The Days of Redemption (40 page)

She'd borne Wesley a beautiful daughter and had planned to have a whole house of
kinner
.

And then, when he'd gotten sick, she'd done nothing but stay by his side and nurse him.

And now, for two years, she'd done her best to be his good and proper widow. She'd honored his memory and cried more tears than she could ever measure.

But she was lonely . . . and she'd promised Wesley that she wouldn't spend the rest of her life grieving. Promised him more than once when she'd sat by his bedside, when she'd held a hand that was no longer strong, when she'd cared for a man who was no longer vibrant. Who slowly became almost unrecognizable except for his beautiful brown eyes that always seemed to see too much.

“Marlene, you're not being fair to me or to Wesley.”

“I'm only watching over his memory.”

“He didn't want me to mourn him forever.”

“Yes, but it hasn't been forever, Amanda. Only two years.” Her mother-in-law murmured as she stood up and turned away. But that wasn't fast enough to hide her quivering lip.

Amanda tried to remember that Marlene was mourning her son, too. “Marlene, I am sorry if I've hurt your feelings. I don't mean to make you upset. I don't mean to be disrespectful.”

With her back still to her, she said, “Amanda, I think I will go home now.”

“You don't want to help me with the casseroles?” They'd volunteered to make several meals for some families in their community, and Amanda had only volunteered for the job because Marlene had wanted to do it with her.

“Not today. I'm sorry,” she said over her shoulder as a bit of an afterthought.

When she heard the front door slam shut, Amanda sat back down. Heard Regina talking to herself while she colored.

And realized she'd never felt more alone. Without even meaning to, she'd finally severed the past and it couldn't be fastened back together.

Even if things returned to how they used to be, there would always be the memory of her phone call. As well as the knowledge that for thirty minutes, she'd once again been giddy and happy and flirty.

She'd once again been the woman she used to be . . . all for a man who wasn't Wesley Yoder.

Chapter Fourteen

The Keims were just leaving the Millers' home after church services and a light luncheon of sandwiches and salads when Bishop Coblentz stopped Roman as he was slipping on his black wool coat.

“It was a nice service, Bishop,” Roman said politely. “Once again, I find myself uplifted from listening to the Scripture's words.”

“
Jah
, the Lord always has the right words, ain't so?”

“Always.” He flashed a grin. “Enjoy your nap this afternoon.” It was well known that the bishop appreciated an hour's rest after church on Sunday.

“Oh, I shall.” His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “I guess my habits are no secret.”

“Good ideas are always talked about. I'm thinking of taking things easy this afternoon as well. We all need a day of rest.”

He started to turn away when Bishop Coblentz stopped him with a firm touch to his shoulder.

“Before you begin that rest, may I speak to you for a moment, Roman?”

“Of course.” Looking around, he saw Elsie and his mother still chatting with Mrs. Miller and her newly married daughter. About a dozen other folks were either talking in small clusters, cleaning up the last remnants of the luncheon, or attempting to gather their children.

Only the back cement patio was deserted. “Why don't we head over here?” he said after motioning to his mother that he needed more time before leaving.

The bishop nodded. “That's a good spot.”

Roman led the way to the Millers' back patio. In spring and summer, an iron table and chairs sat squarely in the middle, the whole arrangement framed by the sweet scent of blossoming apple trees and the beauty of more flowers than he'd ever be able to name.

Now, in the dead of winter, the area was rather desolate. Flowering plants lay dormant under the covering of snow, and the apple trees were bare, their spindly arms lifted toward the sky like misshapen scarecrows.

Without any foliage to block the wind, Roman thought the air seemed even colder. But it also felt crisp and bracing, and he gave thanks for it, since it seemed he was going to need a clear head to talk with the bishop. The older man looked like he had something important on his mind to share.

“Is everything all right?” Roman asked. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Bishop Coblentz folded his weathered hands neatly on top of one of the black wrought-iron chairs he was standing behind. “I am fine, Roman, and I thank you for asking. Actually, your well-being was one of the things I was hoping to discuss with you.”

Though the bishop's words were stated, he'd lifted the end of his sentence, as if he were asking a question.

Roman started to feel uneasy. “My well-being?” he echoed.

“
Jah
.” The older man cleared his throat. “How are you, Roman? I imagine you're having quite a time, what with your father in the treatment program and all.”

