Wren turned and waited.
“I want to leave you with some hard-earned advice. It took me years and years to get this right.”
“I’m listening.”
“Ambition can be a leaky bucket.”
Wren tipped her head. “What do you mean?”
“You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. Trying to prove myself to others. To myself.” Dok paused, gathering her thoughts. Should she really say it? Why not? At this point, what was there to lose? She thought of the verse from Acts:“Grant that your servants mayspeak your word with all confidence.”
So speak up,Ruth.
“I even had something to prove to God. I wonder if that’s at the heart of what you’re longing for—wanting others to respect you. It took me a long time, way too long, to realize I didn’t need to prove my worth to anyone. And definitely not to God. I was loved by him, just as I was. Flaws, weaknesses, sins—my whole messy self. And that belief, that foundation, changed everything. It set the right things in motion instead of always trying to fix the damage from making the wrong choices.”
She walked up to Wren and put her hands on her shoulders. “Just think on that, Wren. I hope you can learn this truth a lot sooner than I did. You are deeply loved by God, just as you are.” She wrapped her arms around Wren and gave her the kind of hug she’d always longed for from her own mother. When she released her, there was a shiny gleam in Wren’s eyes.
But she still left.
How did someone slip through the cracks? Especially an Amish someone. David drove the buggy home from the Bent N’ Dent, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the fields. The first hints of autumn were just beginning to touch the edges of the leaves, but summer still held its ground, with lush greenery all around. He hardly noticed.
As he guided the horse along the familiar path, the conversation he’d just had with his sister about Clara Zook, how she’d been struggling in silence, kept replaying in his mind. For all the flaws of the Plain People, and there were many, he’d always thought they did community so well. But, as Dok said, Clara had slipped through the cracks, and she felt as if she’d failed her. Birdy had seen how Clara was struggling. She’d asked David to speak to Jacob about it. Had he? No. He meant to, but other things crowded out that intention. He felt a sting of partial blame. Not the full blame, of course, but he had failed her too.
Still, why hadn’t Clara accepted help when offered? Didn’t she bear some responsibility?
Ten minutes ago, he had posed that question to Dok and could tell she was barely holding back an eye roll. “David,” she had said in that older sister tone, “motherhood is revered among the Amish. It gives a woman purpose and identity. Status, even. How could someone like Clara Zook tell any Amish woman that she didn’t feel love for her babies? That she could barely tolerate all the demands she was facing? That her husband didn’t lift a finger to help her? Of course she couldn’t ask for help. She’s been paralyzed in shame.”
Shame. He’d been bumping into that a lot lately.
As a bishop, David was well aware of the undercurrents of struggle in his congregation. There was one man he suspected had a drinking problem, another with a fierce temper that his family bore the brunt of. And then there was the farmer who kept a stack ofPlayboymagazines hidden in his barn. When the deacon confronted him, the man denied it flat-out—untilhis wife pointed out the hiding place herself. Was that shame? Or pride? Probably both, David thought.
Shame mixed with pride was a dangerous combination. It was like a poison that seeped into the soul, keeping people trapped in their sins and secrets. David believed it was the Enemy’s work, to keep such things buried in the dark where they couldn’t be healed.
For people who eschew pride, he thought,we can sure be a prideful bunch.
He pulled gently on the reins, letting the horse slow to a steady pace. Dok had bounced a new idea off him—she suggested the church create a support group for first-time mothers. “We can’t let anyone slip through the cracks.” She volunteered her garden-level office as a place to meet. “And we need to find someone to lead it,” Dok said, “who’s got a knack for nurturing others.”
David knew just the person. “Birdy! She’d be ideal.”
“Nope.” Dok had shaken her head firmly. “She’s the bishop’s wife. No one would say a word.”
That was true. David’s mantle of responsibility had a tendency to be a conversation killer.
Well, Birdy would know who to ask to lead it.
A slight lift in his spirits brightened David’s mood. If the new mothers group worked out, maybe it could open the door to tackling other silent struggles, even the ones men dealt with but rarely talked about.
Noticing the horse had slowed to a crawl, David gave the reins a gentle shake. “Come on now, let’s keep moving,” he said. The horse picked up the pace, and they continued down the road toward home, the warm breeze rustling the leaves around them. Dok’s last words to him had been to remind him to pray for Clara because she had a long road of healing in front of her.
He had put a hand on his sister’s shoulder and said, “Count on it.” She didn’t even have to ask.
Annie sat on the bench outside the fire station, fiddling with the hem of her dress, waiting for Gus to finish his shift. When he finally appeared, his face lit up in a smile that quickly faded as he approached and saw her somber expression.
“Annie, what’s wrong?”
She patted the bench. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He sat down beside her. “Has something happened? Clara Zook? The babies?” He’d helped with the search last night.
