The Narrow Path

by Gail Sattler

  "I still don't know why he gave you his address so easily."

  "I told him that we would mail his final paycheck and vacation pay on Monday. I suspect he needs the money. I also sent the e-mail using William's address because he prepares the payroll."

  "Smart move. You must be very shrewd in business dealings."

  He shrugged his shoulders, walked around the pew to where Miranda was sitting, and sat beside her. "I am not here to discuss my job. Why are you crying? What is wrong?"

  The second he asked his question, the tears started flowing again, only this time they were silent. Ted didn't know which was worse.

  "You remember how the Penners reacted last night," she said.

  Ted nodded. "Ja. Zeke did not say much, but he was very, very angry with his daughter."

  Miranda sighed and lowered her head to stare at the floor."He said everything there was to say today, and then some."

  He clenched his jaw. "Did you go back to Zeke and Agatha's home without me?"

  "No. Zeke phoned me and said everything he didn't say yesterday." She sniffled again. "I don't belong here."

  Ted thought of all the good things Miranda had done since her arrival, both the things everyone could see and the more subtle things that had changed.

  "That is not true. You may be a little different from the rest of the ladies who live here, but you have a good heart."

  She sniffed again. "A good heart. That's like telling a fat woman she's got a pretty face. She's still fat. And I still don't belong here."

  Last night he'd felt sorry for Zeke. Zeke had been overwhelmed by his own anger, so Ted had understood. Today Zeke had crossed the line because this was more than shock at his daughter's situation; he had struck out at Miranda to deliberately cause hurt. If Zeke had said something to cause Miranda to feel unwanted, Zeke would have to answer for his words.

  "That is not true. You have done much good here, and you continue to do much good. While it is true that many of the ladies have changed their choices of clothing, this was something that was already happening. You have helped them make wise choices. If you had not been here, they would have had no guidance."

  She turned toward him, her eyes big and sad like a beaten puppy. "He said the young ladies all look up to me, impressed with my city ways. He says I have no restraint or respect, and I corrupted Theresa not just by my words, but by my actions as well." A big tear overflowed and rolled down one cheek."He said it's by the example of my loose ways that Theresa let herself have sex with Evan. But I didn't mean to present myself that way. I'm saving myself for my husband, when I get married.I really am." Another tear rolled down her cheek. "But if that's how everyone sees me, it's true. Then I really don't belong here. I've always felt so different from everyone else. I truly don't belong here, and this really is my fault. I've caused my sister to sin."

  Anger welled up in him, but he tamped it down. He would deal with Zeke privately, another time. For now, he needed to be here with Miranda.

  Slowly, he reached to wipe a tear off her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You have caused no one to sin. You have not been a bad example to the ladies here but rather a good one. You are showing them patience and lovingkindness. You are also showing them organizational skills and strength of character, and with that, restraint. For those who had already decided to leave us, they will still leave, but they have seen by your example that they do not need to compromise themselves to follow the Lord's ways. It is more difficult to follow God's path in the cities, but it is not impossible. For those who choose to stay and continue on in the ways of their forefathers, you have also shown them that it is acceptable to be happy and content, enjoying a simple life."

  One corner of her mouth twitched. "I still haven't figured out how you fit in around here," she said. "You're happy and content with the tradition and the ways of the people here, but at the same time you jet-set all over North America. You quietly and humbly take your place in all the church activities you're involved in, yet I'd hate to be on the opposite end of the corporate boardroom table from you."

  "It is my goal to do what is fair and best for all."

  "But is that what's best for you, and what God wants you to do?"

  He considered Miranda's assessment as she tilted her head to one side, waiting for his reply. "Happy" and "content" were not words he would have used to describe himself. While he enjoyed managing his onkel's furniture factory, he wasn't really challenged by it. Miranda hadn't asked him anything he hadn't already asked himself. There were days when he doubted that God's plan for him was merely to direct the processes of building new furniture that looked old and to convince people that the simple designs constructed the old-fashioned way were better than what the mass-market factories threw together with glue and particleboard.

  Besides, outside of work, he wasn't sure if he was happy or content, either. If he were, he would be married and would probably have children by now. Yet he was the oldest of all the single men at church, with no interest in a serious relationship with any of the women he knew, much less marriage. Many of the women had expressed interest in being his wife, but he didn't want the kind of marriage they offered. He needed more out of marriage than just to come home and be comfortable and well fed after a hard day at the office. He had that now.The only difference he could think of was that he would no longer have to sleep alone, and that wasn't a reason to get married, either.

  Miranda had been accurate. He didn't know how he fit in here, but he did know that he didn't fit into the fast pace of the cities. He had traveled enough that he'd seen the lifestyles of most single men. He had no desire to live that kind of bachelor life.

  She stood. "I guess I'd better wash my face. Everyone is going to be here soon to practice. I'll have to plan around all of Theresa's parts for today, but now that we've got her address, I'm hoping to convince her to move back home. When do you think we can go see them?"

  Ted stood as well. "It will take a few hours to drive all that way. I think if we leave right after church we can see them for a short time, then be back before dark."

  "What about the paycheck you, or rather, William, promised Evan?"

