The Hallowed Ones

My heart ached for him. Herr Miller had never been a public speaker. He stood at the front, his hands clasped before him.

“I want to speak today of fellowship, of the warmth and gifts that Elijah and I have received from the congregation during this difficult time. Since we’ve lost . . .” His voice broke, and he tried again. “Since we’ve lost . . .” Again he faltered, and he covered his eyes with his hand. His beard trembled.

Elijah leaped up to embrace his father. His father broke down in his son’s arms, and the congregation lowered their heads in tears and prayer.

The Bishop intervened. “We shall take a short respite before the communion service. The men and women who will be baptized today are asked to leave, to take consideration of their faith. Only those who will take baptism shall return.”

Sarah leaned into my side, and my mother and I wrapped our arms around her. I could not imagine what it was like to be in Mrs. Parsall’s shoes, with no family. I bit my lip and stared at the ground.

My mother prompted me to stand and go with the others: “Katie.”

Sarah looked up at me. “Are you to be baptized today, Katie?”

I shook my head and hooked my hands in the bench beneath my knees, as if I could root myself here. “No.”

I could see the fear and disappointment in my mother’s eyes.

A shadow passed by. I looked up, saw Elijah. He was in the group of young men and women who were leaving. I saw Ruth stand up, hesitate, and then sit down again. Hannah and Sam walked past, smiling at each other. This was surely a prel-ude to marriage for them. My eyes locked on Elijah’s. I silently challenged him to sit, and he challenged me to stand. I did not break that hold until he passed into the threshold of the house.

The Bishop directed us to sing from the Ausbund. I kept one eye on the door. Only those who decided to go through with baptism at this time would return to the service. There was no penalty for reconsidering, and I hoped fervently that Elijah would take this chance to slow down, to wait for spring. There were always one or two who decided to wait.

One young man came back to sit on the front benches, then another. Two girls came next, sisters holding hands. Then Sam and Hannah, walking together . . .

I counted as each of them passed, in spurts and lulls as we sang. No Elijah. All the young men and women filtered back into the congregation, but Elijah had not returned by the time our hymn ended.

I looked up to the sky, smiled in gratitude at God. We would have time.

A shadow passed over me. I squinted up to see Elijah limping down the long aisle on his crutches, and my face fell.

I felt numb as he went to join the other young men and women who were kneeling at the front. Numb as the Bishop reminded them that they were making a promise before God and the witnesses of the congregation.

I wanted to close my eyes, not to witness this. But I had no choice.

The Bishop asked them the first of four baptism questions: “Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God?”

Elijah responded in the affirmative. I could see his lips moving but could not hear him.

“Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior who died on the cross for you?”

He responded with the others, in unison.

“Do you renounce the world Outside, the devil with all his insidious temptations, as well as your own flesh and blood to serve Jesus Christ, whether it costs you your life or your death?”

I saw his lips say: Yes.

“Do you promise to walk in Christ’s word and be faithful to the Amish Church for the rest of your life, never to depart?”

Yes.

The prayer bonnets were removed from the girls, and the Deacon followed the Bishop with a bucket of water and a tin cup. The Deacon poured water into the Bishop’s hands and the young men’s and women’s heads, three times each.

When they came to Elijah, I wanted to stand up, shout at him, but I remained rooted in place, my voice jammed in my throat.

Water splashed on him three times: “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we extend to you the hand of fellowship.”

The Bishop lifted the men and women to their feet, one by one. “Arise as a faithful member of the church.”

Elijah’s face was glowing like the sun overhead.

I felt something in my chest break.

* * *

I had witnessed Elijah’s baptism. It was real now, real as the vampires I’d seen yesterday. I tried to smile and make benign chatter with the rest of the congregation after the service, but I wanted nothing more than to flee. Elijah was surrounded by well-wishers, and I managed to avoid him and any questions about my own baptism by busying myself in the kitchen. Once the last plate was served, I made to slip away from the throng.

But one person saw me as I walked around the corner of the house, toward the open field and a good cry. The old Hexenmeister called out: “Katie!”

I paused. I could pretend not to have heard. But duty made me turn around with an artificial smile on my face. I anticipated that he, like much of the rest of the congregation, would want to say how proud they were of Elijah and the other young men and women.

“Yes, Herr Stoltz?”

He walked up to me slowly, as if his arthritis was bothering him. Crumbs of cobbler from the afternoon meal clung in his beard, and I could see that one eye was watering. He reached into his jacket. “I have something for you.”

My brows drew together in curiosity. “For me?”

He handed me an envelope. “For you.”

I stared at it. It was made of heavy linen paper, sealed tightly with wax.

Without another word, Herr Stoltz hobbled off back to the house, humming to himself and veering toward the dessert tables.

“Thank you!” I called after him.

He did not seem to hear me.

I had no idea what it could be. I began to walk across the blond grass fields toward home, digging my fingers into the top of the thick paper. I opened the envelope, pulled out a heavy sheet of the same lumpy handmade paper.

I stopped in my tracks as my eyes scanned the page.

“Oh,” I whispered.

In carefully inked letters the color of gooseberries, the Hexenmeister had written in Hochdeutsch—High German. It wasn’t the everyday Deitsch that we spoke to one other. This was the language of prayers, the voice to heaven:

Keep thine own faith. Wear love around thee like a shield, and no harm shall come to thee, even when thou walk in the valley of darkness. God bless and protect thee, and keep the road before thee straight and open.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

His handwriting was a bit shaky but was still the most beautiful I’d ever seen. I clutched the letter to my chest and blinked tears up at the sky.

I knew what this was. It was called a Himmelsbrief. When I was a child, I had heard the old legends about the peasant of Cologne. The story was about a poor, illiterate boy who had prayed to God for help. The sky opened up, and a letter fell into his hands. From that moment forward, he became blessed. He was starving, and a woman fed him. A man rushed out of a shop in the marketplace and took him to be a