The Tinderbox Page 19
“I won’t go with swollen eyes.” Sylvia covered her wet face with her hands.
“Well, if ya change your mind, your father is willing to give you a ride.”
Sylvia shook her head. “Not tonight . . . I just can’t.”
“I told him it’ll take some time.” Mamma sighed and went to stand in the doorway. “For all of us.”
Sylvia worried what the Bann would do to her father’s good name, temporary though the excommunication was to be.
Something had been bothering her about the deacon’s visit last week. She hadn’t said anything to her parents, but now that she and Mamma were alone, she asked, “How did the deacon know to come over here last Saturday?”
“Well, your father was seen visiting his Mennonite uncle quite often while in Maryland.”
Frowning, Sylvia shook her head. “But he’s Dat’s kin.”
“True, but your father was getting spiritual advice from a retired minister outside the confines of the People,” Mamma said, looking more worried than Sylvia would have predicted. “Word of those visits got back to the Hickory Hollow brethren.”
“So one of the other men must’ve reported it,” Sylvia said, thinking aloud. But who?
Mamma nodded, then quietly excused herself to return to the kitchen. And Sylvia could hardly wait to get outside for an especially long walk.
CHAPTER
Twenty-Nine
The neighbors’ cows were grazing in the far meadow as Sylvia left the house. Mamma had encouraged her to splash cold water on her face before stepping out. She doesn’t expect me to go to Singing, Sylvia thought gratefully while walking toward Hickory Lane carrying Connie Kauffman’s wind-up clock in her canvas shoulder bag.
Sylvia took her time, knowing the road would be rather empty, at least of buggy traffic, since most folks who’d gone to church were settled in for the evening. And die Youngie were already sitting at the tables, getting ready to sing.
Dat’s putting on a good front, but he’s really wrestling with all of this, she thought, remembering how frightfully serious he’d looked this afternoon during the family meeting.
Sylvia tried, but it was hard to put herself in her mother’s shoes. In fact, it was impossible. She’s got to be concerned Dat won’t get through the Bann, Sylvia thought. Surely during the days of his Proving, her father had never imagined that the refuge he thought he’d found here could possibly shut him out.
Turning onto West Cattail Road, Sylvia walked along the dirt shoulder, listening to the throaty bullfrogs near a small pond up yonder. Within a couple of hours or so, the meadowlands would be filled with hundreds of twinkling lightning bugs. She passed a cluster of honeysuckle bushes and was tempted to do what Dat had taught her as a little girl—what his grandpa Zimmerman taught him—to pull out the stamen and lick the tiny drop of syrupy nectar at its end. This melancholy evening, however, it was enough to simply take in the familiar scent.
“Not sure where Sylvie went off to,” Rhoda told Earnest when he asked.
They found themselves alone in the kitchen, the boys having gone to the stable after supper.
“Sylvie must be taking Connie Kauffman’s alarm clock back to her,” Earnest said, leaning on the counter. “But she seemed upset.”
Rhoda nodded, not wanting to add more to her husband’s burdens. Now that they weren’t supposed to sit at the same table for six weeks, Earnest had eaten out on the back porch during supper while Rhoda sat with the boys indoors . . . Sylvia brooding upstairs in her room.
Toward the end of the supper hour, Deacon Luke had dropped by to talk with Earnest, joining him on the porch to offer some spiritual encouragement at the outset of his temporary excommunication, or so Earnest had shared with Rhoda.
“What do you think will happen between our daughter and Titus?” Earnest asked. “Will she find out that Titus reported me to the brethren?”
Rhoda shrugged. “Hard to say. It’s all too much to carry.” She glanced toward the window. “I’ve had to give it up to God.”
“Well, evidently Preacher Kauffman hasn’t decided if he’ll tell Titus that I was married before coming to Hickory Hollow. But certainly not his younger children.”
Rhoda turned her head to look at her husband. “He hasn’t decided?” She felt sick at the realization. “That means he might?”
