XI

"POP! I FEEL TO BE PLAIN"

The psychical and, considering the critical age of the young girl, the

physiological processes by which Tillie was finally led to her

conversion it is not necessary to analyze; for the experience is too

universal, and differs too slightly in individual cases, to require

comment. Perhaps in Tillie's case it was a more intense and permanent

emotion than with the average convert. Otherwise, deep and earnest

though it was with her, it was not unique.

The New Mennonite sermon which had been the instrument to determine the

channel in which should flow the emotional tide of her awakening

womanhood, had convinced her that if she would be saved, she dare not

compromise with the world by joining one of those churches as, for

instance, the Methodist or the Evangelical, which permitted every sort

of worldly indulgence,--fashionable dress, attendance at the circus,

voting at the polls, musical instruments, "pleasure-seeking," and many

other things which the Word of God forbade. She must give herself up to

the Lord absolutely and entirely, forswearing all the world's

allurements. The New Mennonites alone, of all the Christian sects,

lived up to this scriptural ideal, and with them Tillie would cast her

lot.

This austere body of Christians could not so easily have won her heart

had it forbidden her cherished ambition, constantly encouraged and

stimulated by Miss Margaret, to educate herself. Fortunately for her

peace of mind, the New Mennonites were not, like the Amish, "enemies to

education," though to be sure, as the preacher, Brother Abram

Underwocht, reminded her in her private talk with him, "To be dressy,

or TOO well educated, or stylish, didn't belong to Christ and the

apostles; they were plain folks."

It was in the lull of work that came, even in the Getz family, on

Sunday afternoon, that Tillie, summoning to her aid all the fervor of

her new-found faith, ventured to face the ordeal of opening up with her

father the subject of her conversion.

He was sitting on the kitchen porch, dozing over a big Bible spread

open on his knee. The children were playing on the lawn, and Mrs. Getz

was taking her Sunday afternoon nap on the kitchen settee.

Tillie seated herself on the porch step at her father's feet. Her eyes

were clear and bright, but her face burned, and her heart beat heavily

in her heaving bosom.

"Pop!" she timidly roused him from his dozing.

"Heh?" he muttered gruffly, opening his eyes and lifting his head.

"Pop, I got to speak somepin to you."

An unusual note in her voice arrested him, and, wide awake now, he

looked down at her inquiringly.

"Well? What, then?"

"Pop! I feel to be plain."

"YOU! Feel fur turnin' plain! Why, you ain't old enough to know the

meanin' of it! What d' you want about that there theology?"

"I'm fourteen, pop. And the Spirit has led me to see the light. I have

gave myself up," she affirmed quietly, but with a quiver in her voice.

"You have gave yourself up!" her father incredulously repeated.

"Yes, sir. And I'm loosed of all things that belong to the world. And

now I feel fur wearin' the plain dress, fur that's according to

Scripture, which says, 'all is wanity!'"

Never before in her life had Tillie spoken so many words to her father

at one time, and he stared at her in astonishment.

"Yes, you're growin' up, that's so. I ain't noticed how fast you was

growin'. It don't seem no time since you was born. But it's fourteen

years back a'ready--yes, that's so. Well, Tillie, if you feel fur

joinin' church, you're got to join on to the Evangelicals. I ain't

leavin' you follow no such nonsense as to turn plain. That don't belong

to us Getzes. We're Evangelicals this long time a'ready."

"Aunty Em was a Getz, and SHE's gave herself up long ago."

"Well, she's the only one by the name Getz that I ever knowed to be so

foolish! I'm an Evangelical, and what's good enough fur your pop will

do YOU, I guess!"

"The Evangelicals ain't according to Scripture, pop. They have wine at

the Communion, and the Bible says, 'Taste not, handle not,' and 'Look

not upon the wine when it is red.'"

That she should criticize the Evangelicals and pronounce them

unscriptural was disintegrating to all his ideas of the subjection, of

children. His sun-burned face grew darker.

"Mebbe you don't twist that there Book! Gawd he wouldn't of created

wine to be made if it would be wrong fur to look at it! You can't come

over that, can you? Them Scripture you spoke, just mean not to drink to

drunkenness, nor eat to gluttonness. But," he sternly added, "it ain't

fur you to answer up to your pop! I ain't leavin' you dress plain--and

that's all that's to say!"

"I got to do it, pop," Tillie's low voice answered, "I must obey to

Christ."

"What you sayin' to me? That you got to do somepin I tole you you

haven't the dare to do? Are you sayin' that to ME, Tillie? Heh?"

