Still Life in Shadows (33 page)

Gideon wondered if he’d thanked them for their thoughtfulness. “I appreciate that. I heard someone brought a frost dome.”

Jeremiah grinned. “I got the task of asking your parents if it would be all right for the man from Covenant Church to set up the dome and two propane tanks. Your mother told me we had her permission.”

Gideon didn’t ask what his father had said about the situation. He had no idea if his regulations permitted such a device.

As Gideon shifted his glance from those around him toward the landscape a distance in front of him, he nearly gasped. Over by the edge of the field on the other side of the fence that surrounded the orchard, stood his mother. She was wearing a long black dress, and a black cloak. The hood to the cloak covered her bonnet and hair. Beside her stood his three sisters. He searched for their spouses; he’d heard all of them were married and that each had children. But no men or children were gathered with them. At the sight of his family, Gideon’s heart pounded like the engine of a car. He felt the urge to race over to them, but his legs were like pillars, stiff, grounded.

Kiki tugged at Jeremiah’s sleeve, asking why his coat held no pockets and where his gloves were. Jeremiah explained that the people in his community didn’t wear gloves due to their plain dress code.

“We have a dress code at my school,” said Kiki. “We can’t wear spaghetti straps.”

As the two talked, Lowell once again vied for Gideon’s attention. This time he stood in front of him, blocking the view of his family. “Can I go with you?”

Not sure he’d heard the young man’s words over his own heart, Gideon asked, “What was that?”

Lowell looked Gideon in the eye. “I want to go with you.”

Gideon noted his clean-shaven face, the freckles across the bridge of his nose, the blue of his eyes.

Intensity filling his voice, Lowell said, “You could pick me up
behind the mini-mart on your way back to your home. North Carolina, right? Are you leaving today? I can meet you anytime.”

“What’s your surname?”

“Baumberger.” He paused to adjust his straw hat that had become lopsided on his head. “I could leave with you tomorrow if you aren’t going back until then. Mr. Miller, I want to go with you. Please, sir.”

“Lowell, what do you like to do? What are you good at?” Surely this man had some ambition besides just wanting to escape this countryside. Gideon thought of the safety that lay within this community. When there was no risk, how much easier life could be. If only Moriah had stayed here and had had no desire to see what was on the other side of bonnets and buggies.

“I want to work in a grocery store and run the electric cash register.” He smiled. “Eventually, I’d like to go to college and teach.”

When Jeremiah came over, Lowell resumed silence. His face seemed to plead,
Please don’t mention a word of what I said to anyone.

Gideon nodded at Lowell, his way of indicating that he knew how to keep silent.

As the wind rattled the bare limbs of the weeping willow and the surrounding apple trees, Gideon once more cast his view across the field. Who was that man now beside his sisters and mother? Oh! He’d know that stoic stance anywhere. There was no
demut
or humility in his posture; he was as arrogant as he’d always been.
Cry
, Gideon wanted to yell out at him.
Cry, or at least come over here!

He’d always thought that seeing Father again would make him succumb to a crime, one where he’d beat the tar out of him. But he had no desire to lift a hand to him now. His anger toward the man he’d known as his father somehow, today, only made him want to beg him to soften his heart and show some compassion.

W
hen Pastor Nate Mitchell arrived in a thick overcoat, woolen cap, and leather gloves, the sky was a mass of shifting clouds. Kiki and Mari wrapped woolen scarves around their necks and huddled, shivering together.

“What about your family?” Nate motioned toward Gideon’s sisters, father, and mother. “Shall we invite them over?”

“They don’t need to be asked,” said Gideon, the words harsh like sharpened arrows.

“Perhaps they do.” The pastor waved at them, beckoning them to come over the orchard to this side by the willow.

Gideon muttered, “They won’t come. Just start the service. Please.” From the corner of his eye, he could see that no one across the rows of trees was making any attempt to traipse over to the grave. “Let’s just start.”