  Ted grinned. "It will be ready. Remember, I am the boss.Now let us get ready for the practice. But first I have one phone call to make."

  24

  Miranda plunked down a couple of submarine sandwiches on Ted's desk just as he hung up the phone. He made an entry to his spreadsheet and hit save. His usually tidy desk was covered with catalogues, sketches, fabric samples, and a rough layout sketch of what looked like a floor plan. Stacked on the floor beside his desk were a few wood samples and a pile of stain color samples.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Working," Ted mumbled as he made a few more entries on his spreadsheet, then began running a tape on his calculator.

  "I've never seen your desk like this." She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. "I'm still in shock that they're really not coming back. I also can't believe that they got married like that, without friends or family with them."

  He hit the total, and entered the number onto his spreadsheet."I am shocked that they got married at a government institution, not in a house of God. I also cannot believe they are going to live like that. Their whole apartment is the same size as my living room and kitchen."

  "But the rent is cheap, and that's what they need right now," Miranda said. "You can't compare a downtown apartment to a home out here in the country." It was also unfair to compare, since Ted's house was larger and newer than any of the other homes in the area because he had rebuilt the house after the original century-old house had burned down. All of his parents' old treasures had been destroyed, but by needing to rebuild the house from the ground up, he wasn't living in the same house where his parents had died. "All you're missing is a plasma television."

  If she wasn't mistaken, Ted gave her a dirty look, then returned to his spreadsheet.

  Since he wasn't talking, she stepped closer and c
hecked out the mess. "Hey, I recognize this. It's a floor plan of Theresa and Evan's apartment." She studied his pencil sketches, complete with measurements. The wood and fabric samples. The catalogues."Are you making furniture for them?"

  He laid his pencil down. "We had to sit on the floor yesterday.The only pieces of furniture they had were Theresa's sewing machine, a small cabinet for her sewing supplies, and Evan's toolbox. They also will need something for the baby. We have not made cribs before, so I am checking into the government regulations and safety requirements. This is something we can begin to market, and I will give them the first one off the line."

  Miranda studied the sketches on his floor plan. "It looks like you're giving them more than just a crib. You're furnishing the whole place."

  "It is not only just me who is doing this. It is the work of everyone who is employed here. I will provide the materials, and everyone has volunteered their time to build the pieces that will go to Evan and Theresa. It is the Mennonite way."

  "That's very generous." She picked up the blueprint to study it more carefully. "How did you get this? It's got the measurements of every room."

  "I brought my tape measure yesterday."

  She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. But thinking back, she had noticed periods of time when Ted wasn't with them. He'd been very discreet in his quest. Suddenly she realized that Ted had planned this in advance, even if he had not known the magnitude of the project until he saw the nearempty apartment.

  Like the reformed Christmas Grinch, Miranda felt her heart grow three sizes while she watched Ted planning to construct everything he would give Theresa and Evan.

  Why hadn't she seen it sooner? Ted was the biggest stud muffin she'd ever met.

  "You have a strange look on your face," Ted muttered as he tore the tape off his calculator. "Do you have a question you wish to ask me?"

  Miranda cleared her throat. "I just came from the ladies' quilt circle group. They all know that Theresa is a good seamstress, but she can't sew anything without fabric, which costs more money than they have right now. So they are going to sew draperies and make her a bedspread and a matching sheet set. I was going to ask if you could guess the sizes of the windows, but you have the measurements right here."

  "Unfortunately, I measured only the width of the windows; I did not need the height."

  "This is good. We can guess. It's okay for the curtains to be long. The important thing is the width. Can I copy this?"

  "The photocopy machine is beside Anna's desk."

  "I am so stunned at how everyone has jumped right in to help." Miranda carefully began to roll up the paper so she wouldn't crease it. "Everyone is doing something. Lois and a bunch of the older ladies are doing up preserves and jams and a food basket, and she's asked if we can deliver everything next Sunday."

  "I believe we can do that. As well, Pastor Jake told me that he has made up a special collection box for anyone who wishes to donate money if they have not been a part of the furniture or sewing or baking groups."

  "I have never seen a group of people like this. Everyone is so amazing. Everyone, except her parents, is giving them something. Oh, speaking of them, Zeke Penner phoned me again this morning."

  Ted froze. "What did he say?"

  "Not much. He apologized for the other day, then asked when I was leaving and hung up on me. It was really strange."

  Ted sighed and resumed his calculations. "I think we need to pray for Zeke. We need to pray for Agatha as well."

  "I don't think she's stopped crying since we first told her.I talked to Pastor Jake too. I asked if Kathleen could go pay Agatha a visit. He thought it was a good idea."

  "Ja. Good idea." She hovered over him until his hand froze over the keypad. "I am going to work through my lunch, but if you are hungry, do not let me stop you from eating."

  "It's not that. I have one more favor to ask of you. And it's a big one." She'd almost made cinnamon buns, but with all the phone calls she'd made, she hadn't had enough time.

  Ted lowered his hands to the desk. "What do you need?"

  "When I planned out the parts for the Christmas play, I wrote the whole thing based on the talents and abilities of everyone who would be involved."

