The Forbidden (7 page)
Even Chris had struggled to concentrate after last June’s accident. He recalled going through the motions at the nursery, alongside his dad. When the opening for a Wednesday night youth leader had come, he’d gladly accepted.
The Lord knew I needed this class. . . .
Moving away from the window, he scattered extra Bibles on the large, round table before scanning his note cards once more. But his thoughts stubbornly returned to Suzy Fisher’s conversion and sudden death.
To think she might have died in her sins.
He thanked the Lord again for causing their paths to cross, for preparing Suzy’s heart to receive Him. He prayed, too, that somehow Suzy’s death would not be in vain.
The group of boys rushed into the classroom with a bustle of talk. Quickly they took their seats, forming a circle of eight energetic third- and fourth-graders. Chris hurried to sit at the table with them, wanting to be on their level, like an older brother. “You guys ready for the sword drill?” he asked.
There was a sudden flurry as those who hadn’t brought Bibles snatched up the ones in the center of the table. Thumbs poised over the gilded edges, they waited, eyes bright.
“Galatians 6:2,” Chris announced.
“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ,” one boy belted out, not bothering to search for it.
“No fair!” another boy piped up.
“Isn’t this a
sword drill,
not a memory verse drill?” asked Billy Zercher.
Chris looked at Billy in surprise. “You’re right.” He smiled. “Want to pick a Scripture?”
Billy turned shy, eyes blinking. He lowered his head and fell silent.
“Let me!” came the chorus of voices.
Chris glanced at Billy.
I won’t give up on him. And not
on Zach, either . . .
The moment had come.
His countenance absolutely serious, Daed sat Caleb down Wednesday night and began to outline the future, beginning with his expectations for the initial division of farming and dairy responsibilities, next moving on to the eventual land transfer. “Son, I want you to be in charge of everything—plowing, planting, and working the land, overseeing livestock. For a while, of course, you can rely on your older brothers for some help with that, just as I do now.” He ran his thumbs beneath the length of his black suspenders before delving into more detail.
Anxious as he had been for this day to come, Caleb paid mighty close attention.
My birthright, at last!
After a time, Daed leaned back in his chair and seemed to appraise him. Caleb met his father’s gaze, uncomfortable under the unexpected scrutiny.
“Listen, Caleb, I’m proud of you for breakin’ things off with that girl of yours. That is, I assume you have.”
His father’s words filled him with resentment, but he managed to maintain eye contact.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re not attendin’ Singings and whatnot.”
Caleb clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
“Now’s the time to find a befitting wife. Don’t let the grass grow under your feet.” His father added, “A deal’s a deal. I’ll sign the deed over when you’ve found yourself a suitable bride.”
“Suitable?” Nellie Mae was the most suitable bride he could imagine. “Why not Nellie Mae? She hasn’t joined Preacher Manny’s church, Daed. She’s staying Old Order. You’ll see for yourself next fall when we’re both baptized.”
His father grunted. “Way I see it, girls tend to follow their mammas even after marriage. It’s a good thing you’ve let her go.”
Caleb opened his mouth to respond but changed his mind. It certainly wasn’t Nellie’s fault Reuben Fisher had abandoned
das Alt Gebrauch
—the Old Ways—getting caught up in his preacher cousin’s dangerous way of thinking about things like studying Scripture. Why should Caleb have to abandon his affection for Nellie Mae because of his father’s opposition to Reuben’s keen interest in all of that?
Daed continued. “You could marry any number of girls in our church district . . . Deacon Lapp’s daughter, for one.”
“Susannah?”
Daed’s eyes brightened. “She’s a strong one—a hard worker. Mighty pretty, too. Even prettier than the Fisher girl.” Daed pointed his finger at him. “What I’m saying is, I expect you to marry a respectable girl from one of the families in our church. It’s the only way to get your land.” By this his father meant no one would do from among either the “saved by grace” folk or those splintering off further yet. Caleb had heard that several of the so-called tractor enthu-
siasts were already dialing up folk on telephones installed
inside
their houses, no less.
