Abby Finds Her Calling (28 page)

J
ames stood near the door of his carriage shop’s big back room early on Friday morning, mentally taking attendance of the folks gathering for this special meeting. The pew wagon had arrived days earlier for Sunday’s preaching service, so his place was a logical spot to discuss how to help after last night’s devastating fire. He and his employees, Perry Bontrager and Leon Mast, had moved the carriages they were working on in the main shop area to make room for the benches, which were now nearly full of folks talking about the fire.

“That’s the craziest thing I ever heard! Why would a man stash all his money away in his house?” Beulah Mae Nissley demanded. “If he got upset with a teller here in Cedar Creek, he could have banked in Bloomingdale. Matter of fact, that’s where my bakery account is, while Abe keeps his crop money here in town. It’s just safer, having your money in more than one place.”

“A lot of things Rudy’s done of late strike me as out of kilter,” Mervin Mast replied in a low voice, and his son, Leon, nodded emphatically beside him. “And his bad moods started back a ways, long before he spoke out of turn in church.”

“That’s another thing we need to discuss,” Vernon Gingerich
agreed as he rose in front of the crowd. “Folks only get into trouble when they pull away and keep to themselves, thinking they can handle their troubles alone. Right now, though, we’ve got more basic concerns to deal with.”

The bishop held up his hand. “Let’s get started here, folks,” he called out above the chatter. “We’ve got a lot to cover, and we’ll begin by asking God for help with it.”

James bowed his head along with the others, waiting by the door to admit any latecomers.

After their silent prayer, Pete Beachey stood up. As their deacon, he led discussions involving members with hospital expenses or other emergencies they couldn’t pay for on their own. He looked older and sadder than when he’d taken James on as an apprentice, probably because he’d never really recovered from his wife’s passing a few years ago.

“As you know, we’ve got funds laid away for such times as this,” he began in a reedy voice, “but money’s not the immediate cure. The Ropps lost all their clothes and furniture and whatnot, plus the food they’d put up. Treva Lambright took Adah and the girls home with her last night, but Rudy’s got a herd to milk—”

“What if the fire marshal says Rudy started the blaze himself?” Amos Coblentz interrupted.

“And what about the way Rudy said he was leaving the church?” Ezra Yutzy joined in. “It’s one thing to set a family back on their feet again, but it’s a horse of another color if they want no part of us, or our help.”

“Jah, I went over on Wednesday to service his milking equipment,” Zeke Detweiler chimed in, “and he sent me packing. I’ve seen to Rudy’s mechanical stuff ever since I installed his new bulk tanks and agitators, so it wasn’t like I was selling him something he didn’t want.”

Again the bishop raised his hand for silence. “We’re jumping ahead of ourselves. I’ve asked Ferris North, the fire marshal, to inform
me of his findings—and to keep this catastrophe out of the papers. We take care of our own, and right now Rudy Ropp is still one of us.”

“Bishop, may I say a word?” Abby Lambright stood up, surveying those who sat around her. “Let’s not forget that Adah, Becky, and Maggie can’t replace what
they
lost, either. I’m gathering up donations of clothes for all four of them, and Mamm said she wanted to head up a food drive with everybody kicking in a few jars of canned goods or packages of meat from their freezers, when the Ropps are ready for that.”

“Those are good, practical ideas, Abby,” Vernon agreed with a smile.

“And sewing frolics!” she continued, her voice rising with excitement. “I’ll provide the fabric for anybody who will make quilts and table linens, so tell your wives to sharpen up their scissors. But first thing, of course—they’ll need a home to put this stuff in, fellas.”

James chuckled to himself. Leave it to Abby to jump in feetfirst and offer up her time and resources, regardless of how the men quibbled.

“They’ll need a place sooner rather than later,” Sam remarked over the crowd’s chatter. “Rudy figures on living in the barn so he can keep milking. Have you heard anything more on that, Vernon?”

