River of Mercy (31 page)

At first Asa kept Silas in the corner of his vision as he began to tell him the strange, mind-boggling story of how they were related. After another moment though, once he sensed that the truth had begun to settle in on the boy, he turned to face him directly.

“As incredible as this must seem to you,” he said, “it's the truth, and you deserve to hear it. I don't know much about what might have happened to your mama since the time I last saw her at the plantation, but I can tell you whatever you want to know about the years before that, before you were born.”

The boy's eyes seemed about to pop. The narrow look of cynicism that usually pinched his features had disappeared, at least for the time being. For now, young Silas was obviously a captive listener to whatever Asa had to tell him.

“You're sayin' my mama…she was your sister? You're the big brother she used to talk about?”

Asa nodded, watching him closely.

“So that makes me—what? What kind of relation to you then?”

“I'm your uncle. Your mama and I had two different fathers but the same mother.”

The boy studied him. “You're darker than my mama. A lot darker.”

“That's because your mama's daddy was a white man.”

“I know that. Doesn't mean I like the knowing.”

“Even so, it's true. He was the owner of the plantation where we lived when she was little.” Asa paused. “Ariana never told you about him?”

Silas shook his head. “She never said nothing about him 'cept he wasn't a very good man and that's why she ran away from him.”

“Well, now that's the truth. He wasn't a good man, especially where his slaves were concerned. He took some kind of sick pleasure in hurting us.”

“So…you were a slave too?”

“I was. But no longer. I'm a free man now, thanks to Captain Gant. There are good white men, son. I've known a number of them, and the Captain is one of the best.”

Silas's face hardened to a sneer. “Right. I s'pose you think he's your friend.”

Patience, Lord. Give me patience with this boy…

“I
know
he's my friend. He took a bullet for me. That's why he walks the way he does.”

The boy shot him a look of pure skepticism. “He got himself shot because of you?”

“He did. Nearly died as a result of it. So don't give me no sass. I won't tolerate unkind words about white men or black. We're all the same color in God's eyes.”

The other glanced away, remaining silent for a time. “Mama, she believed in God too,” he finally said.

“I know she did,” Asa said quietly. “We used to talk about Him when she was just a little girl.”

The boy turned to look at him. “She told me that. Told me her grownup brother used to tell her stories about God and Jesus.”

“She remembered that?”

Unexpectedly, Silas's expression turned softer, even thoughtful. “Yeah, she remembered. She…she thought real high of you, it seemed.”

Asa's eyes burned. The boy was searching his face as if he were looking for something hidden. Finally he spoke. “So, just say you
are
my…uncle. What am I supposed to call you now? Uncle or Asa?”

“Best I can recollect, you haven't called me anything up to now, have you?”

Silas shook his head. “Didn't seem necessary.”

Asa smiled a little. “Well, then…when it does seem necessary, call me whatever you want to.”

The boy continued to watch him and then finally gave a nod. “I'll have to think on this, you know.”

“Of course you will. In the meantime, there's something else you need to know, and our time is short, so I'll just fill you in. We're leaving in a couple of hours or so. Do you feel strong enough to travel?”

Silas's expression brightened. “We're leaving? About time!” Then he stopped. “You're going too?”

Asa looked at him. “You didn't know? Yes, I'm going. Is that acceptable to you?” he said dryly.

The boy's eyes narrowed. “I reckon it is. It's not like I need you to go though.”

“I understand,” Asa said, making an effort not to smile. “Still, you won't mind if I go along? I've had a good bit of experience with these trips north.”

Silas studied him. “I s'pose you might be of some help then. But not because I'm still sick. I'm fine.” He paused. “Well then, we'd better tell the people.”

Asa hesitated, thinking. “Why don't you do that? They're used to taking their direction from you. I need to talk to the Captain about some things anyway.”

Silas stood up, dusting his hands down the sides of his trousers. “I'll handle it.”

As Asa walked away, he thought this new nephew of his could most likely handle just about anything that needed handling.

In any event, it promised to be an interesting trip.

Later that night, Gant and Gideon stood watching as the last of the runaways were stowed in the wagons. Turner's oldest son, as promised, had arrived to help drive.

“You're sure I shouldn't go?” Gideon asked for the third time.

