by Nancy Mehl
“Mama, I need to go potty,” Charity reminded me. “Real bad.”
“I’ll take her,” Mother said. “You warm up. We’ll be right back.”
I watched the confusion on Charity’s face as my mother led her outside to the outhouse. The day was going to be filled with new experiences for my daughter.
Some of the houses in Kingdom used generators to pump water through pipes, but my father had never seen the need to bother with that. Having to go outside on harsh winter nights was solved another way. I couldn’t help but giggle when I thought of trying to explain a chamber pot to Charity.
A few minutes later they walked back up the path. Charity looked somewhat stunned.
“Mama,” she said with dramatic emphasis when she came inside, “the potties here are just like the ones at the lake.”
I nodded, having forgotten the trip we took to a state park once. It had taken me a while to get Charity to use the outdoor commode. She’d had a hard time believing there wasn’t a regular toilet hiding somewhere nearby. “This is a bad potty, Mama,” she’d said, wrinkling her nose. “It smells bad, and you can’t flush it.”
“You two sit here,” Mother said, smiling. “I’ll get the cider on the stove.” She took an old pot from under the sink and filled it with cider from the propane refrigerator. Then she set the pan on top of the woodstove.
Mother had been cooking on this stove ever since she and Father married. It had two dampers. One that moved smoke out of the house and another that controlled how much heat went to the burners. Even though I’d loved my electric stove in Kansas City, I had to admit that this ancient cousin did a fine job. Mother was a whiz with it, creating wonderful meals with a minimum of fancy kitchen equipment.
I watched her as she worked. She seemed thinner. Mother had always been rather frail, but I’d never seen her back down from hard work. She was the kind of person everyone took for granted, because she never complained, never admitted to being tired or ill. Although I could remember her taking care of me when I developed colds or the flu, I couldn’t actually recall her ever being sick herself. Mother had quiet strength and a graceful, ethereal beauty about her. Her large blue eyes were certainly mirrors to her soul. I’d always been able to tell how she felt by looking in her eyes.
“How about some butter cookies?” she asked Charity.
My daughter frowned. “I don’t know what those are.”
Mother opened the old cookie tin on the counter and withdrew several cookies, which she placed on a plate. “You try these, Charity. I believe you will like them.”
I smiled and nodded at her. “Your grandmother makes the best butter cookies in the world. Trust me.”
Charity picked up a cookie from the plate, still unsure about this plain-looking treat. She gingerly took a bite, and her face lit up. “These are really good, Mama. I love them.”
My mother pushed the plate toward me. “Here, Lizzie. You have some cookies too.”
It didn’t take any additional prompting. I bit into one, the familiar taste igniting memories of sitting in this kitchen, warming in front of the stove, eating cookies and drinking cider before Father came home. The pleasant memory vanished at the thought of my father, and my stomach tightened the same way it had all those years ago when he returned from the shop or the church.
“So when will Father arrive?” I asked after finishing one cookie and as I reached for another.
“He should be home shortly.” She frowned as she ran a finger down the stitching on the tablecloth. “Kingdom is different now, Lizzie. Your father . . .” She sighed and looked up at me, her smile tight. “There are younger people in the church who . . . well, who are pushing for change. They say the old ways are too restrictive, and that the love of God should be emphasized more than His judgment. Pastor Mendenhall is very supportive of this opinion. He has said that the true tenets of the Mennonite church stress grace, as does God’s Holy Word. But your father and several of the elders do not agree.” She hesitated, her eyes searching my face. “Your father insisted we leave the church, Elizabeth Lynn.”
I couldn’t hold back a gasp. “He . . . he’s left? I don’t understand. He’s no longer an elder?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, and two of the church’s other elders have gone with him. Three others remain and three new elders have been appointed. That is where your father is today, meeting with the men who departed. They seek to find a way to remove Pastor Mendenhall from office.”
“How can they do that if they’re no longer part of the church?”
“I do not know. But since Kingdom Mennonite Church was founded without the oversight of a larger governing body, there is no one to intervene.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Your father is determined to start a war in Kingdom. I do not know what to do.”
“And where do you stand, Mother? On which side do you find yourself?”
Her face turned pale and she looked away. I really didn’t expect her to contradict my father, so her response took me by surprise. “I hate the way people have been treated in this town,” she said, her voice trembling. “And I hate that my daughter had no choice but to run away.” She reached out and took my hand in hers. “My Bible talks of a God of love and forgiveness. This is not the God your father purports to know so well. I do not want to be disobedient to his headship in our home, but I believe he and his friends are wrong.”
I was shaken by her words. For some reason the smile I’d seen on her face when Cora defied my father drifted back into my mind. “So what are you going to do, Mother?”
She let out a long, tortured breath. “There is nothing I can do, Daughter. My job is to stand by your father even if I disagree with him. I am his helpmeet.” Even as she spoke of acquiescence, a look of defiance painted her delicate features. “But I pray every day, Elizabeth Lynn. I ask God for His help to change our church and our community into a place that honors Him.
