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The Narrow Path

By Gail Sattler

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Chapter 1

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 only a thin, non-padded lining, and she only wore 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 on the ground a foot thick 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 himself–a woman who had been blessed with a special gift and lived to serve others. Even though it was unusual for a 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 non-functional purse, brightly colored cell phone, a collection of electronic gadgets, plus a laptop computer slung over shoulder, and show-girl 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 down, 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 meRandi. 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’” will 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 bi-colored 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."

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