The Hearts of Middlefield Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  Gabe watched the barn entrance for Moriah. He wouldn’t blame her if she had decided to stay home. By now it had spread through half the community that Levi Miller had left his wife and the church. The hard wooden bench felt less comfortable than ever, and he shifted in his seat as he looked at his father surrounded by several men, including the bishop and two ministers. He knew they were offering words of comfort, but he also knew that words were meaningless. Thousands of words, even delivered with good intentions, wouldn’t heal the fissure that had formed in his father’s heart.

  Over the past twenty-four hours, Gabe had watched his father weaken physically. If he thought his father would even consider it, he would’ve taken him to the doctor, but he knew Daed would have none of it. A firm believer in alternative medicine, John Miller would put his faith in the healing power of God and in the other natural remedies he preferred, especially the teas he insisted on drinking.

  Gabe watched as his daed sat on the edge of the bench in the front of the cavernous room, his shoulders in a permanent hunch, his long white beard touching the center of his chest as Amos Helmuth, one of the ministers, sat next to him, speaking to him in low tones.

  The chill in the air began to fade as warm bodies filled the barn. The men took their seats on the left side of the barn, while the women found their places on the right side. The scent of fresh hay filtered through the air. Gabe took one last look at the barn entrance before sitting down in the back of the church. Not only did he not see Moriah, he didn’t see the rest of the Byler family either. Had they decided to skip church? He wouldn’t blame them if they had. Levi’s decision had shamed both of their families.

  Abel Esh, the bishop, stood at the front of the room and opened the Ausbund, the Amish hymn book. The hymn leader signaled for the congregation to begin singing. Every voice chimed together in an a capella chant, the haunting monotone echoing off the wooden slats of the barn.

  They were nearly finished with the first hymn when out of the corner of his eye, Gabe saw Joseph Byler take a seat on the opposite end of his bench, flanked on both sides by his sons Tobias, Lukas, and Stephen. None of them looked at him, instead directing their attention to the ministers up front. On the other side of the room, Gabe caught sight of Moriah, seated between her mother and her sister Ruthie. He didn’t see Elisabeth, but she often sat with her friends.

  Suddenly Moriah turned, meeting his gaze, as if she knew he was looking straight at her.

  His heart soared at the calm he saw in her eyes, a serenity he hadn’t seen since before Levi had left. He had wanted her to stay in the large house, not only out of guilt for what his brother had done to her, but also because he wanted her near. She was so fragile, so vulnerable, and with good reason. His brother had been right about one thing—Gabe wanted to look after her. But she had insisted on moving back home, and he could see now that it was the right decision.

  The hymns continued, one after the other, but Gabe did little singing. He surreptitiously kept his gaze on Moriah throughout the first hour of the three-hour service, unable to keep from looking at her, wishing she would acknowledge him, but also hoping she wouldn’t. She seemed completely involved in the singing, and other than that one time at the beginning of the service, she kept her attention focused on the bishop.

  After the singing ended, Abel stood and began his sermon. The words passed through Gabe’s ears, his mind not registering anything but the plights of his brother, Moriah, and his daed weighing heavily on his soul. He vowed to keep close watch on his father, and considered hiring another part-time employee, at least until Daed had a chance to recover from Levi’s departure. He couldn’t risk anything happening to his daed. Not when he’d already lost his brother. He couldn’t lose the only immediate family he had left.

  When the service finally reached its conclusion, the congregation rose to sing another hymn. After the dismissal, he turned to look for Moriah, but she was already headed to the Eshes’ house, probably intending to assist with lunch preparations. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she hadn’t stayed, but he wasn’t surprised that she would offer to help. Throughout this ordeal, she had continually surprised him with her inner strength.

  He suddenly heard the hushed tones of his father and Joseph Byler behind him. Turning, he saw his daed speaking to Joseph and the bishop. Gabe could see his father’s eyes were glistening with tears. “Danki for listening to me, Joseph. I ask you to forgive my son. I beg you to forgive my Levi for what he has done to your daughter and your family.”

