A Baby for Hannah (24 page)

“Come, I’ll clean up the kitchen later,” Hannah said. “You have a letter from your mother to read.”

Leading him by the hand, Hannah took Jake to the hickory desk and then turned to go back into the kitchen.

“Wait!” Jake held up his hand. “Let’s read the letter together.”

“Okay.” Hannah turned around to lean on his shoulder as he opened the letter.

Dear Jake,

Greetings in Christian love. We received your letter, and I am finally sitting down to answer it. It was good to hear from you, Jake, and please don’t think that we want hard feelings between us. You don’t have to apologize, as I’m sure it lays as much on our part as on yours. We haven’t done much to talk with you or to address our concerns. And perhaps this is not the place for it, but since you have written, I am assuming it is okay to share our concern now rather than later.

When you left for Montana before you were married, our highest desire was that you stay in the Amish faith. I’m sure you were aware of that, and you seemed to respect that desire. We were then overjoyed to hear that you had made contact with an Amish church and had begun to settle down. When Hannah came along, we again saw no reason to be unhappy or to withhold our approval.

But since then, and especially since your ordination, some matters of grave concern came to our attention. I don’t know if it was your ordination or perhaps something else that got us thinking about this, but the calling of a minister is a great and heavy one, Jake. It is the highest duty which our people can be called to. I’m sure you know this. Our faith is an old faith, having stood the test of time for over five hundred years. It is the task of an Amish minister not only to sustain and to promote the spiritual well-being of each and every member, but to sustain the well-being of the faith.

Jake, we love you, and will always love you and Hannah. Any grandchild you give us will be welcomed into the family, as all the others have been. But it is the matter of our faith that takes first place even above family. Surely you know this and have been taught this by your bishop if we failed to do so. Now that you are a minister, this is even more important. You must not let even family come before your duty to your faith.

It has been reported to us from very reliable sources that the Amish community to which you belong believes in proclaiming the certainty of their salvation with God. If we are wrong, then please tell us, but as you know that is not how our community believes. Nor is this the faith of many of the old Amish communities.

It breaks our hearts, Jake, that apparently some of our Amish communities are leaving the old paths, and joining in with such a proud way of thinking. The salvation of a man’s soul belongs only to God, and only He can know if we will make it home. To say otherwise—that a man can tell God that He must save him, that we can know what only God can know, is a grievous error taught by the very churches who used to persecute us.

You are a minister, Jake, so you know what’s in the Scriptures, how a man is saved by hope, and how hope that is seen is not hope at all. Surely you can see that? If people start saying they are saved, then there’s no longer any need to hope. That’s an awful state to be in. How will it be when they come up to the judgment seat of God, and He’s expecting them to still have hope in their hearts? But some won’t have any because they think they’re already saved. What will happen to them?

As you can see, our hearts are troubled, and I suppose that’s what you picked up. I sure hope this hasn’t troubled Hannah, as we think she is a gut wife for you. We couldn’t have found anyone better, which makes things all the harder to understand.

The faith is the most important thing, Jake. It must be preserved against all the temptations of the world, and against all the false teachings of those churches that would lure us into the world. Our fear is that this is just one step toward liberalism, and we so don’t want our children or our grandchildren going down that path.

I hope I haven’t said too much, Jake.

Please tell Hannah hello for us, and may you keep hope alive in your heart.

Your mom, Ida Byler

“Oh Jake,” Hannah said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “This is so awful. I don’t want trouble with your parents.”

“So this is what the problem is,” Jake said, leaning back in his chair. “I should have thought of this.”

Twenty-Five

Mr. Brunson fidgeted with his early supper, pushing the plate of half-eaten food across the table. Time was rolling by, and his heart still hurt. Slowly he rose to his feet and walked over to the front window, pausing to look out over the spread of the valley below. Why couldn’t he get his mind off Mary Keim? If joining the Amish here in Montana would have been an option, it might make sense, but going back to Indiana as Bishop John suggested was out of the question. Even for love there were limits. Perhaps the young could afford to be reckless, but he was not a youngster anymore.

Did he dare knock on Mary Keim’s door and ask her if she would join
his
faith? No doubt her smile would disappear in a hurry and be replaced with what would be an enduring distrust…or worse, hostility. That would be too great a sorrow. At least now he could speak with her in passing and entertain the faint hope that God would perform a miracle.

But did he believe that? Certainly God performed special graces for others, but would He perform one for an old man whose heart had been captured by an Amish widow? It was highly unlikely. There were many other things in the world that cried out with greater urgency for God’s attention.

Tonight was the first night of the Mennonite tent revival. Perhaps that was something he could do. Weren’t the Mennonites some sort of cousins with the Amish? Perhaps attending the meetings would give him a new perspective on Amish ways. Jake had seemed mighty upset about the meetings, but that was because he expected his religious community to lose members.

Mr. Brunson glanced at his watch and quickly went into the bedroom to change into his Sunday suit. Driving down the lane, he glanced at Jake and Hannah’s cabin. Everything looked quiet. Were Jake and Hannah at the meetings? Mr. Brunson laughed at the thought. That would be like asking if Daniel had willingly gone into the lions’ den.

