Meek and Mild

by Newport, Olivia

  “Did we ever talk about this?” Clara asked, wondering why she couldn’t remember.

  Fannie shook her head. “Mamm took me aside and said there was no need to talk about it with you. It wouldn’t change anything. You were always welcome to come, and she hoped you would still want to.”

  “But what did they say about the vote? About the shunning?”

  “People voted against their conscience to please the bishop.” Fannie took an indulgent sip of coffee. “They used to talk to us often about conscience. A sense of what’s right doesn’t come from pleasing a man, even a bishop. They wanted us to please God.”

  “But the bishop must have thought he was pleasing God.”

  “My parents also said some things we must leave to God.” Fannie brushed crumbs off the table into her hand. “So much trouble over whether or not to have Sunday school for children—it seems ridiculous after nearly forty years.”

  Clara lost interest in her coffee. Forty years or not, the matter was not settled. Andrew might think change was coming, but Clara dreaded the impending rancor.

  The Maple Glen Meetinghouse easily could be mistaken for the one at Flag Run or even Summit Mills. They all dated to the same effort. Yonnie’s father, uncle, and grandfathers all were among the men who built four meetinghouses clustered around the border that the two groups of Amish would share. As long as they used them on alternate Sundays, no conflict rose between the two groups, despite their differences over the Protestant notion of Sunday school. Another decade passed before ministers began clearing their throats, saying what they thought, and moving to serve on the side of the border where they would be among kindred hearts. Though unchanged in outward form, the meetinghouses became symbols of opinions and convictions.

  Each time Yonnie drove the milk wagon past the Maple Glen Meetinghouse—nearly every day—he felts its sting. The people who worshipped there dallied among the world. Some of the canisters of milk in his wagon came from the cows of families who thought Yonnie’s family did not understand the will of God.

  Yonnie emptied his lungs and pushed the dilemma out of his mind. He was past the meetinghouse now. He needed to concentrate. Once again he mentally reviewed the movements of his day—the deliveries he made in the morning, the milk canisters he lifted into the wagon in the afternoon, the routes he took, the conversations he had, the notes he made. Another mistake could be costly.

  Between the rhythm of his horse dropping hooves and the patterned sound of the creaking hitch, Yonnie heard his name from behind. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Clara Kuhn running along the side of the road waving one hand widely. Yonnie pulled on the reins. Stopped, he twisted in his seat and waited for Clara.

  She was out of breath when she finally reached the wagon.

  “Thank you for stopping.” Clara gulped air. “I didn’t realize how late it was. I should have been waiting for you at the meetinghouse.”

  From the wagon bench, Yonnie looked down at her round face, her blond hair pulled tight away from expectant blue eyes.

  “You are going back toward Niverton, aren’t you?” Clara asked.

  Yonnie nodded. “If you’d like a ride, get in.”

  Clara took the hand Yonnie offered and pulled herself up to the bench.

  “Thank you,” she said again.

  Clara would not likely speak to him further, Yonnie knew, unless he found something to talk about. They had little in common. She was pleasantly polite, as she would be with anyone, but all she wanted from Yonnie was a ride home. For a man’s companionship, she would go to Andrew.

  “Have you seen the Model T?” Yonnie maintained a forward gaze.

  “Andrew’s?”

  Did she really consider it to belong to Andrew?

  “The one he found.” That was how Yonnie preferred to think of the automobile.

  “He has it running, you know.”

  “I pulled him out of a ditch.”

  “He told me. Thank you. But he’s been practicing driving, and he’s getting better.”

  Yonnie looked at her now. “Have you seen him driving?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You got in that machine with him, didn’t you?”

  Clara stuck her chin out. “Yes.”

  Yonnie drove for most of a mile without speaking. If Clara had been in the Model T, she was as reckless as Andrew.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” Yonnie said.

  “The automobile? Is it so different from having a horse and buggy? It’s a way to get from here to there.”

