The Shunning by Beverly Lewis Page A

That’s how it was done in Hickory Hollow. The boy waited till he was sure—or hoped, at least—that the girl’s parents were soundly sleeping. Then he’d park his open courting buggy out by the road, run to the house on tiptoe, and shine the light up to his sweetheart’s bedroom window until she opened it to tell him she’d meet him downstairs.
    When the window opened, Mary peeked out. “I gave up on you ever coming over and went to bed,” she began apologetically, “but come on up. The door’s unlocked.”
    “Did you think this was your night?” Katie teased as Mary closed her bedroom door behind them.
    Mary was wearing a long white nightgown, her unbound hair hanging down past her waist. “When I saw your flashlight, I sat right up and said to myself, ‘O God bless me, he’s come!”’ Mary confessed with a light laugh. “But someday soon it’ll be so.”
    Katie knew she was thinking of either Preacher Yoder’s middle son, Jake, or one of Mary’s own second cousins, Chicken Joe, who helped his father run a chicken farm. “Are you sure your parents are sleeping?” Katie asked, removing her coat and heavy black bonnet and perching on the edge of Mary’s bed.
    “Jah . . . listen. You can hear Dat snoring!”
    Katie leaned her ear to the wall. Abe Stoltzfus was sawing more logs than one, and with that kind of racket going on, Mary’s mother couldn’t possibly hear what Katie was about to say. “When I was here this morning—before the quilting—you thought I wasn’t going through with marrying John Beiler, remember?” she began. “Well, since then, things have gotten worse.”
    Mary frowned, leaning forward. “Worse?”
    “Oh, I’ll marry Bishop John all right, but Dat’s making things mighty hard for me.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Somebody heard me singing today.” Katie took a deep breath and dropped her gaze to her apron. “Little Jacob heard me . . . and told.”
    Mary gasped. “I thought you put your guitar away years ago!”
    “It wasn’t the guitar he heard. I was humming on the road home from your house this morning—and it wasn’t a tune from the Ausbund . Dat says he’s going to take the matter straight to the bishop.”
    “Over Preacher’s head?” Mary asked, aghast.
    Katie nodded, feeling the shame of it.
    “So, then, are you guilty of sinning?”
    “Guilty as ever,” Katie replied. “But it’s over and done with, the music is. And that’s the truth.”
    “Then hurry and tell your Dat!” Mary was adamant. “Don’t let him go to Bishop John—whatever it takes, ya have to confess!”
    Katie stared at Mary in disbelief. “You’re saying this only because you don’t think anybody else’ll have me if the bishop lets me go, ain’t so?”
    Mary shook her head. “You know that’s not true. You’re a good and kind woman, Katie, everybody knows that. And any man with eyes in his head can see you’re just as pretty on the outside.”
    It was the first time Katie had ever heard her friend speak this way. She mulled it over before replying. “What good are looks when stubbornness gets in the way?” she muttered. “I just plain run the fellas off.”
    Mary was silent for a moment. “But there was someone who didn’t run off. He knew about your humming and singing, didn’t he? That’s why he gave you the guitar.”
    She was right, of course, but Katie was determined not to let on about Dan. Not even to Mary. “Dan’s long dead. Leave him be.”
    Mary scooted over and put her hand on Katie’s. “You still love Daniel Fisher, don’t you? You’re still clinging to him hard . . . but he’s gone.”
    “Not his memory. That ain’t gone!”
    “No,” Mary whispered. “Still, have you thought what you’ll do when you’re married to a man you don’t love?”
    Katie jerked her head around. “John’s a gut man,” she insisted.
    “He’ll be a right fine husband, and I’ll come to love him . . . in time.”
    “Maybe you will . . . and maybe you