  Gabe quickly went to his father’s side. “Daed,” he said in a low voice.

  Joseph stilled them both by putting his hand on John’s shoulder. “Don’t take your son’s burden on yourself.”

  “But I have already. Can’t you see? His burden is mine. It always will be.”

  Gabe looked at Joseph, who remained silent for a moment. Finally, he dropped his hand from John and spoke. “We’ll pray for Levi to realize his folly and return. When he does, we will welcome him home.”

  “Danki, Joseph,” John said quietly. He stared at the ground as Joseph turned and walked away.

  The bishop drew Gabe to the side. “Your daed is in a bad way, Gabriel.”

  With a nod Gabe said, “He’s taking this hard.”

  “Of course he is. None of us blame him for that. But perhaps it would be best if you took him home. The ministers and I will come by this afternoon and see how he’s doing.” Abel looked squarely at Gabe. “How both of you are doing.”

  Giving his father a quick glance, Gabe suddenly felt as tired as his daed looked. He didn’t want to be here, fighting to keep his composure while worrying about John. “Ya. I will take him home.”

  Fortunately, John readily agreed to leave the Eshes’. “Not much in the mood for socializing,” he said wearily.

  “Me either.” They walked to their buggy. Before John got in, he looked at Gabe. “Will we ever see him again, Gabriel? Will I ever see my son again?”

  More than anything Gabe wanted to tell his father that Levi would return, that everything would be back the way it was. But he couldn’t because nothing would be the same for any of them again. Yet he refused to take away his daed’s hope. The old man needed something to cling to, even if it was a lie. “I don’t know,” he finally managed. “I don’t know.”

  Moriah watched John and Gabriel as they headed for their buggy. Poor, poor John. Her heart went out to her father-in-law. Yesterday as they’d prayed together, his strength and faith had given her hope. But today the man was obviously consumed with grief over what Levi had done. And there was Gabriel, right by his side, offering his support. He had not only been Moriah’s rock that first night, but he continued to be his father’s as well.

  She turned around and started to go inside to help with lunch. But something stopped her, causing her to look at her father-in-law and brother-in-law again. While everyone was gathering for the afternoon meal, John and Gabriel were alone. And despite what Levi had done, she was still part of their family. Even though she was suffering with her own pain, she didn’t want to leave them alone. She had to find a way to help somehow.

  She went inside and found her mother with the other women in the kitchen. Making her way over to her mother, she whispered her intentions in Emma’s ear. Mami looked surprised, but she nodded, then went to find the bishop’s wife.

  Moriah hurried back outside just in time to see Gabriel step up to get inside the buggy. She called out his name and rushed toward him.

  He stopped and looked at her, his visage grim.

  “Is he all right?” she asked.

  “I have no idea.” He lowered his voice, adding, “He’s taking this very hard.”

  “I know.”

  “Gabriel?” John called to his son.

  Both Gabriel and Moriah peeked inside the buggy. When John’s gaze met hers, he smiled. “Such a sweet maedel,” he said. “You didn’t deserve this. I’m so sorry for what Levi has done.”

  “We should b
e going,” Gabriel said as he climbed inside. He seemed to be in a hurry, but then he paused. “Will you be all right?”

  Moriah nodded, but wondered if she’d ever be all right again.

  Seemingly satisfied with her response, Gabriel touched the reins to the flanks of the horse and pulled out of the Eshes’ drive.

  Moriah watched as they left, her heart not only bleeding for herself but also for Gabriel and John.

  Gabe and John rode home in silence. Once they reached the house, he helped his father into the bedroom he had shared with his wife for over forty years. The modest space still held reminders of their mother—a quilt she had made as a child draped over the back of the rocking chair she had used to rock Gabe and Levi to sleep. An old Bible passed down through her family lay on the nightstand next to the bed, on the side where she used to sleep.

