Where Grace Abides (2 page)

 
1
 
T
HE
B
ISHOP'S
R
ESPONSE

Man's life is laid in the loom of time
To a pattern he does not see,
While the weavers work and the shuttles fly
Till the dawn of eternity…
Some shuttles are filled with silver threads
And some with threadsof gold,
While often but the darker hues
Are all that they may hold…
God surely planned the pattern:
Each thread, the dark and fair,
Is chosen by His master skill
And placed in the web with care…
The dark threads were as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
For the pattern which He planned.

A
UTHOR
U
NKNOWN

 

J
eremiah Gant was in a sulk. A bad one.

In fact, he'd been in a black-water mood for two weeks now, and time, the proverbial healer of such things, had made no difference at all. Nor could he find any reason to believe it would.

So sour was his outlook this morning that he'd sent Gideon out on a delivery that just as easily could have waited another day or so. He liked Gideon Kanagy. The lad was a hard worker and good at his craft, and Gant had no regrets that he'd kept Rachel's brother as his employee upon taking over Karl Webber's carpenter shop. But this morning he needed to be alone. Something about working with wood, and working alone, usually helped him think.

And Gant needed to think.

When the bell clanged over the door, he ground his teeth, resenting the intrusion. He looked up from the table he was sanding to see David Sebastian. It was a sign of just how dark his mood really was that even the sight of his friend wasn't a particularly welcome one.

The doctor was wearing what Gant had come to think of as his “almost-Amish clothes.” Doc had become a seeker—one in the process of converting to the Amish faith—and these days dressed accordingly in a dark shirt and trousers, suspenders, and a straw hat.

Normally Gant would be glad for such a visit. He and the physician had struck up a solid friendship over the past few months—albeit an unlikely one, Doc being British and Gant, Irish. But today, seeing the man in his Amish garb and knowing the direction their conversation would almost certainly take, Gant didn't feel up to feigning even the slightest cordiality.

Doc was well on his way to finally marrying the love of his life, once his conversion into the Amish church was final. Not only that, but his intended was Susan Kanagy—Rachel's mother.

And
Rachel
was the woman
Gant
wanted to marry but couldn't.

“Very nice,” Doc said, coming to stand at the end of the table.

Gant shrugged. “It had better be. It's for Miss Marsh.”

“Penelope Marsh?”

Gant nodded.

“She's fussy, all right. Obviously you've passed muster. Time was, no one but Karl Webber could please her.”

“My being the only carpenter in town right now except for Gideon might have something to do with it.”

“Where is Gideon?” Doc said glancing around.

Gant went on sanding. “Out on a delivery.”

“Well, I just stopped by to say hello. But you seem busy.”

Gant heard the tentative note in Doc's voice. “Not that busy,” he said stilling his hand.

“I don't want to keep you—”

“I said I'm not that busy.”

Doc regarded him with the eagle eye usually reserved for a patient. Gant recognized the look, having once
been
his patient.

“What's wrong?” said Doc.

“Nothing's wrong.” Gant moved to change the subject. “You're looking pretty Amish these days. When do you grow the beard?”

“Not until we're closer to the wedding.”

Gant pretended to study him closely. “It'll make you look older, you know.”

“I don't care how I look so long as Susan will still marry me. And you can wipe that sneer off your face. You'll have to go through all this yourself once you hear from the bishop.”

Gant glanced down at the table and started sanding again. “I heard from him.”

Doc said nothing for a few seconds. Then, “
And?
”

Gant kept his head down. “He said, ‘no.'”

He heard Doc draw a long breath. “No,
final
—or no,
maybe?
”

“Oh, it was final.”

“So—what are you going to do?”

Again Gant stopped his work. “Not much I
can
do. The good bishop doesn't deem me a worthy prospect to join the People.”

Doc caught a breath. “What, exactly, did he say?”

“Very little, in fact. Just that he has doubts as to the ‘conviction' of my intentions. In so many words, he fears the only reason I want to convert is so I can marry Rachel, and that's hardly reason enough.”

A long, heavy silence hung between them. When the doctor broke it, he seemed to choose his words carefully. “Well…that would be true enough if he's right.”

Gant said nothing.

“You
have
thought this through, haven't you? I mean, you've told me more than once that you're convinced you can do this, that you
want
to do it—”

“What I want isn't actually the point now, is it?” Gant broke in. “It's what the Amish want. And clearly they don't want
me.
”

“So you're giving up?”

Short on patience and growing increasingly irritable with his friend's questions, Gant struggled to keep an even tone. “You know Bishop Graber better than I do. Am I missing something? His ‘no' seemed pretty final to me.”

“Surely he held out some hope for a later time.”

“He held out nothing. He was civil, wished me well, and made it very clear I was to stay away from Rachel.”

“Does she know about this yet?”

Gant shook his head.

