In his longer sermon, the minister admonishes us against losing our dedication to God, to mourning His decision. We are urged to accept death, to understand it, and not to fight its necessity, even to embrace it.
“Don’t fight God!” Gramm had said to me months before, her words echoing in my memory now.
But Minister Malfee has a more canonical sentiment in mind, the telling of the death of the son of King David, from 2 Samuel 12:
“And it came to pass on the seventh day, that the child died. And the servants of David feared to tell him that the child was dead: For they said, ‘Behold, while the child was yet alive, we spake unto him, and he would not hearken unto our voice: how will he then vex himself, if we tell him that the child is dead?’ But when David saw that his servants whispered, David perceived that the child was dead: therefore David said unto his servants, ‘Is the child dead?’ And they said, ‘He is dead.’”
Jessup’s parents bend even further forward, until their heads are nearly blocked from sight by their bowed backs. Lilly tries to comfort them by rubbing Jessup's mother's shoulder, but her own misery soon overtakes her and she can only join her friends’ grief.
Minister Malfee goes on: “Then David arose from the earth, and washed, and anointed himself, and changed his apparel, and came into the house of the Lord, and worshiped: then he came to his own house; and when he required, they set bread before him, and he did eat.”
The moral of perseverance, of faith and strength, was quickly coming on the heels of this tragic tale. “Then said his servants unto him, ‘What thing is this that thou hast done? Thou didst fast and weep for the child, while it was alive; but when the child was dead, thou didst rise and eat bread.’”
I cling to Simon even tighter, Abram and my parents enjoying a rare moment of collective warmth on my other side.
Minister Malfee goes on to read, “And he said, ‘While the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept: For I said, “Who can tell whether God will be gracious to me, that the child may live?” But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.’”
The lessons of acceptance, of moving on with the Earthly life one still must face despite the sadness of loss, is central to the Amish world view. This is what we do. This is how we live. Just like everybody else, we suffer through the sadness of our losses, then try to get on with things, to savor the pleasures of our families and the moments of our lives, however long God deems that they should last.
After the service, which like the first also includes no singing, the hundreds of people who came to pay their own last respects are allowed to file past the coffin, parents raising their children up to get a good look at Jessup for what will be the very last time.
As the day wanes, the men close the casket and carry it back into the funeral carriage. At the top of a small hill is our local cemetery, which is why we used that particular barn, which sits at the foot of the hill. As the funeral carriage rolls up the hill, the rest of the procession, now five hundred strong, walk behind it.
By the time we arrive, the grave has already been dug by several Amish volunteers. Ropes are draped over the hole, to be held by one strong Amish man on each end. The pallbearers carry the casket to the grave and set it gently on the ropes, now taut in the strong men’s grip. They slowly let go of the rope, which lowers the casket into the ground.
Around us, a garden of stone and rotting wooden headstones rises up. The wooden markers are for Amish of Swedish descent, to signify the transient nature of life. Jessup’s marker is stone and features only his name, dates of birth and age upon death: twenty-two years, seven months and four days.
So young, I can’t help but think. And God’s will or not, his loss will reverberate for quite a while around here - in Lilly’s heart, in Simon’s. Life may be transient in nature, but something within me knows without a doubt that Jessup hasn’t left Lancaster County quite yet.
After the burial, we walk solemnly back down the hill to our waiting carriages and then, in another long and sad procession, go back to Jessup’s family home for a meal and fellowship. This is a time to remember, to reflect, even to laugh and celebrate Jessup’s life and his spirit, with us for too short a time.
I feel badly because I really didn’t know Jessup at all. He always seemed friendly and likable, and I knew that even if Lilly herself couldn’t always be trusted, I never once doubted Jessup’s intentions or actions.
And I was really glad that Jessup had been there for Lilly, to occupy her heart and mind after I’d come to occupy Simon’s.