  A nearly unbearable sense of sadness engulfed him. He’d never missed his mother more than now. He had grieved deeply for her after she died, but Levi had been there to share that grief. Both of them had been close to her, Levi even more so.

  She would have known what to do about Daed. Gabe had no idea how to handle his father’s pain. Even after his wife had died, John Miller had been strong. Now, with Gabe’s arm supporting him, guiding him to his bed, he was a broken man.

  “Daed, why don’t you lay down for a little while? I’ll bring you some lunch in a bit.”

  John sat down on the edge of the bed, but he shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” He looked up at Gabe. “I was right in asking Joseph for forgiveness.”

  “That’s what Levi needs to do.”

  “He can’t. Not now.”

  “You mean he won’t.”

  Squaring his shoulders as if he had a sudden burst of strength, John said, “I know what I mean, sohn. Levi is lost. He’s strayed away from God. I don’t know what led him down this path, but I do know that he has to seek out the Lord and ask His forgiveness. Only when he’s given himself fully to God will he be able to come back.” He bent over and took off his boots, then stretched out on the bed, closing his eyes. “You’re right. I am tired.”

  “I’ll leave you alone.” Gabe turned to go. “Come downstairs when you’re ready.” He slowly shut the door behind him and made his way to the first floor of the house. As soon as his foot landed on the bottom stair, he heard a knock on the front door. He opened it and saw Moriah standing on the porch. His eyes widened with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “We brought you lunch.”

  Gabe looked beyond her and saw Frau Byler coming up the porch steps, carrying a large picnic basket. Joseph was tending to their horse. He looked back at Moriah, who gave him a small smile that warmed his heart.

  “We thought you and John might be hungry.”

  “Come on in.” He opened the door wide and gestured for the two women to step inside. He then went out to help Joseph with his horse and buggy. When the men returned, they were welcomed by a feast of sliced ham, bread, pickles, potato salad, rolls, banana bread, and two different kinds of cookies. Gabe was thankful for the bounty, and for the generosity of the Bylers.

  “Daed’s upstairs,” Gabe stated as he went to the sink and washed his hands. “He said he wasn’t hungry, but I know he’d want to be down here to thank you for bringing such a wunderbaar meal.”

  “Don’t worry about bothering him,” Emma said as she filled their glasses with iced tea. “He should rest. We have plenty and this will all keep ’til later.

  They took their chairs, and Gabe sat across from Moriah. After prayer they started to eat, but it became evident that no one had much of an appetite. Moriah just picked at her food, and her mother soon noticed.

  “You have to eat, Moriah,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. “Even when you aren’t hungry, your baby is.”

  Nodding, Moriah ate a spoonful of potato salad. A long, awkward stretch of silence soon followed. Gabe’s attention kept swaying to her. He wished there was something he could do to fix the situation. But he couldn’t do anything. And he hated that helpless feeling most of all.

  As they made their way home from church, Rachel and her mother rode in silence. Sarah stared straight ahead as she guided the horse and buggy down the road. Her black bonnet obscured her face, keeping Rachel from discerning her thoughts, although she suspected she already knew what Sarah was thinking about. She was thinking about it too.

  The entire community had been abuzz this morning at church. Soon everyone knew that Levi Miller had left his wife and the Amish. Rachel could barely believe it. She didn’t know Levi well, but she had thought he and Moriah had a good marriage. They were still newlyweds—how could there be trouble in the relationship already? Yet having marriage problems was one thing. Leaving the church was an entirely different story.

  She’d known a few people who had “yanked over” by leaving their faith, mostly rebellious teens and young adults who had gotten a taste of the Yankee world and started to chafe underneath the Ordnung. Usually those who left hadn’t been baptized and were allowed to come back to the community and socialize with their family and friends. She knew of only one woman who had moved away after she had joined the church. Rachel had heard she had fallen in love with a Yankee, but she didn’t know if that was a rumor or not, because the woman had never returned. When she left, she was immediately put in the bann. Maybe the shunning had kept her away, not an outlander. Rachel could only guess at the true reasons.