Nate acknowledged Gideon’s request, drawing Kiki, Mari, Gideon, Jeremiah, and Lowell around him. “Dearly beloved,” he said. “We have come together to remember a man we loved. He was a brother, a son, a
friend, and a child of God. He was loved and cherished, and his death has broken our hearts.”

Upon hearing those words, Gideon fell to his knees. He waited for the sobs to form, for wailing to rush out from his chest like a waterfall along a mountainous trail, but nothing came forth.
It’s okay,
he said to himself,
cry right here, right before Father. Show him it is all right to cry.
Inching forward on his knees toward the opened grave, he felt the dirt rub into his pant legs.
Are we formed from dirt, only to return to dirt? What is life, but a passing shadow, at times only brief enough to say hello. What was the purpose? Was it to serve God? Why couldn’t Moriah have made more of his years?

With his head between his hands, Gideon felt anguish and agony lodge themselves on each of his shoulders as the limbs of the willow nearby swayed back and forth, rocking like a mother cradling her child to sleep. “Moriah,” he moaned. “Moriah, I’m so sorry.”

Mari knelt to his left, and Kiki followed, bending beside him.

“I’m sorry, too,” Kiki cried. Although tears moistened the girl’s cheeks, Gideon’s eyes were dry.

He’s broken me,
he thought.
He’s made me believe that I can’t cry in front of him.
Gideon wanted to lift his head and glare across the orchard at his father, but he wouldn’t. He would let this be a ceremony for Moriah, not a clash against a man he had come to despise.

Before ending the service, Nate asked for all to join hands. As a shadow fell across the orchard, he offered a prayer. “Dear Lord, we commit Moriah’s spirit into Your care. Amen.”

“And please take care of Gideon here,” Kiki said, her voice rising above the sound of sniffing back tears. “He needs a whole lot of help.”

Gideon looked up at the heavy, dark sky. Just like in the movies at graveside services, it looked like rain.

W
hen it was time to lower the coffin into the ground, Lowell studied the particle board box for a moment and then looking at Gideon asked, “Are you sure Moriah’s body is inside?”

Was he joking?

“I heard this story once where the family was burying a body and when they opened the casket, it was empty.”

With that, Kiki tugged at the hinges. “He’s in here,” she said. “I know it.”

“Kiki,” said Mari, “that’s not how to go about opening it.” She walked over to the right side and, within seconds had the coffin lid raised.

And there, resting against a cotton lining was Moriah, dressed in jeans and a periwinkle shirt. His eyes were closed, his mouth serene. Gideon forced himself to look, made himself see Moriah’s arms, crossed over his chest, his broad hands, his fingers, his blond hair combed into a ponytail. Beige makeup covered his facial bruises. It seemed every effort had been made to make Moriah look like Moriah. Even his feet were encased in a pair of leather boots.

Gideon felt tears sting his eyes, but he lifted his head so they couldn’t flow down his cheeks. What had he expected? That he could experience this embalmed body that belonged to his brother and not feel excruciating pain and remorse? Unable to suppress the sudden urge, Gideon lifted his brother’s shirt, pulling the hem from where it was tucked inside his jeans. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to view this portion of Moriah now, perhaps it was to make sure that it was really him. Or perhaps it was because he knew he’d never again be able to observe this work of art that Moriah had been so proud of. And as he expected, the tattoo was there—a pirate ship on a stormy sea, seeking treasures—a metaphor of Moriah’s short life. With a clenched jaw, Gideon demanded, “Close it. Please.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” said Kiki as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, one of her hands on Gideon’s back. “That’s not him, that’s just his body.” Looking into the sky, she cried out as though delivering her own sermon, “Moriah is on a beautiful heavenly ocean right now. He’s God’s very special treasure.”

Jeremiah blew his nose into a handkerchief as Pastor Nate repeated, “Amen.”

W
hen the casket was firmly in the grave, Gideon picked up the shovel and flung some dirt onto the smooth top.

