Wonderful Lonesome

by Newport, Olivia

  “Of course you are.” Willem dropped down from the buggy bench. “I’ll wait for you.”

  “Willem—”

  “Rudy, you’re an able-bodied Amish man. The council has asked us to attend, and we will respect them. We knew when we joined the settlers that we might face some difficult decisions.”

  Rudy did not appreciate Willem’s authoritative tone, but he took his point. “I think I have a clean shirt.”

  Or at least one that was less thick with dust.

  The Weaver house filled with women and small children. Abbie knew her mother had invited Mrs. Chupp, the cobbler’s wife, and Mrs. Nissley to stop by while their husbands were meeting. The others must have come out of anticipation for what the men’s conference might yield. Abbie put a fresh pot of coffee on the stove and fanned herself with an envelope from her cousin Leah in Indiana. Abbie would have to cut the coffee cake and canned apples into small portions to extend hospitality to a dozen extra women and children. The house was crowded and tepid, but Abbie did not mind. Having so many of the Amish women together in one place was almost as satisfying as a shared meal after a church service, an event beginning to fade in memory.

  When Abbie heard one more buggy clatter into the yard, she threaded her way through the visiting women to look out the front window.

  Mary Miller. And Little Abe.

  Abbie grinned wide as she held the door open for them and scooped up Little Abe as soon as his bare feet and wiggly toes crossed the threshold. He showed her all his teeth and put a playful hand over her face.

  “He is so adorable that I don’t know how you can stand it,” Abbie said. She slobbered a kiss on the boy’s cheek.

  Mary laughed. “He is not always so well tempered. When he has a tantrum I’m grateful we live miles from anyone else or we would have to supply the neighbors with something to plug their ears.”

  “We’ll have to see if we have a treat for you.” Abbie gently poked the child’s tummy. She looked at Mary. “I’ll bring you some kaffi. Mrs. Chupp is here. Perhaps she knows when her husband will have Little Abe’s new shoes ready.”

  “He’s excited to have shoes, but he is so used to bare feet that I don’t know if he’ll wear them.”

  “It will be good for him to have them. The ground here is not like the soft grass at home. Anything that grows is scratchy, and there are so many pebbles. Once he has shoes you can let him play more freely.”

  “He’s not a baby anymore.” Mary looked around. “Speaking of babies, is Ruthanna here?”

  Abbie shook her head. “I’m sure she wouldn’t want to leave Eber at home just to visit. She hasn’t left their farm since the day he fell ill.”

  “I want to ask her what she needs for the baby. I would be happy to share the things Little Abe has outgrown.”

  “I’m sure she would be grateful.”

  Little Abe wriggled out of Abbie’s arms and squatted to touch the nearest pair of shoes.

  “How is your quilt coming along?” Mary asked.

  “I have almost all the pieces cut out.” Abbie tickled Little Abe under the chin. “I can’t wait to start piecing.”

  “I’m eager to see your progress.” Mary looked around. “I suppose everyone is here for the same reason. It’s too nerve-racking to wait alone at home for news of what the men are discussing. I hope it is news of a minister. Without church for over a year, this is a wonderful lonesome place to be.”

  The men gathered on a motley arrangement of chairs, milking stools, barrels, and bales in the Mullet barn. It was the only space that would allow them to sit in a lopsided circle where most of them could see each other’s faces. Willem sat beside Rudy at the curve in the circle nearest the open barn doors. He had also carried two jugs of water in from his wagon and now offered this token of refreshment as he studied the mostly bearded faces of the assembly. Only two gave the slightest sign that they knew the purpose of the meeting. Everyone else appeared as uninformed as Willem and Rudy were.

  Eli Yoder cleared his throat. As one of the first Amish men to arrive in Elbert County five years ago, Eli held a certain if unofficial role when the families gathered. Around the circle, conversation ceased as he commanded attention by the gutteral signal that he was ready to begin.