The bishop shook his head ruefully. “I went over there as soon as I heard the sirens last night, same as Pete and Abe did. When Rudy began talking that way, we each offered him a place to stay in our homes.”

“Told him he could bunk at my place, too, since I’m just half a mile down the road,” Mervin remarked. “Offered him the use of whatever wagons and clothes I have, too, but Rudy called me a busybody do-gooder. Well, those are the
polite
words for what he said, anyway. He had a wild look in his eyes that warned me not to offer him that help again.”

The crowd got quiet and looked to the bishop and Pete for what
came next. James couldn’t recall a time when so many in Cedar Creek had expressed dismay over a member’s attitude—nor had a member ever provoked such controversy by acting so uncharitable. Ordinarily, the families here visited back and forth and helped one another during harvest or when somebody passed on. Their community of faith was the family of God here on earth. So why—especially only three weeks before Christmas—was neighbor speaking out against neighbor, or protesting the way they’d been treated?

This all started when Zanna ran off. And that all started with Jonny Ropp. Kind of comes full circle, doesn’t it?

James frowned. He’d slept so much better since he’d put such thoughts behind him, but the conversation around him was fueling that same negative mind-set. Folks were fidgeting on the benches, whispering among themselves as though Abby’s enthusiasm and helpful ideas had blown away like snowflakes in the wind.

“Lots of you fellas and I have raised barns and rebuilt homes together,” Amos Coblentz said as he stood up to address them. He was a master carpenter who’d apprenticed with Vernon years before he’d become Bishop Gingerich, and Amos was molding his boy, Owen, into a remarkable builder, as well. “But why would I want to commit my time to a house for a fella who says he’s leaving Cedar Creek? Why would Sam or James donate materials, like they have so many times before, when one of this family’s sons has caused them so much grief of late—and when Jonny and Gideon are nowhere to be seen when their family needs them?”

James couldn’t miss the way Abby glanced at Sam and then turned in her seat to observe his own reaction. He couldn’t forget her suggestion that
he
should be the mature one;
he
should offer forgiveness to Zanna rather than waiting for her to ask. It was a sorry thing for these old friends to dredge up all these feelings again—and so soon after they had welcomed Zanna back into the fold in the spirit of love and compassion.

“We should put our money where our mission is,” James heard
himself declaring. His conscience and his heart had spoken for him, perhaps prodded by Abby’s intense brown eyes. And he couldn’t back down now, could he? “Can you imagine how bad Adah and the girls must feel, losing their home? Losing all their savings? It’s worse because it’s so close to Christmas, too.

“And maybe,” he continued, hoping he sounded convincing, “when Rudy sees us building a new place for him and his family, he’ll realize he belongs here amongst folks who care what happens to him. Who else will help him, if we don’t?” James asked, his voice growing stronger. “Yet if Rudy came in here and heard the way we’re jawing about him, he’d walk right out. And I can’t say I’d blame him.”

The big workroom went quiet. James’s friends, whom he’d known all his life, were glancing at him, and then at one another, to consider how this idea fit with their own. James relaxed all over, going with the flow to redirect this energy—mostly because Abby’s beaming smile told him he’d said the right thing.

“Going along with Abby’s spirit of giving, I’ll replace the carriage and a buggy that got burned up in the Ropps’ shed,” James continued. “And if somebody else will spring for the wood and materials, I’ll build a wagon or two, as well. As far as I can see, this has nothing to do with Jonny and Zanna. It’s about neighbor helping neighbor—doing rather than just saying. It’s taking Christmas out of the pretty cards and putting it into practice.”

“I agree with that a hundred percent, James,” the bishop said, seeming to gauge the group’s mood. “I’ve always believed God gave me carpentry skills so I could build things up rather than tear them down. When the lot fell to me to be your bishop, I saw it as another way all the pieces fit together,” he added. “Building lives and a community of faith. Repairing and patching, too. We have a brother who’s in need of a lot of prayer and patching.”

