The Narrow Path Read online

  The Narrow Path

  The Narrow

  Path

  Gail Sattler

  The Narrow Path

  Copyright © 2010 by Gail Sattler

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4267-0237-2

  Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202

  www.abingdonpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Published in association with the Hartline Literary Agency.

  Cover design by Anderson Design Group, Nashville, TN.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Sattler, Gail.

  The narrow path / Gail Sattler.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-4267-0237-2 (pbk. : alk. paper)

  1. Mennonites—Fiction. I. Title.

  PR9199.4.S3575N37 2010

  813'.6—dc22

  2009046958

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 14 13 12 11 10

  Dedicated to Joy Maher: I couldn't have done

  this without you, my friend. Everything is in

  God's timing and in God's hands, including those

  West Coast blueberries.

  Special thanks to Christa Henning and

  Michael Aulisio. You two really do make a

  cute Mennonite couple. Also special thanks to

  Mary Stehman and Martha Thiessen for your

  vast experience and willingness to share.

  Honorable mention to my pastor,

  Harry Loewen, who may or may not

  be related to Pastor Jake Loewen in this book.

  1

  But small is the gate and narrow the road

  that leads to life, and only a few find it.

  —Matthew 7:14

  As passengers began to exit the security area, Ted Wiebe raised his sign showing the name MIRANDA KLASSEN written in bold, black ink.

  A group of chattering women rushed by, their coats billowing open to display skintight T-shirts, which left their midriffs exposed above jeans that were far too tight.

  Ted lowered his head so the brim of his hat shielded his eyes. None of these would be Miss Klassen. Being a modest Mennonite woman, Miss Klassen would not dress in the ways of the women from the cities. Pastor Jake had researched her background before examining her portfolio. Miss Klassen came from a highly regarded Mennonite church with a large membership in Seattle.

  Miss Klassen would be wearing a sensible ankle-length skirt or dress with heavy black leather boots. In the photo she had sent, her hair was dark brown and combed back. Here, in public, her head would be respectfully covered, probably using a casual veil instead of a prayer covering.

  However, the only woman Ted saw wearing a head covering was Sarah's grootmutta, who had gone to visit Sarah's cousins in Pennsylvania and was now going to visit more relatives in Minneapolis before returning home. He nodded and smiled graciously to acknowledge the older woman as she walked past him, then returned his attention to the dwindling crowd.

  Nearly everyone had already disembarked, yet he still didn't see Miss Klassen. If she had missed her connection, then he would have to wait for two hours until the next flight, which he didn't want to do. Despite often being required to travel for business meetings, he always hated the congestion of large, crowded airports, including the busy Minneapolis airport, even though it was the closest one to home, and therefore the most familiar.

  He continued to hold the sign until the last straggler passed through the security walkway. This woman wore jeans, but they weren't as tight, so he continued to watch her while hoping Miss Klassen would soon appear.

  This young lady definitely wasn't dressed for Minnesota winters. Her open, waist-length jacket showed a thin, nonpadded lining, and she wore only a bright red T-shirt under her lightweight jacket. As she crossed into the exit area, she tottered on insanely high shoes—open-toed high heels. Not boots. When snow lay a foot thick on the ground outside.

  A jingling electronic tone sounded. Entranced, Ted watched as the woman slowed her steps while she fumbled with a paperback book, tucked an umbrella under her arm, pulled out her earbuds, and still managed to balance a satchel strap on her shoulder. She nestled her purse under her chin as she patted all her pockets, then reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a ringing cell phone. As she answered it, she hung her purse strap on her pinky finger, flipped her hair away from her cheek, and stuffed an iPod into her jacket pocket.

  Ted started to lower his sign and was about to leave when the woman laughed, capturing his attention. Instead of turning away he stood transfixed, with the sign at half-mast, staring while she talked into an intensely red cell phone, an exact match to her fire- hydrant-red lipstick. Her hair bounced as she nodded, causing her huge, dangling earrings, also shocking red, to swing.

  With another laugh, she snapped her phone shut and tucked it into her red purse, which was so small he didn't know how her phone fit into it, even if all she carried was her wallet. The woman shuffled to the side of the walkway and scanned the now nearly empty area.

  Ted's breath caught as her eyes locked on his sign, then his face. Her movements froze. For a second, her eyes flitted to his hat, then she blinked and looked him straight in the eyes.At the searing contact, Ted's stomach dropped to the bottom of his boots.

  Like a scene from a childhood nightmare, she began to approach him.

  "Ted Wiebe?" she asked.

  Ted's heart pounded so hard he could feel it beneath his heavy coat. This was wrong. This could not be the woman he had been sent to fetch back to their church. He had come for a quiet, gentle woman of the same traditional Mennonite heritage as his own—a woman who had been blessed with a special gift and lived to serve others. Even though it was unusual for a Mennonite woman to be a musician and composer, her references stated that her love for God shone through in everything she did, especially the songs she wrote for God's glory. Even though she came from a big city, she had been born and raised in a Mennonite home and community. Her father was a pastor. Surely this could not be her.

