River of Mercy (32 page)

It wasn't unusual for an Amish man to be strict with his children. But strict was one thing, and cruel was another. Gideon didn't know if many of the adults were aware of the stories about Beiler, but the young people talked. They talked about the bruises they'd seen on Aaron, particularly in warm weather when more of his skin was exposed. And when they were younger, there had been many a morning when Aaron and Noah had come to school with swollen red eyes that hinted they might have been crying the night before.

No one knew for certain, of course, but tales were told, and some were believed. But even if anyone had known for sure, most likely nothing would have been done about it. A man's dealings with his family were his own business. That was just the way things were among the People.

Now that Gideon was older, he appreciated his own father more than ever. His
dat
had been stern at times and expected hard work and right behavior from his children, but Gideon couldn't remember a time when he'd ever been frightened or cowed by Amos Kanagy. His father had always seemed comfortable in showing his love for his family.

When he realized that his mind had wandered away from the conversation, he tugged his thoughts back to what the others were saying.

“He actually told them they couldn't get married this month, like they'd planned?” Reuben questioned.

“Who's that?” Gideon broke in.

“Miriam Zook and Mervin Fisher,” Reuben supplied. “Seems Beiler heard they were seeing each other too often and disciplined them. He made them postpone their wedding.”

“Made them?” Gideon asked.

Solomon gave a shrug. “The bishop has the say-so about weddings.”

“Sounds as though the new bishop has a say-so about everything,” Gideon put in.

“You don't know the half of it,” Solomon said. “He's even putting restrictions on how often a husband and his wife can…” he stopped, his face flaming. “You know.”

“What?” Gideon burst out. “Since when does a bishop have the right to interfere in the People's marital matters? That's never happened before!”

Reuben, usually a respectful and reserved type, grated out, “Bishop Beiler seems to think he has the right to interfere in whatever he wants.” He shook his head, brushing away a shock of dark hair that fell over his forehead, and added, “The people are getting mighty upset with him.”

“Rightly so, it would seem,” said Gideon.

“He ordered Thomas Schrock to close down his blacksmith shop,” Solomon said. “Told him he needed to spend all his time farming. And Thomas started smithing in the first place because he couldn't make a living with just his small acreage, what with his big family and all.
Dat
said Thomas is worried sick about finances now. The People will help him, of course, but Thomas won't like being beholden to the community.”

Anger surged in Gideon. He got to his feet and began to pace. “This just isn't right! Somebody needs to do something.”

“Like what?” said Reuben. “Beiler is the bishop.”

“He's sure not acting like any bishop I ever heard tell of, ” Gideon shot back. “He shouldn't be allowed to get away with this.”

“Nobody can stop him,” Solomon pointed out. “He has all the control.”

“Bishop Graber would never have behaved like this,” Gideon said. “No bishop ought to have this kind of power.”

“It's getting kind of scary,” Reuben said quietly. “People are beginning to wonder what's going to come next.”

“Well, he's already set down a new rule about Christmas,” Solomon said, his expression sullen.

Gideon stopped pacing and turned to look at him.

“No gifts are to be exchanged. Nothing. No homemade presents, not even food—nothing at all. Not among family members or friends. Not even for the children.”

“But Bishop Graber always let us exchange gifts, so long as they were homemade and not elaborate,” Gideon put in.

“The
new
bishop has reversed that,” Solomon said, his tone sour.

Gideon shook his head. “This is so wrong.”

Reuben had been quiet for some time but now spoke up. “You think maybe it would do any good for Aaron to talk to him? Maybe if Samuel realized that he's stirring up resentment among the People, he'd ease up a little.”

Solomon shot him a wide-eyed look. “Are you serious? Aaron would never dare to disagree with his father! He's afraid of him.”

“Aaron's a grown man,” Gideon reminded the others. “He has no call to be afraid of his own
dat.”

“Maybe not, but it's no secret he and Noah do whatever they can to keep him off their backs.”

They stayed silent for the next minute or two, each obviously thinking his own thoughts. Reuben finally broke the silence again. “What about your sister, Gideon? Could she maybe speak to him…to the bishop?”

Gideon, now standing at the window, turned. “Rachel? Why would she talk to Beiler?”