  Leaving the church had never been an option in Rachel’s mind. She had always known she would become Amish when she was old enough to make the decision about baptism. The trappings of the world had never appealed to her, and she had never had the desire to break the Ordnung. Why would anyone want to, when their faith offered them so much?

  Back at home, Rachel and her mother prepared a cold lunch. Aaron hadn’t attended church that morning—he had still been in his room when they’d arrived home. Again, her father, Emmanuel, along with her mother didn’t say anything when he came downstairs without a word. Rachel couldn’t figure out why he was allowed to do whatever he wanted to do.

  “I’m going to visit Emma,” Sarah had announced when they finished with dinner. “She needs our support. Rachel, please wash the dishes. I’d like you to come with me.”

  Rachel had just popped the last bit of her ham and Swiss cheese sandwich in her mouth and she froze midchew. Alarm shot through her at the thought of going to the Bylers. She had managed to avoid Tobias at the service that morning, only seeing him briefly before church had started. Thank goodness they hadn’t crossed paths. That would have been embarrassing. Either he hadn’t seen her in the service or he was ignoring her, and she would bet a week’s tips he’d disregarded her on purpose. The last thing she wanted to do was run into him again, especially after what had happened between them two nights ago.

  “Can’t I just stay here?” she had pleaded, hoping her mother would change her mind. “I have some reading I want to catch up on.”

  “Rachel, I’m surprised. You would put a book ahead of the Byler’s troubles?”

  “Bible reading,” Rachel clarified, a twinge of guilt pricking at her as she said the lie. If her mother let her off the hook, then she felt duty-bound to crack open the family Bible. She found the High German translation hard to read, but she had some serious confessing to do about her newfound feelings for Tobias.

  “As impressed as I am by your devotion, I think that can wait until later. Emma, Joseph, and Moriah left right after the service and I want to see if they’re all right. I should think you would care about their welfare as well.” Sarah said again, rising from her chair and adjusting her crisp, white apron.

  “I do. But—”

  “But what?” Sarah paused, lifting one brow.

  Rachel couldn’t explain her real reason for not wanting to go the Bylers, so she dropped the issue. “Never mind. Just give me a few minutes to finish the dishes.”

  “Danki, Rachel.”

  As Rachel too
k her daed’s plate, he said, “Don’t forget Aaron’s too.”

  Rachel pinched her lips together as she accepted her daed’s dish, then went to collect Aaron’s. Part of his sandwich still remained on the white plate. “Are you finished?”

  “Ya.” He got up, pushed his chair back where it belonged, then left the room without a word of thanks. Their father departed shortly after, saying he had some work to do in the barn.

  That was two hours ago. Now it was late afternoon, and as they approached the Byler’s, Rachel’s insides started to churn. She hoped Tobias wasn’t home. If she was lucky he’d be out visiting one of his cousins or something. But she doubted he would be out having fun, not after what happened to Moriah. She gripped the side of the buggy seat as her mother turned into the driveway.

  “Please tether the horse,” Sarah said as she parked the buggy. “I’ll meet you inside.”

  Rachel did as she was asked, then procrastinated by stroking the horse’s velvety soft nose. She wasn’t in a hurry to go in the house and see Tobias again. The weather had warmed several degrees since the other day, and the sun was out in full force. At least she could be thankful for that. When she couldn’t stall any longer, she turned to go inside, but paused for a moment when she spied the wrecked buggy parked behind Herr Byler’s workshop. The vehicle was completely mangled, and she said a quick prayer of thanks that neither one of them had been hurt. She spun around on the heel of her black shoe, only to run smack-dab into Tobias’s chest.

  “Whoa,” he said, as his arms went around her shoulders to steady her.

  She just had to pick that moment to breathe, to inhale the scent of his clean Sunday shirt, which was now inches from her nose. For the briefest of moments she reveled in his nearness, until common sense took over and she stepped back.