Chapter 7: The Scripture Circle
The little schoolhouse sat at the edge of the meadow, its whitewashed walls glowing pale in the fading light. On Thursday evenings it became the gathering place for the scripture circle, where the young folk met to read aloud, sing hymns, and discuss passages under the lantern’s watchful glow. For Marybeth, it had always been a place of order and comfort. Tonight, the benches felt narrow and her heart beat far too loud.
Anna sat beside her, whispering mischief before the reading began. “You’ll have one suitor on your left and another on your right. Best keep your stitches tight, or you’ll unravel the whole frame.”
Marybeth hushed her, though the words rang true. To her left, Josiah entered with his steady stride, hat pressed neatly to his chest. To her right, Elijah slipped in late, sawdust still clinging to his sleeves. The sight of him was enough to make her fingers twitch against her Bible.
The circle opened with song. Voices rose, thin but sincere, winding together in harmony. Marybeth’s voice faltered when Elijah’s baritone threaded close behind her ear. It was not improper—he sang with the others—but the sound wrapped around her like the lantern’s glow.
When the hymn ended, Josiah cleared his throat and volunteered to read. He chose from Proverbs: “He who finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtains favor from the Lord.” His eyes flicked toward Marybeth as he spoke, his meaning clear enough to set Anna smothering a laugh behind her sleeve.
Marybeth forced her gaze to her folded hands, heat prickling up her neck.
Then Elijah’s turn came. He accepted the Bible, paused a moment, and read from Song of Solomon: “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.” His voice lingered on the words, deep and deliberate. When he passed the book back, his eyes met Marybeth’s for a single breath. It was enough to make the air tremble.
Discussion followed, led by Sister Ruth. The group spoke of marriage as covenant, of obedience and patience. Josiah gave answers as polished as his boots. Elijah spoke less, but when he did his words were plain and unvarnished, carrying a weight that drew ears his way.
Marybeth listened, caught between the two men—one who spoke like a sermon, the other like a prayer whispered alone.
At the close, the lanterns burned low. Benches scraped as the circle broke apart. Josiah stepped forward quickly. “Marybeth, allow me to walk you home again.” His voice was firm, expectant.
Before she could answer, Elijah lifted the lantern nearest him. “I’ll see the path lit.” His tone was mild, but his eyes did not leave hers.
The silence that followed pressed tighter than the schoolhouse walls. Anna elbowed her none too gently, grinning like a fox.
Marybeth found her voice at last. “The night is dark. Two lights are better than one.”
And so it was that she walked the lane with Josiah at her left and Elijah at her right, the lantern swinging between. The crickets sang loud, as if mocking her confusion.
At the gate of the Yoder farm, Josiah tipped his hat once more. “Pray on my words,” he reminded her, certain of the answer. He turned down the bishop’s lane, footsteps fading.
Elijah lingered, the lantern still in his hand. He held it high enough to cast light across her face. “Some verses,” he said quietly, “burn brighter in silence than in speech.”
Marybeth’s heart stumbled. Before she could reply, he set the lantern on the fencepost and walked into the night, leaving her in a wash of trembling light.