Kiki asked if she could help and when Mari affirmed that she could, Kiki took handfuls of dirt and dropped them against the casket. “It’s too sad,” she said, watching the dirt land and scatter. “I miss him so much.” With that, she rushed over to the hearse.

“What’s she doing?” asked Gideon, watching her run and fumble with the door to the vehicle.

In a minute he knew. Kiki returned with a bouquet of flowers. This morning they’d found a florist and purchased an assortment of flowers because none of them knew which were Moriah’s favorites.

The arrangement had white daisies, three red roses, a dozen sprigs of baby’s breath and six pale yellow carnations. Gideon remembered how his brother had once picked weeds and put them in a dish of water. Upon hearing that story, Kiki grabbed a cluster of dried brown grass from under the tree. She sprinkled the pieces onto the bouquet and said, “There, now we have everything Moriah could have liked and did like.”

G
ideon shoveled dirt into the hole until he’d rubbed a large blister on the palm of his hand. Lowell took the shovel from him and continued filling the massive hole.

When Gideon looked up, what he saw surprised him. Esther, his oldest sister, was making the trek around the perimeter of the orchard toward him. She opened the gate and entered.

Approaching her brother, she nodded, the black bonnet on her head bobbing with her movements. As she stood beside him she said, “Mother wants to invite you to the house.”

Gideon ignored her, bending over to grab soil with his hands, joining Kiki and Lowell in covering the casket.

“Gideon.”

He looked at her then. Her plain face looked like so many others. He wanted to tell her that a light pink shade of lipstick and some mascara would enhance her looks, bring out the sparkle in her hazel eyes.
But he kept scooping the dirt into the grave.

“Mother invites you to come to the house.”

Perhaps she’d go away. Maybe she’d get the hint and leave him alone. He was an outcast; he’d left the community. A shunned son should not enter his parents’ home.

“Gideon. Did you hear me?”

Something made him freeze inside. For a moment he wasn’t sure what he would do. He was aware that Kiki was about to speak, and he didn’t want her to. Because knowing Kiki, she’d probably say something like, “Yes, Gideon, let’s go inside. I’m cold.” If Kiki said that, how could he deny her a warm place to sit? Quickly, before Kiki could utter a word, Gideon faced his sister. “Why? Why should I go to her house?”

“She has some food.”

Gideon knew it was customary to have food after a funeral. But why did his mother want him to come over now? Why hadn’t she joined him at the graveside? “No, we have to get back to North Carolina.” He and Mari had discussed that they needed to leave once the service was over. They would drive all night, taking turns.

“Please, Gideon.” She pulled her dark shawl around her thin shoulders. Gideon wondered why Esther didn’t don a cloak as her other sisters had, as Mother had. Then he recalled how warm-natured she was. Esther was the one who never seemed to feel the cold. Once, while Father was still asleep, she’d even walked outside barefoot after a light snow. “Please, come to the house.”

G
ideon stopped filling in the grave. He looked at his blistered hands and shook his head. “Why, Esther?”

“Why?” Esther repeated. “Is that all you can say?”

“Why can’t he come over here?”

Esther shot a glance at their father and then quickly turned to face her brother. Gently, she said, “He can only handle Ordnung.”

Trapped by Ordnung.
Of course
, thought Gideon.
We must follow the Amish way of life, strict rules and regulations.
Father was stubborn, not able to participate in anything unless it was according to the rules. Having a non-Amish give the service at his own son’s burial probably had Father wanting to claw at his skin. Well, if Father was sticking to his precious way that he felt things were to be done, he, Gideon, would be just as obstinate. “You tell him to come here or we’re going home.” With that, he grabbed the shovel back from Lowell and began tossing soil into the hole as though he wasn’t tired. Truth was, he suddenly had new strength and determination fueled by anger. “My home,” he reiterated. “We are going to my home in just a few minutes. Not his.”