Meek and Mild

by Newport, Olivia

  “I must finish my rounds,” Yonnie said.

  Mose nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  From the barn at midday on Saturday, Clara heard Rhoda instructing the girls just outside the door as they selected the chicken that would be the center of the evening meal. She unlatched the stall where one of the Kuhn milk cows stood. At the end of October, the nights were cool and the days no longer steamy and dripping with humidity, but there was no reason to keep the animals indoors. One cow was already in the pasture, and Clara slipped a rope around a second’s neck and led it out into the daylight. This particular cow had never moved quickly a day in her life. Clara had long ago resigned herself to letting the animal set the pace when they went back and forth between barn and pasture.

  She removed the lead, knowing the cow would immediately begin to nuzzle the ground. Clara draped the rope around a fence post and turned around to see a buggy approaching. The horse was unfamiliar, and she shaded her eyes to more clearly see who was driving.

  An arm waved out one side, and a second later a face leaned out.

  Andrew’s face. Clara walked across the farmyard to greet the visitors. John Stutzman halted the buggy.

  “Feel like an outing?” Andrew asked.

  “What do you have in mind?” Clara said, though she was likely to agree to whatever Andrew suggested.

  John leaned forward to look past Andrew and catch Clara’s eye. “We’re going to see the Schrocks’ new farm. Then we could stop at your cousin’s, if you like.”

  “I would love to,” Clara said.

  Andrew dropped off the bench to properly assist Clara into the buggy.

  “Do you need to let someone know you’re leaving?” John glanced toward the house.

  “Will I be home for supper?” Clara said. Rhoda and the girls had retreated into the house with the unlucky hen.

  “Long before, I would imagine.”

  “Then no need.” Clara settled between John and Andrew.

  John took the horse at an enthusiastic clip. Clara watched the landmarks of the familiar route go past—the half-painted barn, the oak tree split by lightning years ago, the trim English flower garden that always made her wish she could wander in and lean over to smell the fragrance of every kind of flower in sight.

  Another buggy came toward them.

  “That’s Noah Yoder’s rig,” Andrew said. “The horse’s tail gives him away.”

  “We’ll wave and go on by,” John said.

  But Noah gradually moved his buggy toward the center of the road, making it impossible to go past unimpeded.

  “Good afternoon.” Joseph Yoder sat beside his brother.

  “Good afternoon,” John said.

  “Nice day for a drive.” Joseph eyed the trio.

  “That it is,” Andrew said.

  Clara intended to say nothing.

  “Heading south, I see,” Noah said.

  “That’s right,” John said.

  “Be careful your horse doesn’t step in the pothole about a quarter of a mile down.”

  “Danki.”

  “Are you visiting one of the Old Order families in Maryland?” Joseph said.

  Clara moistened her lips.

  “Friends,” Andrew said. There was no untruth in the response.

  Joseph settled his gaze on Andrew for a long silence.

  “May God bless your day,” John said. “If you might take your horse to the side, we’ll be on our way.”

  Noah made no move to signal the horse. “Perhaps we could add our greetings to the ones you carry,” he said. “May I ask which friends you are visiting?”

  “We will be sure to let them know you said hello.” John eyed the road. Clara could see him calculating whether there was enough room to bypass the Yoder buggy after all.

  Still Noah held the center of the road. Only when John’s buggy came within inches of Noah’s horse, causing the animal to snort and try to back up, did Noah lift the reins. John navigated past and let his mare have her head for a few yards.

  Clara gripped the bench with both hands. “Surely it has not come to this.”

  Andrew’s jaw set. “Don’t let them bother you.”

  “It’s as if they think themselves the English police trying to catch a criminal,” Clara said. “We are not criminals. We should tell Mose.”

  “Tell him what?” John said. “That the Yoders greeted us in the road to remark that it was a nice day and warn us of a pothole?”

  “They did more than that,” Clara said.

