River of Mercy, page 23
As for Asa and John Turner, they would “lay over in Canton long enough to make repairs on the equipment and let the horses have a rest before heading home.”
Gant quickly translated all he needed to know. They had reached the station just outside of Canton, where Paul Frazier and his brother would take over as conductors and drive the refugee slaves the rest of the way north with fresh horses. Asa and young Turner would also have a rest and then head home.
He breathed a sigh of relief and continued to read. Silas, as expected, had gone on with the “shipment.” Asa had given him money for a fresh mount of his own, asking him to return to Riverhaven and stay with them a spell once the trip was completed. Was that all right with Gant? He doubted he’d be able to convince the boy to spend much time “off the road,” but he hoped Silas would at least stay long enough to get some rest and visit awhile before going on. Did Gant think they could make a place for him?
Clearly, Asa wanted to spend as much time as possible with his newly discovered nephew. Happy for his friend, Gant hurriedly scrawled a reply and passed it to the waiting messenger. Silas was welcome for as long as he wanted to stay.
As he continued his work on the kitchen set he was making for Hap Carter and his widowed daughter, Gant remembered to give thanks for another safe “delivery.” They had been fortunate so far in setting hundreds of runaway slaves safely on the road to freedom, either by land or on the river. Over the years, they hadn’t lost a one of them, and other than the gunshot one of Cottrill’s men had inflicted on him, neither he nor Asa had suffered any major injury.
Truly, they had been exceedingly fortunate. No, he corrected himself, they had been exceedingly blessed. Blessed and divinely protected.
Malachi Esch knew he could wait no longer to contact Bishop Schrock and at least one other bishop—most likely Jacob Lehman—both from neighboring districts. Bad enough what he had learned from Rachel Brenneman the past evening. But today, his boy, Reuben, had seen with his own eyes a sight that not only outraged Malachi but sorely grieved his heart.
Early this morning, he had sent Reuben into town to pick up feed and a few store supplies. When the boy returned, he told a tale Malachi might not have believed had not his own son been doing the telling. Reuben was a gut boy and had always been truthful to the bone. Malachi knew if his son said it, it was so, and that was that.
He still shuddered as he recalled Reuben’s words. “I saw Noah and Joe Beiler on the road coming back from town, Dat. I don’t know what happened to Joe, but he looked a fright. As if he’d been beaten, and badly so. His face was all bruised and puffed, and one eye looked as if it was swollen shut. And he was walking like it hurt him some to move.”
Reuben had hesitated before going on, but finally, as if he couldn’t stop himself, he’d burst out, “Is it true, Dat, what’s been told about Bishop Beiler beating on his boys? And his poor dead wife as well?”
Malachi hadn’t known how to answer his son’s question. There had been a time when he would have simply cautioned the boy not to repeat rumors—rumors he had heard himself but refused to spread. Even now, there was no proof Samuel was responsible for his youngest son’s painful appearance. Still, after what he’d heard told at the meeting a few days before, plus Rachel Brenneman’s account of Samuel Beiler’s threat against her, and now this incident his own son had related to him, it seemed the truth had to be faced.
He had answered Reuben carefully but with candor. “It is said, son, that where there’s smoke, there’s bound to be some fire. I fear there may indeed be some fire behind these stories.”
“But he’s a bishop now, Dat!”
“So he is, Reuben, but he’s still a man, and though we don’t like to think it, he’s just as prone to weakness and sin as we all are.”
After Reuben went out to the barn, Malachi forced himself to confront the reality that something had to be done about Samuel Beiler. But it was beyond his authority or right to make decisions in such a serious matter. So with a heavy heart, he wrote identical notes to the two bishops in districts nearest Riverhaven, asking them to come as soon as possible for a meeting of utmost importance.
Then he called Reuben in from the barn and instructed him to deliver each message to the two bishops. “Go on horseback—that will be faster than taking the buggy. And waste no time, son,” he told him. “There are important matters that must be dealt with right away.”
Late into the evening and night, he longed yet again for his beloved wife, Phoebe. Not that he could have discussed private church matters with her—that simply wasn’t done. But with her at his side, he always felt stronger, wiser—more a man. Not a typical or a particularly righteous way for an Amish man to feel, but he thought God would understand. They had been so close, he and Phoebe. Most of the time they seemed more one than two. Small wonder he missed her so much he sometimes thought his heart would break for the pain of it.
39
CONVICTION
My soul, wait thou only upon God;
For my expectation is from him.
PSALM 62:5
Gant worked late in the shop, mostly cleaning up paperwork and organizing new orders. Gideon had offered to stay and help, but something about the boy’s restless mannerisms and air of distraction lately told him to give his young apprentice some time for himself. Besides, when it came to paperwork, Gideon’s mind seemed to wander off to anything else but what he was doing.
Something was eating at the lad, he was almost certain. His work hadn’t suffered so far, but clearly he had something pretty heavy on his mind.
Ah, well. He was young. Probably girl problems. Maybe that pretty Emma Knepp, although he would hope the boy had enough sense not to get tangled up in a forbidden relationship with an Amish lass. A sure road to heartbreak, that. Not to mention trouble.
