Miriam and the Stranger

by Jerry S. Eicher

  William stopped Tyler with a chuckle. “Try the full version on me. I might actually understand.”

  Tyler grinned. “Well, these smaller companies, such as the Olga Corporation, Westby Tabled, and Eastern Indian Market—of which there were a dozen or more, were used to supposedly funnel aid monies to people in need after the storm damage. So far I’ve only checked the Amish people. The companies listed the right names and addresses, but the monies or supplies never arrived. To cover their tracks, they had companies like Wymore Building & Supply and Howard Lumber supply the same people with the materials needed, so the work got done.”

  “Sort of like double billing,” William muttered.

  “That would be it,” Tyler agreed. “The sums in each transaction are small when compared to the millions handled overall—amounts from ten to forty or fifty thousand dollars—but together they make a half a million dollars or so. And that could be the tip of the iceberg. What if this was done in other places, say the Chickasaw Reservation, which was also hard-hit? And then where did the money go? Because the smaller companies did dispense funds. Someone received thousands of hidden dollars. What if there is political corruption involved? There was a senatorial race on that year between Billet and Yentas. A battle close fought, and that money could have made a huge difference. And Yentas received a boost from some late fund-raising, if I remember right.”

  William laughed. “You have a wild imagination, Tyler. Thank the Lord we live a quiet and peaceful life away from all such things.”

  “You might have been more involved than you knew,” Tyler said.

  “Don’t take us there,” William warned. “Perhaps you should think yourself of a quiet and peaceful life—perhaps a life among us, Tyler.”

  Tyler joined William’s laughter this time. “Now you have a big imagination.”

  William sobered. “The bishop thinks highly of you. Perhaps you should consider our way of life. The Lord might have His hand in this whole thing.”

  “I doubt if even the Lord could provide that sort of miracle,” Tyler teased, but William had remained sober.

  Well, that was that. He had no plans to back off his pursuit. Not even with threats like this. No good reporter retreated in the face of intimidation. Tyler tapped the “forward” e-mail icon and wrote, “Maybe this will persuade you that things are hot around here. We might be onto something big. Remember the Billet/Yentas contest that year? Dig deep. Will continue here as I can.”

  Tyler pressed “send.” Now what? The logical next step was another meeting with Mr. Westree, the chairman of the Clarita Relief Fund.

  Tyler tapped out a text message. “Need to meet again. New information found. Name the time and place.”

  Tyler sent the text seconds later and waited a few minutes. If Mr. Westree responded at once, that would give some indication of how concerned the man was. And that was exactly why Mr. Westree wouldn’t respond tonight, and perhaps never.

  Tyler gathered up his tablet and phone to slip out the back basement door to his car parked behind the barn. Deacon Phillips hadn’t designated that spot, but Tyler’s instincts told him the Amish would appreciate the consideration. Cars parked overnight in front of their barns didn’t give the best appearance. Not for people who drove buggies, and especially not for deacons.

  Tyler turned the car around, and as he drove by the farmhouse, he waved to one of Deacon Phillips’s younger daughters, who was peeking out of the kitchen window. The oldest girl, Ruth, was at the youth gathering. She had offered him a ride earlier in her buggy, but he had declined. Ruth had a crush on him but hid it well at home. They both knew it would go nowhere. This was a young girl thing. Ruth would grow out of it in a few weeks… unlike Miriam. Miriam was another matter entirely.

  Tyler turned left on Highway 48 and minutes later pulled into the Bylers’ driveway. He hadn’t planned to come here. A text from Mr. Westree would have sent him in another direction, but with no immediate response, he was being drawn to Miriam again. What he’d say if he saw her tonight, Tyler had no idea. Perhaps he could find some pretense to be alone with her.

  Tyler parked beside the greenhouse and approached the Bylers’s front door. Fannie opened it before he arrived and greeted him. “Howdy, stranger. You’re a little late for supper.”

  Tyler forced a laugh. “I guess I do hang around here a lot. Is your husband home?”

