Free The Miting by Dee Yoder

from thirst and hunger. She shuffled through the line and out of the building, looking across the yard for any sign of Martha. Finally she spotted her friend serving mint tea to the men. When Martha walked back to the kitchen to refill the tea pitcher, she waved and waited for Leah to join her. “I can’t talk right now, but after we eat, meet me back at the potting shed. I’ll give Maem the slip while she’s busy redding up with her friends.”
    Leah waited with her mother until the men had their fill, then ate the same church supper she’d eaten her whole life. Martha was kept busy filling cups and passing soup. In a way, Leah was glad not to have her friend sit down beside her. Her parents were already watching the two of them with eagle eyes.
    Once Maem wandered off in search of Anna Mast to offer help in cleanup, Leah slipped off to the shed, shuffling along in seeming disinterest for anything other than enjoying the crisp sunny day. The inside of the shed carried an atmosphere of leftover fragrances from summer. The push mower and sickle conveyed fragrances of green grass and pungent wild onion cut down in their prime and reluctant to be forgotten. Here and there, Martha’s parents had stacked moss-covered clay pots. Peat and potting soil aromas added to the earthy surroundings.
    She pulled an old wooden stool out from under the potting table and sat down to wait for Martha. Her gaze drifted to the little square window overlooking the back yard where she could view the assemblage of Plain folk. The men were standing or sitting in groups, discussing their crops or other important issues, and the women held squirming children and shared gossipy stories of the neighborhood. All of them appeared peaceful, calm, and purposeful. She knew, however, the niggling fears many of them carried: fear of breaking the Ordnung … fear of disappointing their bishops or lay preachers … fear of the modern world … fear of questioning and of those who questioned … and most of all, fear of not going to heaven.
    As this thought crossed her mind, she was struck by the blunt truth of it: they all feared not going to heaven.
    Now why did I think that? The Amish are known to be the most religious group in America.
    Yet she knew she was right. It was fear of falling short. Of not knowing if a person lived right enough or obeyed the rules enough or did enough kind works and deeds to get into heaven. According to the Ordnung , no one could know their eternal destination until death, so although death should be a happy homecoming for the good Amish person, it was instead a time of dread and fear.
    Leah recalled a verse she’d read in her Gideon Bible; something about all falling short of the glory of God. But wasn’t there a second part to that verse? Wasn’t there something about the gift of God? She scrunched up her face, trying to remember.
    She wanted to rush home to read the verse again, but that would have to wait. It was more important right now to warn Martha. She had to tell her friend that she had betrayed her trust—she had spilled Martha’s secret to her parents. Leah regretted breaking her friend’s confidence and longed to be told there had been no consequences stemming from her betrayal. Martha’s actions as she served drinks to the folks in line had seemed calm enough. Maybe nothing had come of Leah’s talk with her parents, after all.
    “What are you looking so glum about?” Martha interrupted her thoughts as she came into the shed. She let the door bang shut behind her.
    “Oh! You scared me! I didn’t see you. I was … just thinking.”
    “’Bout what?” She pulled over a companion stool and wiggled onto it with a sigh. “My feet hurt from standing today.”
    Leah couldn’t wait another minute. “I said something to my maem about what you told me—”
    “What?” Martha’s startled face blanched.
    “I’m really sorry, but I’ve been so worried, and I felt like an adult should know about what your