“My parents raised me in the Mennonite faith, and I was proud to be a part of such a wonderful, caring group of people. Our congregation was small, but we were a family. We loved each other because God loved us, and we forgave each other because He became forgiveness for us. Our modest dress was beautiful and worn out of respect for our God. It was not a prison uniform. But then we came to Kingdom, and everything changed. Here, we have become hateful and critical under the rule of men like your father. And I believe it stinks in the nostrils of God!”
Her sentiments were spoken with more emotion and passion than I’d ever seen from her. I was so shocked, at first I could only stare at her. It took several seconds for me to respond.
“Why didn’t Grandfather and Grandmother leave Kingdom, Mother? Why did they stay if they disagreed with the way the church was run?”
Mother sighed. “My father died, and Mother had nowhere to go. So we stayed, and I married your father. But your grandmother never stopped trying to teach me the reality of who Christ really is. Her words of love still ring in my heart.”
“They ring in mine too,” I said softly. “I have to say that I’m surprised to hear you say these things. But I’m also happy to know that you don’t agree with the meanspirited teachings that have caused so much pain in this town. Have you ever voiced your opinion to Father?”
“I have no intention of speaking my mind,” she said with a sigh. “Especially now. If I anger him, he certainly will not allow you to stay. He is a man obsessed, Lizzie. That is why he does not take care of his duties at home or at work. I dare not cause more antagonism by challenging him about his view of our town’s spiritual path. It would only destroy the uneasy peace that still exists in our home.”
In all the years I’d lived in this house, she’d never stood up to my father. Not when he spoke hurtful words to me, not when he punished me for breaking one of his many rules by locking me in my room without dinner, and not even when he spanked me for things I hadn’t done. It still hurt inside, remembering how she stood by in silence, never challenging him. Never standing
up for me. I wanted to ask her why, but I wouldn’t. Not because of any nobility in my own soul, but because I sensed her emotional fragility. No matter what I’d been through, I couldn’t hurt her. The pain she’d already suffered through Father’s lack of compassion had already pushed her to the limits of her strength—yet somehow she’d endured. I wouldn’t be the one to push her over the edge.
“I understand.” I glanced nervously toward the front door, wondering if I’d heard the knob rattle. Why was I still so afraid of him? I tried to remind myself that I was a full-grown adult and a mother myself. “What do you think Father will do when he comes home and finds me here?”
“I do not know. He is so bitter and resentful these days. I must admit that I am afraid.”
“You don’t need to be afraid for me—or for Charity. Father can’t do anything to hurt me now. Nor would I allow him to harm Charity. I’m not a child anymore, Mother.” I searched her face, seeing the fear etched there. “I won’t allow him to hurt you either.”
Her eyes widened. “He has never struck me, Daughter. And the discipline he applied to you was never violent. Your father believed it was entirely scriptural.”
It took effort for me to swallow the anger that rose inside me. My father’s discipline was never administered with love or concern for me. I fought to bring my emotions under control. I grasped my mother’s hand with both of mine. “I’m out of options, Mother. Please try to convince him.” I hoped she’d never think to ask me why I hadn’t stayed in Kansas City and simply found another job. I didn’t want to tell her about my stalker, nor did I want her to know about the charges of theft. Although I tried to convince myself that she would never believe I’d robbed the shelter, I couldn’t be sure. She had to know I’d taken her money when I’d left town. Would she believe I’d also taken money from my employer? Even if she didn’t, I had no desire to worry her.
She gently pulled her hand away and rose from the table. She took a pencil from a holder near the cookie tin and quickly scribbled a note on a piece of paper. “Take this message to Cora Menlo at the café. Tell her you need a place to pass the time for a while. I will remain here and wait for your father. Let me tell him of your return before he finds out another way. After that, I hope he will allow you and Charity to move back in with us.” Her fingers shook as she handed the paper to me. “You must leave now, though. Hurry, before he arrives.”
I got up and helped Charity down from her chair. When she begged for another cookie, my mother wrapped a couple of them up to take with us. We hurried to the door, quickly pulling our coats on. Before we stepped outside, Mother hugged us both so hard Charity said, “Grandma, you’re loving me too much.”
Even though my mother and I couldn’t keep back our tears at having to say good-bye again, we both laughed at her comment.
“Go quickly,” Mother said. “I will come to you when I have an answer from your father.” She kissed my cheek. “And pray, darling girl. Pray very hard.”
I picked Charity up and almost ran from the house, fear of my father’s wrath filling me with a sense of alarm. Down the street, barely visible through the snow, I could see a buggy coming down the road. Knowing it could be one of my father’s cronies giving him a ride home, I quickly started the car and pulled away from the house. I turned at the first corner, confident that even if Father had seen my car, he would have no reason to suspect his wayward daughter had returned. Then I drove back to town and pulled in next to the yellow car in front of Cora’s Corner Café. The small restaurant seemed to be doing a brisk business. Buggies were lined up in front, their horses tied to the hitching post. Two trucks remained parked near the entrance door.