Vernon smiled kindly at Amos Coblentz, who had taken his seat again. “I understand your hesitation to pitch in for Rudy, after the
way he talked at our last service. And I know how we hate to waste anything, be it effort or materials,” he added matter-of-factly. “It won’t be an easy task, clearing away the rubble of the fallen-down house to build a new one. The foundation’s a block of ice and debris from all that water we poured on it last night.”

The bishop straightened his stooping shoulders, as though bearing up under yet another burden. “We’ll vote on this, as always. But my recommendation is that we build the Ropps a new home because it’s how we take care of each other. If Rudy moves on, that’s his choice,” Vernon added quietly. “Maybe Adah and the girls will stay, in which case they’ll be needing a place. As will any new family coming to Cedar Creek—or any of our members looking for a different home. Whatever we build is bound to be stronger than what burned down last night.”

“Jah, there’s that,” Beulah Mae murmured. “Adah had been stuffing folded newspapers into the cracks where the chimney was pulling away from the frame, rather than fussing anymore for Rudy to fix them. The papers made the fire burn all that much faster, no doubt.”

From his spot by the window, James saw a familiar pickup truck pull up to the curb. “Ferris North is here,” he announced. “Maybe he’ll have a report for us.”

Folks turned their heads to watch the local fire marshal, a man they all knew because he inspected their businesses and advised them about how to prevent property loss. Ferris North was English, but he made sure the volunteers in their Plain communities had warning systems that fit with their beliefs.

“Morning, folks,” he said, nodding as he approached Vernon. “I want to thank all of you who helped last night. The house was nearly gone by the time we arrived, but we saved the barns and Rudy Ropp’s livelihood—which certainly counts for something.”

Everyone nodded, watching him intently.

“Let this be a lesson to any of you who still don’t have smoke
alarms—like the Ropps didn’t,” he continued sternly. “The fire started in their chimney, because of the buildup of creosote inside it, and then blew up into the attic. A good cleaning every fall—the most basic of maintenance—could have prevented last night’s disaster. And some tuck-pointing and masonry repair would have kept the drafts from feeding that fire once it started. Mose Hartzler does this kind of work, and for a very reasonable price.”

“Just like I was saying,” Beulah Mae muttered. “It’s a crying shame Rudy didn’t look after—”

“Thank you, Ferris,” Bishop Gingerich said pointedly. “This lays some rumors to rest, and we appreciate your diligent work—and your understanding that this remains a Plain concern, rather than an opportunity for the media to sensationalize our tragedy.”

“It’ll go no further than my report.” Ferris nodded at them all again. “Merry Christmas, folks. And don’t forget—those smoke detectors Sam sells in his store would make fine, practical Christmas gifts.”

Most of them chuckled. Everyone appeared relieved that while Rudy had been negligent with his repairs, he hadn’t set the fire because he was angry or to attract attention to his grievances.

“All right, then,” Amos said. “If we’re moving forward with this, I’ll be happy to lead the on-site building crew, Vernon, if you’ll round us up some carpenters from Clearwater and coordinate the other help. Owen and I just finished a place similar to the Ropps’, north of Queen City. If we all agree to use that floor plan, we can get started as soon as the site’s cleared.”

“I’ll be happy to do that,” Bishop Gingerich said. “Several seasoned builders live in my Clearwater district, and those who don’t do construction work anymore can get started on furniture.”

“I’ve got Mennonite cousins with heavy equipment who will help clear away the mess around the foundation,” Preacher Paul said. “And I’ll build your cabinets and handle the trim work, if you’ll have me.”

James and the rest of them laughed, getting caught up in this rush of goodwill; Paul Bontrager had extraordinary talent with wood and was in high demand for his custom shelving and display pieces.

Sam stood up then, nodding his approval of how folks were jumping in to help. “Count on me for your supplies, Amos. I’ll have the lumber delivered as soon as you tell me what you’ll need.”

“And I’ll bring in extra help to make meals for your crews, Amos,” Beulah Mae chimed in. “It’s never a problem, getting our women to cook for a project like this.”