congregation. One of them would give a second sermon. Clara clung to the hope that she might yet hear Mose’s words of wisdom today.
Clara settled in with her youngest sister on her lap. Mari had fallen asleep during the final hymn, and Clara doubted she would wake before the service ended. Beside them was Hannah and then Rhoda. Clara glanced across the aisle to the men’s side, where Josiah recently had been permitted to sit with his father rather than among the women. He took the privilege seriously and sat somberly with his hands crossed in his lap and every muscle in his face under control. Clara nearly smiled in pride but caught herself just in time. Of all places, the worship service was the wrong place for pride.
In the row behind Hiram and Josiah, Andrew sat beside Yonnie with the unmarried men. Clara wished she could know what Andrew was thinking, but like all the worshippers, he wiped expression from his face. It pained Clara to think that even if she married Andrew, she could not sit beside him during church and feel him near.
Clara shook off all the trivial hopes and wishes that coursed through her. None of them mattered. She was here to worship and learn, though she did not have to wait for the bishop to announce his Scripture text to know what he would preach about.
Self-discipline. This seemed to be the only theme God had laid on the bishop’s heart for the last two years.
Bishop Yoder began to preach.
Clara succeeded at remaining still and attentive, but under its outward form, her body ached to rise and pace across the back of the meetinghouse. Ironically, if she had a colicky baby on her hip instead of a sleeping sister in her lap, she could have done so.
She glanced at Andrew again.
At the sound of the benediction, Andrew’s first thought was Clara. As she left the meetinghouse, she glanced over her shoulder at him and met his eyes. Outside, he meandered toward where she strolled without particular aim, making sure to greet several people along the way. Clara was doing the same, but Andrew knew she was waiting for their paths of greeting to cross just as he was.
“ Gut mariye ,” he said when he reached her and they stood safely away from other members of the congregation—but not so far as to provoke speculation.
“ Gut mariye ,” Clara answered. “The same as always, was it not?”
They had spoken of Bishop Yoder’s sermons before.
“Please don’t let him upset you,” Andrew said.
“He is working up to something,” Clara said. “I believe he can find the theme of discipline in any part of the Bible.”
“He preaches what God puts on his heart.”
“Does he? Does the Holy Ghost use such judgment?”
“Will you be at the Singing tonight?” Andrew would hear Clara out later, when they were alone, and then their conversation could move on to more personal matters.
Clara nodded. “You’d better go help with the benches.”
Andrew’s gaze held her eyes for a few more seconds before he turned away to his duties. A few men had already begun transforming benches into tables, and Andrew grabbed the free end of a bench and entered the process.
Beside him a conversation was under way, and it had nothing to do with benches and tables.
“He’s doing it again,” one man said.
“He never stopped,” another responded.
“Almost thirty years of this, ever since he signed that letter in 1887.”
“That’s history.”
“Is it? Bishop Yoder has never found peace with the decision to let the Maryland churches go their own way. That’s why he preaches as he does.”
With the approach of footsteps, the two men cut off their conversation and carried a bench out of the way. Someone took the other end of Andrew’s bench and they moved it over several yards, where it would provide seating on one side of a table. Andrew’s partner dropped his end of the bench with a careless thud.
“Are you all right?” Andrew walked along the length of the bench to stand beside the man,
Clara settled in with her youngest sister on her lap. Mari had fallen asleep during the final hymn, and Clara doubted she would wake before the service ended. Beside them was Hannah and then Rhoda. Clara glanced across the aisle to the men’s side, where Josiah recently had been permitted to sit with his father rather than among the women. He took the privilege seriously and sat somberly with his hands crossed in his lap and every muscle in his face under control. Clara nearly smiled in pride but caught herself just in time. Of all places, the worship service was the wrong place for pride.
In the row behind Hiram and Josiah, Andrew sat beside Yonnie with the unmarried men. Clara wished she could know what Andrew was thinking, but like all the worshippers, he wiped expression from his face. It pained Clara to think that even if she married Andrew, she could not sit beside him during church and feel him near.
Clara shook off all the trivial hopes and wishes that coursed through her. None of them mattered. She was here to worship and learn, though she did not have to wait for the bishop to announce his Scripture text to know what he would preach about.
Self-discipline. This seemed to be the only theme God had laid on the bishop’s heart for the last two years.
Bishop Yoder began to preach.
Clara succeeded at remaining still and attentive, but under its outward form, her body ached to rise and pace across the back of the meetinghouse. Ironically, if she had a colicky baby on her hip instead of a sleeping sister in her lap, she could have done so.
She glanced at Andrew again.
At the sound of the benediction, Andrew’s first thought was Clara. As she left the meetinghouse, she glanced over her shoulder at him and met his eyes. Outside, he meandered toward where she strolled without particular aim, making sure to greet several people along the way. Clara was doing the same, but Andrew knew she was waiting for their paths of greeting to cross just as he was.
“ Gut mariye ,” he said when he reached her and they stood safely away from other members of the congregation—but not so far as to provoke speculation.
“ Gut mariye ,” Clara answered. “The same as always, was it not?”
They had spoken of Bishop Yoder’s sermons before.
“Please don’t let him upset you,” Andrew said.
“He is working up to something,” Clara said. “I believe he can find the theme of discipline in any part of the Bible.”
“He preaches what God puts on his heart.”
“Does he? Does the Holy Ghost use such judgment?”
“Will you be at the Singing tonight?” Andrew would hear Clara out later, when they were alone, and then their conversation could move on to more personal matters.
Clara nodded. “You’d better go help with the benches.”
Andrew’s gaze held her eyes for a few more seconds before he turned away to his duties. A few men had already begun transforming benches into tables, and Andrew grabbed the free end of a bench and entered the process.
Beside him a conversation was under way, and it had nothing to do with benches and tables.
“He’s doing it again,” one man said.
“He never stopped,” another responded.
“Almost thirty years of this, ever since he signed that letter in 1887.”
“That’s history.”
“Is it? Bishop Yoder has never found peace with the decision to let the Maryland churches go their own way. That’s why he preaches as he does.”
With the approach of footsteps, the two men cut off their conversation and carried a bench out of the way. Someone took the other end of Andrew’s bench and they moved it over several yards, where it would provide seating on one side of a table. Andrew’s partner dropped his end of the bench with a careless thud.
“Are you all right?” Andrew walked along the length of the bench to stand beside the man,
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