  “You know it’s more than that.”

  “Do I?”

  They returned to silence for another mile.

  “Andrew has a curious mind,” Clara said. “God gave him that mind.”

  “Andrew is a baptized member of the church,” Yonnie countered.

  “You don’t have to preach at me.”

  “The Bible tells us to exhort one another,” Yonnie said. “We all made the same promises to follow the teachings.”

  “And what does the Bible teach about automobiles?”

  “We promised to follow the teachings of the church.”

  “Shouldn’t the teachings of the church be the teachings of the Bible?”

  Clara’s challenge dropped an edge between them. Yonnie clicked his tongue to urge the horse faster. The sooner Clara Kuhn was out of his wagon, the better off they would both be.

  Andrew saw two forms in the approaching milk wagon. Yonnie must have picked up a passenger. As the two horses drew closer, a satisfied smile shaped itself on Andrew’s face.

  Clara.

  Andrew pulled his buggy to the side of the road and waved an arm at Yonnie. By the time the two rigs were side by side, Andrew had caught Clara’s eye. He expected to see a flicker in her eye that meant she was glad to see him even if she would not appear outwardly forward in the presence of Yonnie or anyone else. Instead, the light he saw was an ember of constrained fury.

  “Hello, Yonnie,” Andrew said, pulling his gaze from Clara to Yonnie. He nodded toward the load in Yonnie’s wagon. “It looks like you have a good haul there, along with a pleasant passenger.”

  Yonnie shrugged. “The usual, I suppose.”

  “Maybe you’d like to go straight to the dairy,” Andrew said. “I can take Clara home if you like.”

  Clara did not wait for Yonnie’s response. “Thank you, Andrew. That would be a great kindness.”

  “Whatever you’d like.” Yonnie’s belated response was moot. Clara was already out of the wagon.

  Andrew jumped down from his bench to offer assistance, but Clara barely touched the hand he presented. She’d been in and out of his buggy enough times to know where to step and how to shift her weight and pivot to sit. Still, Andrew was surprised at her fleet, unassisted movements.

  “I hope your evening goes well,” Andrew said to Yonnie.

  Yonnie had already urged his horse forward. Andrew turned to watch him go before picking up his own reins again.

  “Thank you.” Clara’s sigh was unmistakable.

  Andrew held his horse to a speed barely above grazing in a pasture.

  “We’re going the wrong way now,” Clara said.

  She was grumpy. That much was clear.

  “There’s a wide spot in the road just ahead,” Andrew said. “We’ll get turned around.”

  Clara nodded, expelling breath again. Andrew recognized this tactic. She was trying to regain composure after being upset.

  “We’ll never get there at this rate,” Clara said.

  “Are you in a hurry?”

  “I don’t want to be late for supper. Rhoda—” Clara cut herself off.

  “Rhoda what?”

  “Never mind.” She looked off to one side, her face twisted away from Andrew.

  “You know you can talk to me,” Andrew said.

  “I know.” Her breathing slowed, but she offered no further information.

  Andrew reached the wide spot in the road and slowly tu
rned the rig to head toward the Kuhn farm. He still had a mile and a quarter before the turnoff to their lane, and he didn’t think Clara was in any danger of being late for supper, so he did nothing to speed the horse.

  The unhurried swaying clip-clop seemed to soothe Clara. In his peripheral vision, Andrew saw her shoulders relax. He waited another three minutes.

  “So,” he said, “what happened?”

  “Yonnie,” she said quickly. “Yonnie happened. I just needed a ride, and he wanted to give me a sermon.”

  “And what was his topic?”

  “He doesn’t approve of the Model T.”

  Andrew laughed softly. “What does Yonnie approve of?”

  “Baptismal vows, apparently. Utter submission to church leadership.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “How can you put up with letting him think you’re not as serious about the faith as he is?”

  “We did all promise to live by the teachings of the church,” Andrew said.

