The Hallowed Ones by Laura Bickle

the Outside. And not enough shelter to last the whole winter for the cattle that were usually slaughtered in November. That meat and grain was sold for resources we couldn’t produce ourselves, like salt, glass canning jars, gelatin, and pectin for preserving. I told myself that the crisis would be resolved by winter, that there would be a solution for all of us.
    Herr Miller was gone, probably out with my father. I left him his lunch in the kerosene-powered refrigerator and a note on the table. I idly wondered at the refrigerator. Many Plain folk did own appliances, such as stoves, irons, and refrigerators, that were powered by kerosene instead of electricity. Electrical lines were a forbidden connection with the Outside world. But we still brought the kerosene in from Outside. It occurred to me that this crisis was perhaps God’s way of removing those small luxuries from us.
    I arranged two sandwiches and applesauce on a plate and carried a glass of milk upstairs to Elijah’s room.
    He was sitting up in bed, between the two empty ones. Sunlight streamed in on the quilts, and I saw that he was reading the Bible. Gently, I set the plate down on his lap and handed him the glass of milk.
    “How’s the ankle?” I asked. It was propped up on a pillow.
    “Getting better,” he said, closing the Bible and reaching for the glass of milk. He downed it in three greedy slurps.
    I sat beside him on the bed and picked up one of the sandwiches. “Are you bored?”
    “Of course,” he said, grimacing. Then he looked at the Bible lying between us, and his expression drained away.
    I chewed slowly, waiting for him to continue.
    “I’ve been doing some thinking,” he began. Then he stopped, reached for the sandwich. His fingers gnawed at the crust.
    “About what?” A trickle of cold dread had formed in my stomach, like ice water. The last time Elijah had been “doing some thinking,” he’d ham-handedly brought up the idea of marriage. I’d turned it into a joke, and he went along with it. We both knew that it would eventually happen, but I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
    “I was thinking about the future,” he said.
    Oh no.
I glanced away, hoping that he would sense my unease and just
stop.
    “Seth and Joseph are gone.” He rubbed at one of his eyes with a hand covered with bread crumbs. My first impulse was to place my hand on his shoulder in sympathy, but I didn’t want him to take it as encouragement. I continued to chew silently.
    “And . . . I’m afraid of my father being alone. In heaven. I know that my mother is there, waiting for him. And that has to be some comfort.” He tried to meet my eyes, and I looked away.
    He took a deep breath. “So, I’ve decided to be baptized this fall.”
    The bread turned to glue in my mouth. “You
what?
”
    “I’ve decided to join the Amish church.”
    My head spun. Baptisms took place in fall and spring, after
Rumspringa,
when young people had tasted the Outside world and willingly committed themselves to the church. Elijah had never been in a hurry to join up after I’d pushed aside the idea of marriage. One had to be baptized to be married, of course, but he didn’t like the idea of me going on
Rumspringa
without him. The shock of his brothers being caught out must have pushed him beyond his ordinary limits.
    “But what about
Rumspringa?
” I asked. My voice sounded tiny, almost petulant to my own ears.
    He shook his head. “I can’t leave my father alone. He’s lost too much.”
    “What about you and me and going Outside and seeing movies and . . .” My voice faltered, and tears blurred my vision. “You promised.”
    He took one of my hands. “You can still do that, in spring, after all this is settled. I’ll wait for you. I promise.” He kissed my cheek. “Nothing will change.”
    Yes, it will,
I wanted to say.
There will be no more dreaming aloud of cars and movies and comic books. No candy bars and Coca-Cola. No imagining what the ocean looks