front room and couldn't help thinking of her dear brother, Daniel. Another Christmas without him.
She sighed. If he just hadn't gotten himself drowned... maybe, just maybe, Katie would still be here in Hickory Hollow where she belonged. Instead, word had it Katie was living with Mennonites down the lane, paying rent to them, of all things. Lydia and Peter Miller. Jah, gut folk. Just ain't Amish, she thought with a sad shake of her head.
She got up and went to the kitchen, stoking the wood- stove, wishing that none of the bad things had ever happened, starting with Dan's death and ending with Katie's shunning--every bit as divisive.
63
On Sunday, while sitting on a cushioned pew between Lydia and Lydia's daughter-in-law, Edna Miller, Katherine was glad to experience another taste of morning worship at the Hickory Hollow Mennonite meetinghouse.
She sat quietly, reverently, as she had been taught as a child, paying close attention to the still-unfamiliar church trappings about her. All worldly, indeed, her People would say. Running a hand across the soft cushion beneath her, she thought what a stark difference--a nice change, really--from the hard wooden benches she'd been accustomed to while growing up. In front of the church, on a raised platform, stood a simple, lone pulpit, centered in the middle. She had known even prior to last Sunday--her first time as a visitor--that the preacher would stand behind the pulpit when he gave his sermon. She'd learned this tidbit of information from Dan years ago when he'd described the inside of several Mennonite churches. This, after having slipped away to an occasional non-Amish meeting himself.
"Oh, such a joyful time," he'd said about the forbidden services. "The people sing and testify. It's so wonderful-gut, Katie, really 'tis."
Of course, Dan had never gone on to say, "You should
64
really go and find out for yourself," or "I'll take you along with me sometime." None of that sort of talk. Dan had been careful that way, not willing to risk getting his sweetheart in trouble just because he was restless in their cloistered society. Or so she figured.
Still, she thought of Dan as she sat there, the light spilling in through the tall windows on both sides of the church like a divine floodlight. Katherine remembered her darling with an ache in her heart, wondering if they might've ended up Mennonite one day. If he'd lived long enough to marry her, that is.
When the song leader stood up before the people, he tooted softly into his pitch pipe, and the congregation began to sing out spontaneously in a rich four-part harmony.
Under Katherine's satiny sleeves, goose pimples popped out on her arms. Once again, all heaven came down, pouring right in through the lovely, bright windows. A foretaste of Glory filled the place, accompanied by the rapturous sounds of the a cappella choir.
Two rows up and just to the left of the center aisle, four young women sat shoulder to shoulder, earing matching white organdy head coverings. The teenage quartet unknowingly captured her attention, and although Katherine didn't recognize more than a couple of the hymns, she could see that the girls, who seemed to be sisters, certainly sang with sincerity and total abandon. Hardly even glanced at their hymnbooks, they knew the song so well.
Sharing the hymnal with Lydia's daughter-in-law, Katherine was once again captivated by the musical notation and noticed something else while turning to find the next hymn. The book included gospel songs, too.
"We only sing those songs on Sunday nights or at midweek prayer meeting," Edna explained in a discreet whisper.
Nodding as if she understood, Katherine stared at the key signature of the song they were singing, "Glad Day." She
65
wondered why it was all right with God for Mennonites to write down their music but not Amish. Least not Hickory Hollow Amish folk.
She also wondered why some women in the church wore veiled coverings and others didn't. Why some
She sighed. If he just hadn't gotten himself drowned... maybe, just maybe, Katie would still be here in Hickory Hollow where she belonged. Instead, word had it Katie was living with Mennonites down the lane, paying rent to them, of all things. Lydia and Peter Miller. Jah, gut folk. Just ain't Amish, she thought with a sad shake of her head.
She got up and went to the kitchen, stoking the wood- stove, wishing that none of the bad things had ever happened, starting with Dan's death and ending with Katie's shunning--every bit as divisive.
63
On Sunday, while sitting on a cushioned pew between Lydia and Lydia's daughter-in-law, Edna Miller, Katherine was glad to experience another taste of morning worship at the Hickory Hollow Mennonite meetinghouse.
She sat quietly, reverently, as she had been taught as a child, paying close attention to the still-unfamiliar church trappings about her. All worldly, indeed, her People would say. Running a hand across the soft cushion beneath her, she thought what a stark difference--a nice change, really--from the hard wooden benches she'd been accustomed to while growing up. In front of the church, on a raised platform, stood a simple, lone pulpit, centered in the middle. She had known even prior to last Sunday--her first time as a visitor--that the preacher would stand behind the pulpit when he gave his sermon. She'd learned this tidbit of information from Dan years ago when he'd described the inside of several Mennonite churches. This, after having slipped away to an occasional non-Amish meeting himself.
"Oh, such a joyful time," he'd said about the forbidden services. "The people sing and testify. It's so wonderful-gut, Katie, really 'tis."
Of course, Dan had never gone on to say, "You should
64
really go and find out for yourself," or "I'll take you along with me sometime." None of that sort of talk. Dan had been careful that way, not willing to risk getting his sweetheart in trouble just because he was restless in their cloistered society. Or so she figured.
Still, she thought of Dan as she sat there, the light spilling in through the tall windows on both sides of the church like a divine floodlight. Katherine remembered her darling with an ache in her heart, wondering if they might've ended up Mennonite one day. If he'd lived long enough to marry her, that is.
When the song leader stood up before the people, he tooted softly into his pitch pipe, and the congregation began to sing out spontaneously in a rich four-part harmony.
Under Katherine's satiny sleeves, goose pimples popped out on her arms. Once again, all heaven came down, pouring right in through the lovely, bright windows. A foretaste of Glory filled the place, accompanied by the rapturous sounds of the a cappella choir.
Two rows up and just to the left of the center aisle, four young women sat shoulder to shoulder, earing matching white organdy head coverings. The teenage quartet unknowingly captured her attention, and although Katherine didn't recognize more than a couple of the hymns, she could see that the girls, who seemed to be sisters, certainly sang with sincerity and total abandon. Hardly even glanced at their hymnbooks, they knew the song so well.
Sharing the hymnal with Lydia's daughter-in-law, Katherine was once again captivated by the musical notation and noticed something else while turning to find the next hymn. The book included gospel songs, too.
"We only sing those songs on Sunday nights or at midweek prayer meeting," Edna explained in a discreet whisper.
Nodding as if she understood, Katherine stared at the key signature of the song they were singing, "Glad Day." She
65
wondered why it was all right with God for Mennonites to write down their music but not Amish. Least not Hickory Hollow Amish folk.
She also wondered why some women in the church wore veiled coverings and others didn't. Why some
Similar Books