“Friends, friends!” We all look up, hundreds of us, to see Olaf Thompson standing on the porch, slightly elevated. “As we reflect on young Jessup’s passing today, I want to urge you all not to give into the temptation of vengeance. Heed our minister’s words today. Resolve yourselves to place this upon the alter of the Lord and let His mighty hand fight for us.”
The crowd rumbles a little bit, and I have to say I’m not surprised. But they weren’t there at the hospital. They weren’t out on that ill-fated hunt.
Olaf adds, “Englischer authorities, the same ones who brought our wayward brothers home to us in the dead of night, assure me that they are tracking the beast and will have the problem taken care of. We’re safe and can get on with our lives, which is all that we have ever asked. In the Lord’s name, we...”
One man calls out, “Who are they to tell us what to do? This is our problem, and we deal with our problems in our own way!” Others grumble their agreement.
“And so we did,” Olaf says, holding his hand out to quiet the disgruntled among the crowd. “And we tried our best. Now we must...”
“No,” another voice calls out, his face unseen, “you tried your best. Now it’s our turn!” More grumbling, angrier, louder, discontent rises in a cloud above the angry citizens.
“You’re letting your anger speak for you, friend,” Olaf says. “Don’t you all see that what we’re facing here is a greater foe than any bear? This creature is driving a wedge in our community, turning us against each other. Think of it not as some mammal out there, storing food in its belly for the winter, but as an instrument of temptation, a tool of the wickedness that haunts us at every turn. It is our duty to remain vigilant against such temptation! This is the cornerstone of our very way of life!”
“It’s no devil or demon in those hills,” Ruth Thompson shouts, Samuel turning his head away from her in shame, a reversal I find notable. “This creature is simply a pest, and like any pest it will be driven out.”
“Don’t you do it,” Samuel says to her, very quietly. I can barely hear him.
But I can hear her when she replies, “What did you just fix your mouth to say to me?”
“I said no!” Samuel says. “You can go against me, the way you have our whole lives, but I won’t stand here and have you dishonor my family name by going against the will of the community and of the law! You’re eager enough to send men to their deaths, but...”
Ruth slaps Samuel hard across the face, her hand a blur but the sound resonating in the shocked silence of the crowd around them. It’s fairly unheard of for a woman to strike her husband in an Amish community, so much less so in public. And during a town address like this one? Merely contradicting him in public is almost unthinkable. As if none of us were there, Ruth says to her husband, “You puny, cowering little mouse! You dare say that to me when you sent our own boy out there, who lies in a bed with tubes up his nose, clinging to life?”
Rebecca cramps up, barely holding herself together and staying on her feet. Mamm is by her, holding her and holding her up.
Ruth goes on to say to Samuel, “I wish that were you, lying in that bed, preparing to meet your fate. If I had the power I’d put you in his place without a second thought!”
“As would I,” Samuel says, before turning and scurrying away, weaving through the crowd as it parts before him. Nobody wants to make him stay and absorb all
the shame, the embarrassment, the disgrace of being publicly dressed-down by his own wife.
But Ruth stands there, almost proud of herself. She looks back at Olaf, her arms crossed in front of her as if to say, I’ve destroyed your brother, now do you dare to stand in my way?
Olaf’s answer comes in words, delivered in a voice that is as unwilling to yield as she is. “Madam,” he says, slowly, heavily, “we are all sorry for you son’s injuries, and we pray for his recovery. Please, do not lose hope for it yourself.”
Ruth stares at him, her eyes turning cruelly to us all. She casts her poisonous gaze around the crowd, sneering. And we stare back, our numbers too great even for her mighty will. Finally, she says simply, “All I lost hope in...is you.”
Ruth cuts across the crowd in a different direction than her husband took. I can only imagine what kind of moment their reunion will be, and I silently thank the Lord I won’t have to be there to see it.
With Ruth’s defeat, the grumblers quiet and mull through the disappointment and the certainty of their position. There won’t be any second hunt for that bear.