  “I thank you all for coming.” Eli nodded at Eber Gingerich. “We are blessed to have some among us who have been ill and brought back to us by the grace of God.”

  Murmurs confirmed the shared gratitude for Eber’s presence.

  Eli continued. “We will begin with a time of silent prayer so that we may know that we are acting in accordance with the Lord’s will in our decisions today.”

  Willem glanced at Rudy, while around them others bowed their heads. Willem was accustomed to prayer, and he supposed Rudy was, too. Living and working alone on a wide expanse of plowed land allowed ample time to hum the hymns of the Ausbund and speak the words of Holy Scripture as prayer. Generally, though, when Willem was instructed to pray he preferred to know what he was praying for. What decisions did Eli Yoder expect they would be making? Willem inhaled softly and bowed his head. He could pray for the Holy Ghost to make His presence known. Such a prayer seemed relevant to any situation Willem had ever encountered.

  Eli waited a good long time before speaking an audible “Amen.” Willem heard the relief on the breath of other men that they would now find out why they had gathered.

  “We need a minister,” Eli said. “I have come to feel certain that if we were to nominate a faithful man from among our midst, we could invite a bishop to come and ordain him.”

  Rudy’s hand went up.

  Eli raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a nomination already, Rudy?”

  “No sir. I have a question.”

  Eli shifted his considerable weight on the small wooden chair.

  “A year ago a bishop was here and left without preaching or giving us communion. I would be dishonest if I said I have not been wondering for many months why this was so.”

  Heads turned from Rudy to Eli.

  “We are not here to discuss the past,” Eli said. “Our need is for a future, and if we have no minister, we have no future. Now, I myself have come prepared to make a nomination.”

  The only shade Ruthanna saw was in the shadow of her own buggy. She kept her word to Eber and did not situate herself anywhere near the Mullet barn. This was the first time he was out of her sight since that day in their own barn, and every moment stretched interminable. At intervals that did not exceed fifteen seconds, she lifted her eyes to make sure Eber was not emerging from the barn overheated and freshly ill.

  Ruthanna spread the blanket on the ground beside the buggy, lowered herself onto it, and unfolded the bundle of sewing she had brought. She was nearly finished with a small quilt and just had to put the hem into two long white infant dresses. Feeling the tension rising in her chest with each glance toward the barn, she began to recite Psalm 23. When she came to, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” Ruthanna stopped. A lump rising in her throat threatened to cut off her air and she skipped ahead to, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”

  Then she made herself take a deep breath and begin stitching without looking up at the barn. She determined to finish a six-inch row of binding along the edge of the quilt before she raised her eyes again.

  The wind was oddly still for the Colorado plain. Ruthanna was not sure whether to be grateful not to have hot, dusty air blasting into her face or to think that any movement at all would bring some relief to the perspiration trickling down her neck. She moistened her lips and focused on her row of stitching.

  Ruthanna never knew what it was that made her sit up straight and look over her shoulder, through the undercarriage of the buggy, and into the eyes of a coyote. She froze, staring into the unmoving animal’s eyes. Every farmer in the region knew what it was like to have a coyote get into the henhouse before dawn—and in one attack destroy the steady flow of eggs th
at fed the family. Ruthanna had not heard any tales of settlers coming face-to-face with one in the day’s light, though.

  If she moved, she might startle him into attack. But if he attacked first, her swelling belly and aching back would slow her down. And what was to keep him from leaping into the buggy if she tried to drive away? If he would come this close to begin with, what else might he do?

  She started again at the beginning of Psalm 23, speaking the words in her mind over her pounding heart. This time she did not skip the unpleasant part as she held perfectly still and locked eyes with the coyote.

  Finally the animal lost interest, turned around, and sauntered away. All Ruthanna wanted was to feel Eber’s arms around her.

  Rudy meant no disrespect, and he did not pursue his question. Eli did not intend to respond, and the only other two men present who knew the answer would never defy Eli. Unsatisfied about why the rest of the men should remain uninformed and confused, Rudy crossed his arms and tilted his stool back on two legs while Eli made his nomination.

