turned dark with pain and disappointment. He opened his mouth, choked, and started wailing loud sobs of hurt. Many faces turned to watch. Tender looks of pity followed before heads bent to their plates.
David Beiler, masterful in the art of comforting his oldest son, stepped over, laid a hand on the heaving, overweight form, and told him softly that Sarah would put more cornstarch pudding on his plate, his eyes telling Sarah how much—a minimal amount.
Her face turning a shade of pink, her discomfort painfully obvious, she stepped up to the dessert table and waited her turn behind a tall, wide-shouldered youth she didn’t recognize. His hair was blond, cut in English style. But he wore broadfall denims and a pair of gray suspenders, his shirt a decided plaid pattern, not the usual plain fabric that was in the ordnung .
She thought nothing of this. The “worldly” haircut was common among the liberal youth. The years of rumspringa (running around) produced young men who tried their wings—experimenting in fashion, sometimes driving cars, as well as being active in organized sports. Experimentation in forbidden “things of the world” like alcohol and tobacco was not uncommon, resulting in a certain sadness as parental authority was undermined by the lusts of the flesh and the eyes holding court over a young soul.
Families bore it with gaduld (patience) and always with the expectation that the young people would eventually tire of these things and seek a more lasting peace—a way of life that spoke of obedience, sameness, a love for parents and God, and a return to the fold. This return was hopefully followed by dating, marriage, and raising a family in the same way their parents had.
It was always a joy to behold when a “wild” youth made the decision to start the instruction class in the church. Heads would be bent, and furtive tears would be wiped away. Fathers and mothers were grateful that the sleepless nights, the anxiety and fear, had brought this reward, one they were not worthy of, their spiritual humility a beautiful thing.
Parents of a youth who did not conform, meanwhile, carried a certain shame buried deep in the heart, an uncomfortable thorn that varied in its ability to cause pain but always there.
The line moved forward. Sarah watched as this unknown youth bent to lift a slice of chocolate cake, promptly dropped it, and watched helplessly as it rolled beneath the plastic table.
“Shoot.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sarah said.
He turned and smiled easily, unself-consciously. The humor on his open face was genuine, a magnet that drew her eyes to his. The smile on her lips reached her eyes, turning the gray green seawater color to one flecked with gold.
His eyes were very blue. She wasn’t aware of it until later, though, when she recalled their interaction.
He plunked a larger slice onto his plate. Sarah added a small amount of pudding onto Levi’s plate, caught Mam’s eye, who smiled ruefully and shook her head, only a bit, then followed the tall blond youth until she came to Levi.
“There. Now eat.”
Levi looked up at Sarah and drew a deep breath—one that quivered, like a small child.
“Are you angry with me, Sarah?”
“Of course not.”
She reached out to ruffle his hair. Dat smiled at her, and Levi beamed as he lifted his spoon, happiness and anticipation shining from his florid face.
“ Ich gleich dich (I love you).”
“I love you, too, Levi.”
This exchange was not lost on the blond youth, who watched Sarah and forgot to eat his cake. He’d never seen eyes that color. They reminded him of the ocean but only when it was stormy, not when it was calm. When she moved, he thought of the antelope that roamed the plains of Wyoming. Why had he never seen her? Who was she? He never did eat his cake.
After the plates of food were consumed, large garbage bags were filled and taken to the pile of smoking debris, where they disappeared, the intense heat consuming the
David Beiler, masterful in the art of comforting his oldest son, stepped over, laid a hand on the heaving, overweight form, and told him softly that Sarah would put more cornstarch pudding on his plate, his eyes telling Sarah how much—a minimal amount.
Her face turning a shade of pink, her discomfort painfully obvious, she stepped up to the dessert table and waited her turn behind a tall, wide-shouldered youth she didn’t recognize. His hair was blond, cut in English style. But he wore broadfall denims and a pair of gray suspenders, his shirt a decided plaid pattern, not the usual plain fabric that was in the ordnung .
She thought nothing of this. The “worldly” haircut was common among the liberal youth. The years of rumspringa (running around) produced young men who tried their wings—experimenting in fashion, sometimes driving cars, as well as being active in organized sports. Experimentation in forbidden “things of the world” like alcohol and tobacco was not uncommon, resulting in a certain sadness as parental authority was undermined by the lusts of the flesh and the eyes holding court over a young soul.
Families bore it with gaduld (patience) and always with the expectation that the young people would eventually tire of these things and seek a more lasting peace—a way of life that spoke of obedience, sameness, a love for parents and God, and a return to the fold. This return was hopefully followed by dating, marriage, and raising a family in the same way their parents had.
It was always a joy to behold when a “wild” youth made the decision to start the instruction class in the church. Heads would be bent, and furtive tears would be wiped away. Fathers and mothers were grateful that the sleepless nights, the anxiety and fear, had brought this reward, one they were not worthy of, their spiritual humility a beautiful thing.
Parents of a youth who did not conform, meanwhile, carried a certain shame buried deep in the heart, an uncomfortable thorn that varied in its ability to cause pain but always there.
The line moved forward. Sarah watched as this unknown youth bent to lift a slice of chocolate cake, promptly dropped it, and watched helplessly as it rolled beneath the plastic table.
“Shoot.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sarah said.
He turned and smiled easily, unself-consciously. The humor on his open face was genuine, a magnet that drew her eyes to his. The smile on her lips reached her eyes, turning the gray green seawater color to one flecked with gold.
His eyes were very blue. She wasn’t aware of it until later, though, when she recalled their interaction.
He plunked a larger slice onto his plate. Sarah added a small amount of pudding onto Levi’s plate, caught Mam’s eye, who smiled ruefully and shook her head, only a bit, then followed the tall blond youth until she came to Levi.
“There. Now eat.”
Levi looked up at Sarah and drew a deep breath—one that quivered, like a small child.
“Are you angry with me, Sarah?”
“Of course not.”
She reached out to ruffle his hair. Dat smiled at her, and Levi beamed as he lifted his spoon, happiness and anticipation shining from his florid face.
“ Ich gleich dich (I love you).”
“I love you, too, Levi.”
This exchange was not lost on the blond youth, who watched Sarah and forgot to eat his cake. He’d never seen eyes that color. They reminded him of the ocean but only when it was stormy, not when it was calm. When she moved, he thought of the antelope that roamed the plains of Wyoming. Why had he never seen her? Who was she? He never did eat his cake.
After the plates of food were consumed, large garbage bags were filled and taken to the pile of smoking debris, where they disappeared, the intense heat consuming the
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