Turning right on the main road, Mr. Brunson passed Steve and Betty’s place. Hannah’s sister Miriam was walking in from the barn, and he honked his horn and waved. She flung up her arm in response, a big smile on her face. Now there was a sweet girl. It must run in Hannah’s family, although most of the Amish were nice. Bishop John had been nice even as he turned down his heartfelt request. That was the problem. What did one do with nice people, even when they weren’t cooperative?

The first sight of the tent brought his foot off the gas pedal. He slowed down to make the turn into the field. His pickup bounced across the uneven ground, coming to a halt beside the other vehicles. There was no sign of a parking attendant, and already the faint sounds of singing were coming from the tent. Apparently he was a little late or the meetings were starting early.

Opening his truck door and getting out, Mr. Brunson glanced around. As he closed the door, he noticed there were no signs of buggies in the field but across the parking lot in the mall two horses with buggies were tied to light posts. A smile spread across his face. Would this be the way the Amish arrived, hiding their buggies in plain sight but not on the tent grounds?

Ducking into the tent, an usher met him with a firm handshake and showed him to one of the seats halfway back. Apparently attendance was not very heavy. He nodded at the older couple beside him. They looked familiar, so he must have seen them around town. At least other
Englisha
people were here, so he wouldn’t stand out in the group of Mennonites who had come from Kalispell to support the revival effort. He looked around without craning his neck. There seemed to be no signs of any Amish.

The song came to an end, and the song leader announced another number, adjusting the pitch. With the first note, the whole congregation joined in, filling the tent with vibrant music. At least the Mennonites knew how to sing, and they spoke in English, an improvement over the Amish services that were conducted in German.

Perhaps he should try to join the Mennonites and attempt to lure Mary Keim into joining them. Jake and Bishop John would be greatly upset with him, but surely they wouldn’t miss one widow too much. But would Mary want to join the Mennonites? Would it be right to disturb her faith for his selfish reasons? And on what grounds could he even be assured of success? She might very well laugh at the idea or, worse, show her displeasure.

Mr. Brunson shifted on his seat. This had all been a very bad idea. He glanced around to distract himself, catching a glimpse of Will and Rebecca with their small children seated on the other side of the tent. Why hadn’t he seen them before? Apparently one of the buggies across the road belonged to them. Jake would be upset tomorrow, but at least he had nothing to do with it. But to what Amish person did the
other
buggy belong?

The song was ending, and Mr. Brunson pulled his eyes away from Will and Rebecca. The song leader gave one last wave of his hand before taking his seat in the front row.

Almost at once a young man came up and gave a brief testimony of finding salvation through the evangelist’s previous meeting in a neighboring county. That was followed by two more such testimonies. Then a man got up and walked to the pulpit. He carried his Bible with him and had a grim look on his face. Obviously this was the evangelist, and he seemed ready to launch into a fiery sermon.

Mr. Brunson smiled. Let the man preach. It would be good to hear fire-and-brimstone preaching again. Not since his youth in summer camp meetings had he heard much passion in a preacher’s voice.

“Good evening,” the evangelist began. “If you will open your Bibles to Luke chapter three, verse three, I would like to speak on my message tonight that is called ‘The Conditions for Revival.’ ”

Mr. Brunson heard the rustle of Bibles opening all around him. He glanced at the older couple on his right. The man shrugged and Mr. Brunson smiled. He was not the only one who hadn’t brought a Bible to the meeting. Apparently the Mennonites in attendance knew to bring theirs. Across the tent Will looked to be in the same state, glancing around nervously. But Will might be nervous because he wasn’t supposed to be at the tent meeting. Rebecca was looking at the floor. The poor woman. She looked like she had no desire to be here.

A heavy burden settled on Mr. Brunson’s heart. Was this what all Amish women thought of Mennonites and Mennonite revival meetings? If so, Mary Keim would never consent to becoming one.

Forcing himself to listen, Mr. Brunson turned toward the speaker. The evangelist had already stirred up a fiery passion just from reading the selected verse.

“John the Baptist went forth preaching repentance, and now the church of our day thinks they have found a better way to experience revival. They have cut out repentance preaching. When all the time this is still one of the conditions God uses to bring revival. A man or a woman must repent of their sins.”

Mr. Brunson glanced around again. Then, shaken by what he thought he saw, he sat forward, hardly daring to breath. Was he really seeing what he was seeing? In front of him a Mennonite lady had risen to her feet, taking her small child outside. Between the gap, his view was unhindered of the bench in front of her and of an older, obviously Amish woman. It almost looked like it could be…of all people, Mary Keim! Surely he was seeing things.

Desperately Mr. Brunson shook his head, forcing his eyes back to the evangelist.

“Any man who refuses to repent,” the man was thundering, “is a man or a woman who will not experience the revival of God. We must be open to correcting our ways. We must not think we know it all, no matter how long we have lived or what we have been taught. God is drawing near to us in these meetings, and He wants us to be open to correction and to a fresh direction from His voice.”

Mr. Brunson brought his eyes back slowly, letting them settle on the familiar head. It
had to
be Mary Keim, the tendrils of hair peeping under her head covering were unmistakable. But what was Mary doing at a Mennonite revival meeting? Was she here with friends or visiting relatives? Was she acquainted with the evangelist who was now pulling out a white handkerchief to wipe his face?