“I’ve talked to my parents,” she said. And counted the cost in more ways than one. She considered her conversation with her dad and mom, and with Hampton, who had been sorry to lose her good waitressing help, and Darren’s surprisingly agreeable response, too.
Deacon led her through a series of questions, many like those before, but with a few new ones. She answered each one thoughtfully, confidently.
And she sensed he was building up to the clincher: “Have you forgiven your father?” She was prepared for that, but then he surprised her by saying, “His check arrived the other day.”
Gloria nodded, relieved.
“Do you know ’bout that?”
She told him the truth: that while she and her father had stopped for coffee on the drive home, Gloria had urged him to make things right with those whom he had cheated.
“And apparently he has, although I’d forgiven his debt years ago,” Deacon said.
Knowing the minister, he would put the money in the alms fund for anyone in need amongst the People. It was one of the things about Deacon Ebersol—and this community—that Gloria respected so much.
Then came the final question. “Did you return primarily for your friendship with Leona?”
“In many ways, yes.”
His eyes widened.
“From what I’ve experienced through the years, Amish society is about community,” she said. “We’re linked together by family and lifelong friendships, and it’s this tradition that weaves us together, encouraging one another in the Old Ways as a people set apart. We’re loyal to our family and friends,” she said, meaning it. “And sometimes we return for the same reason—relationship is the tie that binds us in unity with God.”
The deacon nodded thoughtfully, a slight glint in his eye. “If you’d said no,” he replied now, smiling, “I would have worried.”
She hid her own smile. A trick question.
The deacon rose, and she stood with him, returning the remaining pretzels. “I’ll give you further information about your Proving.” He extended his callused hand. “Willkumm heem, Gloria.”
Gloria tried to stand still on the wooden kitchen bench that evening while Leona pinned her hem for the new dark green cape dress, but she was ever so keyed up and eager to share her conversation with the deacon that day.
All the same, she was completely surprised when Millie mentioned that Pete and the deacon had put their heads together at a farm auction the other day. “Mose asked if we’d be willin’ to be your overseers till your Proving’s done.”
Leona jerked around with a straight pin in her hand, poking Gloria in the leg. “Ach, sorry!”
“I’m okay,” Gloria assured her, even though Leona looked dismayed when the pinprink had drawn blood. “I couldn’t imagine a better match.”
“Me neither,” Millie agreed.
Gloria was conscious of the summertime sounds just out the back screen door—crickets twittered heartily, and hoot owls supplied the bass line for a hundred-bird chorus.
“Just think, you’ll get to visit with Orchard John from time to time when he’s over here for supper and board games,” Leona said as she dabbed a wet tissue at Gloria’s leg. “Maybe Tom and I can double-date with ya, since we’re both church members. What ’bout that?”
Gloria glanced at Millie. “Do you think that would be all right with the brethren?”
“As long as you’re in the company of other church members, you should be fine.” Millie made a motion as if to zip her lips, a twinkle in her eyes.
“Now you’re talkin’!” Gloria said, which caused Leona and her mother to dissolve into laughter.
“There—your hem’s marked.” Leona got up from her knees, and Gloria hopped down from the bench.
“Denki, now I just need to make the apron.” She went over and planted a kiss on Millie’s cheek. “That’s for bein’ so wunnerbaar.”
Millie looked like she might faint. Come to think of it, so did Leona.
“I mean it,” Gloria said, “with all of my heart.” And she flounced off to hang up her new dress, pleased to have been given a second chance, not to mention a second mother.
And a sister!
The following Saturday evening, Pete and Millie wasted no time in inviting Orchard John for a supper of chicken and dumplings, topped off by Gloria’s cherry cobbler, which turned out better than any other time she’d made it. Pete contributed the homemade ice cream, and Benuel told his laugh-out-loud tales, making for a very merry time around the Speicher table.
Afterward, the six of them played a rousing game of Dutch Blitz. Gloria couldn’t stop smiling, appreciating how Pete, Millie, and Benuel were chaperoning the evening—the first of many to come, she suspected from the look of admiration on John’s handsome face. Or is it love?
When it was time for John to leave, he asked if he might speak to Gloria out on the back porch, and Pete agreed after taking time to light a lantern and hand it to him.
“I want to win your heart,” John told her when they’d sat down just outside the back door.
“You did that years ago,” Gloria said, meaning every word yet mindful of the restrictions on their relationship. “If things hadn’t been so complicated, I would’ve been baptized in a heartbeat. If I’d had the gumption, I would’ve returned sooner.”
Sitting there with her first beau felt so familiar and normal, a reminder of the best year of her life.
John’s eyes held her gaze. “Would ya consider letting me court ya, once you’re baptized?”
She remembered what Deacon Ebersol had said about her Proving—that she must remain within its guidelines. “I’m not baptized yet, but if I were, my answer would certainly be yes.” She paused. “Well, jah.”
John brightened all the more. “You’ve given me the gift of hope.”
“There’s always that.” Gloria nodded. “Perhaps I’ve given more hope than I should’ve at this point.”
He started to reach for her hand, then caught himself. “Just so ya know, I’ll be counting the days and weeks.”
She smiled and wished she could let him know how very happy he made her, but that day would come. Surely it will . . . in the Lord’s good timing.