  Noah Chupp. The cobbler.

  Eli methodically listed Noah’s virtues. His mild temperament. His patience. His spiritual depth. His friendly relationships with everyone in the community. His family heritage of ministers, and the certainty that had he remained in Pennsylvania he would have been a minister before now. His grandfather had even been a bishop.

  Noah Chupp humbly responded that he would need time to seek out the will of God in this matter. The assembly agreed that of course he should take as much time as he required to be sure. No one wanted to misinterpret the leading of the Lord.

  As the meeting broke up, Rudy leaned toward Willem.

  “Do you think we will ever know what happened last year?” Rudy asked.

  Willem shrugged. “Do we need to?”

  “If there is a reason why we have not been able to establish a true church before this, it affects us all. There may be division among us.”

  “Everyone seemed of one accord about Noah Chupp,” Willem said softly. “Unless you are not.”

  Rudy scratched his chin. “Noah is a fine man.”

  “Then what is your hesitation?”

  “I sense something must come into the light.”

  Willem stood. “Let’s see what comes of praying over this matter. In the meantime, let’s see if Eber needs help.”

  But I thought Noah Chupp was to be our minister.” Abbie scrunched her face in confusion.

  In Mary Miller’s arms, Little Abe twisted to lean over and touch his new brown leather miniature boots.

  “Mrs. Nissley says her husband believes it would be better if we began our church with a more experienced minister,” Mary said. “He thinks one might come from Kansas.”

  “Does this minister know…the challenges of the settlement? He might need to find a way to make a living other than farming.” Abbie tried to picture where a new family might live. Plenty of land was for sale closer to Limon, or perhaps in the other direction toward Colorado Springs. Considering the nearly nonexistent crop yield last year, the price per acre might even have fallen since her father purchased land.

  “I don’t think Mr. Nissley has anyone particular in mind just yet.”

  Mary relented and set Abe on his feet, which Abbie thought sensible. That was the point of having shoes made. They stood beside the treeless cow pasture on Weaver land, so the boy would not wander out of sight.

  Abbie’s confusion compounded. “If Mr. Nissley does not yet know of anyone willing to come, isn’t it premature to talk about the possibility? Besides, we all heard what the men decided. Noah Chupp was to pray over the matter and give an answer in two weeks. What if he says yes? Wouldn’t it be easier to find a bishop to ordain him than to persuade a minister who is already serving another district to move out here?”

  “What if Noah says no?” Mary countered.

  Then they would be back where they started. But if Adam Nissley thought enticing a minister from Kansas truly was an option, surely it would have happened by now.

  “Let’s walk a little bit,” Abbie said, “and let Little Abe try out his shoes.”

  “He has learned to say ‘off,’ but I want him to be used to them before the weather turns.” Mary began to amble in the direction her son led.

  Abbie scanned the horizon. At winter’s worst, it was hard to imagine the days would ever blister this hot again. Now it was difficult to think of the weather turning. Snow could fall as early as mid-September—too late for the crop and too soon to hope a minister might come before spring.

  “I think Noah Chupp would do a fine job,” Abbie said. “He makes wise decisions, and he was one of the first settlers to come. He loves the church, and he listens to the Holy Ghost.”

  “I wonder why they didn’t think to ask him before this.” Ahead of them, Mary’s son lost his balance and fell on his bottom.

  Abbie watched the tenacious child. While other toddlers might have wailed at falling in the dirt, Little Abe did the obvious thing. He put his hands on the ground and pushed himself upright again. Abbie’s imagination drifted forward forty years when Little Abe would just be Abe, or Abraham, and he might be called upon to lead the congregation that nurtured him from infancy under the leadership of many ministers.

  “We all must pray,” Abbie said. “We followed God’s leading to come and settle here. We must not think that He would abandon us. Finding the right minister is a matter of God’s timing. Perhaps God has only begun to prepare the heart of our minister.”