  “They said nothing objectionable.”

  “My objection is not to their words.”

  Andrew covered her hand with his. “Don’t let it spoil the day.”

  “I hear the Schrocks have more tillable acres on their new farm,” John said.

  “And it’s closer to the river,” Andrew said.

  Clara saw what they meant to do. They could make cheerful distracting comments for the next five miles and it would not change the fact that the Yoders thought themselves superior. Did they disagree with God’s choice of Mose Beachy for bishop? Maybe the Schrocks were right to join the Marylanders and even to move away from their former district.

  Andrew squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

  Eventually John slowed, looking for a road. “Does this seem right?”

  Andrew craned his neck from side to side. “Three oaks on the corner. That’s what he said.”

  They took the turn and traveled another quiet mile. When the farm came into view, Clara smiled. It was a beautiful setting, the house painted white and trimmed in dark green with a bright red barn and a rolling front yard. The Schrock children chased each other through the grass, their gleeful shrieks ringing across the farm.

  Priscilla stopped and watched the buggy lumber toward the house. Finally a smile of recognition cracked her face, and Clara could not help but grin back.

  Fannie had not withdrawn to the darkness of sleep for two days. She doubted anyone could understand the triumph, so she kept her self-congratulations silent. Melancholy was not wholly unfamiliar. Fannie had read about the subject and had known a person or two she might have described as having the melancholy, but she never expected to see its drab gray walls from the inside of her own mind or to watch the hands creep around the clock until it was legitimately time to bring the bedding up to her neck and sink into black release.

  Elam was in the brightest mood Fannie had observed in months. His harvest was in. Neither insects nor weather had caused great harm this season, and the price the broker quoted would carry them nicely through the winter and into the spring planting.

  Fannie, too, had reason to feel grateful. The family’s vegetable garden had nurtured them well through the summer and fall, with bounty enough also for canning and stocking the cellar. Though Fannie didn’t actually feel grateful, at least she recognized that God had provided for the household, and perhaps with enough time she would be able to express thanks.

  Sitting outside in the weakened autumn sunshine, she watched Elam playing with Sadie. They balanced open cans along the top of the fence and tossed pebbles. Neither of them managed to get many into the cans, but the sound of their laughter in the effort occasionally brought a feeble smile to Fannie’s lips.

  When the buggy rolled onto their property, Fannie folded her arms across her abdomen. She was unprepared for her mother to return so soon. Fannie had promised to go to supper at her parents’ house on the Sabbath, a visit that required Fannie to dig deep in her spirit’s soil for strength. The digging was not finished.

  But it was not her mother, Fannie realized. The horse was a strange one, as were the two men who emerged on either side of Clara.

  Clara. They had very nearly quarreled the last time Clara was here. Fannie had been uncertain she would want to return. Six weeks had passed with only the skimpiest letters from her cousin. Tepid relief eased out on Fannie’s breath. Elam paused the rock-throwing game, and Sadie hurtled herself into Clara’s arms. Fannie rose
and walked toward them.

  “This is Andrew Raber,” Clara said.

  Ah. This was Andrew. On Clara’s last visit he had dropped her off and picked her up out on the main road. One corner of Fannie’s lips turned up. “Welcome,” she said.

  Andrew and Elam shook hands.

  “And this is our friend John Stutzman,” Clara said.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Fannie said.

  “We were visiting our friends, the Schrocks,” Clara said. “They recently moved to a farm a few miles south of here.”

  “It’s lovely to have you here.” Fannie very nearly believed her words. “Please come in and let me offer you some refreshment.”

  “Strudel?” Sadie slid out of Clara’s arms.

  Fannie nodded. “We have strudel, of course.”

  She took her daughter’s hand and they led the entourage up to the house. Behind her, the three men fell easily into a conversation about crops and harvests, the topic on every farmer’s mind at this time of year.

  “Are you sure it’s all right that you came?” Fannie said to Clara once Sadie scampered ahead of them.