  “And the church should live by the teachings of the Bible.” Her retort was swift. “Isn’t that what we hold each other accountable to? When did it become impossible for us to discuss what that might mean?”

  Andrew spoke with deliberate quiet. “This is about more than Yonnie and the car, isn’t it?”

  A sob caught in Clara’s throat, but Andrew heard it.

  “We’re young,” Andrew said. “We will see change.”

  “Do you keep the car because you believe that?” Clara found her voice again. “The church hasn’t said much at all about automobiles, but it may be like the telephone or electric lights. If other districts vote against it, ours will, too.”

  “Mose Beachy has a level head,” Andrew said.

  “Why are you so sure he’ll be the next bishop?”

  “I’m not. Gottes wille. But he is a minister, and I am confident he speaks his mind when he meets with the others.”

  “But if one of Bishop Yoder’s sons gets the lot, you can’t be sure what will happen.”

  “None of us can be sure of anything except that what happens will be God’s will. But God’s will for the congregation may not be God’s will for everyone in the congregation.”

  He met her quizzical expression without further words. They arrived at the end of her lane.

  “Shall I take you up to the house?” Andrew said.

  She shook her head. “I’ll walk.”

  He squeezed her hands as he helped her out of the buggy, wishing he didn’t have to let go.

  Josiah was the most studious child Clara knew. Morning and evening, he leaned forward over his knees, back flat and straight, as if he feared if he sat with his shoulders against the chair he would miss the key word that unfurled the meaning of the Bible passages their father read in somber tones. Though he was a well-trained Amish child, Clara sometimes wondered if her brother—half brother, Rhoda would point out—couldn’t wiggle at least a little and still be within the confines of worshipful manners. On more than one occasion, Josiah voiced his intention to learn to read the German Bible, and Clara had no doubt Josiah would become fluent in High German. Already he was a good reader in the English he learned at school, and Rhoda made sure her son was also learning to read Pennsylvania Dutch.

  Clara’s little sisters were another matter. Mari was too young to judge yet what kind of student she would be, but Hannah’s lithe form embodied enough wiggles for all of Rhoda’s children. It had from the day she mastered rolling onto her back and giggling in triumph at her success. Now, at six, Hannah had mastered sitting still during family devotions, but Clara suspected the intense focus required to accomplish this feat precluded absorbing any spiritual meaning from the words Hiram read.

  The Bible should be more interesting to children.

  Clara realized she was not listening any more than Hannah was. Hiram had never been one to consider what his children would be interested in. Even when Clara was the only other family member to hear his twice-daily readings, Hiram chose passages of interest to his personal Bible study. Clara, and then Rhoda, and the other children, were only listening in. Generally Hiram offered little in the way of explanation, preferring instead to observe a few minutes of quiet reflection.

  Clara knew what went through her mind during these silences when she was a little girl, so imagining what Hannah and Mari were thinking did not require serious effort.

  Like all boys, Josiah might someday be called upon to serve as a minister, or even a bishop, in the congregation. Perhaps this motivated his serious nature. The girls, on the other hand, could be sure they would never stand before a congregation and look into expectant faces awaiting God’s message to come through their words.

  That shouldn’t matter, Clara thought as her father closed the Bible and announced the time of reflection. Were not the girls called to a life of faithfulness just as the boys were? Was it not reasonable that they should learn to love the Bible even as little children? To look forward to its stories and themes and exhortations?

  Sadie loved Bible stories. She treasured them. Resentment burned through Clara in that moment of watching her sisters labor to control their wandering eyes and maintain appropriately dour angles in their faces.

  Maybe Sadie was right. Maybe Clara should visit a Sunday school class in the Maryland congregation.

  Bishop Yoder’s words on Sunday stunned Clara. She moistened her lips and tucked her tongue into one corner of her mouth as she concentrated, forcing herself to listen carefully. Her mind fell back on the tricks she had employed as a schoolgirl and mentally repeated each phrase.

