The Longing
The
Longing
BEVERLY
LEWIS
The
Longing
The Longing
Copyright © 2008
Beverly M. Lewis
Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lewis, Beverly.
The longing / Beverly Lewis.
p. cm. — (The courtship of Nellie Fisher ; 3)
ISBN 978-0-7642-0584-2 (hardcover: alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-7642-0312-1 (pbk.) — ISBN 978-0-7642-0585-9 (large print pbk.)
1. Amish—Fiction. 2. Amish women—Fiction. 3. Lancaster County (Pa.)—Fiction. 4. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3562.E9383L66 2008
813'.54—dc22
2008027994
D
EDICATION:
To sweet Aunt Dottie,
and
in fond memory of her dear husband,
my uncle
Omar R. Buchwalter.
1918–2007
By Beverly Lewis
A
BRAM’S
D
AUGHTERS
The Covenant • The Betrayal
The Sacrifice • The Prodigal
The Revelation
T
HE
H
ERITAGE OF
L
ANCASTER
C
OUNTY
The Shunning • The Confession • The Reckoning
A
NNIE’S
P
EOPLE
The Preacher’s Daughter • The Englisher • The Brethren
T
HE
C
OURTSHIP OF
N
ELLIE
F
ISHER
The Parting • The Forbidden • The Longing
The Postcard • The Crossroad
The Redemption of Sarah Cain
October Song • Sanctuary
*
• The Sunroom
The Beverly Lewis Amish Heritage Cookbook
*
with David Lewis
BEVERLY LEWIS, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, fondly recalls her growing-up years. A keen interest in her mother’s Plain family heritage has inspired Beverly to set many of her popular stories in Amish country, beginning with her inaugural novel,
The Shunning
.
A former schoolteacher and accomplished pianist, Beverly has written over eighty books for adults and children. Her novels regularly appear on
The New York Times
and
USA Today
bestseller lists, and
The Brethren
won a 2007 Christy Award.
Beverly and her husband, David, make their home in Colorado, where they enjoy hiking, biking, reading, writing, making music, and spending time with their three grandchildren.
C
ONTENTS
Spring 1967
Like the steady thaw of snow and ice on field and paddock, undoing winter, my sadness has begun to melt away. Six weeks have come and gone since Caleb and I said our last good-byes, and it’s nearly time to plant peas and carrots, once the soil is soft enough to take a footprint and be tilled. Time to press on in other ways, too, as I look ahead to joining the New Order church this fall.
Honestly,
a great yearning has entered my heart, lingering there in the deepest part of me . . . warming me as I learn to live under the mercy of amazing grace. There are moments, though, when I think of the love Caleb Yoder and I once had and what is now lost to us. At such times, I simply knead the bread dough harder, trying not to fret. With God’s help and my family and friends, I’ll move forward.
There’s no denying it has been a long winter here in Honey Brook, with far too much heartache all round.
Ach,
but I feel as if I’m holding my breath sometimes, waiting for the change of season to bring new life.
As for heartache, my dearest friend, Rosanna King, seems to be doing all right after relinquishing her twin babies, Eli and Rosie, to their birth parents. She’s as kind and cheerful as always, but there is unmistakable pain in her eyes, especially when she works on the little cradle quilts she gives away to local midwives. Truly, she longs for her own baby to care for and love. God has certainly allowed some awful hard things in this life, and even with my newfound faith, Rosanna’s loss is beyond my understanding.
Not only does Rosanna’s plight puzzle me, but my oldest sister’s desire for fancy things does, too. Rhoda’s made a beeline to the modern world and has herself an English beau, who treats her to fine restaurants and drives her around the countryside in his sporty car. And sometimes in
her
car, according to the grapevine.
Not even Mrs. Kraybill, Rhoda’s part-time employer, will shed any light on the rumors when she stops in at the bakery shop. I admit to worrying that Rhoda will get herself hitched up with this
Englischer
and bring new sorrow to Mamma’s heart . . . and
Dat
’s, too.
For now, at least, Rhoda’s still staying with our brother James and wife, Martha, new members of the well-established Beachy Amish church, not far away. As such, they’re enjoying a good many modern pleasures. To think that Rhoda
and
Martha are learning to drive!
And they aren’t the only ones. More than a third of the People who originally left the old church have already followed a similar path. My oldest brothers, twins Thomas and Jeremiah, have both purchased cars, unable to agree on the same make and color so they could share one between them. They managed to scrape up the money for a down payment on a tractor, too, which they’ll both use.
No telling where all this buying and whatnot will take folk. Truth be told, such a mighty strong pull the world has on us all.
Frankly, I don’t boast when I say I have no interest in the fancy life. Thus far, there’s little temptation in that direction. How can I miss what I’ve never had? I do miss Rhoda, though, and long to win her to the Lord one day.
Nan has become my closest and dearest sister now, and I’ve shared with her the whole prickly story of my courtship with Caleb. She quietly says, “Soon your pain will lift, Nellie Mae.” Since she has suffered her own recent heartbreak, I suppose she should know.
I do still wonder if Caleb ever thinks of me. Does he wish things had turned out differently?
I, for one, won’t let his determination to adhere to the Old Ways stop me from praying that his eyes might be opened. Often my prayers are mixed with tears, but I refuse to put my hand to the plow and then turn back. I believe I’m called to this new way of living, and nothing will change my mind.
Preacher Manny said last Sunday, in order to be a true follower of Christ, you must allow God to mold you—to remake you—hard as that may be at times. So I read the Scriptures and contemplate the fork in my road, wondering what sort of young woman I’m becoming since I knelt in the sawdust of Dat’s woodworking shop nearly two months ago. I know one thing: I’m free from the bondage of the past . . . and the expectations of Caleb’s father. I live to honor God, not my uncle Bishop Joseph and more rules than I can possibly remember. And I don’t believe it’s wrong to talk to the Lord in prayer, like I would to a close friend.
Hopefully the passage of time and the still, small voice of God’s Spirit will soften Caleb’s heart, too. I’d like to think I pray that not for my sake, but for his alone.
It’s strange, really. Even though I carry a lingering tenderness for Caleb, sometimes I have to look down to see if my feet are touching the ground. I feel so light and free and ever so clean that it wonders me how a person can be filled with both joy and a sense of sadness at the same time.
Uncle Bishop, who still oversees our New Order group, and Preacher Manny Fisher, my father’s cousin, have decided it’s time to add a deacon and a second preacher to help with our growing house church. So the divine lot will be cast twice in a few weeks. Some have already gone to prayer and fasting . . . to be in one accord. I wish I were already a voting member. Not that I have anyone in mind for either office, but it would be wonderful-good to feel more a part of the new fellowship of believers.
These days the
Bann
is back in force and the months of easily switching churches are over. Those who remained in the old church are settled and a bit self-satisfied, too—or at least Dat has hinted as much. It’s sad to think they are so closed-up to the notion of salvation through grace, but Mamma says we might be surprised at what’s happening deep in their hearts, just as we were surprised about Suzy.
I do ponder such things when I look at her picture, given to me by Christian Yoder, her Mennonite beau’s older brother. I gaze at the forbidden image more often than I should, probably, wondering what my parents might say if they knew. I am thankful, indeed, for Suzy’s life, short as it was, and for the words of faith and love penned in her diary. Words that have helped to guide me.
All in all, there is peace in knowing that my future—and my salvation—doesn’t depend on me. It never did. I’ll continue to pray for Caleb and trust I’m not being selfish in that. Meanwhile, I know I can cling to my new faith and to my precious family, come what may.