"I got to obey to Christ," she repeated, her face paling.

"You think! Well, we'll see about that oncet! You leave me see you

obeyin' to any one before your pop, and you'll soon get learnt better!

How do you bring it out that the Scripture says, 'Childern, obey your

parents'?"

"'Obey your parents in the Lord,'" Tillie amended.

"Well, you'll be obeyin' to the Scripture AND your parent by joinin'

the Evangelicals. D' you understand?"

"The Evangelicals don't hold to Scripture, pop. They enlist. And we

don't read of Christ takin' any interest in war."

"Yes, but in the Old Dispensation them old kings did it, and certainly

they was good men! They're in the Bible!"

"But we're livin' under the New Dispensation. And a many things is

changed to what they were under the Old. Pop, I can't dress fashionable

any more."

"Now, look here, Tillie, I oughtn't argy no words with you, fur you're

my child and you're got the right to mind me just because I say it. But

can't you see the inconsistentness of the plain people? Now a New

Mennonite he says his conscience won't leave him wear grand [wear

worldly dress] but he'll make his livin' in Lancaster city by keepin' a

jew'lry-store. And yet them Mennonites won't leave a sister keep a

millinery-shop!"

"But," Tillie tried to hold her ground, "there's watches, pop, and

clocks that jew'lers sells. They're useful. We got to have watches and

clocks. Millinery is only pleasing to the eye."

"Well, the women couldn't go bare-headed neither, could they? And is

ear-rings and such things like them useful? And all them fancy things

they keep in their dry-goods stores? Och, they're awful inconsistent

that way! I ain't got no use fur New Mennonites! Why, here one day,

when your mom was livin' yet, I owed a New Mennonite six cents, and I

handed him a dime and he couldn't change it out, but he sayed he'd send

me the four cents. Well, I waited and waited, and he never sent it.

Then I bought such a postal-card and wrote it in town to him yet. And

that didn't fetch the four cents neither. I wrote to him backward and

forward till I had wrote three cards a'ready, and then I seen I

wouldn't gain nothin' by writin' one more if he did pay me, and if he

didn't pay I'd lose that other cent yet. So I let it. Now that's a New

Mennonite fur you! Do you call that consistentness?"

"But it's the Word of Gawd I go by, pop, not by the weak brethren."

"Well, you'll go by your pop's word and not join to them New

Mennonites! Now I don't want to hear no more!"

"Won't you buy me the plain garb, pop?"

"Buy you the plain garb! Now look here, Tillie. If ever you ast me

again to leave you join to anything but the Evangelicals, or speak

somepin to me about buyin' you the plain garb, I'm usin' the strap. Do

you hear me?"

"Pop," said Tillie, solemnly, her face very white, "I'll always obey to

you where I can--where I think it's right to. But if you won't buy me

the plain dress and cap, Aunty Em Wackernagel's going to. She says she

never knew what happiness it was to be had in this life till she gave

herself up and dressed plain and loosed herself from all worldly

things. And I feel just like her."

"All right--just you come wearin' them Mennonite costumes 'round me

oncet! I'll burn 'em up like what I burned up them novels where you

lent off of your teacher! And I'll punish you so's you won't try it a

second time to do what I tell you you haven't the dare to do!"

The color flowed back into Tillie's white face as he spoke. She was

crimson now as she rose from the porch step and turned away from him to

go into the house.

Jake Getz realized, as with a sort of dull wonder his eyes followed

her, that there was a something in his daughter's face this day, and in

the bearing of her young frame as she walked before him, which he was

not wont to see, which he did not understand, and with which he felt he

could not cope. The vague sense of uneasiness which it gave him

strengthened his resolve to crush, with a strong hand, this budding

insubordination.

Two uneventful weeks passed by, during which Tillie's quiet and dutiful

demeanor almost disarmed her father's threatening watchfulness of her;

so that when, one Sunday afternoon, at four o'clock, she returned from

a walk to her Aunty Em Wackernagel's, clad in the meek garb of the New

Mennonites, his amazement at her intrepidity was even greater than his

anger.

The younger children, in high glee at what to them was a most comical

transformation in their elder sister, danced around her with shrieks of

laughter, crying out at the funny white cap which she wore, and the

prim little three-cornered cape falling over her bosom, designed

modestly to cover the vanity of woman's alluring form.