“I am all right. Just fine.” With some surprise, he realized he was speaking the truth. Just a few weeks before, he would have given almost anything to make his life easier. He'd been disturbed by his grandmother's news about her past life and had dearly wished for his father's alcohol abuse to go away. Sometimes, late at night, he'd even stayed up and worried about what was going to happen with Elsie. With Viola getting married, he'd felt that it was his duty to accept more responsibility for Elsie's future care.

Now, everything still seemed difficult, but not insurmountable.

He knew the reason, of course. Ever since he'd returned from Florida he'd been so consumed with thoughts about Amanda that all the problems in his family had ceased to keep him up at night.

After staring at him intently for a moment, the bishop nodded. “Roman, I do believe you are all right. That is
gut
. It makes this a little easier.”

Roman was starting to have the feeling that he'd walked into the middle of another man's conversation. “It makes what a little easier?”

“Henry Zimmerman came to see me two weeks ago. He's in poor health and has to step down from his preaching duties. The job has become too much for him, especially what with his farming and his failing health.”

“I see.”

“So, we asked for suggestions for a replacement from the congregation at the last church.”

“I heard. I'm sure the congregation chose several good men for the lot.”

“They did.” As the bishop paused for breath, a slow, sinking feeling settled deep in Roman's chest.

Suddenly, he realized why the bishop had wanted to speak to him. “Was my name mentioned?”

“
Jah
.” The bishop nodded. “Your name was chosen for the lot, Roman. It got one of the most votes.”

“I see.” Their church district had three ministers, who took turns preaching every two weeks. Whenever it was time for a vacancy to be filled, the congregation voted, then the top vote getters would be entered into the lot. Of course, every man who had been baptized into the church was eligible. Then, a Scripture passage was slipped in a stack of hymnals. If a man picked up the hymnal with the verse inside it, he would be the congregation's new preacher.

There were precious few reasons for a man to not accept the burden. Serious illness was just about the only viable excuse that would be accepted. It was their belief that the Lord chose the next preacher.

Roman believed that completely. However, it didn't make the heavy burden any easier to bear.

If a man drew the hymnal with the chosen verse inside, he would be required to serve in the open position. For the rest of his life, or as God saw fit.

It was a good system, a fair one. And one that their community had honored for as long as he could recall. Every man he'd known who'd been chosen had approached the process with both seriousness and a heavy sense of responsibility.

But now, selfishly, Roman realized that he'd been taken by surprise. He didn't know if he was ready. He felt too young, too immature for such a large job.

And he certainly wasn't ready for the change that would take place in his life. When a man realized he'd been chosen by the Lord to be a preacher, he knew he was going to have to preach in front of their whole church district for years. In addition, he was going to have to be available to guide and counsel other men and women in their community.

But how did a man refuse? Roman had never heard of anyone not living up to his obligation. Moreover, he'd promised the bishop when he was baptized that he would be willing to accept the process, if he was ever considered a suitable candidate.

“Are we choosing a new preacher today?” he asked, mainly to buy himself another minute of time.

“
Jah
.” Bishop Coblentz's gazed sharpened. “We had hoped to only announce it today, so that the men could all pray about the opportunity. But I'm afraid in two weeks many folks have plans to head south for vacation or to visit family to celebrate Easter.” He shrugged. “So, we're doing it today. It's God's will anyway, ain't so?”

“
Jah
,” Roman said quietly. Bishop Coblentz was right. This was all under God's control, and because of that, it made little difference when the new preacher would be named.

The bishop pressed a hand onto Roman's bicep. “
Gut
. I wanted to speak to you first, to be sure you were able to accept God's calling if He sees fit.” Softly, the bishop added, “I'm sure we would all understand, Roman, if you thought that your father's troubles were weighing too heavy on you to accept His call at this time.” He shrugged. “Life has a way of taking twists and turns for everyone. If you don't feel ready for the responsibility, I'm sure there will be another opportunity to serve.”

Roman sighed in relief.

He didn't have to say yes. Bishop Coblentz would understand. Perhaps the other men in his community would, too. But forevermore Roman knew that he would feel guilty if he refused the calling. It wasn't the Amish way to push things aside because they felt too hard or scary. More important, it wasn't his way. “If God wants to use me, I am willing and able to try my best.”

“You are sure?”

Now, Roman didn't even hesitate. It was as if the Lord was behind him, prodding him forward. Helping him be the man he wanted to be. “I am sure.”

Slowly, the bishop's lips curved above his long, graying beard. “Roman, I am happy to hear you say that. I promise, a willingness to be used by the Lord is all that anyone can ask for.” He clapped a work-weathered hand on his shoulder. “
Jah
, I am most pleased. Well now, the four other men are already gathering in the barn. Let's get on with it then.”

