Meek and Mild by Olivia Newport Page B

being seen beside him too often would spark speculation she was not prepared to confront. His eyes met hers but did not linger.
    “Bishop Yoder has gone too far this time.” John Stutzman spoke with the same conviction Clara had heard in his wife a few minutes earlier. Had they already found a private moment to discuss their feelings about the sermon? Had they decided to speak out, or was it coincidence?
    There was no such thing as coincidence, Clara reminded herself. Gottes wille . Everything that happened was God’s will.
    “He said nothing he has not said before.” Mose Beachy gave Clara a welcome glance. She was glad to hear his voice, calm and peaceable.
    “He’s been proud of his power for years,” John said.
    “That is a serious accusation,” Mose said.
    Clara shifted her eyes to Yonnie, who stood silently listening.
    “Are we not to speak the truth in love?” John said.
    Mose reached under his beard to scratch his chin, as he often did during fragile conversations. Clara realized she was holding her breath. Andrew tilted his head toward Mose.
    “You speak well,” Mose said. “The Scriptures do admonish us to speak the truth in love. We do well if we remember the fine balance of the admonition. Neither truth nor love should obscure the other.”
    Clara exhaled softly. This was why she liked to hear Mose Beachy preach. These few sentences were more profound—and convicting—than anything Bishop Yoder said in nearly an hour of holding his big German Bible in his hands.
    “Lucy is waiting,” Mose said. “The little ones will need to go home for their naps.” He stepped away.
    “Little ones,” Yonnie said. “With fourteen children, they’ve had little ones longer than anyone around here.”
    “They have a lovely family,” John said. “But Mose sets a good example. My wife will be wondering what’s become of me as well.”
    John crossed the room to find his family. The meetinghouse was nearly empty.
    Yonnie looked from Andrew to Clara. “Will you be recreating with the others today?”
    Clara looked to Andrew for the answer.
    “Clara and I will take a walk,” Andrew said. “Perhaps we’ll join the games later.”
    Skepticism crossed Yonnie’s face, but he moved away from them.
    “A walk?” Clara said.
    “Do you object?” Andrew gestured toward the door.
    She twisted her smile to one side. “Actually, I was hoping to see your Model T.”

A ndrew turned his buggy down a dark side road. He knew, and Clara knew, that choosing this route home from the Singing would add at least thirty minutes to the ride home. Andrew intended to add much more than that. He had always enjoyed Singings, though he went less often now. Unless Andrew was certain Clara would be there, his interest in the traditional social gathering faltered.
    Two lanterns hung from the front of his buggy, lighting the dim, narrow road that divided fields of adjoining farms. Even without the lights, the nearly full moon and the canopy of stars hurled across the sky would have given them safe passage. Andrew knew the road well. No holes awaited the steps of his horse.
    It was the stars that brought them out here tonight. Andrew slowed the stallion. The day had been beautiful—any day spent with Clara was beautiful—and he wanted this memory in his mind when he was alone on his farm tonight. Clara beside him. The sky vast above them. The sounds of evening restful around them. The night air cool and fluttering on their faces.
    “Thank you for showing me the Model T.” Clara’s words came on a soft ripple.
    The horse clip-clopped forward.
    “It means a lot to me that you wanted to see it,” Andrew said.
    “I love your curious mind,” Clara said.
    “Even if I am curious about an automobile engine?”
    “Would God have made you curious if He knew it would displease Him?”
    Andrew turned and smiled at her in the moonlight and slowed the horse even more.
    “Have you no doubt?” he asked.
    “About the gift of curiosity?