  “Yah, he’s relaxing in the living room.” Fannie held open the front door. “Come in and make yourself at home.”

  Tyler stepped inside and greeted William. “Sorry to bother you when you’re not working.”

  William grinned. “I’m thinking you have mischief up your sleeve with that look on your face.”

  Tyler chuckled. “Maybe I do.”

  “So what can I do for you?” William asked.

  Inspiration struck Tyler. “Is Miriam at the youth gathering? I’ve been working and haven’t driven over there yet. I thought I might give her a ride if she hasn’t left.”

  “Miriam is upstairs working on her school work,” Fannie offered.

  “She’s still not caught up from her trip?” William didn’t appear pleased. “The girl works too hard.”

  Fannie shrugged. “You know how dedicated Miriam is.”

  “She probably needs a break,” Tyler offered. “Shall we ask her?”

  Fannie’s face lit up. “That’s kind of you. Miriam does need to get her nose out of her work. She’ll have plenty to do as the bishop’s frau once they marry, but Miriam ought to enjoy her youth while she still has time.”

  “I agree!” William said. “Why don’t you go insist she take a break?”

  Tyler held his breath as Fannie hurried up the stairs. He half expected an outraged yell to tumble Fannie back down again, but the Amish didn’t seem to have inappropriate outbursts.

  Tyler stood to his feet as Fannie appeared with Miriam behind her, looking not at him but at the floor. Without saying a word, she headed straight for the front door.

  “What’s up with her?” Fannie whispered.

  “Maybe a bad letter from the bishop?” William laughed.

  “Well, see you all later,” Tyler said as he hurried after Miriam, catching up with her on the front lawn.

  She turned on him with anger written on her face. “Of all the sneaky, low-down tricks in the book. How dare you? Do you know the danger this puts me in?”

  Tyler grinned. “I’m just driving you to the youth gathering, and I’ll bring you right home again. What danger is there in that?”

  Miriam sputtered something Tyler couldn’t understand and climbed into the car. Guilt niggled at him, but Tyler pushed the emotion aside. He cared for this woman, but he would make no untoward advance on her tonight. He promised himself that.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mose opened the mailbox as the cool evening breeze moved through his thick hair. His ruffled beard fell flat again when Mose turned his face into the wind. He took a moment to catch his breath before he examined the letters in his hand. Most of them were bills, and he ignored them. The Oklahoma return address caught his eye at once. The address was handwritten in a female style.

  Miriam has written, Mose told himself, a grin spreading across his face. If I had known this, I would have fetched the mail at lunchtime. Then taking a second look at the envelope, Mose’s face clouded. He looked closely at the handwriting again. Was he mistaken in thinking it didn’t look like Miriam’s handwriting? But he had seen it only seldomly, so likely it was indeed from Miriam.

  Mose turned back to the house. Once inside, he looked around with a shiver. The house looked lonely and unkempt. The place needed a frau’s touch. His supper sat on the kitchen table, warmed-over meat loaf he had brought home from his family’s Thanksgiving gathering. He would eat the last of it tonight. Tomorrow he would have to make his own meals once more.

  Mose glanced again at the female handwriting. “This has to be from Miriam,” he said out loud. “Who else would write me from Oklahom
a?”

  The memories of Miriam’s stay a week ago flooded his mind. He saw Miriam’s gentle smile, her quick acquiescence to his every demand, and her soft touch on his arm, which he never fully accepted. He should have kissed the girl, Mose told himself. But his duty to the community and his high standards came first.

  Mose sighed. Next fall seemed an awful long time to wait before Miriam’s sweet presence came to live at his house. He should have taken Miriam up on her offer of an early wedding. The woman drew on his heart… but he knew if he didn’t establish his authority before the wedding, it would only become harder afterward. Once they’d said their wedding vows, he could go soft and kind with Miriam. At least to some degree. A woman still had to learn obedience. This he had never forgotten with Rachel, and neither must he forget with his second frau.