He turned and walked back toward the barn. Strode forward with steady, even steps, never pausing or looking over his shoulder to see if Roman was following.

But of course, there wasn't any need for that. Roman had given his promise.

Silently, Roman followed, nodding to John Miller and another couple of men who were standing around, watching to see who would be part of the lot. A few women looked up as he passed, then turned back to their conversations after giving him encouraging smiles. It was obvious word had already spread that a new preacher was about to be selected.

As he entered the dark barn and met the gazes of the other men assembled, Roman secretly told himself that his chances to be chosen were slim. He was the youngest man by a good eight years.

Surely God would choose a better, more experienced man than him? Someone who wasn't so confused about his life and his family? Who wasn't half in love with a lady in Florida?

That made him pause. Was he already “half in love”?

Was he
already
in love? Did he love Amanda Yoder?

Yes.

The answer came to him as clearly as if the Lord himself had just whispered into his ear.

He loved Amanda Yoder.

His mind spun as Bishop Coblentz walked to the front of the barn and gestured toward the neat stack of hymnals. “The Lord speaks to each of us in His own way,” he began to the group of them. “It is up to each of us to open his heart to God's will.”

Levi, the man on his right, murmured his agreement.

As Bishop Coblentz spoke, talking about responsibility and commitment, Roman let his mind drift to the one person he couldn't stop thinking about. He wondered when he could get away to see Amanda again. Perhaps he could go see her in three or four weeks, even if just for a few days. It would be a hard trip, of course, and his family would probably be displeased about him going away again so soon.

But Roman knew he could ask the other men in the family to watch over things . . . and after all, it wasn't like he had always shirked his duties.

No, he'd never shirked his duties. . . .

“Roman? It's your turn,” Levi muttered.

“Huh?” With a start, he realized that the other men held hymnals in their hands. “Oh. Sorry,” he muttered, as he walked up to the stack and picked the next one. He held the book with both hands.

Silence settled over them as each man seemed to tense slightly in anticipation.

“It is time,” Bishop Coblentz said. “Open your hymnals. Inside one is a verse from First Corinthians.”

In unison, the five men did as the bishop directed. Some flipped through their hymnals quickly. Others were like him, letting their nervous fingers flip through the paper-thin pages carefully, trying not to rip the pages.

As men found nothing, they shut their books with firm hands. And Roman's heart began to beat a little faster. Realizing he was borrowing trouble, he mentally berated himself. There was no way he would have the Scripture verse. In just a few seconds, he would be closing his hymnal, too. Then he could go back to thinking about Amanda, and making plans to see her again.

Visions of their reunion calmed him. Before he knew it, he was imagining her in a blue dress on their wedding day.

Yes, it was fanciful to imagine her as his wife, but the daydream was doing what his reality hadn't been able to do. He was feeling calmer, more at peace.

More slowly, he thumbed through his hymnal, looking for a loose slip of paper. Little by little, he realized that the other men were now sitting quietly.

And that everyone's eyes were focused on him.

Then he saw what he'd been dreading—and what he'd thought he wouldn't actually see. Beside him, Levi nodded.

Swallowing hard, he felt his options for the future slip away. With a heavy hand, he lifted the paper. “It is I,” he said.

Bishop Coblentz stared at him intently. “Roman Keim, will you accept God's will?”

“I will accept,” Roman said solemnly, not daring to look at John Miller or his uncle Sam or his grandfather. He didn't want to see the sympathy in their eyes. Not even the warm glow of pride.

Instead, he looked straight ahead and kept his back stiff.

And tried not to think at all.

Bishop Coblentz nodded. “His will is done.”

 

He'd managed to avoid most of the family until supper time on Monday night.

But as Roman sat down across from Viola, felt Elsie's gaze on him, and saw the knowing glance of his grandfather, he realized he had no choice but to talk about his new responsibilities in the church. It was obvious they'd all heard. And just as obvious that they were trying their best to let him be the leader of the discussion.

He knew they were curious. But for the life of him, he couldn't bear to talk as if he was ready to be one of their district's preachers.

Even though he'd already told all the men that he'd accepted God's will.

Which, of course, made him feel even more confused and upset.

Tucking his chin, he forked another bite of green bean casserole and chewed. Anything to delay the inevitable.

For the last twenty-four hours, the feeling of following God's will warred with his own selfish wishes. In the middle of the night, he'd felt so torn, he wasn't able to fall back to sleep and had lain there, restlessly struggling with the news.