  Ted stared at the woman before him, dressed not much differently than the group who had just passed him, one of whom had made an immodest display of her belly button ring. Even though this woman's midriff was covered, she came equipped with all the latest city trends—a nonfunctional purse, a brightly colored cell phone, a collection of electronic gadgets, plus a laptop computer slung over her shoulder, and showgirl shoes.

  She extended one hand. "Thank you for picking me up."

  His mind went blank as he slowly accepted her handshake.He'd never shaken hands with a woman before.

  Ted cleared his throat and tried not to stammer. "Miranda Klassen?"

  "That's me." She grinned from ear to ear and gestured down the walkway. "It's snowing out there!"

  "Do not worry," he said, as he tried to focus all his attention on her face, not her snug clothing and plethora of accessories."It is windy enough that the highways are still clear. The forecast said it would not become heavy until midnight."

  Yet, even though
the roads would be clear, the blowing snow would drift and accumulate against the houses and existing piles of snow at the sides of the driveways and sidewalks.By the time he got home, he had a feeling he would welcome the exertion of shoveling his driveway before he could park his car in the garage.

  "Is there lots of snow in Piney Meadows?"

  "Ja. It is February, after all."

  She blinked at his confirmation, as if this was a strange concept. "Oh." She released his hand and then jerked her head to the sign directing travelers to the baggage claim area."Before I pick up my luggage, I need coffee. Do you have a Starbucks here?"

  Starbucks. Not just ordinary coffee. She wanted the expensive, specialty kind. "I am not sure. I do not drink coffee."

  "If I don't get some decent coffee soon, I think I'll die. Oops, but first, can you hold this for a minute?" She slipped the satchel off her shoulder and thrust it, the book, and the umbrella at him so fast he feared he might drop them. Things were not quite secure in his arms before she turned and dashed toward the ladies' restroom, her heels clicking as she sprinted off.Unable to take his eyes off her until she disappeared through the doorway, Ted's cheeks burned red. While he stood cradling her belongings, people shuffled past him.

  He turned slightly so he wasn't staring at the entrance to the ladies' room, then shook his head so he could think.

  How could he bring this woman back to his people? Of everyone in his church, he had the most experience with people from the cities, but she would be a shock to everyone else.More importantly, she couldn't possibly understand or relate to the project in their church. His people had chosen to remain distant from the ways of the world to maintain their Old Order tradition. Some modern conveniences had crept in, but out of necessity. He was one of only a few people who owned a car, and many depended on him because of it. But wherever they could, they protected themselves from the contamination of the world around them.

  Miranda Klassen appeared to be entrenched in her city ways and actually enjoyed them. Starbucks!

  He didn't know what to do. His inclination was to take her to the ticket counter instead of the baggage claim area and put her on the next plane back to where she came from. But he had been sent by his church, his people, and his pastor. Even though no one had experienced her yet, it wasn't his place to judge her.

  Ted had promised to drop her off at the home of Leonard and Lois Toews, who had graciously invited Miss Klassen to live with them for the next year, and he always kept his word.

  But first, he would take her to the one person who could make the decision to send her back to Seattle—Pastor Jake.

  For the first time in his life, Ted wished he owned a cell phone.

  Hoping to find a pay phone and make the call before she reappeared, he looked around for a map of the terminal. Before he could find one, Miss Klassen emerged from the entrance to the ladies' room. As she walked she draped her jacket over one arm while she rummaged through her miniscule purse. With the movement, the shoulder of her red T-shirt drooped, exposing a black bra strap.

  He turned his head. The heat in his face meant his cheeks were probably as red as her lipstick, which she must have retouched because it was even brighter than when she had walked off the plane.

  "I'm so sorry," she muttered. "This is going all wrong. Can we start over? I'm Miranda Klassen, but my friends call me Randi. Thank you for driving all this way to pick me up."

  Ted's mind went blank as he turned back to her, keeping his eyes fixed on her face until she adjusted her clothing. "Randy? But that is a man's name."

  Miss Klassen shook her head as she tugged her T-shirt back into its proper place. "No, when I write it, that's Randi, with an 'i.' "

  "I have never heard of that."

  She shrugged her shoulders. "It's just the short form of Miranda."

  He had never known anyone by that name either, but at least it was clearly feminine. As to Randy, or Randi, he didn't care how she spelled her name, it would always be a man's name to him. He couldn't do it.

  Not that he would have to. By this time tomorrow, after meeting with Pastor Jake and possibly the board of deacons, Miss Randi with an "i" would be on her way back to Seattle.