  Streng meidung. Strong shunning.

  “It is my thinking,” Bishop Yoder said, “that the ban and shunning were instituted by Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and His holy apostles. I recognize them as a teaching that shall not be changed by man. Already many have done much to reduce shunning far below the status given it by Jesus and His apostles.”

  The bishop paused and looked intently into the congregation. Clara couldn’t resist looking across the aisle to the men, wishing she could know what Andrew was thinking—or her own father.

  “Jesus’ teaching is more enduring than heaven and earth.” Reinvigorated, Bishop Yoder resumed. “In Matthew chapter eighteen and verse seventeen, we read that Jesus said, ‘Let him be unto thee as an heathen man and a publican.’ How long shall the transgressor be so regarded? Till he comes to the place of which the Son of God spoke to his disciples in Matthew eighteen and three: ‘Verily, I say unto you, except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.’ ”

  Although the room was not overly warm, perspiration seeped out of the pores along Clara’s hairline. Tension thickened the rows of women around her. A couple of small children whimpered, but their mothers made no move to soothe them, instead keeping their eyes fixed on the bishop. This was not a sermon the Lord had laid on the bishop’s heart that morning when he was selected—again—to preach. This was a sermon he had aimed at for months—or years.

  “I believe also,” he said, “that those who have in regular order been placed into the ban should be shunned, even if they join another church, so that they may indeed repent, regret, and sorrow with humble hearts and become reconciled with the church from which he or she left or was separated from. Paul wrote in 2 Thessalonians in the third chapter and the sixth verse, ‘Now we command you, brethren, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that ye withdraw yourselves from every brother that walketh disorderly, and not after the tradition which he received of us.’ ”

  A rustle rose from the congregation, and Clara realized her own movements contributed. Bishop Yoder spoke over the disturbance.

  “If we speak loosely about the ban and shunning, as we have done, we give a testimony that our principles can be violated in this part of Paul’s teaching. But when it is received in the right way before God, so that the transgressor can be brought from death to life, the one who brings the transgressor out of darkness into lig
ht is worthy of honor.”

  Worthy of honor? Martha and Atlee. Fannie and her brothers. Elam and Sadie. Could Bishop Yoder truly be convinced that Clara would find honor in turning her back on her family simply because they had joined another branch of the Amish almost thirty years ago? Could he be serious in his expectation that shunning in this manner would woo any of the Marylanders back to the Old Order?

  Clara’s spirit rebelled. Because the vote in 1895 had been unanimous, even when the truth emerged ten years later that Bishop Yoder had pressed his own feelings upon the congregation, the vote could not easily be reversed.

  And if anyone was inclined to suggest a new vote, Bishop Yoder seemed intent to prevent open discussion.

  Clara swallowed hard.

  Andrew cringed. Bishop Yoder’s sermon sucked the air out of the room. He was asking for trouble in the congregation, and Andrew suspected that this time he was going to get it.

  The bishop held his heavy Bible in front of him at the plain, unvarnished preaching table made of poplar wood. “We must heed the words of Paul in Romans, chapter sixteen, verse seventeen: ‘Mark them which cause divisions and offences contrary to the doctrine which ye have learned; and avoid them.’ This is now our insight on how the ban and shunning should be kept by all true disciples of Christ.”

  The congregation was not likely to tolerate this strict stance set out in such nonnegotiable terms. Who was causing the division now? Andrew mused. Mose Beachy would preach a doctrine of peace. Was that not the doctrine the church had learned forty years earlier when the Maryland and Pennsylvania churches amicably chose slightly different paths to express their shared faith?

  And the differences were slight.

  In the ten years after the peaceable division, families and ministers had realigned gradually with the groups that most closely shared their convictions. Andrew had heard the stories from his own grandparents. The groups had enough in common to build meetinghouses together and continue to share them. When consciences settled, each congregation had ministers and members sufficient to flourish and live harmoniously along the roads that crisscrossed the state border.