  Mose sat at the kitchen table under the gas lantern. He opened the envelope and slid out the single page. The handwriting was not Miriam’s. He knew for sure now. He read the words.

  Dear Mose Stoll,

  I have something I should tell which concerns Miriam Yoder. I know that you were here awhile back and have fully researched Miriam’s past. I don’t wish to malign your efforts, but there is something you should know. Maybe this matter has only come up recently, but I doubt it. Such a grievous breach of character as I observed could only happen if the flaw has been there for a very long time. But let me tell you what I saw, and you can judge for yourself.

  I was out with my husband last Sunday afternoon for a family visit that took us past the community’s schoolhouse. As we approached my husband motioned with his head and said, “Isn’t that Miriam’s horse and buggy in the schoolyard, along with that Englisha man’s car, who’s been hanging around the community?”

  “That’s impossible,” I told him. “Miriam’s at her sister’s wedding and the bishop’s ordination.”

  “But it is Miriam,” my husband insisted. “As plain as day.”

  “Well, she must have come back early,” I finally said.

  I looked through our open buggy door as we passed, and what did I see but this Mr. Johnson kissing Miriam inside her parked buggy. I gasped so loud my husband jerked on our horse’s reins and we nearly ran off the road.

  “He’s kissing her!” I told him.

  My husband appeared irritated and laughed at me. “Now you’re seeing things,” he said. “Tyler has Bishop Mullet’s and Deacon Phillips’s approval, and you know what Miriam’s character is like.”

  I was quiet and said no more. He is after all my husband, and yet I know what I saw. Please forgive my boldness, Mr. Stoll, but I had to let you know. I wish someone else would tell you, but I am the one who saw what I did. I could go to Deacon Phillips with this report, but it wouldn’t be right to contradict my husband to his face in our home community. So I think this is best handled by your knowledge and judgment. For that reason I have written this letter and to clear my conscience of the matter.

  Signed,

  Your friend

  Mose stood to pace the floor and glare at the white page. Could there be some mistake? But how? The woman was certain, and men didn’t always notice such things even when they happened right under their noses, especially when the incident involved a woman with an excellent reputation like Miriam’s. So what had gone wrong? How could he have missed this? But this was unthinkable! He ought to write Miriam at once and inquire into this matter. Perhaps there was some explanation. But what reason could be given for Miriam kissing an Englisha man? Apparently here was Miriam’s weakness, and he had completely missed it. Thankfully the problem had surfaced now and not after they were married. He’d take steps to deal with this at once.

  Mose groaned as the shame rushed over him. He’d never live this down. He simply couldn’t have been this wrong in his judgment of Miriam. Nothing in her character pointed to this conclusion. She was too committed to the community, both in Oklahoma and in Possum Valley, and to the faith. That was part of what had drawn him to Miriam, and yet he had been wrong. At least he had held his ground and not given in to an early wedding. Now what must be done? Must he make another trip to Oklahoma? He had told Miriam he wouldn’t, but this changed everything. He had no choice in the matter. He must go.

  Thoughts raced through Mose’s mind. Sunday was his first church service as the community’s new bishop. He would be in charge. He had to be there. Only a funeral would serve as an excuse. If the community learned that their new bishop had raced out to Oklahoma to bring his promised frau under control, he’d be the laughingstock of Wayne County. Minister Kemp would nod his head and say that he had offered his sister Bethany as the proper choice but had been disregarded. Minister Kemp would further say that while the Lord’s wisdom could always be trusted in the lot, this outcome required a great deal of submission on his part. And there were some who would agree.

  His rule as bishop would be off to a rocky start and might never recover. No, this must be kept under wraps. Still, someone had to be told. That was the first order of business. If the community here learned later that he had kept the matter secret on a subject that concerned him so intimately, his reputation would be damaged even further.

  Mose grabbed up the letter, retrieved his hat and coat from the closet, and paused in the kitchen to turn off the gas lantern. He took a quick glance at the cold meat loaf, and his hunger stirred. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, but he must not keep Deacon Yoder up late on this his first official call as the community’s bishop. Who would have thought he would arrive with such news—a devastating accusation made against the woman he planned to marry.