“When did you find out?”

“Couple of weeks ago.”

“A couple of
weeks
ago? And you still haven't told Rachel?”

By now Gant was grinding his teeth. “Just how am I to tell Rachel
anything
? I'm not supposed to go near her. I'm not supposed to talk to her or expose her to my
worldly influence.
How exactly am I supposed to let her know what's going on when I'm such bad business for her?”

“It's not like that, and you know it.”

Doc shuffled his feet and made ready for one of his defenses of the Plain People, but Gant wasn't having any of it. Not today.

“But it
is
like that. It's manipulation, pure and simple.”

“Oh, for goodness' sake. Put a lid on that Irish temper of yours and listen to me!”

Gant reared back in his chair staring at him. There wasn't another man this side of Ireland who could talk to him like that and get away with it. Only with an effort did he manage to hold his tongue.

Looking around, Doc pulled up a chair—a chair that Miss Penelope Marsh had already bought and paid for. He sat down, facing Gant across the table.

“You need to understand that the bishop isn't trying to shut you out because he's afraid you'll be a bad influence on Rachel.”

“Is that so?” Gant made no attempt to soften the thick sarcasm of his tone.

“Yes, it
is
so. It's just that you represent the outside world to them, don't you see? It has nothing to do with your character or you as a person. You're simply an
auslander.
An outsider. It's a part of their faith to live separate from the world. They're committed to that.”

Gant's face felt frozen in a scowl. “They've accepted you.”

“But don't forget how long they've known me. I've been their physician for
years.
I've become their friend. They've finally grown to trust me, and—”

Gant waved off his explanations. “I know, I know,” he said, finally managing to damp his irritation, albeit grudgingly. He met his friend's gaze straight on. “More to the point, you're their kind of person. I told you once before, it doesn't stretch the imagination to see you as Amish. You're already a lot like them. On the other hand, I'm not so blind that I can't see the distance between them and myself.”

Doc regarded him with what appeared to be sympathy. His eyes were gentle—David Sebastian was a kind man—but his expression was solemn to the extreme. “Listen, my friend. I know you believe you can do this, but I have to ask: Is it possible that the bishop is right? Because if Rachel is your only motivation for wanting to join the Amish, it could well cause trouble for both of you eventually. And I know you care too much for her to hurt her.”

Gant raked a hand down his neck. “Don't you think I've asked myself that a hundred times or more? I'm not stupid, Doc. Of course
I don't want to hurt her. I'd do anything
not
to hurt her. And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure but what Rachel
isn't
my only reason to wanting to convert.”

He drew a long breath, then continued. “I thought there was more to it. I honestly did. But I'm beginning to wonder. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe if it weren't for Rachel, I would never have thought about turning. But right now, I'm more concerned about what it's going to do to Rachel if I
don't
turn. The last time we talked, it seemed to me she'd convinced herself that things were going to work out fine, that I'd be accepted, and other than maybe having to wait for a long time, everything would eventually fall into place.”

He leaned forward a little. “How is she going to feel when she finds out I've been flat-out rejected? That we can't be together—not now, perhaps not ever?”

Doc sighed. “She'll be terribly hurt, of course. I hate to think how difficult this will be for her.” He waited, then said, “There must be something to be done, some way to change the leadership's mind.”

Gant wanted to believe his friend was right, yet didn't want to set himself up for another disappointment. “Well, you'd likely know more about that than I do. But right now, from where I stand, it looks pretty hopeless. And I have to tell you, I don't think this is right. No church ought to have this much control over their members, that they can tell them who they can talk to, who they can spend time with—who they can
marry.
”

Doc was studying him as if trying to figure out what to say next.

“It's not a question of what's
right
,” Doc said. “It's just the way it is, the way it's always been with the Plain People. At the heart of their faith and their culture is the belief that God wants them to separate themselves from the world, to live apart and be a community in and of themselves. For hundreds of years now, they've followed that belief, and they're not going to change.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “You already know the
Amish have been persecuted for their faith here in the States. But it was much worse for them in Europe. They were
martyred
there. Persecuted, jailed, driven out—and often killed—for their beliefs. If they didn't turn away from their faith in the midst of that sort of terror, then you can be sure they're not going to change now.” He paused. “And if you've any thought of trying to persuade Rachel to leave the People for you, you'd best forget it.”

“I wouldn't ask that of her,” Gant said.

Wouldn't he?

More to the point, was his unwillingness to ask due to the unfairness of expecting such a sacrifice of her…or because he already knew her answer would be
no
?

“Don't take offense,” Doc said. “You know, sometimes we're so convinced of a thing, so sure of it we can't help but believe it's God's will. Then when it doesn't work out, we get angry with Him. We even feel that He might have misled us. But God never misleads us. No matter how much it hurts, a disappointment is often simply His way of guiding us from the wrong path to the right.”