  “I long for communion.” Mary put a hand to the side of her head and pushed an errant braid into place. “I long for the unity that comes when we gather around the Lord’s table.”

  “As do I,” Abbie murmured. Without a spiritual leader for much longer, she hated to think what would happen to morale among the settlers.

  The knock on the door startled Ruthanna. It was a man’s knock, heavy fisted and insistent. She put down the baby’s quilt and pulled herself out of the chair before Eber stirred. Though he would deny it, in Ruthanna’s opinion Eber’s outing to the men’s meeting had sent him back to his bed in worse condition. He simply did not have the strength to spend half a day riding in a wagon and sitting upright. By God’s grace Ruthanna had refrained from chastising her husband about his choice, instead caring for him with the same tenderness she offered before their disagreement. She did not tell him about the lurking coyote that day, though she had folded the blanket and moved back up into the buggy, and instead of watching for Eber every fifteen seconds she moved her eyes back and forth across the horizon, turning also to look behind her.

  She opened the door now expecting Willem or Rudy or one of the other men inquiring whether she needed help with anything beyond the usual chores.

  Instead she stared into brown eyes above ruddy cheeks on the face of Jake Heatwole.

  Jake offered a warm, broad smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Gingerich. The Lord’s blessing be on you.”

  “Thank you.” Ruthanna moved aside, wondering what refreshment she might offer. Perhaps bread and strawberry preserves. “Please come in.”

  “I suppose you’re surprised to see me.”

  Jake stepped into the room and removed his black hat nearly identical to Eber’s. He wore the same collarless black suit and white shirt the Amish men wore. The townspeople of Limon never understood the difference between Amish and Mennonite, but Ruthanna did. The Amish had parted ways from the Mennonites more than two hundred years ago. Ruthanna did not claim certainty about the original dispute or the sometimes hostile chasm it opened between the two groups, but she did feel certainty that she belonged to the heritage her family had claimed for generations. She had no need to test the liberties the Mennonites might allow upon which the Amish would likely frown—especially if they had a minister. Ruthanna would much rather rest secure in belonging to the true church.

  Still, it was hard not to like Jake Heatwole. She wondered why he had never married.

  “I’ve just come f
rom Willem Peters’s,” Jake said. “He tells me that your Eber is still ill and that he has not truly been well since that day we all encountered one another at the train station.”

  Ruthanna nodded and gestured to the only chair with a hint of padding on its seat. “Let me get you something. Kaffi? I have fresh cream.”

  Jake sat in the chair but waved away her offer. “I have not come to cause you inconvenience. Quite the opposite. I want to help.”

  “The men are doing the essential chores until Eber gets back on his feet.”

  “So Willem tells me. He also says that he looks around and sees work that they cannot keep up with because of their own farms. The henhouse, for instance, has a hole in the roof that is only going to get bigger. And he says you never leave the farm because you do not want to leave Eber alone.”

  Ruthanna nodded. This was all true. She depended heavily on Abbie and Esther to stop in and see if she needed anything from town before they went. Rain was unlikely, so she had not worried about the hole in the henhouse roof, though since her encounter with the coyote she wondered just how much of an opening the animal would require to wreak havoc.

  “We’re getting by.” Ruthanna wiped her hands on her apron, turned a chair toward Jake, and sat down. “The others are doing everything they can to help.”

  “Of course they are,” Jake said. “That is what the church does. I am here to help for the same reason.”

  Ruthanna furrowed her brow. “But you are Mennonite. We are Amish.”

  “We serve the same God.”

  “But your own farm—”

  “It’s in the capable hands of my two brothers. They know that I will move to Limon eventually to open a church there. They hardly let me lift a hand around the farm anymore.”

  “Surely you must have a thousand things to do.”

  “No doubt.” Jake leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “But this comes to the top of my list.”

  “Mr. Heatwole, your offer is most generous, but—”