Judging by Daed’s flushed face, now was not the time to press further, risking his ire. No, his father was much too caught up in this split, drawing fine lines for his family about who was and was not fit for association. Caleb had wondered if his sister Rebekah wasn’t given a similar ultimatum. Yesterday he’d overheard quarreling between the usually calm Rebekah and Daed, and Rebekah had burst out crying, saying she was going to visit her best friend, Nan. “And no one will stop me!”
Clearly he wasn’t the only one put out with his father’s bias against the Fishers, though it appeared Rebekah was more headstrong than he.
Or so Daed assumes . . .
Daed didn’t bother to dismiss him but simply rose and ambled out to the utility room. Caleb couldn’t forget this was the same man who had nine years ago railroaded Abe, his older brother, forcing him to marry his pregnant girlfriend. But Caleb’s situation was nothing like that of the too-amorous Abe.
Still, he shuddered to think how swiftly he could be pulled into a ferocious tug-of-war between the inheritance he was raised to and darling Nellie Mae. Fact was, all could be avoided if his father saw for himself that Nellie Mae was wholly faithful to the Old Order. If only Daed would just give it time.
Word spread about the newspaper ad for Nellie’s Simple Sweets like dandelions gone to seed in summer. Betsy’s sister-in-law Anna, the bishop’s wife, took it upon herself at the sewing frolic on Thursday morning to point out that it was “just a sinnin’ shame” for the Fishers to stoop to such a deed. She said it right to Betsy, who was taken aback.
“Well, it’s not Reuben’s or my doing,” Betsy replied.
“Whose, then?”
“I don’t know.” No one in the house even read the daily paper put out by Englischers. The only paper they subscribed to was
The Budget,
a Plain publication from Sugarcreek, Ohio, that chronicled the week’s activities.
“I daresay some folk will do anything for extra money.”
Rachel Stoltzfus put in her two cents as if she hadn’t heard Betsy at all.
“Had nothin’ to do with it, I tell ya.” Betsy turned away, peering down at her sewing. This morning’s group numbered eight other women, including her own daughters-in-law Esther and Fannie—wives to Thomas and Jeremiah.
Always one to offer a kind word, Esther spoke up on her behalf. “Now, why would ya think such a thing of
Mamm
?”
Rachel harrumphed, keeping her head down, her eyes fixed on a torn seam on her husband’s shirt. All of them were mending various items of clothing, gathering for the fun of it as they did several times a year. But today’s frolic was proving not to be much fun for Betsy, and she decided to go about her business, stitching up the hem on her oldest dress, hoping to get another month or two’s wear.
“Ask your mamma if she’s purposely stirring up trouble by bringin’ more English customers into the neighborhood,” Rachel prodded again.
It was daughter-in-law Fannie’s turn to retort. “Listen, Rachel, you can speak directly to Mamma—for goodness’ sake, she’s right there across the table!”
“Jah, and you can’t say yous don’t rely on outsiders for feed and grain and suchlike,” Esther pointed out, momentarily setting her work aside to look at Rachel.
“Feed salesmen ain’t exactly outsiders,” Anna said, reentering the conversation.
“True,” said Betsy, “they’re
Mennischte—
Mennonite.”
“But tractor salesmen, what ’bout them?” Rachel shot back.
Now Betsy was really peeved. “I have nothin’ at all to do with them.”
“Oh, but others here do . . . and you know right who you are, too!” Rachel rose quickly, marching to the back of the house, where a small washroom had been added on, similar to Reuben’s addition on the Fishers’ own house.
Silence reigned while Rachel was absent, though Betsy felt like spouting off but good. She was being sorely tested here in her sister-in-law’s house, but she was holding her peace all the same, just as she had the day Reuben’s mother had lambasted her. Of course, that had been a different matter altogether.
Well, maybe not so different, come to think of it.
All these insinuations from Rachel and even Anna were directly related to the tension between the church groups. Three of them now—Old Order, New Order, and the Beachys. Truth be told, it was rather surprising that the bishop’s wife would have included womenfolk from all three groups at today’s work frolic.
Got to give her some credit for making an effort at unity,
Betsy mused.