  Mose crossed the lawn in the falling dusk and rushed into the barn, where he harnessed his horse by the light that still crept in the barn window. He led the horse out by the bridle and had him on the road moments later. Tonight the steady beat of hooves on the pavement did nothing to steady his nerves. They sounded like the drumbeats of doom. Was his plan to take Miriam as his frau at risk? Deacon Yoder might advise that. Minister Kemp had already suggested that angle, and that was before this revelation. As a young bishop he would be expected to take advice easily. But could he stand the loss of Miriam? Could he abandon his hopes to see her in his house next year? Miriam’s every act of submission had raised his opinion of her even higher. What more could he ask in a prospective frau? He simply couldn’t lose her, even if he now knew Miriam had flaws.

  Mose slowed the buggy as light from Deacon Yoder’s house came into view. He pulled into the driveway and tied his horse at the hitching post. The front door opened in front of him, and Deacon Yoder’s figure appeared on the porch.

  “Gut evening,” Deacon Yoder called across the lawn.

  “Gut evening,” Mose replied once he was closer. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

  Deacon Yoder lowered his voice. “Church trouble already? I had hoped matters would stay calm for a while, but with a new bishop I suppose things will stir themselves up.”

  Mose swallowed hard. Surely Deacon Yoder didn’t blame him for fomenting church problems? He wouldn’t take offense anyway.

  “This is a personal matter, I’m afraid,” Mose responded. “Is it okay if we sit on the porch swing?”

  “Personal?” Deacon Yoder appeared puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Read this,” Mose told him. “I am shamed greatly, but I will not keep the matter hidden.”

  Deacon Yoder raised his eyebrows but took the letter. He read in silence.

  “So?” Mose asked when the deacon finished. “What should I do?”

  Deacon Yoder pondered the question for a while. “It must of course be dealt with, though I must say that unmarried women can kiss whom they wish, just not Englisha men. But it happens, you know, even to those who are promised, which I assume Miriam is?” Deacon Yoder gave Mose a quick glance.

  “Yah.” Mose settled back in the swing. “We have spoken of our wedding date.”

  “Which must now be put off, I would think, until thi
s matter is resolved.”

  “The wedding is not until the next wedding season,” Mose said. “I think there is plenty of time to work this out.”

  Deacon Yoder appeared puzzled. “But you do love the woman, and yet your wedding is not until the next season? You are a widower, after all, Mose, and a bishop now. You need a frau at your house.”

  “I thought we should set an example of restraint.” Mose bit off the words. He didn’t like questions like this. Couldn’t the deacon see the wisdom in his choice?

  “Most men marry quickly after their first frau passes. You have already waited a decent amount of time.”

  “I am not most men,” Mose snapped. “And I am not the problem here. Miriam is. Focus on that.”

  Deacon Yoder raised his eyebrows but soon spoke again, “You could cut off the relationship, I suppose. That’s what most men would do, especially in your shoes as the new bishop. It’s not going to look gut.”

  “I want the woman!” Mose glared off into the darkness. “And I know Miriam’s heart. She would not leave me for an Englisha man. Her character is too far above reproach.”

  “That’s what you told us. And yet she is kissing an Englisha man.” Deacon Yoder let the accusation hang in the air.

  “Speak no more on that point.” Mose raised his voice. “I know what the letter said. Tell me what we can do.”

  “Okay.” Deacon Yoder paused. “Let’s see. First, Miriam has not sinned exactly, but enough perhaps for a church confession. This should be given in Oklahoma, since that is where this happened and where Miriam lives. Second, I think you should be in attendance to receive the confession. It would look better that way. But I’d say you have some work in front of you. You could write ahead. Perhaps begin this conversation by asking Miriam for an explanation. You will wish to woo her back, I assume. She’s not your frau yet. Remember that.”