River of Mercy, page 18
Now that Gideon was older, he appreciated his own father more than ever. His dat had been stern at times and expected hard work and right behavior from his children, but Gideon couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been frightened or cowed by Amos Kanagy. His father had always seemed comfortable in showing his love for his family.
When he realized that his mind had wandered away from the conversation, he tugged his thoughts back to what the others were saying.
“He actually told them they couldn’t get married this month, like they’d planned?” Reuben questioned.
“Who’s that?” Gideon broke in.
“Miriam Zook and Mervin Fisher,” Reuben supplied. “Seems Beiler heard they were seeing each other too often and disciplined them. He made them postpone their wedding.”
“Made them?” Gideon asked.
Solomon gave a shrug. “The bishop has the say-so about weddings.”
“Sounds as though the new bishop has a say-so about everything,” Gideon put in.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Solomon said. “He’s even putting restrictions on how often a husband and his wife can…” he stopped, his face flaming. “You know.”
“What?” Gideon burst out. “Since when does a bishop have the right to interfere in the People’s marital matters? That’s never happened before!”
Reuben, usually a respectful and reserved type, grated out, “Bishop Beiler seems to think he has the right to interfere in whatever he wants.” He shook his head, brushing away a shock of dark hair that fell over his forehead, and added, “The people are getting mighty upset with him.”
“Rightly so, it would seem,” said Gideon.
“He ordered Thomas Schrock to close down his blacksmith shop,” Solomon said. “Told him he needed to spend all his time farming. And Thomas started smithing in the first place because he couldn’t make a living with just his small acreage, what with his big family and all. Dat said Thomas is worried sick about finances now. The People will help him, of course, but Thomas won’t like being beholden to the community.”
Anger surged in Gideon. He got to his feet and began to pace. “This just isn’t right! Somebody needs to do something.”
“Like what?” said Reuben. “Beiler is the bishop.”
“He’s sure not acting like any bishop I ever heard tell of, ” Gideon shot back. “He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this.”
“Nobody can stop him,” Solomon pointed out. “He has all the control.”
“Bishop Graber would never have behaved like this,” Gideon said. “No bishop ought to have this kind of power.”
“It’s getting kind of scary,” Reuben said quietly. “People are beginning to wonder what’s going to come next.”
“Well, he’s already set down a new rule about Christmas,” Solomon said, his expression sullen.
Gideon stopped pacing and turned to look at him.
“No gifts are to be exchanged. Nothing. No homemade presents, not even food—nothing at all. Not among family members or friends. Not even for the children.”
“But Bishop Graber always let us exchange gifts, so long as they were homemade and not elaborate,” Gideon put in.
“The new bishop has reversed that,” Solomon said, his tone sour.
Gideon shook his head. “This is so wrong.”
Reuben had been quiet for some time but now spoke up. “You think maybe it would do any good for Aaron to talk to him? Maybe if Samuel realized that he’s stirring up resentment among the People, he’d ease up a little.”
Solomon shot him a wide-eyed look. “Are you serious? Aaron would never dare to disagree with his father! He’s afraid of him.”
“Aaron’s a grown man,” Gideon reminded the others. “He has no call to be afraid of his own dat.”
“Maybe not, but it’s no secret he and Noah do whatever they can to keep him off their backs.”
They stayed silent for the next minute or two, each obviously thinking his own thoughts. Reuben finally broke the silence again. “What about your sister, Gideon? Could she maybe speak to him…to the bishop?”
Gideon, now standing at the window, turned. “Rachel? Why would she talk to Beiler?”
Reuben and Solomon exchanged glances. “Well, rumor has it that they might have…an understanding,” Reuben said.
Gideon tensed. “That’s not true,” he said, his tone rough.
“You sure?” Solomon seemed to form the words carefully, but his gaze was intent. “There’s been talk for a long time that the bishop means to marry her.”
“I’m about as sure as I can be of anything that Rachel has no intention of marrying Samuel Beiler,” Gideon said, not even trying to hide his irritation. “And that’s all I have to say about my sister.”
The other two nodded and glanced away.
Gideon felt close to going into a sulk. It made his blood boil to think of people talking in such a way about Rachel. The idea of her name even being mentioned in the same breath as Samuel Beiler’s was insulting.
They spent the rest of the evening talking about inconsequential things, and Gideon soon lost interest. The sense of good fellowship and contentment he’d enjoyed earlier had been mostly spoiled by the revelations of Beiler’s behavior and particularly by the thought of him being linked with Rachel.
He was almost relieved when his friends left so he could be by himself to think through the unpleasant and worrisome accounts that still continued to nag him after he went to bed. During a long and restless night, he increasingly felt a need to talk to somebody about the things he’d heard tonight, someone who could be trusted not to go ratting to the bishop. But who?
Besides, what good would it do? It wasn’t as if anyone could change the way things were, after all. Whatever a bishop decreed was final.