She recalled Preacher Manny’s sermon last Sunday on having a brand-new life. Manny had said the Lord would not force His life upon anyone against his or her will. One’s will played a big part in coming or not coming to Calvary’s cross. That, and the divine calling—the inward drawing and wooing, much as in courtship the lover pursued the beloved. Might Anna and the bishop eventually be drawn to salvation? Might Rachel, too? Betsy faithfully prayed so, just as she trusted for others in her community still in bondage to tradition.
Less than one month before changing churches means
certain shunning!
Rosanna wished to goodness Cousin Kate had gone to the sewing frolic instead of staying so long after nursing Eli this morning. That her cousin had entirely given up on nursing Rosie seemed odd, though it was time now for Cousin Kate to be done nursing both babies.
Rosanna’s anticipation had nothing to do with keeping Kate away from the babies. But Kate was not at all herself, and her behavior was setting Rosanna on edge. Was it postpartum blues? Plenty of women suffered during the months following a birth, and she, of all people, wanted to be understanding and compassionate. Even so, it jarred her when Kate completely ignored her gentle question about when she planned to stop nursing Eli.
Rosanna tried again. “Two months have come and gone, cousin. Elias and I have appreciated your help, but I’m sure ya have better things to do with your time than make daily visits here.”
Even after this, Kate seemingly refused to look Rosanna in the eye. Instead she leaned over Eli, stroking the dimpled arm that peeked from beneath his blanket.
“Such a handsome one, he is,” Kate murmured. “So like his father.”
Rosanna shuddered at the comment. How would Kate feel in her place? Leaning hard against the doorframe, she tried to see things from Kate’s perspective—how very difficult this must be, giving her babies away. She couldn’t begin to imagine it.
“Look how his right eyebrow arches ever so slightly,” Kate said, tracing it with her pointer finger.
“I’ve noticed, too.”
Then Kate touched her own eyebrow, as if comparing.
Rosanna had to glance away. She could not abide her cousin’s coming here any longer.
Inching back toward the kitchen, she wondered if Kate was taking any herbs known to help alleviate depression. Maybe she should simply go through her cupboard and offer Kate some blessed thistle or evening primrose oil to brew for tea. She knew, as many of the womenfolk did, that these would not interfere with nursing.
Though I wouldn’t
mind that coming to an end.
Suddenly Kate burst into tears in the next room. “Oh, my precious
Boppli.
” She rose from the rocking chair, waking tiny Eli. Then, wandering to the front room, she carried him over her shoulder, stroking his back while he blinked his little eyes at Rosanna.
Ach, is she having a breakdown? Or does she really have
so little regard for my wishes?
Then and there, Rosanna decided she’d definitely go to the next quilting frolic, or maybe go visiting and take the babies along.
Let Kate come to call and simply not find us here!
Nellie Mae suppressed a squeal of delight when she went to pick up the mail before returning to the shop after the noon meal Thursday. Caleb’s name and return address were printed in the corner of an envelope for all to see.
Another letter so soon . . . how bold of him!
She ran across the snowy yard to the front porch, where she sat, in spite of the cold, to read the letter from her beloved.
Dearest Nellie,
I’ve missed you more than I dare to write. I must
see you again. Let’s meet secretly at our special place.
I will come on foot this Friday following supper.
Hopefully it won’t be too cold for you. Bundle up, all
right?
Counting the hours.
Yours always,
Caleb Yoder
She pressed the letter to her lips. He cared deeply for her—that much was clear. He had again risked being found out with yet another letter. Of course, there was nothing for him to fear
here,
for her parents were not holding an inheritance over her head.
No, Nellie was free to see whomever she wished . . . to marry Caleb, for that matter. Obviously Dat and Mamma wanted her to join them in their beliefs, but they had not expressed any conditions about whom their daughters might marry.
Even so, Nellie worried for Caleb . . . for them. What would he do if his father refused to change his mind and allow him to court her?
Will Caleb love me enough to bid the farm good-bye?
Nellie knew that Caleb’s love for his birthright lay less in the land than in what it meant for his future family. Caleb was not selfish in desiring it. Rather, he showed himself to be prudent and reliable, and for that she loved him all the more. But she could not tell him so before Friday, because she did not dare to write a letter back.