Mrs. Getz, mechanically moving about the kitchen to get the supper,

paused in her work only long enough to remark with stupid astonishment,

"Did you, now, get religion, Tillie?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've gave myself up."

"Where did you come by the plain dress?"

"Aunty Em bought it for me and helped me make it."

Her father had followed her in from the porch and now came up to her as

she stood in the middle of the kitchen. The children scattered at his

approach.

"You go up-stairs and take them clo'es off!" he commanded. "I ain't

leavin' you wear 'em one hour in this house!"

"I have no others to put on, pop," Tillie gently answered, her soft

eyes meeting his with an absence of fear which puzzled and baffled him.

"Where's your others, then?"

"I've let 'em at Aunty Em's. She took 'em in exchange for my plain

dress. She says she can use 'em on 'Manda and Rebecca."

"Then you walk yourself right back over to the hotel and get 'em back

of? of her, and let them clo'es you got on. Go!" he roughly pointed to

the door.

"She wouldn't give 'em back to me. She'd know I hadn't ought to yield

up to temptation, and she'd help me to resist by refusing me my

fashionable clo'es."

"You tell her if you come back home without 'em, I'm whippin' you!

She'll give 'em to you then."

"She'd say my love to Christ ought not to be so weak but I can bear

anything you want to do to me, pop. She had to take an awful lot off of

gran'pop when she turned plain. Pop," she added earnestly, "no matter

what you do to me, I ain't givin' 'way; I'm standin' firm to serve

Christ!"

"We'll see oncet!" her father grimly answered, striding across the room

and taking his strap from its corner in the kitchen cupboard he grasped

Tillie's slender shoulder and lifted his heavy arm.

And now for the first time in her life his wife interposed a word

against his brutality.

"Jake!"

In astonishment he turned to her. She was as pale as her stepdaughter.

"Jake! If she HAS got religion, you'll have awful bad luck if you try

to get her away from it!"

"I ain't sayin' she can't get RELIGION if she wants! To be sure, I

brung her up to be a Christian. But I don't hold to this here nonsense

of turnin' plain, and I tole her so, and she's got to obey to me or

I'll learn her!"

"You'll have bad luck if you whip her fur somepin like this here," his

wife repeated. "Don't you mind how when Aunty Em turned plain and

gran'pop he acted to her so ugly that way, it didn't rain fur two weeks

and his crops was spoilt, and he got that boil yet on his neck! Yes,

you'll see oncet," she warned him "if you use the strap fur somepin

like what this is, what you'll mebbe come by yet!"

"Och, you're foolish!" he answered, but his tone was not confident. His

raised arm dropped to his side and he looked uneasily into Tillie's

face, while he still kept his painful grasp of her shoulder.

The soft bright eyes of the young girl met his, not with defiance, but

with a light in them that somehow brought before his mind the look her

mother had worn the night she died. Superstition was in his blood, and

he shuddered inwardly at his uncanny sense of mystery before this

unfamiliar, illumined countenance of his daughter. The exalted soul of

the girl cast a spell which even HIS unsensitive spirit could keenly

feel, and something stirred in his breast--the latent sense of

affectionate, protecting fatherhood.

Tillie saw and felt this sudden change in him. She lifted her free hand

and laid it on his arm, her lips quivering. "Father!" she half

whispered.

She had never called him that before, and it seemed strangely to bring

home to him what, in this crisis of his child's life, was due to her

from him, her only living parent.

Suddenly he released her shoulder and tossed away the strap. "I see I

wouldn't be doin' right to oppose you in this here, Tillie. Well, I'm

glad, fur all, that I ain't whippin' you. It goes ag'in' me to hit you

since you was sick that time. You're gettin' full big, too, to be

punished that there way, fur all I always sayed still I'd never leave a

child of mine get ahead of me, no matter how big they was, so long as

they lived off of me. But this here's different. You're feelin'

conscientious about this here matter, and I ain't hinderin' you."

To Tillie's unspeakable amazement, he laid his hand on her head and

held it there for an instant. "Gawd bless you, my daughter, and help

you to serve the Lord acceptable!"

So that crisis was past.

But Tillie knew, that night, as she rubbed witch-hazel on her sore

shoulder, that a far worse struggle was before her. In seeking to carry

out the determination that burned in her heart to get an education, no

aid could come to her as it had to-day, from her father's sense of

religious awe. Would she be able, she wondered, to stand firm against

his opposition when, a second time, it came to an issue between them?

Tillie, a Mennonite Maid; a Story of the Pennsylvania Dutch · 第 19 / 51 题