This would have to start up just when he was actually considering going back home and living Amish again. He’d been thinking about it for quite a while, in part because of his feelings for Emma, but also because the Englisch life was losing its appeal for him. The main thing keeping him away from the Plain community now was his job. He purely enjoyed working in the carpentry shop for Captain Gant. Farming was all right, and he didn’t mind the hard work, at least part-time. But he’d much rather work in the shop—work with the wood itself, make deliveries, and be a carpenter instead of a farmer. He’d learned a lot from the captain and wanted to continue to learn while working on the job and gaining more experience. He had earlier wondered if Bishop Graber would approve his working in the shop. And now that he would need Samuel Beiler’s approval, he knew it was even less likely that he’d be allowed to continue as Gant’s apprentice.
Reuben was right. This was getting kind of scary.
Still, as futile as the effort might be, he wished he could hash all this out with someone he trusted. Someone wise who understood the People’s ways but who didn’t necessarily believe everything that the bishop ordered was sacred and untouchable.
It occurred to him that that someone just might be Doc. With that thought and an extended time of mulling it over, he finally found enough peace to drift off to sleep.
31
A SECRET MEETING
When men meet with a mission, let truth be in their midst.
ANONYMOUS
Christmas came quietly in the Riverhaven Amish community and passed without leaving much of an imprint.
To an observer watching from the outside, the holy days of the winter season looked almost like any other days, common and ordinary with nothing to mark them as special.
For many of the Plain People, it was a bittersweet time, although still a special time of reverence, for remembering and rejoicing in the Savior’s birth. This year, however, rather than being a day of great brightness and high cheer, it was a time when some, especially the children, wondered why it had to be spent without the usual scent of evergreen in the house or the annual small gifts of love and friendship so carefully handcrafted and exchanged between family members and friends.
This was a quiet and carefully scripted Christmas, one to tread through softly rather than dance through joyfully.
As the old year faded into the new, David Sebastian kept his concerns regarding Samuel Beiler to himself. He longed to discuss the matter with Susan, but she was burdened with her own worries about the new bishop’s flagrant bullying of the People. Besides, he had come to realize by now that Amish men simply didn’t discuss matters of church leadership with their wives, and although it went against the relationship he had with Susan, in this particular case he felt obligated to maintain his silence.
He was reluctant to add to her troubled state of mind by letting her know just how serious the situation had become. It wasn’t fair to use her as a sounding board for his own disquiet. He couldn’t even bring his closest friend into his confidence because Jeremiah Gant was Englisch. No matter how much the community had come to respect him, he was still an outsider.
David couldn’t help but wonder if the meeting he’d been invited to tonight had anything to do with Beiler. To his surprise and puzzlement, he’d been asked to come to Malachi Esch’s house after supper for some kind of a gathering even though he was a fairly new convert and not in any way involved in leadership. He had no idea who else would be in attendance. Malachi mentioned only “a few who want to discuss some concerns of the People.”
He was just putting on his coat when Susan came down the steps.
“Will you be late, do you think?” she said.
“I hope not. I can scarcely keep my eyes open now. I’m still reeling from that delicious dinner you cooked at noon. Between that and the leftovers we had for supper, I expect I’ll fall asleep on my way home.”
She lifted her face for his kiss, and he obliged. “Woman, I’m going to be as big as a house if I keep eating the way I have been.”
“You haven’t gained a pound in ten years, David Sebastian,” she said, tugging the front of his coat more snugly about him. “I should be so fortunate as you.”
“You,” he said, pulling her back into his arms for another kiss, “are perfect just as you are.”
“Plump as a mother hen,” she said with a sigh.
“Pretty as a peacock and twice as sassy.” He clucked her under the chin, and she gave him a look. “By the way, you can make some more of that cinnamon egg pudding we had for Christmas anytime you’re in the mood.”
She smiled. “I noticed you seemed to like it.”
“Now there’s an understatement.” He gave his middle a thump. “So, you’re sure you don’t mind being alone for a bit?”
“I won’t be alone. Fannie and Thunder will keep me company.”
“I’m sure they will.”
Reluctantly, he let her go and turned toward the door, but she stayed his hand before he could open it. “David?”
He waited.
“You’ll be careful?”
“Careful of what? I’m only going as far as Malachi’s.”
“I know, but…well, just be careful.”
He touched the palm of his hand to her face. “I always am, dear,” he said quietly, touched by her concern yet regretting that she obviously felt uneasy.
In truth, the entire community seemed to share that need these days.
Even if David Sebastian had deliberately tried to figure out the purpose of that evening’s meeting at Malachi Esch’s house, he would have been hard-pressed to imagine most of it. As soon as he saw the bishop who had officiated at his and Susan’s wedding—Bishop Schrock, from a neighboring district—David knew something unusual was afoot. And by the time Malachi finished a brief few words in recognition of the bishop, David was more puzzled than ever about the reason he—a recent convert—had been invited. Especially since only he, Abe Gingerich, and John Lapp, Abe’s brother-in-law, were gathered around the kitchen table with Malachi and the bishop. Some of the older men, longtime members of the Riverhaven Amish community, were conspicuously absent.
“As I said,” Malachi offered in his familiar way of often repeating himself, “Abe Gingerich and I, as your ministers, took some of our concerns—and those of a few other men from our district—to Bishop Schrock to seek his wisdom and advice.”