  “I won’t ever not come,” Clara answered. “I know it’s been a few weeks, but I will always come.”

  Fannie sucked in her lips to suppress the sob that lived in her throat these days.

  They gathered at the dining room table, with berry strudel, coffee, and apple slices. Sadie guzzled a glass of milk with her pastry before losing interest in the adult conversation and going to look for the dog. Fannie listened carefully to Clara’s account of her former neighbors’ decision to move to the Maryland side of the border.

  “Have you always been Marylanders?” John asked.

  Elam nodded. “Our families embraced the new music and Sunday school long ago.”

  John glanced around. “Your home looks no different from any in the Old Order district.”

  “We are Amish,” Elam said simply.

  “I hear some of your people own cars.”

  “This is true,” Elam said, “though of course an automobile is expensive, and we rarely go farther than a horse can easily take us.”

  “I have seven children,” John said. “I have a feeling they would enjoy a Sunday school class.”

  “You should visit sometime,” Fannie said.

  “My wife and I seem to discuss that idea every time we drive past the Mennonite church in Springs, where we do our shopping. We’re becoming more serious about it, I think.”

  Fannie watched Clara, whose glance had snapped up sharply at John’s admission.

  “We had a good visit with the Schrocks this afternoon,” John said. “I’m sure my wife will be interested to hear how they are settling in. I don’t think we would sell our farm, as the Schrocks did, but what is there to keep us from visiting to see if the Marylanders might be where God leads us?”

  Clara’s coffee cup rattled on the way from her lips to the saucer. Andrew’s arm twitched, and Fannie realized he was resisting the urge to reach out to Clara. She hoped Andrew and Clara were listening carefully to their friend. It was only a matter of time before John Stutzman would turn up in one of the Marylander meetinghouses with his wife and seven children.

  First the Schrocks.

  Then the Stutzmans.

  What was there to hold back Andrew and Clara?

  Hope flickered within Fannie.

  After church the next day, Clara pivoted at the sound of her name. Wanda paced through the narrow aisle formed by two tables. Clara could not help but notice how large Wanda was now. Each time Clara saw Wanda, relief oozed through her that her friend and her child were still well. The worry would not fully abate until news came that Wanda was safely delivered.

  “I heard the bishop is looking for you,” Wanda said.

  “The bishop? Why would he be asking for me?” Clara set down the pitcher of water she had been pouring from.

  “I think he’s in the anteroom.”

  Clara smoothed her skirts. “Then I’ll go find him.”

  She threaded her way between tables and benches to the front of the Flag Run Meetinghouse. Bishop Beachy had preached wonderfully that morning—finally. Whenever Clara heard one of his sermons, which she hoped would become less rare, encouragement gushed into her like refreshing spring water. So many people ignored the ban, but she hoped to see it lifted. Beyond that, it seemed to her that Mose found uplifting themes in the New Testament that made her feel that God was eager to work in her life.

  Still, she had no idea why Mose Beachy would summon her on a Sunday morning. She knocked softly on the door. Someone on the other side turned the knob and opened the door.

  She stared into the eyes of Noah Yoder.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got a message that the bishop asked to see me.”

  “Yes, he does. Please come in.” Noah stepped aside.

  Clara crossed the threshold. The dim room with sparse but heavy furniture gradually came into focus. Behind a table sat Bishop Yoder. To one side of him was his son Joseph. In straight-back chairs facing the table were Andrew and John with an empty chair between them.

  “Please be seated.” Noah gestured to the vacant seat and then sat on the other side of his father.

  “I don’t understand,” Clara muttered.

  “Just sit down.” Noah’s voice was a razor.

  Clara looked at Andrew, who nodded slightly, and took her place.

  “Are you well, Bishop?” she said. Clara had not noticed Bishop Yoder’s presence during the worship service. Perhaps her habit of sitting in the rear was catching up with her—or perhaps he had not been present. Surely she would have noticed him enter with the men, and surely conversation would have buzzed with the news of his recovery if others had seen him.