And hadn’t he learned enough about that himself?
Gideon Kanagy knew what God was prodding him to do. He had sensed it for days and fought against it for just as long. He had little doubt that carrying out the Lord God’s will in this instance would cost him his job.
Yet in moments of brutal clarity, he had to admit that the loss of his job with Captain Gant might be not be the worst of it. It might cost him something even more precious. The loss of Emma. Because even if he were to give up his employment with the captain, there was still no guarantee that Samuel Beiler, in his power as the new bishop, would grant him permission to return to the People. It was well within Beiler’s authority to question Gideon’s repentance for so long he wouldn’t be able to make his vows and join the church for years.
By then, Emma would have forgotten about him and married someone else. For that matter, Beiler might never allow him back into the community of the People. He might end up always standing outside and looking in. Who could predict what a man like Samuel Beiler might do?
He shivered a little as he walked the riverbank, although his coat was heavy and usually more than enough to ward off the early evening wind. A chill seemed to run all through him, and he had a hunch it wasn’t from the January weather.
Gideon wasn’t one to dwell too much on what he couldn’t change, but lately he’d taken to brooding about his future. Ever since he’d finally given up on his own judgment and begun to seriously pray for God’s guidance, he’d felt what Rachel called a “conviction” to return to his Amish faith and way of life.
He wasn’t exactly sure how he could know whether God was convicting him or he was just bringing it on himself. It was a kind of pressure, as if someone or something were bearing down on him, continually pushing at him with the same thoughts time and time again. It was a little like when he’d seen Mamm or Rachel kneading bread, pressing carefully but firmly into the dough over and over.
At first, hoping he might be wrong, he’d tried to ignore the pressure. When it didn’t go away, he tried to push back, mentally defending his own reasons why he couldn’t afford to give up the life he’d made for himself among the Englisch. He had to make a living, didn’t he? And he had no desire to do it by farming. He wasn’t cut out to be a full-time farmer, and he knew it. Besides, it wouldn’t be right to leave the captain on his own. The man had treated him well right from the start, paying him a fair wage and training him as a carpenter. He’d been patient with his mistakes and not short on praise when he approved of his work. He’d feel uncomfortable walking out on the captain after all this time.
But trying to justify his reasons for staying put didn’t help either. He had eventually accepted that the changes inside him must be God’s doing. There didn’t seem to be any other explanation.
If that was the case, he’d better deal with it. He’d done a lot of foolish things in his life so far, but he wasn’t about to defy God, at least not knowingly.
The problem was, he didn’t quite know where to start. Should he tell his family first? Or would it be better to talk to Emma before anyone else, to try to get a sense of how she really felt about him? That didn’t seem right either. If God really was guiding him to go back and live Amish, he needed to do it out of obedience, not because he wanted to court Emma.
Maybe the right thing to do was to talk with Captain Gant before anyone else. After all, he would be the one most affected by his leaving.
No. He should probably face Samuel Beiler first thing, before mentioning his decision to anyone else. After that he’d speak with the captain.
He dug his hands down deeper into his pockets and ground his teeth at the thought. He’d rather take on a wounded bear. But sooner or later he’d have to steel himself and approach the man.
The man. He still found it almost impossible to think of Beiler as the bishop. Somehow he just didn’t fit the title.
40
IN SEARCH OF GUIDANCE
For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead:
Lead me aright.
ADELAIDE A. PROCTER
Four days later, as January was nearing an end, an unannounced meeting assembled at Samuel Beiler’s farmhouse. Only Malachi, the two hastily summoned bishops, and Abe Gingerich, the other preacher besides Malachi, attended.
Samuel Beiler was told only that they would meet with him and each of his sons one at a time, and that there would be no conversation among them between meetings.
One after another, the men entered, walking heavily, as if burdened by the awareness that after this night the community might never again be the same. Every face was serious, even grave. No words were spoken before the meeting commenced except for a brief and solemn greeting. No smiles were exchanged, for this evening held nothing to smile about. The deepening twilight, this gloaming time of day, somehow seemed appropriate for the events to be discussed and the decisions to be made.
They questioned Beiler’s sons first, warning them not to discuss their meeting with their father. They brought them into the room one at a time and talked to each alone. The two younger boys were reluctant but ultimately cooperative, although the youngest, Joe, was obviously shy and nervous about saying anything against his father.
As a preacher and without the authority of a bishop, Malachi would be asking no questions. All the same, he would be listening closely.
He knew Jacob Lehman to be a kindly and thoughtful bishop. Clearly, the man was doing his best to put young Joe at ease during his questioning. “Understand, Joe, you are in no trouble. None at all. But some are concerned about how you received those bruises and marks on your face. We mean merely to help you, but you must be completely truthful with us. Now, tell us what happened.”
The boy’s glance darted around the room as if he were looking for a way out. At first he shrugged, but Bishop Lehman prompted him. “It’s all right, Joe. Tell us who did this.”
Joe’s gaze swung back to him, but still he hesitated.
“Was it your dat?”
Finally the boy nodded. “Ja.”
The bishop drew a long breath. “Why, son? Why did he strike you?”
The boy shook his head. “He didn’t say why. He was mad at me, I guess.”