  She looked down at the sign still in his hands. "The sign was a good idea. I had no idea who would be picking me up, and I wasn't sure you would have recognized me by the picture I sent."

  He studied her face. She was right; he hadn't recognized her. He still wasn't sure this was the same woman as in the photograph.

  "No, I did not," Ted replied.

  She ran her fingers through her hair. "I just got my hair streaked a couple of days ago. Usually it's darker but this time she used a lighter shade, and I think she put a bit too much red in it. I hope it's okay."

  Chemically dyed hair. He bit his tongue so he wouldn't ask if she had any tattoos.

  If only he could save himself the gas and the wear on his nerves and send her back right now. But he couldn't. Only Pastor Jake could make that decision. "The luggage carousels are that way." Since his hands were still full, he jerked his head toward the right.

  She reached toward him. "I'll take those now."

  Her bright red nails caught the glare of the overhead lighting as he returned the umbrella and the book.

  Because it was the heaviest of the three items, he retained the satchel containing her laptop computer. "I will carry this for you."

  "Oh." She nibbled on her bottom lip. "Of course."

  She reached up to flip a strand of bicolored hair out of her eyes, showing another flash of red—this time a narrow, single strand of red ribbon tied in her hair. The same red as her painted fingernails. And her phone. And her purse. And her earrings. And her T-shirt. He would never be able to look at anything red the same way again.

  When her hands dropped to her sides, a glitter at her throat sparkled—a dainty gold cross that hung on a chain around her neck. Finally, an outward sign. But it didn't make up for the rest of her appearance. Nor did it change his mind.

  He couldn't believe this Miranda Klassen was the person who had composed and directed the moving songs of faith and worship that had impressed the pastor and everyone on the church board so much that they had brought in a stranger to oversee the biggest event in their church's history. Especially without meeting her in person. Everything had been done over the phone, which was a mistake they would never repeat.

  He crumpled the sign and tossed it in the nearby waste container. "Let us go retrieve your suitcase. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can go."

  "Don't forget my coffee. I see a sign." She pointed down the length of the terminal. "That way. Starbucks. I need a venti mocha really bad."

  2

  They were well clear of Minneapolis by the time Miranda's teeth stopped chattering. The hot coffee had helped warm her fingers, and finally she had some feeling back in her toes, but the only things that would truly take away the chill that had seeped into her bones would be either the quilt off her bed or a roaring fire.

  Beside her, Ted had unfastened all the buttons of his coat."Are you warm enough? I am finding it becoming hot. I would like to turn the heat down."

  She didn't want to lie, but neither did she want her host to feel uncomfortable. "Go ahead," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "I'm feeling much better."

  A silence hung between them, made worse because Ted didn't have a CD player or even a radio in his car. The silence was really . . . silent . . . except for the hum of the tires on the highway and the regular double thumps when they crossed the expansion seams between the sections of cement.

  "You are feeling better, but you did not say that you are warm." He looked down at her feet, which made her automatically wiggle her toes. "Can you feel your toes yet?"

  At his words, she stopped moving them, even though they were now thankfully covered. "Yes. Thank you. That was a good idea."

  By the time they had walked through the parking lot and arrived at his car, she could no longer feel
her feet. Ted had graciously suggested that she open her suitcase and change into what he called "more adequate footwear." It had been rather embarrassing, but worth the sacrifice of her pride. She had never had such a hard time pulling on socks or stuffing her feet into tennis shoes. Everything below her ankles was numb, and her hands shook so hard she could barely tie the laces.

  "It made no sense that you should be so cold. I did not mind waiting."

  "I've got to be honest with you. I really had no idea it would be like this. I checked the weather channel before I left and saw that it might snow, but it's different at home. On the West Coast it usually only hovers around freezing when it's snowing.Even when it's cold enough for the snow to stick, it's never windy." Just thinking about it made a cold shudder run down her back. For the first time, she understood what people meant by the phrase "wind chill."

  "I've never experienced such a cold wind in my life."

  "I do not understand why you chose to change into your tennis shoes instead of your boots. I would have waited for you to repack your suitcase."

  "I didn't bring boots. I don't own a pair. Do you know where I can buy some?"

  "You do not own boots?" He turned and stared at her as if she were some poor homeless waif, underfed and underdressed.

  She glanced down at his feet, protected by large, plain black boots, no doubt cushioned with thick wool socks.

  Not only did she need to buy boots, she would also need to buy a new jacket. Today she had learned the hard way that the coat she'd bought in Seattle was woefully inadequate if this was a sample of normal Minnesota winter weather. Unlike her coat, Ted's heavy, padded wool coat was so long it hung below his knees. The fabric wouldn't be the least bit rainproof, which was probably why she had never seen anything like it in Seattle. A dull monotone shade of dark gray, it was plain and functional—made for warmth, not for looks.