Earnest nodded. “Jah, Deacon mentioned it today when he dropped by.” He opened the clear glass cookie jar, reached in for a snickerdoodle, and took a bite. “It remains to be seen if Amos Kauffman breaks the rules of the Ordnung and reveals the reasons for my excommunication.”
Rhoda pondered that while wringing out the washrag and going over to wipe down the front of the gas-run fridge. She knew plenty of folk who gossiped and were never found out by the ministers. But Amos was a minister, of all things! “We’ll have to hope and pray that nothin’ deters Titus and Sylvia.”
“Jah, more pray than hope, I’m thinking,” Earnest said, looking concerned, then glancing at his cookie. “Did Sylvie bake these?”
Rhoda smiled wryly. “She’ll certainly be a bride who knows her way round a kitchen.”
Earnest’s smile waned as he went to sit alone at the table.
Rhoda opened the cookie jar and took out a second snickerdoodle for him. “I know ya want another one.” She went over and set it down in front of him, then sat on a chair some distance from the table, noticing how drained Earnest looked. “You’ve been getting up even earlier than usual. Can’t ya sleep durin’ the wee hours?”
“My inner alarm clock has been waking me up,” he said. “And I’ve been working to replenish my clock inventory, looking ahead to the autumn tourist season in a few months.” He finished off his cookie.
“But how can ya have enough energy for the day with just a few hours’ sleep?” Rhoda asked. “Not that I’m tryin’ to discourage ya from your work.”
He chuckled, eyes softening. “I’m surprised you brought this up.” He drew in a deep breath. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure we would ever talk this freely again.”
I wasn’t sure, either, she thought, uncertain how to respond. So she mentioned the children. “Well, our family does need our constant love and care right now.”
Earnest leaned his elbows on the table. “Speaking of family, I wouldn’t have thought I’d have to be concerned about Adam,” Earnest said. “But after today, I’m not so sure.”
Rhoda nodded. “He did take it very hard.” They all did, but Adam seemed to be the most affected, she thought.
They talked further about how needed the ministers’ visits and prayers were going to be during the weeks ahead. “Really, though, it falls to me to bring the children along,” Earnest said quietly with a glance toward the screen door. “If they can ever trust me again.”
Rhoda studied him, believing that what she was hearing and seeing was an indication that he hadn’t hardened his heart but was willing to work to heal the wounds he’d caused. But she and Earnest still had a lot to overcome.
Lost in thought, Sylvia turned toward Preacher Kauffman’s lane. She picked up her stride, then going around to the back door, she knocked and saw Connie coming to greet her.
“As promised, here’s your clock,” Sylvia said, removing it from her shoulder bag.
“Denki, Sylvie . . . ever so much!” With a giggle, Connie pressed the clock against her cheek. “Come in and have some goodies.”
Thanking her, Sylvia said she needed to get home. “Enjoy your clock. My father says there’s no charge.”
“Really?”
Sylvia nodded. “It didn’t take him long at all.”
“Well, tell him I appreciate it, okay?” Connie was all aflutter.
“I will.” Sylvia said good-bye and made her way out to the lane and down to the road.
She breathed in the air this early evening, grateful for this chance to walk and delighted to see Connie’s happy response to the clock. My little sister-in-law-to-be, Sylvia thought, walking more briskly now.
I’m torn betwixt and between, she thought, especially when it came to her father’s Bann, which Dat had told the family about that afternoon. And while she hadn’t been permitted to attend the membership meeting, her heart had been quite present all the same. Of that she was ever so sure.
She had walked a short distance when she saw an enclosed carriage coming this way. The horse was moving faster than a trot, and its speed brought the carriage close to her in no time at all. She wondered if someone was sick or late getting home, but she couldn’t make out who was inside as the horse and buggy sped by.
She thought of her brother’s angry response earlier, leaving the front room in a huff. We all have knee-jerk reactions. She wouldn’t soon forget how upsetting it had been to discover the pocket watch and its inscription. I’ve had more time than my brothers to mull all of this, she thought, still wishing Dat would have gotten rid of the watch years ago.