“He struck you with his hands?” Bishop Schrock asked.
Joe looked at him as if he didn’t quite understand. “Ja, his fists.”
Malachi saw the bishop wince.
“But he didn’t explain why you were being punished?”
Again the boy shook his head, his expression confused and seemingly embarrassed. “Sometimes he says I try his patience. He tries to make me a better boy.” He lowered his head, not looking at any of the men across from him.
“I’m sure you’re already a very good boy, Joe,” Bishop Schrock said gently.
Malachi’s heart wrenched at the child’s look of shame. He had explained to both bishops that young Joe was known to be a little slow in the head. He could tell they remembered, for they were being extremely kind and patient with the boy.
As soon as they excused Joe from the room, they brought his brother Noah in. Malachi was pleased to note that both bishops showed the same restraint and kindness toward the older boy as they had toward Joe. Even so, there was no mistaking their intent to learn the truth about the kind of man and father Samuel Beiler was.
They had to press Noah more firmly about his father, but not for long. The boy’s natural good nature found it hard to dissemble. Although his demeanor was awkward at first, he soon answered any question submitted to him with what appeared to be complete candor.
Yes, he admitted, his gaze only slightly diverted, he too had suffered numerous “punishments” at his father’s hands. And like his younger brother, the reason for those beatings—Malachi couldn’t bring himself to call them “punishments,” for both boys’ words spoke of beatings, not mere incidents—was never really explained. He mentioned only his father’s anger and his intention to make him, like Joe, a “better boy.”
The two bishops seemed to go out of their way to be gentle, but the longer Noah’s questioning continued, the more disturbed Malachi grew. It was no secret that some among the People believed in the “severe” disciplining of their children. He suspected that in all cultures there were those who trusted more in beatings to achieve their desired results than in less extreme methods of discipline.
But Samuel Beiler had often crossed the line in dealing out even the harshest of punishment. Malachi could not believe that the Lord God approved of a father beating his son with his bare hands to the point of disfigurement.
The oldest of Samuel’s three sons turned out to be an unpleasant surprise. Aaron Beiler was still in his rumspringa, so he might have predictably been more candid about his father than his younger brothers had been. He was known to be an independent sort, surly and gruff, intelligent, and often displaying a streak of belligerence. Malachi would have expected him to be the most outspoken about his father, even blunt.
He was anything but. At first, he seemed openly defiant, tossing off slick and empty remarks in reply to every question he was asked. When pressed to be more serious and sincere, instead he became curt and disagreeable.
Malachi was completely caught off guard when, rather than supporting his brothers’ remarks about their dat’s severe punishments and beatings, Aaron sneered. “Lecherich! They’re both such boppli! Carrying on like babies when their punishment is no more than what they deserve!”
He flatly denied any mistreatment from Samuel and stuck to his story that his brothers were spouting half-truths. “Our dat is a hard man, but he’s also a fair man.”
After a long pause, Bishop Lehman leaned forward and said, “Are you saying then, Aaron, that you have never received harsh treatment or beatings by your father?”
At first the youth delayed, but then he shrugged. “Nothing more than I had coming to me.”
There seemed nothing more to say after that, so the boys were allowed to leave. The two youngest were instructed to go to the home of Samuel Beiler’s sister and spend the night with their aunt.
When they called Samuel Beiler in, they gave him an account of the accusations leveled against him, concentrating more on the reports that he had abused his authority as bishop, issued directives not in keeping with the Ordnung, and inappropriately “threatened” a widow in the community with the Bann. Unwilling to invite even more severe beatings on Beiler’s sons, they deliberately didn’t dwell on the charges about the previous beatings he had inflicted upon his wife and children, although they would, of course, have to take all this into consideration.
Malachi thought Samuel might have been able to talk his way out of most of this had it not been for the final charge—his attempt to coerce Rachel Brenneman into marrying him by threatening to have her shunned.
Beiler appeared to seethe with what Malachi sensed to be a scarcely contained fury, but he said little throughout the meeting other than to deny each accusation. His delivery of each reply was given with a steely-eyed, tight-mouthed control and a strange tone of contempt.
Only at the end of the meeting did Beiler’s self-control clearly desert him. He rose from his chair and hurled a red-faced volley of objections at his questioners. “You dare to insult me, a bishop, a leader like yourselves, with such lies? Gossip! Rumors! That’s what you bring into my house—to me and my sons—and demand that I defend myself against such ridiculous lies? This is the work of the devil! You are all guilty of carrying out his mischief! Well, I don’t have to listen to this any longer and I won’t!”
He stormed out of the room, ignoring Bishop Schrock’s attempt to stop him.
Shocked by Beiler’s behavior, Malachi and the others left immediately to continue their meeting at Malachi’s house.
For a time, the two bishops, Abe, and Malachi sat in silence. Finally Bishop Schrock broke the silence. “Well then, it seems that our brother will make no attempt to explain or defend himself, so we must take what we know to the Lord God and ask for His guidance. We know what his sons have confided, and we know what Malachi has shared with us about Samuel’s attempt to force the widow Brenneman into marrying him by threatening to place her under the Meidung.”