  “My father is much improved,” Joseph said. “Thank you for your kind inquiry.”

  Clara’s stomach clenched, and she was glad she had not yet eaten her meal.

  “Will Bishop Beachy be joining us?” she asked.

  “I don’t believe we need to trouble him with this,” Noah said. “We can speak to you in our authority as ministers.”

  What was this? Clara could only assume the Yoders had assembled this meeting because of yesterday’s encounter on the road. She wished she could reach for Andrew’s hand.

  “I’m sure you all realize why you’re here,” Joseph said.

  Andrew bit back his response, determined to remain nonchalant for Clara’s sake if nothing else.

  “Clara,” Joseph said, “it is well known that you visit your mother’s family even though they no longer belong to the Old Order.”

  “I don’t deny it,” Clara said. “They left the Old Order before I was born.”

  Bishop Yoder shuffled his feet under the table. “You must stop. They are under the ban.”

  Until that moment, Andrew had not been certain Bishop Yoder would speak at all, supposing his presence was merely a ruse so his sons could mislead him and the others with a message that the bishop was asking for them. But the bishop did seem much recovered. His eyes were clear and his gaze focused when he spoke. Beside Andrew, Clara crossed her ankles.

  “Andrew,” Joseph said, “it is my understanding that you have no family connections in the Maryland district. Is this correct?”

  “Yes, it is,” Andrew said.

  “And you, John?” Joseph said.

  “My family are all Old Order,” John said.

  Andrew did not have to look at John to know he was meeting Joseph’s gaze.

  “The lack of relatives erases any doubt about whether you can both obey the meidung and visit members of the Conservative Amish Mennonites. You cannot serve both God and mammon.”

  “You must stop,” Bishop Yoder said. “They are under the ban.”

  “Andrew, do you deny that you visited Marylanders with whom you have no family connection?”

  “No,” Andrew said.

  “And you, John? Do you deny this?”

  “No.” />
  “Then you are confessing your sin to us. As ministers we believe you must stand before the congregation and confess your transgression. Clara, you will confess the sin of leading your fellow church members astray.”

  Andrew no longer resisted the urge to turn his head toward Clara, who was pale, and John, who was red in the face.

  “With all due respect,” John said, “I will do no such thing. Neither will I accept your false accusations of Clara.”

  “The lot fell to Mose Beachy,” Andrew said. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

  “The lot fell to him to be bishop,” Noah said. “God selected us as ministers and we will serve. Sometimes our duty is unpleasant.”

  Andrew doubted the Yoders felt any unpleasantness in their demand. “You must stop,” Bishop Yoder said again. “The Marylanders are all under the ban.”

  Andrew narrowed his eyes at Joseph. “Are you sure your father has recovered?”

  John stood. “You know that most of the congregation believes the ban on the Marylanders should be set aside.”

  “But it has not been set aside,” Noah said. “Perhaps your confessions will help others to take it more seriously for the sake of the entire church.”

  “You cannot single us out simply because you happened to meet us on a road driving south,” John said.

  “If you will not submit to the discipline of the church,” Joseph said, “we will have to place you under the ban as well.”

  “Will you place two-thirds of the congregation under meidung?” Andrew stood now as well, taking Clara’s hand and pulling her to her feet with him.

  John took a step toward the door. “The congregation will not tolerate it.”

  Clara’s eyes were wide and her lips pressed together, but she did not tremble, not with Andrew’s hand wrapped around hers.

  The door opened, and Mose Beachy stepped in—all three hundred pounds of him—and looked around the room.

  “I was not aware there was a meeting of the ministers,” he said. He closed the door behind him.

  Clara breathed relief. Mose’s large form shifted the balance in the room the way leaning to one side in a boat on the river threatened a capsizing.