He gave more details about some of the complaints that had been brought to him and Abe by a number of the Plain People. Some were problems David had already heard about; others were new to him.
All had to do with Samuel Beiler.
David tensed when Malachi’s gaze roamed down the table and settled on him. “I asked Doc here even though he’s pretty new to the church because he’s been a doctor and a gut friend to our people for many years now. We’ve learned to trust his judgment, and none of us would question his faith or his wisdom in spiritual matters. And John…” He inclined his head toward Abe’s brother-in-law, seated across the table from him. “John has a particular concern that he just recently brought to our attention.” He paused. “It’s a matter that might concern you, as well, Doc.”
Little by little, David grew even more tense as John Lapp began to speak. In a quiet, hesitant tone, the local farmer related a story that sent a chill of dread coiling through him.
“You all know my boy, Jacob?”
The others at the table nodded, waiting. “Well,” John Lapp went on, “he and Bishop Beiler’s middle son, Noah, they spend a lot of time together. They’re good friends, those two.”
David noted the way John had begun to wring his hands atop the table as he spoke. Self-consciousness or controlled anger? He wasn’t sure.
“The Beiler boy, he’s some younger than my Jacob, but he’s tagged along after him ever since the two were just little tykes. Noah is a quiet sort, on the bashful side, and has never seemed real happy. Never laughs or acts schtupid like some boys when they’re that age. He’s never been much of a talker.”
Where was this going? David knew what John meant about the Beiler lad. He had treated him once or twice for the usual boyhood broken bones and sprains. He had never been able to coax anything more from him than a ghost of a smile and a shake of the head. But what did Beiler’s son have to do with tonight’s odd meeting?
“A few weeks back,” John continued, “Noah told Jacob a mighty troubling story. I’m not sure what gave rise to him bringing it up. I think it might have had to do with some of the fellows talking among themselves about that Englischer boy who was in court back then for beating on a relative. You know the one? He beat up a younger cousin to get back at his uncle. Seems the uncle turned him in for stealing.”
Again the men gave a nod of acknowledgment.
“Anyway, something apparently was said while they were all together that upset the Beiler boy, and later that night, when he and Jacob were by themselves, he let it be known that his dat beat him and the oldest son, Aaron, pretty regular.”
The men had fallen totally silent. David caught himself holding his breath. Finally, Abe Gingerich spoke up. “I asked John about this, and he said he questioned his boy, Jacob, pretty thoroughly. Jacob maintains that Noah Beiler insisted he and his brother were often beaten. Not paddled, but beaten. Hard.”
John Lapp went on, his hands balled into fists on top of the table. “At first I figured Noah had exaggerated. Boys will do that sometimes. You know…to get attention. But my boy stood up for him. He said Noah wasn’t one to say things that weren’t true. Even so, I wasn’t all that concerned. After all, which one of us hasn’t had to discipline a son for some kind of misbehavior?”
Malachi Esch interrupted at that point. “There’s a difference between discipline and a beating, John,” he said quietly.
“Ja,” John agreed. “And I pointed that out to Jacob. I told him he mustn’t exaggerate and that Noah might have used too strong a word.”
He stopped, glanced around the table, and dropped his gaze slightly as he continued. “There was more. Noah claimed his dat also beat his mother when she was still living. Said he beat her till she cried.”
The others exchanged looks, but David caught his breath. Unless the Beiler boy had exaggerated—or worse, outright lied—his darkest suspicions about Samuel Beiler had just been confirmed.
Over the years, he had noticed a number of behavioral traits in Beiler’s wife that he found suspect: the way she seemed to shrink within herself when her husband was in the room, her obvious uneasiness at his presence during the delivery of two of their sons, the nervous glances she sent his way when he wasn’t looking, and a number of unexplained bruises and broken bones.
In his medical practice among the Amish, he had come across more than one wife who had been beaten. The Amish were inclined to handle or even conceal any disturbing conduct within their own communities rather than involving the Englisch authorities, but physical abuse wasn’t that easy to conceal from a doctor. Twice he had actually confronted husbands he suspected of such despicable mistreatment. One had flatly denied David’s accusations and, furious, refused to allow him to treat any member of his family again. The other man seemed to have been shamed by the confrontation and, as far as David knew, had discontinued the appalling behavior.
He had never been certain about Samuel Beiler, only suspicious. The signs had been there but not any conclusive evidence. But now, as much as he hated to face the fact that his suspicions had most likely been justified, he found himself believing the witness of John Lapp’s son.
David was roused from his thoughts as Malachi asked, “Doc, the bishop and I need to ask you something, and whatever you say won’t leave this room. Did you ever know about any of this in regard to Samuel’s wife and his sons? Could what the boy told Jacob be true?”
Bishop Schrock also faced David with a question. “You can understand, I’m sure, Doctor Sebastian, why your friends brought this information to me and why we need to find out if there’s truth in it.”
In that moment, David was genuinely at a loss for words. If he had ever been able to prove his suspicions, most likely he would have gone to Bishop Graber. But he had never had proof. Did he and the others really dare to take the word of a child? The Beiler boy, Noah, couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen at most. How on earth could they even begin to handle a thing like this?
