame, despite the Petersheims living only four miles away. He didn’t like how he’d risen up against Elam in anger, feeling righteous after firing him. Even if he was a thief, Jonas still should have remained objective and sorrowful that someone would stoop so low to buy a fishing boat. What price for a man’s soul? If by some odd twist of fate Elam was innocent, he had just fired a man because he didn’t like how he dressed or his mode of transportation.
He had united with the ministers and bishop to challenge this outsider determined to undermine the Amish way of life, yet Jonas felt no kinship with them then or now. The long hot summer was wreaking havoc on their lives. Was it Satan at work? Or did humankind not need outside help to flounder in personal weakness? Jonas didn’t believe they must ostracize people or face extinction as a culture. Jesus came with a message of love and forgiveness, of compassion and tolerance. Elam may never find his way back to any Christian faith, but shouldn’t they lead by example? Their hostility toward him was more threatening to their faith than the influence of tourists.
Where did the answer lie? Solomon had found Scripture to support his actions and beliefs. But was a heavy hand always the best policy? The Ordnung existed to remove focus from the individual and prevent disagreements from tearing apart a community. And Jonas loved his Old Order Amish church. It sustained him, keeping him where he wanted to be—close to the earth, his family, and his Lord. His dilemma stretched far past Elam Detweiler. Solomon had convinced Peter and Ephraim that only rigid thinking and strict enforcement of rules could save them. But save them from what—the next flood or drought or crop-destroying weevil? The three would soon convince the entire district they must sever friendships with neighbors and retreat from Englischers as though they carried a deadly virus.
And what would happen to the youth still on rumschpringe? Young people were the future of any community. Wouldn’t forcing them to make hasty decisions drive many from their ranks? But even Emily agreed with Solomon. She made that clear by blaming their infertility on some unforgivable sin. Jonas didn’t believe that. He couldn’t believe that. Yet he also realized for the first time he was completely alone, separated not only from his brethren, but from Emily and his family.
Except for God. As Jonas meditated on that all-encompassing truth, the despair that had brought him to tears began to lift. Within another mile, his strength returned and along with it came gnaw
ing hunger. When was the last time he’d eaten? Nothing since one sandwich and a pear at noon, seven hours ago?
“Get up there!” he called, shaking the reins. The gelding dutifully complied, lifting his hooves into a proper trotter pace.
After a second growl from his empty stomach, Jonas reached under the seat for his lunch cooler. He found a baggy of oatmeal raisin cookies, baked by his beloved fraa. No, he thought, not by Emily, but by Nora. He ate them in short order while contemplating the lost lamb from Lancaster. A jezebel? Hardly, but he hadn’t stepped up to provide the spiritual help she desperately needed. Nora had been confused, or else she never would have followed a man like Elam to Paradise. Even he, a man without any romantic expertise whatsoever, could see those two weren’t suited to each other.
Jonas turned into his lane with a plan in mind. He might not possess matchmaking skills, but Emily was good with young people. He would enlist her help with Nora. The task might provide distraction from their problems and, he hoped, bridge the gap between them that had grown into a chasm. Once inside his barn, Jonas jumped down from the buggy and ran smack into Lewis. “Goodness, you almost gave me a heart attack.” He clutched his chest.
“Sorry about that.” Lewis unhitched the horse from the harnesses with nimble fingers. “I was waiting out here, figuring you’d be tired by the time you got home. Let me take care of your horse.” He led the animal into a stall and began brushing his damp coat.
Jonas pushed the buggy into the yard, out of the way. “Jah, I’m tired, but I’m also hungry enough to chew on leather right about now. Did you save me any supper?”
Lewis grinned over the stall wall and winked. “I believe there are chicken necks and some lima beans left. Maybe half a corn muffin.”
Jonas tugged on a pair of gloves and reached for the bucket hanging inside the stall. “I’ll remember that when it’s time to hand out raises.”