CHAPTER
Thirty
Earnest made a point of going out to the stable and talking with Adam, but his son was obviously in a bad way.
“We work together with the livestock every day,” Adam said, his voice cracking. “We talk ’bout different types of feed, shoeing horses, and goin’ to farm auctions. Sometimes, you’ve talked a little ’bout what it was like to be fancy, but never once have ya said you were married before Mamma.” His eyes glittered accusingly.
Adam had never spoken up to Earnest like this, but he couldn’t fault him. His son was visibly smarting after learning the truth. “Listen, Adam, I don’t expect you or anyone to excuse me for concealing my past. I was wrong; that’s all there is to it.”
“Well, it ain’t settin’ right with me,” Adam said, his shoulders rising sharply, then falling. He flicked a piece of straw out of his thick hair. “And I don’t wanna hold a grudge, Dat, but is there anything else ya haven’t told us?”
Earnest shook his head. “I’ve tried to walk in your shoes, wondering how I’d feel if I were your age.” He glanced toward the meadow. “Just know I love you . . . and I’m workin’ closely with the ministers to reconcile myself.”
Adam’s eyes searched his, then looking down, he murmured, “You can’t know how I feel, Dat.”
Earnest watched him exit the stable, and there in the stillness of the evening, Earnest looked back at the house. The golden glow of gaslight lit the kitchen and Sylvia’s room—Rhoda must have lit a lamp for her, awaiting her return.
Such hardship my family’s going through, and all because of me, he thought, dismayed at the heat of Adam’s anger . . . worse than Earnest had ever feared.
Rhoda showered downstairs and got ready for bed, Earnest having already gone up to their room. She removed all the pins from her Kapp and took down her hair bun, brushing her hair briskly on all sides. That done, she washed her face in front of the mirror in the small bathroom.
Going out to sit on the back porch in her bathrobe, she stared at the sky, watching the stars appear one by one as the sky grew darker. She offered a prayer for her daughter, wishing she would arrive home soon, hoping to talk to her before bedtime.
Rhoda had become accustomed to their close mother-daughter relationship, something she had often wished for. And now, in the midst of her sadness over Earnest’s past, she was finding unexpected comfort in Sylvia’s loving care.
She made her way back to the kitchen and sat at the table drinking the rest of the milk in her glass. She ate one more cookie, deciding not to wait for Sylvia to return. Maybe she’s out in the stable grooming Lily, she thought.
At last, Rhoda climbed the stairs and quietly opened the bedroom door, where she saw Earnest asleep in bed, having left the small lantern on. At the sight, she felt both torn and relieved. This lack of intimacy was what she required now, yet she would do what she could to ease his pain. Earnest is at his lowest, but I can’t help feeling distant, she thought. And she could not see into a future when she could open her heart again as a wife to him.
Sylvia stayed up late reading, and when she was ready for bed, she put out the gas lamp in her room and flung back the bed quilt. Recalling her conversation with Mamma, she was in no mood to read the Good Book, nor did she kneel to pray, not even saying her silent rote prayers when she was lying on the flat of her back, staring at the shadows on the far wall. So much had happened today, starting with having to exit the temporary House of Worship, knowing what Dat was about to face. She pressed her lips together, wondering who had told on Dat’s doings down in Maryland.
Over the next few days, Sylvia noticed multiple visits from the bishop and deacon, but none yet from Titus’s father, Preacher Kauffman. None of the farmers who were close friends with her father had dropped by yet, either, and neither had any of the Riehl uncles. For the most part, it seemed that the menfolk had not taken to heart the bishop’s request to encourage Dat in the faith during his shunning.
But she was committed to doing her part by praying for him, just as the ministers and others surely were. The hardest part, at least for her, was eating with Mamma and the boys at the table inside while Dat sat alone on the back porch or took his food out to his shop. After the first meals, it began to take its toll, not only on Dat, but on all of them. Most times, they sat and ate silently from the pretty new anniversary plates, Ernie and Adam wolfing down their food to finish quickly and get on their way to chores. It was not only strange to see Dat’s empty chair at the head of the table, but downright sad.