Epilogue
Connect the dots backward, I thought as the baptismal candidates—most of them younger than Gloria—reverently filed into Preacher Miller’s spruced-up home on Sunday, September 20, that very fall. If any detail at all had been altered in the steps that had brought Gloria to this sacred moment—if Joe Gingerich had chosen a different state to move to after his dustup in Salem, or if Gloria had fallen in love with anyone other than Orchard John, or even if Mamma had given birth to a second daughter—Gloria might not be kneeling before the bishop.
During the holy hush of the ceremony, I found myself holding my breath as Gloria vowed to turn her back on the world, self, and the devil, pledging to gladly submit to Jesus Christ her Savior and the Ordnung of the church in Colerain for all the days of her life.
Home for good, I thought, attempting to suppress my jubilation.
Not only had I circled the date on my bedroom calendar, I’d drawn short little rays around it. “Joyful strokes of thanksgiving,” I’d told Gloria when she came in dressed in royal blue and her newly made white organdy apron this morning. My humble friend, my sister, looked almost saintly.
Deacon Ebersol stood before the baptismal candidates and poured a bit of water from a cup into Bishop Mast’s hands, which rested on Gloria’s auburn hair. As he released the water, it trickled down over her head. “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
When Gloria and the other baptismal candidates rose and received the handshake from the bishop and the holy kiss from his wife, Gloria’s eyes caught mine.
Inwardly, where no one but the Lord knew how desperately I’d yearned for this day, I was rejoicing with every ounce of my being.
Bishop Mast informed Gloria and the newly baptized youth that they we
re no longer sojourners and strangers, but members of this blessed and godly fellowship.
Thanks be to the Lord, I prayed silently, grateful that Gloria had at last become my true sister in the family of God. She would also be at my side on my wedding day come the second Thursday in November.
The only thing missing was Gloria’s family. Privately, before breakfast, Gloria had shared with me that having my parents, Dawdi Benuel, and me witness her baptism, along with Orchard John and his family, was enough. And judging from the glow on her freckled face as she filed out of the congregation just now with the other Youngie, I believed her. With all of my heart, I did.
Author’s Note
Creating stories set in Amish farmland has sustained my writer-heart in countless ways. It has taught me the importance of meticulous research and demonstrated to me just how universal some themes really are: At its core, each story is about lifting the spirit and stirring the heart, something that means readers from all ages and walks of life can connect to this cloistered and rather misunderstood group of people.
In this novel, Hill View, Arkansas, is a fictitious place based on the actual city of Ozark, a location my husband and I enjoyed visiting last fall while vacationing. Unlike the fictional Hill View, however, there is no Amish settlement in Ozark, though the town offers many other charms.
For his kindness and unfailing wisdom, thanks to my longtime editor and friend, David Horton. For directing my writing to mine the depths and find the sparkle, thank you to Rochelle Glöege and her expert editorial team—Helen Motter, Ann Parrish, Cheri Hanson, Sharon Hodge, and Jolene Steffer. And for fine-tuning bits and pieces of the manuscript, my appreciation goes to Barbara Birch. I also appreciate my niece Lizzie Birch’s enthusiasm for the game Dutch Blitz!
Special gratitude to each of my research assistants, including Hank and Ruth Hershberger, Erik Wesner (Amish America), and the unnamed Amish and Mennonites who kindly read my first drafts. To the Young Center for Anabaptist and Pietist Studies at Elizabethtown College, the Lancaster Mennonite Historical Society, and the good folk at Kauffman’s Farm Market, thank you. And to my partners in prayer, crucial to my writing endeavors: I am daily grateful for each of you.
And last, thanks to my wonderful husband, David Lewis, my first editor and brainstorming partner, salad-maker extraordinaire, and dearest prayer partner. And to our grown children, Julie, Janie, and Jonathan, and granddaughter, Ariel, thank you for being my biggest fans ever . . . and the dearest legacy I could ever have.
Soli Deo Gloria!
Beverly Lewis, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, is the New York Times bestselling author of more than ninety books. Her stories have been published in twelve languages worldwide. A keen interest in her mother’s Plain heritage has inspired Beverly to write many Amish-related novels, beginning with The Shunning, which has sold more than one million copies and is an Original Hallmark Channel movie. In 2007 The Brethren was honored with a Christy Award.
Beverly has been interviewed by both national and international media, including Time magazine, the Associated Press, and the BBC. She lives with her husband, David, in Colorado.
Visit her website at www.beverlylewis.com or www.facebook.com/officialbeverlylewis for more information.
Books by Beverly Lewis
The Wish
The Atonement
The Photograph
The Love Letters
The River
HOME TO HICKORY HOLLOW
The Fiddler
The Bridesmaid
The Guardian
The Secret Keeper
The Last Bride
THE ROSE TRILOGY
The Thorn
The Judgment
The Mercy
ABRAM’S DAUGHTERS
The Covenant
The Betrayal
The Sacrifice
The Prodigal
The Revelation
THE HERITAGE OF LANCASTER COUNTY
The Shunning
The Confession
The Reckoning
ANNIE’S PEOPLE
The Preacher’s Daughter
The Englisher
The Brethren
THE COURTSHIP OF NELLIE FISHER
The Parting
The Forbidden
The Longing
SEASONS OF GRACE
The Secret
The Missing
The Telling
The Postcard
The Crossroad
The Redemption of Sarah Cain
Sanctuary (with David Lewis)
Child of Mine (with David Lewis)
The Sunroom
October Song
Amish Prayers
The Beverly Lewis Amish Heritage Cookbook
www.beverlylewis.com
beverlylewis.com/engage/newsletter
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