Old Order Mennonites

"Caroline Woodlawn, stand forth!" she cried. Caddie obeyed.

"It was only a joke, Mother," she said in a quivering voice.

These words, being read from Caddie Woodlawn by my sister Annetta for her son Christopher, held me captive, too, as we waited for our driver to arrive on Wednesday afternoon, Oct. 28. I could feel for Harriet, the mother of Caddie, as she applied swift punishment to her daughter for being mean to her girlish guest from Boston. Caddie was sent to her room without supper and there she tossed. The room was close and heat seemed to burn, both in the room and in her heart because the punishment was not also for her brothers who were just as guilty. The injustice stung and moved her to pack a small bundle.

But our driver came before she got a chance to run away to her Indian friends. In reality, we were not doing somersaults in a Wisconsin haymow in pioneer days but going together to Hickory Bottom Road to attend the viewing of Harold Zimmerman. The bright yellow hickory tree leaves tried to brighten the cloudy day. Our smiles tried to soothe the family's heartache in the loss of their loved one. My sister introduced me to her co-travelers from Missouri, Harold's sister and remaining brother and other extended family.

I did not think about Caddie when we returned home. Annetta wanted to help me do something so we knotted a comforter as we chatted like sisters do. After supper dishes we biked out the field lane to go the scenic route to visit her niece and family. The yellow leaves that carpeted the woodland path were wet and quiet and not a breeze stirred. Along Fair Valley Road snowy tree crickets sang to us of sweet summer, now only a memory, like our time together that evening.

I was thankful to have arrived back home safely in the calm, dark night and forgot to wonder if Caddie got the chance to run away. But suddenly I was swept up in the sound of my sister's gentle voice reading to her son. "Then the door creaked a little on its hinges, there was a glimmer of candlelight and Father came in..... and stood by Caddie's bed. She lay very still with tightly closed eyes so that Father should think her asleep....... He put the candle down and sat on the side of the bed and took one of Caddie's hot hands in his cool ones. Then he began to speak in his nice quiet voice, without asking her to wake up or open her eyes or look at him.

"Perhaps Mother was a little hasty today, Caddie," he said. "She really loves you very much and you see, she expects more of you than she would of someone she didn't care about. It's a strange thing, but somehow we expect more of girls than of boys. It is the sisters and wives and mothers, you know, Caddie, who keep the world sweet and beautiful. What a rough world it would be if there were only men and boys in it, doing things in their rough way! A woman's task is to teach them gentleness and courtesy and love and kindness. It's a big task, too, Caddie – harder than cutting trees or building mills or damming rivers. It takes nerve and courage and patience, but good women have those things. They have them just as much as the men who build bridges and carve roads through the wilderness. A woman's work is something fine and noble to grow up to, and it is just as important as a man's. But no man could ever do it so well. I don't want you to be the silly, affected person with fine clothes and manners whom folks sometimes call a lady. No, that is not what I want for you, my little girl. I want you to be a woman with a wise and understanding heart, healthy in body and honest in mind. Do you think you would like to be growing up into that woman now? How about it, Caddie, have we run with the colts long enough?"

I will never cease to be amazed at the power of the written word reaching down to us through centuries. Although I don't pretend to hold a candle to Carol Ryrie Brink, I do try to capture words. Sometimes it's easy, other times it's hard. On Thursday at New Enterprise church, I was prepared with my booklet and pen to capture words of Harold's funeral. I knew before I began that I could not do justice to the sermons, but for the first time, (for the short sermon at the grave) I could not hear the words. The sound of raindrops drumming on all the umbrellas around me drowned out the words except a few. "Almighty God...." seemed to slice through the rain to my ears to remind us that we will answer when he calls our name. "Nothing is more certain...." I assumed was spoken of death for each of our earthly bodies. For Harold, the call came on Oct. 25, like it did for two men before him, who now lie buried in the graveyard at New Enterprise church.

Life, for the rest of us, goes on. The fallen leaves lie scattered on the ground and the earth keeps spinning around the sun. The blue moon was even more unusual because it was also a mini moon on October's last day. Pink streaks in the east brought November's first day. At Piney Creek church, we were blessed with visitors from Lancaster County.