the family would . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to speak of what she’d originally feared, which was that the Glicks would refuse to accept their runaway daughter’s body. She had been afraid that no one would give her the last rites of her faith.
“It was the least I could do. Who is more in need of our prayers?” Bishop Abner laid a lean hand gently on the edge of the pine box.
“Bishop.” A stern face beneath a white kapp appeared on the other side of the coffin, and the breeze from the open window carried the odor of unwashed underarms and clothing in need of airing. Rachel steeled herself so as not to flinch. It was something she’d had to get used to again after fifteen years away from the valley, and she’d discovered that she found it far more distasteful than she had as a girl. Her family had always used deodorant, but some Amish considered it forbidden as too worldly.
“Her poor mother,” the woman intoned. “To lose a child with no hope of salvation.”
“Yet,” Rachel murmured, her gaze downcast, “the Bible tells us that He is a merciful God.” She had plenty of opinions on the subject, but this was neither the time nor the place to discuss theology.
The woman stiffened and stared at her for a moment before her lips thinned and hardened. “For one who has broken her promise to the Almighty, there is no hope of salvation.”
“We are all sinners, and we can always hope,” Bishop Abner said. He glanced meaningfully at Rachel and then toward the door. Rachel nodded and followed him quietly out of the parlor. “Beth’s mother asked to speak with you,” he murmured.
“Me?” She wondered if she’d offended the Glicks with her presence. But there were many Englishers from the town, so she didn’t think so. A wake was a public event.
The main hall was crowded with Amish. She and the bishop worked their way past a cluster of elderly women in black prayer kapps, and several men who were members of her parents’ church community. Three little boys dressed in black trousers, black suspenders, and white shirts sat solemnly on the stairs that led to the second floor, straw hats in hand, feet decently covered in black stockings and high-top leather brogans. The bishop led the way toward the back of the house.
“Bishop Abner?” Eli Rust, her Uncle Aaron’s next-door neighbor, tugged at the bishop’s sleeve. “A moment of your time?” Rachel noticed that Eli’s brother was with him. Both men were members of Abner’s church community.
Joab Rust nodded in her direction. She nodded back.
Abner raised one finger in a gesture that she assumed meant she was to wait. “How can I help you?” he asked the men.
Rachel half turned to give them some privacy in the crowded space and stepped back against the wall to allow Polly and Ed Wagler by. Ed’s eyes were swollen, as if he’d been crying. “Polly. Ed.” The Waglers ran the town grocery, and Rachel had known them since she was small.
“Terrible business, this,” Ed said. “I can’t . . .” He choked up, pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket, and blew his nose loudly.
“To think that something like this would happen here, of all places.” Polly embraced her, enveloping her in a cloud of gardenia cologne. “And you had to be the one to find her.”
“Terrible,” Ed repeated. “Words can’t express . . .” Again, he seemed unable to go on.
Well-meaning Polly had no such obstacle. “Such a young girl, with so much life ahead of her, a lovely Christian girl, always so pleasant when she came into the store.” Ed blew his nose a second time, almost drowning out his wife, but she went on. “We brought a lunchmeat-and-cheese platter, the large one.”
Ed’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his thin neck. “No need to mention it, Polly. Least we could do.”
“Ed said he’d do the same again in a few weeks,” Polly said. “When our Calvin passed, Ed was fine during the funeral, but later, he just fell apart. Just sat
“It was the least I could do. Who is more in need of our prayers?” Bishop Abner laid a lean hand gently on the edge of the pine box.
“Bishop.” A stern face beneath a white kapp appeared on the other side of the coffin, and the breeze from the open window carried the odor of unwashed underarms and clothing in need of airing. Rachel steeled herself so as not to flinch. It was something she’d had to get used to again after fifteen years away from the valley, and she’d discovered that she found it far more distasteful than she had as a girl. Her family had always used deodorant, but some Amish considered it forbidden as too worldly.
“Her poor mother,” the woman intoned. “To lose a child with no hope of salvation.”
“Yet,” Rachel murmured, her gaze downcast, “the Bible tells us that He is a merciful God.” She had plenty of opinions on the subject, but this was neither the time nor the place to discuss theology.
The woman stiffened and stared at her for a moment before her lips thinned and hardened. “For one who has broken her promise to the Almighty, there is no hope of salvation.”
“We are all sinners, and we can always hope,” Bishop Abner said. He glanced meaningfully at Rachel and then toward the door. Rachel nodded and followed him quietly out of the parlor. “Beth’s mother asked to speak with you,” he murmured.
“Me?” She wondered if she’d offended the Glicks with her presence. But there were many Englishers from the town, so she didn’t think so. A wake was a public event.
The main hall was crowded with Amish. She and the bishop worked their way past a cluster of elderly women in black prayer kapps, and several men who were members of her parents’ church community. Three little boys dressed in black trousers, black suspenders, and white shirts sat solemnly on the stairs that led to the second floor, straw hats in hand, feet decently covered in black stockings and high-top leather brogans. The bishop led the way toward the back of the house.
“Bishop Abner?” Eli Rust, her Uncle Aaron’s next-door neighbor, tugged at the bishop’s sleeve. “A moment of your time?” Rachel noticed that Eli’s brother was with him. Both men were members of Abner’s church community.
Joab Rust nodded in her direction. She nodded back.
Abner raised one finger in a gesture that she assumed meant she was to wait. “How can I help you?” he asked the men.
Rachel half turned to give them some privacy in the crowded space and stepped back against the wall to allow Polly and Ed Wagler by. Ed’s eyes were swollen, as if he’d been crying. “Polly. Ed.” The Waglers ran the town grocery, and Rachel had known them since she was small.
“Terrible business, this,” Ed said. “I can’t . . .” He choked up, pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket, and blew his nose loudly.
“To think that something like this would happen here, of all places.” Polly embraced her, enveloping her in a cloud of gardenia cologne. “And you had to be the one to find her.”
“Terrible,” Ed repeated. “Words can’t express . . .” Again, he seemed unable to go on.
Well-meaning Polly had no such obstacle. “Such a young girl, with so much life ahead of her, a lovely Christian girl, always so pleasant when she came into the store.” Ed blew his nose a second time, almost drowning out his wife, but she went on. “We brought a lunchmeat-and-cheese platter, the large one.”
Ed’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his thin neck. “No need to mention it, Polly. Least we could do.”
“Ed said he’d do the same again in a few weeks,” Polly said. “When our Calvin passed, Ed was fine during the funeral, but later, he just fell apart. Just sat
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