Gant shook his head. “No. Silas is used to doing this. He knows the way. He may be young, but he's smart, and he's experienced. And I expect Asa can handle himself and just about anything else just fine. No,” he said again, “I need you here. And so does your family.”

Gideon turned to look at him. “Why do you say that? About my family?”

Gant shrugged. “You know the trouble they've had. I just think you need to stay put for a while. Besides,” he added, “with Christmas coming soon, I expect to be plenty busy. I'll need your help.”

Asa walked up just then. “So, looks like we'll be on our way now.”

Gant nodded. “You're sure you have everything you need?”

“We're all set. Even if we weren't, there's no more room in the wagons.”

Asa smiled at Gideon. “I'll miss your company. Maybe next time.”

“I wanted to go this time,” Gideon said, “but the Captain thinks I should stay here for now.”

“And he's probably right. Don't worry. There will be other trips.” He shook hands with Gideon and then Gant.

“Have a care,
mo chara,”
Gant told him.

Asa started off, tossed a wave over his shoulder, and then took off jogging toward the wagons.

“What's that mean?” Gideon asked.

“What you said to him.”

“
Mo chara
”? It's Irish for ‘my friend.' ”

Gideon looked from Gant to Asa, who was climbing up on the wagon bench in the lead wagon.

“I expect he's a good man to have as a friend,” he said.

“The best,” Gant replied, meaning it. “They don't come any better.”

30

A man reveals himself not by his words but by his deeds.

ANONYMOUS

I
t took only a little more than two weeks for Samuel Beiler to show what kind of bishop he would be.

There wasn't even a pretense that life for the Plain People would proceed as usual, that little would be changed under the leadership of the new bishop. Although Gideon Kanagy was no longer living Amish, he still had a number of friends who were, and those friends were talking. Talking and complaining and even worrying. Sometimes to Gideon.

Tonight, Reuben Esch and Solomon Miller both seemed particularly riled up as they sat in Gideon's rooms above the carpentry shop, plying him with the latest hearsay.

Gideon was surprised that either of his friends, Reuben especially, would visit him in his living quarters. Although both were in their
rumspringa,
neither had chosen to live outside the Plain community.

Solomon was actually preparing to make his vows to the church soon, and rumor had it that he and Sarah King would marry next year. Reuben, the son of Malachi Esch, had always been one of the male Amish youths who seemed disinclined to stray from his Amish upbringing. Even in his
rumspringa,
Reuben typically took little advantage of the freedom this Amish custom of a “running around time” offered. He was far more likely to stay close to home, helping with the farmwork.

Gideon was reminded that Reuben's father, Malachi, had never seemed to be as strict and unbending as some of the other Plain men were with their children. Malachi always appeared easygoing and good-natured with a soft spot for his family. So maybe Reuben had no worries that he might be rebuked for keeping company with a known rebel like Gideon Kanagy. Apparently Solomon didn't either.

In any event, he was glad they were here. He sometimes missed being around his Plain friends. Although he still saw the other fellows now and again, being together with his two oldest pals was different. He had grown up with Reuben and Solomon. Sometimes it seemed as if they'd known each other forever. The three of them had always shared matters they wouldn't have confided to others. There were some things best left unsaid except to the most trusted of friends.

Tonight, his two companions seemed to have plenty to confide, and Gideon's surprise and anger grew by the minute at their stories about their new bishop. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised by the tales he was hearing about Beiler. He had never liked the man, had never quite trusted him, partly because of the accounts he'd heard growing up about Beiler's harsh treatment of his own sons. Even so, he was surprised by some of his friends' tales.

Over the years, Gideon and some of the other fellows had actually come to feel sorry for the Beilers, especially the two older boys. Aaron, the oldest, was now in his own
rumspringa,
and according to Solomon and Reuben, he was inclined to spend more time with the
Englisch
in the area than with his own Amish neighbors. Noah, the middle son, was a couple years younger than Aaron and a quiet, seemingly shy boy. Once he was finished with his schooling, he went right to work on the farm, and that was still where he spent most of his time. As for Joe, the youngest, he was thought to be a little slow in the head.

Tales had circulated for a long time that Aaron and possibly Noah were routinely mistreated and maybe even beaten by their father.