  "I know that. Why are you telling me this now?"

  "Theresa had the main part of Mary. I gave it to her because she was the best singer and had the best stage presence, and now she's gone. I can't pull anyone off another part because every song was written specifically for the range and ability of the person who has that part. I can't use someone out of the chorus because those are the people who have the least ability.No one else we've got can handle a part like that."

  She could see the moment when Ted realized the point she was trying to make. He laid his pencil down and folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "This is very bad. The key performer is gone, and there is no one who can replace her.What are we going to do?"

  "First of all, you're going to have to play the piano for Mary's big solo numbers."

  "I cannot play those songs. They are far too difficult for my level of competence on the piano."

  "You have to. Everyone else who plays piano will already be up onstage. I'm sorry, but if it helps, I'll rewrite the piano part for you. We don't have any other choice. The only woman left who doesn't already have a part and sings in that vocal range to blend with William is . . ." Miranda gulped.She didn't mention the part about potential death by stage fright. ". . . me."

  Ted struggled through the opening bars of the introduction of Mary's first solo, barely able to keep his hands on the keys because his hands were sweating so much. If this was what it was like during practice when the only people listening were people he knew, he didn't know how he would do it with the church packed with strangers.

  If he could play his guitar, he would be fine, but Miranda was right. The solos needed the fullness of the piano for the best effect.

  He struck the final chord of the introduction, then pulled his hands from the keys and released the sustain pedal so a silence echoed through the building, setting up a dramatic entrance for Mary.

  He held his breath, waiting for her first notes.

  He had never heard Miranda sing. Every Sunday, he was at the front with his guitar while she sat in the front row, so while he knew she was singing, her voice blended with the congregation.Up until now, she had only sung the occasional note to help the other singers, never alone, singing single notes extra loudly to help the real singer get the pitch.

  Out of curiosity, he'd asked around, and no one else had heard her sing, either. Not even Lois. Lois had only heard Miranda walking around the house with her earbuds on, humming. She didn't even sing in the shower, unlike Leonard, whom Lois wished did not sing in the shower, which was more information than Ted had wanted to know.

  Today would be the first time anyone here would hear her sing. Were they that desperate? Apparently they were.

  A clear, melodic voice so hauntingly sweet it nearly stopped his heart sang the opening lines of Theresa's song.

  He raised his hands to continue the piano's accompanying harmony, but his hands wouldn't move.

  He stared at the woman standing in the middle of the stage.

  She wore the same denim jeans as Miranda, the same red T-shirt as Miranda, and even wore the same red tennis shoes as Miranda. But he couldn't see her face because it was completely hidden by the page of music she held up high, directly in front of her face—the page of music that shook like a leaf in a March wind gust. One knee trembled at almost the same frequency.

  He returned his attention to his own page of music and continued to play so she would continue to sing. The beauty of her voice made it hard to focus. He wanted only to listen. But as he played, the piano background enhanced her voice so much that the more he concentrated on her voice and the less on his mistakes, the better he played.

  By the time the song finished, it was the best he'd ever done, and he realized that just as Miranda
had told him, he really would be able to do this.

  As he turned to look at Miranda, still standing alone in the middle of the stage, he realized the rest of the room had fallen silent. Everyone focused on Miranda, waiting for further instruction. None was forthcoming.

  He jumped up from the piano and walked to her quickly, before anyone else could talk to her first.

  Instead of being her usual talkative self, she was silent. Her teeth chattered, her eyes were as wide as saucers, and her face was as pale as if she'd been left outside in the snow for too long. She looked like a cow in the path of a freight train, about to be hit but unable to move out of the way.

  Ted struggled for the right words that wouldn't overwhelm her. "That was . . . uh . . ." Magnificent? Breathtaking? Spectacular? He crossed his arms over his chest. ". . . very good."

  She smiled weakly, her lower lip still trembling, and pressed the paper into her stomach.

  "Thanks," she said, her voice quivering. "I did much better than the last time I tried something like this. I didn't throw up all over my shoes."

  He looked down at her. Metaphors failed him. She was trembling like a rabbit in the field with a hawk circling overhead.This was not the Miranda he thought he knew. He needed to keep talking to give her the time to recover.

  "I do not understand why you are so afraid. You are a good leader and a great director. You are organized and thorough, and you never back down when people confront you."

  "That's the thing with our greatest fears. They never make any sense."

  "But you could have a huge ministry singing about the Lord's glory." He lowered his voice and hitched one thumb over his shoulder. "You are frequently asking me to buy a CD player for my car. To hear your voice on a CD would cause me to go to the cities and buy one."

  Her face paled. "This is exactly what always happens when people hear me sing. They tell me that I'm not reaching my potential and they tell me everything I should be doing. Then they always ask me to sing more, doing something just a little harder than I did the last time, just because I didn't fall to pieces and self-destruct on the stage. A few years ago I let people convince me to sing for a college fundraiser. In the middle of the song I fainted and hit my head and they called an ambulance."She held up her bangs to show a nasty scar just below her hairline."Seven stitches, and I can tell you that head wounds bleed faster than any other place on the human body. That's why I don't sing. I write. I compose. I direct. But I do not sing."