Reuben and Solomon exchanged glances. “Well, rumor has it that they might have…an understanding,” Reuben said.

Gideon tensed. “That's not true,” he said, his tone rough.

“You sure?” Solomon seemed to form the words carefully, but his gaze was intent. “There's been talk for a long time that the bishop means to marry her.”

“I'm about as sure as I can be of anything that Rachel has no intention of marrying Samuel Beiler,” Gideon said, not even trying to hide his irritation. “And that's all I have to say about my sister.”

The other two nodded and glanced away.

Gideon felt close to going into a sulk. It made his blood boil to think of people talking in such a way about Rachel. The idea of her name even being mentioned in the same breath as Samuel Beiler's was insulting.

They spent the rest of the evening talking about inconsequential things, and Gideon soon lost interest. The sense of good fellowship and contentment he'd enjoyed earlier had been mostly spoiled by the revelations of Beiler's behavior and particularly by the thought of him being linked with Rachel.

He was almost relieved when his friends left so he could be by himself to think through the unpleasant and worrisome accounts that still continued to nag him after he went to bed. During a long and restless night, he increasingly felt a need to talk to somebody about the things he'd heard tonight, someone who could be trusted not to go ratting to the bishop. But who?

Besides, what good would it do? It wasn't as if anyone could change the way things were, after all. Whatever a bishop decreed was final.

This
would
have to start up just when he was actually considering going back home and living Amish again. He'd been thinking about it for quite a while, in part because of his feelings for Emma, but also because the
Englisch
life was losing its appeal for him. The main thing keeping him away from the Plain community now was his job. He purely enjoyed working in the carpentry shop for Captain Gant. Farming was all right, and he didn't mind the hard work, at least part-time. But he'd much rather work in the shop—work with the wood itself, make deliveries, and be a carpenter instead of a farmer. He'd learned a lot from the captain and wanted to continue to learn while working on the job and gaining more experience. He had earlier wondered if Bishop Graber would approve his working in the shop. And now that he would need Samuel Beiler's approval, he knew it was even less likely that he'd be allowed to continue as Gant's apprentice.

Reuben was right. This was getting kind of scary.

Still, as futile as the effort might be, he wished he could hash all this out with someone he trusted. Someone wise who understood the People's ways but who didn't necessarily believe everything that the bishop ordered was sacred and untouchable.

It occurred to him that that someone just might be Doc. With that thought and an extended time of mulling it over, he finally found enough peace to drift off to sleep.

31

When men meet with a mission, let truth be in their midst.

ANONYMOUS

C
hristmas came quietly in the Riverhaven Amish community and passed without leaving much of an imprint.

To an observer watching from the outside, the holy days of the winter season looked almost like any other days, common and ordinary with nothing to mark them as special.

For many of the Plain People, it was a bittersweet time, although still a special time of reverence, for remembering and rejoicing in the Savior's birth. This year, however, rather than being a day of great brightness and high cheer, it was a time when some, especially the children, wondered why it had to be spent without the usual scent of evergreen in the house or the annual small gifts of love and friendship so carefully handcrafted and exchanged between family members and friends.

This was a quiet and carefully scripted Christmas, one to tread through softly rather than dance through joyfully.

As the old year faded into the new, David Sebastian kept his concerns regarding Samuel Beiler to himself. He longed to discuss the matter with Susan, but she was burdened with her own worries about the new bishop's flagrant bullying of the People. Besides, he had come to realize by now that Amish men simply didn't discuss matters of church leadership with their wives, and although it went against the relationship he had with Susan, in this particular case he felt obligated to maintain his silence.

He was reluctant to add to her troubled state of mind by letting her know just how serious the situation had become. It wasn't fair to use her as a sounding board for his own disquiet. He couldn't even bring his closest friend into his confidence because Jeremiah Gant was
Englisch.
No matter how much the community had come to respect him, he was still an outsider.

David couldn't help but wonder if the meeting he'd been invited to tonight had anything to do with Beiler. To his surprise and puzzlement, he'd been asked to come to Malachi Esch's house after supper for some kind of a gathering even though he was a fairly new convert and not in any way involved in leadership. He had no idea who else would be in attendance. Malachi mentioned only “a few who want to discuss some concerns of the People.”