“No!” The female voice is shrill, cutting through her own flesh as it sails above the crowd. We all turn again, this time to see Lilly stepping into its center. “You fools! You’re just going to stand around until that thing comes back out of the hills and kills us all!”
I say, “Lilly...”
“And you, Hannah! I thought you were my friend! How can you stand for this?”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Olaf says from his place at the head of the crowd. “We know how hard this is for you, and for Jessup’s parents, but...”
“No! We have to kill it!” Lilly is shouting even louder now, voice cracking, tears pushing up to roll down her cheeks. “Kill it! We have to kill it! We have to kill it!”
Standing next to me, I feel Simon pull toward her a bit, and then fight his instinct and remain by my side. I look at him and he turns to me, our unspoken conversation expressing his concern for her, and my concern for us.
Lilly’s parents converge on her, ushering her through the crowd as she repeats her terrible command, louder and more desperate as they lead her away.
* * *
The next day starts early for Abram, who takes his Ruger out to the fields behind the barn and sets the tin cans up on the long, fallen log.
Bam! Click. Bam! Abram reloads and cocks the rifle again. Bam! Click. Bam!
“Shouldn’t you be tending to the horses?” Daed says as he ambles out to join Abram. Normally, this would be a moment of oncoming discipline, anger about to explode with potentially lethal force.
“Morning, Daed.”
But not anymore.
“You’re not thinkin’ about goin’ out after that bear? You heard what Mr. Thompson had to say about it.”
“Yes sir, I did.” Abram looks at the rifle in his arms and shrugs. “Just thought it’d be good to stay sharp with it is all.”
Daed looks at his son, and at the rifle, then at the cans on the log about a hundred yards away, four cans still waiting to fall.
“Okay then,” he says to Abram, “let’s see what you got.”
Abram looks at Daed, then at the targets, then at the rifle. He smiles, reloads, then cocks. He raises the rifle to his face, lining up the sight, taking extra care not to miss in front of his Daed. This is their first time shooting together, or doing hardly anything besides chores or sharing a dinner table.
Bam! Click. Bam!
Two more cans leap off the log.
“Not bad,” Daed says to him. “Your aim is true, your arms are steady. But your stance, your feet are too close together. It’s fine on level ground, but you’ll need more stability on an uneven surface.”
Daed demonstrates with his own stance, feet slightly further apart. As Daed mumbles through his directions, Abram nods and follows suit, spreading his own legs before raising the rifle and taking another two shots, knocking both tin cans off the log with even greater ease and comfort.
With a smile that Abram would later describe to me as loving, Daed takes the rifle and says, “My turn. Set ‘em up, Son?”
With an eager and grateful nod, Abram trots out into the field to reset the tin can targets on the long, fallen log, then returns to his father’s side.
* * *
At the hospital, Rebecca and Ruth hover around Beau’s bed. He’s in and out of consciousness, so they want to be there to urge him toward a recovery at any opportunity. But they’re waiting alone, with Samuel banished to their farm, presumably to see to the chores in Ruth’s absence.
But Rebecca knows. And she wants to say something, to urge Ruth away from the increasingly large divide she’s creating between herself and her husband. But Rebecca knows it’s not her place, and that this is not the time.
Her place is to worry about Beau, to pray for him, and this is precisely the time to do it.
A few knocks fall on the opened door before Olaf steps into the room with a sad and simple smile. “How is he?”
Ruth shakes her head. Rebecca tries to smile, but can’t.
Olaf’s head dips sadly before he looks at Ruth and says, “May I have a moment?”
Ruth looks at him, then at Beau. “I shouldn’t, in case he wakes up.”
“Rebecca will let us know if you’re needed here,” Olaf says, looking at Rebecca hopefully. Rebecca nods that she’ll stay and monitor Beau’s condition before Ruth stands up and crosses the room to join Olaf in the hallway. He closes the door to Beau’s room without clicking it shut.
Olaf leads Ruth a few feet down the hall, which is where I see them as I walk the distance from stairwell to Beau’s door.
