festivals, too, like the Maple Festival in April and other craft-related ones at other times during the year.
“Well, these girls grew up sharing nearly everything — the same bedroom and hob bies, going to singings and hoedowns, at tending quiltings and work frolics. Never, ever apart.
“Along ‘bout the time when Fannie and Edna started taking their baptismal classes so they could join church come fall, Edna met a young man outside her church dis trict and began spending time with this New Order Amish fella named Perry Mast. ‘Course, the friendship caused a rift be tween the twins — the first ever along with a big stir in the community. Truth be known, Perry, a best friend of Edna’s Men nonite cousin, loved Edna and was bound and determined to take her as his wife, even after both Fannie and Edna bowed their knees before the bishop and were
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baptized ‘before God and these many wit nesses.
“Even when Fannie begged Edna not to marry Perry ‘Won’tcha find a nice Amish boy?’ she pleaded Edna ran off and married him anyway. But then, that wasn’t the worst of it. Any sin, no matter how small, must be dealt with if it causes disharmony amongst the People. So her parents and the preachers called on Edna and asked her to confess her sin to the Lord and make gut on her promise to God and the church, but she would not return to her Amish community. Yet again, one of the preachers approached her ‘bout her leaving her vow behind. And her parents pleaded and cajoled her.
” ‘Course, by now, Perry, her husband, was starting to get a bit peeved, all these folks comin’ over, saying his bride was a sinner and all.”
Mary stirred a bit. “What happened then?” she asked.
“The membership voted to shun Edna. Said she could never have anything to do with her twin sister again. ‘Not in this life, and only in the life hereafter, if you will but confess your sins and repent’ was the warning given.
“One year passed, then another, and
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both Fannie and Edna became sick with grief, suffering so that Edna had to see a doctor, who said she needed a good dose of visiting. ‘That’s all that’s wrong with you,’ he said. ‘You’re homesick for your family.’ “
Mary looked a bit worried. “What did the sisters do . . surely they didn’t dis obey the shun?”
“Didn’t dare do that, ‘cause Fannie was afraid of the Bann falling hard on her next thing. So the girls arranged for a mutual friend, a go-between, to visit one and then the other, delivering messages. That didn’t suffice, though, and it wasn’t long before Edna developed a crippling form of ar thritis and she and her new family moved
away from Pennsylvania.”
“Where’d she go?”
“Last I heard, somewhere in Arizona.”
Mary’s eyes were wide. “Did they ever see each other again?”
Rebecca was sorry, but she had to shake her head. “Such a sad story ‘tis, the tearing apart of beloved sisters, all due to disobe dience.”
“Sin has its way of separating,” Mary said. “I know that all too well.”
“Fannie, far as I know, hasn’t stopped praying for Edna to come to her senses.”
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“Then they’re still living?” Mary
asked.
“Nigh unto their mid-seventies now.” “Are they relation to you?”
Not wanting to reveal just how close a kinship Fannie and Edna were, all Rebecca said was, “They’re some of Samuel’s cousins.”
It was Mary’s turn to wonder. “Does Katie know this story?”
“Many a time, I told it when she was little. So my daughter knows it well, and if she listened — and I ‘spect she did — she surely understands ‘bout the freedom to return, to ask forgiveness.”
Mary folded her hands reverently. “I don’t see how our Katie could go and do near the same thing as Edna.” She sighed audibly. “I just don’t see how… “
Rebecca hadn’t told the story to upset Mary further. No, but now that she looked into Mary’s face, she could see there was a glimmer