My emotions tumbled around crazily inside me. I was happy to see my mother again and thrilled she was glad to have me back. Yet I worried about her. How would my father react to her news? Maybe she was telling the truth—that he had never hit her. But I wasn’t sure I believed her. Although I’d never seen him abuse her, I worried that if he was becoming angrier than he used to be, she could be in danger. As far as I knew, she’d always obeyed everything he said. Today, however, I’d seen a new fire in her. And even though she said she’d never confront my father’s judgmental beliefs, the possibility worried me.
I got Charity out of the car, and we walked up the wooden steps to the café. I couldn’t help but admire the difference the red paint had made to the old faded brick exterior. And the gleaming white paint on the door and the window trim set the color off beautifully.
Entering, we found the place nearly full. Tables and booths filled the room, and the wood floors gleamed. The walls were a mixture of wood paneling halfway up and red-and-white-checked wallpaper from the edge of the paneling to the ceiling. Quilts and painted plates hung on the walls, along with hand-stitched samplers. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace on one side of the room. Families in Old Order garb mixed in with farmers in overalls. Several women wore the lighter-colored dresses and white prayer coverings I’d noticed earlier.
The room was filled with the sound of folks talking and laughing together. However, several people stopped their conversation to turn and stare at me and Charity. I heard someone cry out, and Ruth Fisher rose from a nearby table. She hobbled toward me, one arm outstretched, the other holding onto her cane.
“Lizzie child, is it you?” she asked as she approached. She leaned her cane against the side of a table and put her hands on my shoulders. “My Lizzie,” she said with tears running down her weathered cheeks, “are you finally home? Ach, I have prayed so long.”
Ruth had been such a blessing to me as a child. I’d visit her house almost every Sunday afternoon between our morning and evening church services. She would bake soft white cookies topped with coconut in her ancient oven while she sang hymns in her native German tongue. Then we would eat her wonderful cookies and talk about the Lord. Her view of a loving God was just like my grandmother’s, and so much different from Father’s that I almost felt guilty listening to her. I never told anyone else what she said to me, fearing my father would find out and Ruth would get called before the elders. I didn’t want her to get in trouble or risk losing the shelter her house had become.
“It’s me, Ruth,” I said with a smile. “And yes, I’m home. At least for a while.”
“Bless my soul. And here is our Charity.” She smiled at my daughter. “Ach, she was such a beautiful baby, but oh my, she has only grown even more lovely, ja?”
Charity grinned at the attention and didn’t stare at Ruth’s Old Order garb. It seemed she was getting used to the different clothing styles in Kingdom.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m so glad to see you, Ruth.”
“How long will you be here? You will certainly come soon to visit me, ja?”
“I’m not sure yet how long I’ll be in town,” I said, “but I will definitely come by before we leave.”
“You promise this, my Lizzie?”
“Yes, I promise.”
Ruth’s daughter, Myra, came up and took her mother’s arm. “We must get home, Mother,” she said, “before it gets worse outside.”
“Ja, ja. I am coming.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “You have made an old woman very happy today.”
Myra smiled at me. “It’s wonderful to see you, Lizzie. Please do stop by and visit Mother. She’s mentioned you almost every day since you left. It would thrill her to spend some time with you.”
I nodded. “Are you still living in the same house, Ruth?” At Ruth’s age, I imagined she’d gone to live with her daughter by now.
“Of course I am, dear,” she said. “Myra no longer tries to talk me into moving into her home. She has given up.”
Myra shook her head and rolled her eyes. “My mother is nothing if not obstinate.”
Ruth was renowned for her stubbornness, but those who knew her were aware that it was sparked by an indomitable spirit. Something she’d needed after losing her husband at an early age and having
to support three children on her own. She came to Kingdom not long after he died because the church promised to help her and make certain her children were well cared for. Even though the original church was strict and watched over the old rules, they were true to their word. Ruth’s family never went hungry, and her two boys and one daughter had everything they needed to live a comfortable life. The boys had moved out of state many years ago, but they had come back to visit whenever they could.
I hugged her one more time, and she and Myra left. The sound of chatter in the dining room, which had become subdued when Ruth called out my name, started up again with a vengeance. It wasn’t hard to guess that Charity and I were probably the main topic of conversation.
I was leading Charity to a table across the room when someone grabbed my arm. I turned to find Abram and Miriam Zook standing behind us. I cringed, preparing myself for a sharp rebuke. Their reaction toward me after the community became aware I was pregnant still stung. Although the Zooks hadn’t actually confronted me, they’d stopped speaking to me and even crossed the street when they saw me walking toward them on the sidewalk.
“Elizabeth,” Miriam said, squeezing my arm. “We are so glad to see you. Abram and I have kept you in our prayers all these years, hoping God would lead you back to us.” She put her arms around me. “We are so sorry for our behavior toward you. We should have supported you, should have been there to help you.” She let go of me and shook her head. “I am ashamed to say that we were afraid, my dear. Afraid of the elders. Of your father. Can you find it in your heart to forgive us?”
I nodded dumbly while Charity watched us, a bewildered look on her face. We didn’t usually garner so much interest.
