Before I left, Jon arrived with news. It was about the gunfire last night. A dozen armed looters had tried to break in to the Stauffers, though there was almost nothing left on the shelves. They had smashed the windows and tried to take whatever they could get their hands on.
There had been a firefight between the looters and some of the men from the town. It lasted for a while, and ranged nearby as they pursued the men. Five or six were dead.
And then Jon handed me a handwritten message, one from Bishop Schrock. After all of the food had been loaded onto the National Guard trucks to be taken to market, he would like to talk with me. I knew what our conversation would be about.
Like the rising of the sun or the phases of the moon, I thought.
Again, about Mike.
Jon knew what it was about, too. I suppose everyone did, as everyone always knows everything. It would be the same conversation we had many times.
But now it would be different, I knew. So much was different now. I sighed, and said a little prayer.
I ARRIVED AT THE farm, and helped with the loading. Two trucks today.
Bishop Schrock asked me to walk with him along the fence that bordered his pastures. It could have been a very long walk, because the Schrock farm is the largest in the settlement.
We talked for a short while about the labor of the farm, about the change in the weather, about the coming of the cold. And then, as I knew it would, the conversation turned to my guests.
“You know what I have told you about the dangers of being too close to Englishers like your friend,” he said. “His life is broken.”
I told him that I remembered our conversations, yes.
“And now he has come to live with you, with his children and a woman to whom he is no longer married.”
I told him that was so.
Bishop Schrock stopped walking, and looked out into his fields. His face seemed tight, his eyes not on mine.
“I never thought I would see this time, Jacob. A terrible time, a time of trial and testing.”
I did not say anything, because I was not sure quite what he meant.
He went on. “I do what I can to watch out for our spiritual integrity. The ways of the world can so easily destroy us, and work their way into our souls. The English are all around us, and our path is all we have that gives us strength. I know I can be hard. But that is needed, if we are to serve God.”
His eyes turned to me. “I hope you know this. I only do what I do because I must. It is my duty.”
I told him yes, and though my voice was calm, my heart was not. It stirred, leapt, and I could feel that old anger rising. Those words were my father’s words, and my uncle’s words. Those very words.
He looked away again, out to his fields. He was silent for another moment, his eyes far away.
“You must continue to let your friend and his family live with you.”
“What!” I said. It squeezed out of me on a breath, like I was a crumpled paper bag. “What?”
He did not look at me, but he spoke plainly.
“You must let him stay with you. And the woman who was his wife, and his children. These are not times like other times, Jacob. Around us, the English are dying. They are dying. We give our food, and we give our skills, but we are so few, Jacob. Whenever the soldiers come, I hear things that tell me this. Every time, and it worsens. There will be so many terrible days ahead.
“I know I have told you to be wary, to be careful around Mike. And when I heard that he had come to you, I was troubled. But I have prayed, and prayed with Liza. She is a good woman, as is your Hannah. She bears grace in her more deeply than I, and reminded me of what Jonas Beiler would have done. Prayers do not always give us the answers we assumed we would get.”
His mouth worked a little bit, as it always did when he struggled with something.
“I . . . am not Jonas Beiler. I have never been him. I did not choose this, to be Bishop. I did not want it when it was given to me. It all came easily for Jonas, even the hard things. Because of his simple kindness and wisdom, the families came, as you did. More of the young stayed. His every word seemed to be grace. I am . . . not so good at that. I am clumsy at it. I feel like a child learning to milk a cow. But I try. We were different, I know, but he was my friend. I wish he were here now.”
There was silence. I still did not know what to say. He went on.
“And in this time, as everything we know falls apart, all we have to hold on to is our way. But what is our simple way, and all of our actions, if we cannot welcome the hungry? And be hospitable to the homeless stranger in our land? It is our burden. It is a sacrifice. It is a duty. Even if it destroys our bodies, or brings us hunger. We have no choice, but to be as Christ taught.”
I nodded.
We stood there for a few more moments, and then he turned back toward the farmhouse.
“Come. Have some coffee,” he said.
THE DAY HAD GROWN cloudy by the afternoon, so the meat will cure for another half-day. That will be fine. It will only add flavor.
MY HEART FEELS STRANGE tonight. I thought about this during my evening prayers. It is hard to explain. It feels like something has broken in me, but in a good way. Like a band of steel in my chest was cut, and suddenly I am a little more alive. I had become so used to it that I didn’t even realize it was there anymore. And now it is gone, and I feel different. I feel fuller, stronger, released.
I did not know how much anger I must have been carrying in me. It is that same anger, from being driven from a place that I had called my home. I know I had carried it here, as we carry our demons with us wherever we go.
And then the Spirit had moved in Asa Schrock, and it had broken something in him, which broke something in me. I have never seen him as he is, I think. Always “Bishop.” Always seeing him as the role, and not seeing him as a brother. And when I think of him as “Bishop,” I am seeing the image of “Bishop” I had in my head. I brought that image with me, as a hard, cold idol carried in my soul. I did not let that idol stand between me and Jonas, because Jonas was so different. But Asa? I could not see him. I only saw echoes of my uncle. And my father.
I feel so filled with gratitude for this day. As hard as this time is and will be, I am still grateful.
October 21
The news of the morning was that the delivery in Lancaster had not gone well. Again, there were disruptions, and the crowd was bigger, and there was less food. People were hungrier, and women were crying, and men were angry and most were armed. Order was maintained, but everyone was growing more desperate.
Alongside the roads, the piles of trash were growing, and stories of looting and killing for supplies were everywhere. Many stories were rumors and untrue, but there was some truth to parts of it. Too much truth.
Word had gotten out that the National Guard had been ordered to shoot looters on sight, and there was now a curfew. No travel after dark, for any reason.
This I heard from Jon, who had gone along for the ride into Lancaster.