Friday, June nineteenth, after purchasing fresh eggs from Aendi Ruthann, Sylvia returned home to find her mother sweeping the front porch. She couldn’t help noticing how drawn Mamma’s face looked, yet somehow she managed to keep up with her chores, the daily routine she always followed.
A fresh breeze blew across the yard and dipped down toward the driveway as Sylvia carried the wicker basket filled with the newly gathered eggs. Inside, she placed them in the fridge and poured some meadow tea, feeling very thirsty.
She noticed the crispy squares Mamma had made while she was gone to get eggs and visit with Cousins Alma and Jessie. Her mouth watered—she knew the ingredients by heart, a delicious mix of peanut butter, rice cereal, chocolate and butterscotch chips. Mamma’s determined to keep the family well fed.
Going upstairs to her room, Sylvia sat at her small writing desk, staring at her pretty box of stationery, wondering if she ought to write to Titus. After all, it had been nearly two weeks since the Saturday Deacon Peachey had come so unexpectedly. Surely by now Titus had heard something of Dat’s temporary Bann, she thought, glancing out the open window and wondering if she ought to be worried at Titus’s lack of communication. “Did he miss seein’ me at the last Singing?” she murmured, guessing they wouldn’t be going out tomorrow evening for their Saturday date, after all. “Did Connie tell him I dropped by with her little clock?” she whispered.
She heard the mail truck before she actually saw it, and wanting to help Mamma out, she hurried downstairs and down the driveway to the mailbox near the road. To be expected, a batch of letters had arrived for Mamma—she was so faithful with her circle letters and whatnot. But Sylvia also saw a letter with Titus’s handwriting and smiled, eager to read it.
“I’ll put your mail on the kitchen counter,” she called to Mamma, who’d moved to sweeping the walkway between the front porch and the driveway.
“Denki!” Mamma bobbed her head and kept sweeping.
The minute Sylvia put the mail inside, she took her letter and hurried outside and over to the field lanes, barefoot and heading for a little stream in the back of the meadow. There, she waded up to her knees, enjoying the coolness, with Titus’s letter safely tucked in her dress pocket. It was as though she needed to calm herself before reading it, and she honestly didn’t know why. But something was downright odd about its arrival tod
ay. Unless Titus does plan to take me out tomorrow evening.
She sighed, not wanting to be a worrywart, but with everything going on related to Dat’s Bann, she hardly knew what to think. Surely Titus had something to say about all of this.
She stepped gingerly over the stones and up the grassy bank to the shade tree nearby. There, she sat down, pulled out the letter, and began to read.
Dear Sylvie,
How are you? It’s been a while since we talked, and I missed seeing you at the last Singing. But I guessed you needed some time to yourself.
I really wish I could see you this Saturday, but I can’t get away for our usual date. There’s so much to do here at the farm, but I’ll see you at the next Singing for certain. Okay?
Also, thanks for returning Connie’s little clock. She is a happy girl to be sure.
With love,
Titus
He seems cheerful and upbeat, just like he was the last time I saw him, she thought, scanning the letter again. But to think that he was canceling their date this late in the week, something he’d never done before.
Her thoughts flew back to when he’d said they must always be honest with each other, and she couldn’t help wondering if he was being entirely honest with her now. Was he really too busy to spend time with her tomorrow?
It had been such a long time since she’d seen him, but since then, her suspicions had only grown stronger.
“Ach, I’ll see him at Singing, like he said,” she whispered, refolding the letter and lying back in the deep grass, listening to the gurgling stream, tempted to wade in it again and simply skip suppertime. It was still so upsetting to eat inside the house while Dat ate alone on the porch. And, she thought, if it bothered her this much, what was it doing to her father?
Rhoda was alone in the kitchen the following Thursday morning. Sylvia had scurried off to Mamie Zook’s to help make blueberry pies for an upcoming fundraiser to offset the cost of repairs to the one-room schoolhouse.