Jacob and his brothers and sisters would mean giving up something besides her music. Last week, when she and John had gone into Lancaster to apply for their marriage license, she had scarcely been able to restrain herself from gawking at the colorful clothes the “English” women were wearing. Could she give up her seemingly endless desire to wonder, to dream, to imagine “what if”?
What if one day she dared to wear a pink or yellow dress; let her hair hang down her back in curls or pulled into beautiful braids? How would it feel? Would it change who she was inside?
Several months ago she’d discussed the topic discreetly with Mary, and her friend had said that it wasn’t only the wearing of plain clothes that made them Amish, it was who they were. “It’s what we believe,” she’d stated with conviction. “We’ve been taught to ‘make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.’ You know without me telling you what that means.”
Katie knew. Her best friend was, of course, referring to the Scripture in Ephesians that taught uniformity of dress, transportation, and dwellings.
“What about the Englishers—what about them ?” Katie had persisted.
Mary had become exasperated with her. “They don’t know beans, that’s what. They—those worldly moderns—keep on changing and changing their clothes and themselves ’til they don’t know which end’s up. They don’t know who they are or whatnot all!”
Katie had listened, wincing inwardly at Mary’s stern reminder. “Besides, it’s much too late now to be questioning. You already took the vow for life.” She’d paused for breath, pinning Katie with an unrelenting gaze. “Better never to take the vow . . . than to take it and break it.”
Disobedience to the Ordnung brought dire consequences, Katie was well aware. The Ban and Meinding were a frightful, fearful part of the way things were— das Alt Gebrauch , the Old Way.
Without warning, Jacob jumped up in the buggy. “Oh, look, there’s Daed!” He pointed toward a large, two-story white clapboard house.
Katie jerked her thoughts from their ramblings. How much of Jacob’s boyish jabber had she missed? In her preoccupation, she’d nearly ridden right past the Beiler house!
Her guilt made her almost shy as she returned John’s exuberant greeting from the high porch that spanned the entire front of the house. “Gut morning to ya, Katie!”
Katie reined Molasses in to the barnyard, where he halted on the frozen ridges made by the bishop’s buggy wheels. As was the Old Order custom, John earned an income for his family from the land and the smithy, while serving God and community as a bishop. From the tracks, she could see that he’d already made several deliveries to customers this morning.
Katie let the reins rest loosely on her lap as she took in the snowy landscape extending far out and away from the road—John’s long-ago inheritance from his father, now deceased.
It was a peaceful, sweeping spread of land, with three stately mulberry trees gracing the front yard. She could almost imagine the purple impatients hugging the base of the trees on warm days, and the lush flower beds, well tended in the spring and summer by bright-eyed Nancy, the bishop’s eldest daughter. Hanging from one of the low-lying branches, left over from the children’s play, was a thick, long rope with an icy double knot tied in its tail.
Jacob turned to speak to Katie, short puffs of breath gusting in the cold air with each word. “Did I hear ya singin’ back there just now . . . on the road?”
His innocent question took her by surprise. “Singing?”
“Jah, coming up the lane . . . I thought I heard a song.”
Katie’s pulse quickened. In a few long strides, John would be at her side. She certainly didn’t want to be discussing her songs with Jacob when the bishop came to greet her.
“Oh, probably just a little humming is all you heard.” Maybe the youngster
What if one day she dared to wear a pink or yellow dress; let her hair hang down her back in curls or pulled into beautiful braids? How would it feel? Would it change who she was inside?
Several months ago she’d discussed the topic discreetly with Mary, and her friend had said that it wasn’t only the wearing of plain clothes that made them Amish, it was who they were. “It’s what we believe,” she’d stated with conviction. “We’ve been taught to ‘make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.’ You know without me telling you what that means.”
Katie knew. Her best friend was, of course, referring to the Scripture in Ephesians that taught uniformity of dress, transportation, and dwellings.
“What about the Englishers—what about them ?” Katie had persisted.
Mary had become exasperated with her. “They don’t know beans, that’s what. They—those worldly moderns—keep on changing and changing their clothes and themselves ’til they don’t know which end’s up. They don’t know who they are or whatnot all!”
Katie had listened, wincing inwardly at Mary’s stern reminder. “Besides, it’s much too late now to be questioning. You already took the vow for life.” She’d paused for breath, pinning Katie with an unrelenting gaze. “Better never to take the vow . . . than to take it and break it.”
Disobedience to the Ordnung brought dire consequences, Katie was well aware. The Ban and Meinding were a frightful, fearful part of the way things were— das Alt Gebrauch , the Old Way.
Without warning, Jacob jumped up in the buggy. “Oh, look, there’s Daed!” He pointed toward a large, two-story white clapboard house.
Katie jerked her thoughts from their ramblings. How much of Jacob’s boyish jabber had she missed? In her preoccupation, she’d nearly ridden right past the Beiler house!
Her guilt made her almost shy as she returned John’s exuberant greeting from the high porch that spanned the entire front of the house. “Gut morning to ya, Katie!”
Katie reined Molasses in to the barnyard, where he halted on the frozen ridges made by the bishop’s buggy wheels. As was the Old Order custom, John earned an income for his family from the land and the smithy, while serving God and community as a bishop. From the tracks, she could see that he’d already made several deliveries to customers this morning.
Katie let the reins rest loosely on her lap as she took in the snowy landscape extending far out and away from the road—John’s long-ago inheritance from his father, now deceased.
It was a peaceful, sweeping spread of land, with three stately mulberry trees gracing the front yard. She could almost imagine the purple impatients hugging the base of the trees on warm days, and the lush flower beds, well tended in the spring and summer by bright-eyed Nancy, the bishop’s eldest daughter. Hanging from one of the low-lying branches, left over from the children’s play, was a thick, long rope with an icy double knot tied in its tail.
Jacob turned to speak to Katie, short puffs of breath gusting in the cold air with each word. “Did I hear ya singin’ back there just now . . . on the road?”
His innocent question took her by surprise. “Singing?”
“Jah, coming up the lane . . . I thought I heard a song.”
Katie’s pulse quickened. In a few long strides, John would be at her side. She certainly didn’t want to be discussing her songs with Jacob when the bishop came to greet her.
“Oh, probably just a little humming is all you heard.” Maybe the youngster
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