Olaf says to Ruth, “I appreciate what you’re going through. I’m here for you, as your brother -in-law, as the boy’s uncle. I want you to know that, anything you need, you should just come to me.”
Ruth doesn’t smile (of course). “Well, it’s nice to know there’s a man in my life...for once.”
“And while we’re on that subject,” Olaf says as I slowly approach, not wanting to eavesdrop but also offering myself the concession that we all are sharing a public space. “You are my sister -in-law, as I said. But Samuel is my brother. And as his brother, I think I have a certain right and responsibility to tell you that you are treating him unfairly.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Olaf. You have no right at all to tell me anything, because this is our marriage and that is a closed affair to you or anyone. Furthermore, I am treating that weakling brother of yours most fairly. He’s a worthless, spineless insect and that’s exactly the way I treat him, the way he deserves to be treated.”
“You’re saying these things because you’re upset about Beau, not because they’re true.”
“Wrong again,” Ruth spits out. “I am upset, but they most certainly are true.”
“My brother is a kind man, a loving father, he’s been a loyal husband to you, which I think shows more strength of character than it does quality of judgment in marrying you in the first place.”
Ruth becomes red-faced at this, neither of them seeming to notice me standing not far from them, nor do they pay any mind to the nurses and orderlies who stroll past, giving them odd glances and shaking their heads.
I guess the hospital staff doesn’t realize that Amish people have arguments too.
Ruth says, “And I’ve stuck by him even in the face of this catastrophe! So don’t you dare question my loyalty,”
“I question your humility, madam,” Olaf says, his voice getting louder, its snap reverberating against the halls. He’s often a genial man, but he’s a man of authority and when he assumes that tone he can be very intimidating indeed. He goes on: “Whatever you think of Samuel as your husband or as Beau’s father is your own business. But the manner in which you address or refer to my family is another matter entirely. I will not have you disrespect me or my family or my family name in public, not in my county!”
You go, Olaf, I hear
myself cheer him silently. Tell her how we do it here in Lancaster!
“I don’t know how things are in York, but in Lancaster women know their place!”
Wait, what?
“And the men of Lancaster don’t have to prove themselves to their wives or to anyone!”
Um, really? I have to mumble in the back of my skeptical mind. You were asking things of our family since the day we arrived!
Olaf continues, “So I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself in future...”
Now wait a minute...
Ruth answers, “Or what? What possible hold could you or any man have over me?”
Oh crud, now I’m siding with Ruth!? C’mon, Olaf, I silently plead, get back on track!
Ruth goes on to say, “As for that useless brother of yours, you can have him, and your miserable county.”
Olaf huffs at her, turning to enter the hospital room. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To visit my nephew.”
“No, sorry, it’s too crowded in there as it is.”
Olaf turns and peeks into the room. “There’s just Rebecca Schroeder in there.”
“The doctor was very clear, one visitor at a time.” That’s when Ruth sees me standing with them, only a few feet away. Olaf also turns, mild surprise in his expression. But he’s obviously too wrapped up in his conflict with Ruth to pay me much mind. Ruth says, “Oh, Hannah, so glad you’re here. Come on in.”
I look at her, and then more nervously at Olaf. She’s my sister’s boyfriend’s mother, and he’s the elder of my community. I’m in a no-win situation, and there’s no way to back out of it. I say, “I’ll wait until...”
But Ruth waves me in, standing back to give me room to walk between her and Olaf and step into the room. “No, dear, come in, really.”
I feel like I don’t dare do it, but I’m afraid to disobey. So, with a nervous smile, I pass between them and into the room. But Olaf doesn’t glare at me. He knows I’m only a pawn in Ruth’s game against him, that the slight is entirely hers. And I’m happy enough to leave them both behind and sit by my sister’s side and offer her some much-needed comfort and support.
Whoopie Pie Promise - Book 3 (The Whoopie Pie Juggler: An Amish of Lancaster County Saga series) Page 6
