Chapter Nine
The next evening Bethany stood at the kitchen counter slicing apples for a strudel. The evening sun hung low, bursting through the kitchen windows and bathing her hands in golden warmth as she worked. Coils of apple peel piled on a piece of newspaper, and Bethany thinly sliced the fragrant apples into a large, white bowl.
“I wish I could go tonight,” Lily said with a sigh.
“You aren’t old enough,” Bethany replied. “Look—you’re leaving peel on that apple. Come on, Lily. Do it right.”
Lily muttered something, but she did go back to take the last bit of peel off the apple. Bethany wasn’t usually short with her little sister, and she felt a little bad for having snapped.
“You’ll be glad you can make an attractive strudel,” Bethany said, softening her tone. “When girls put out their pies and you put out a perfectly braided strudel, you’ll stand out! And what boy doesn’t want a girl who can bake?”
“Not everything is about appearances!” Lily retorted.
“Enough of it is,” Mamm said, interjecting into their conversation. “The only ones who look at what’s happening in your heart first are Gott and your mamm. For everyone else, you’d best begin with good appearances.”
Bethany chuckled at that.
“And that goes for you, too, Bethany,” Mamm added. “I don’t like you going out with this Yoder boy so much.”
“He’s a friend . . . and our employee,” Bethany said.
“He’s a risk,” Mamm replied. “What will people think?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think they’d assume very much,” Bethany admitted. “We’re both in weird situations right now, and I think we understand each other because of it.”
“Well, it’s going to look like that understanding has blossomed,” Mamm replied. “And the last thing you need is for someone to write to Micah and tell him that you’ve started up with one of his best friends!”
“He might come back for that,” Lily said with a shrug.
“Zip it!” Mamm snapped, pointing a finger at Lily, then turning back to Bethany. “Bethany, I’m serious. He’s been gone what—two weeks? This is not appropriate.”
“He’d been very distant before leaving,” Bethany said. “You know that! He already seemed like he didn’t want to get married after all. How many times did he put off his baptism? He wasn’t taking me to any of the youth events, and he just kept saying he was busy!”
“Marriage is stressful on a young man,” Mamm replied.
“Well, getting married is supposed to be one of the happiest days of your lives, not something a man wants to avoid talking about!” she retorted. “And now we know why. It wasn’t stress about the wedding or adjusting to the new responsibilities of having a family. It was because he was leaving me, and he knew it. And he didn’t know how to tell me.”
Mamm sighed. “But if he comes back—”
“I just want to go to a youth event this evening,” Bethany said quietly. “I want to see my friends.” She wanted to see Isaiah, truthfully. He was a strange comfort, and she found herself missing him at odd times.
“Then get your daet to drive you,” Mamm said.
“Mamm, I want to go with my friend. I’m grown.”
Mamm sighed. “It’s up to you, obviously. You’re right that you’re old enough to make your own decisions on these things, but be aware of how this could look. Even if you don’t want Micah back, you do want to get married, and looking like the kind of girl who can go from being engaged to one boy to dillydallying with another—it makes you look cheap. Excuse the ugly word.”
Lily looked toward Bethany, her eyes large. Cheap. Bethany had never been called that before—especially not in this house. She swallowed. The problem was, these little considerations weren’t going to matter at all when Bethany told her mamm about her pregnancy. And if the community learned about it, too, they wouldn’t be judging who drove her to the strawberry social; they’d be talking about bigger issues, like whether she could be trusted as a role model to the younger kinner in the community and whether they should bother inviting her to the quilting circle.
“I’m not cheap, Mamm,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I’m not going to tiptoe either. People are already talking about me because Micah left. Our faith is about our community, isn’t it? We’re supposed to be there for one another in hard times? Well, Isaiah is going through some tough times right now, too, and I suspect he has a good many reasons to leave, just like his sister did.”
“He isn’t your responsibility!” her mother said.
“Then whose is he?” she demanded. “We’re supposed to look out for one another! If Isaiah leaves, who else will follow him? Do we want to lose all the young people in one go?”
Mamm sighed. “Fine.”
“I know that doesn’t mean you’re fine with this,” Bethany said.
“I also can’t stop you!” Mamm retorted. “And if you think that the world actually works according to our ideals, you have a few surprises coming.”
“Of course our community upholds our ideals,” Bethany said.
“Upholds them, but falls short all too often,” Mamm replied.
“Not you and Daet.”
Mamm’s cheeks pinked, and she looked toward Lily, who was watching them in silence.
“No, there are good Amish people out there who live by their beliefs,” Mamm said primly. “But there are also people out there who don’t. And not everyone who wants to know your secrets is your friend.”
Bethany couldn’t argue with that, but just as Mamm fell silent, the sound of a buggy and hooves could be heard outside.
“That’s him, Mamm,” Bethany said. “Don’t worry. You know me—I’ll be proper.”
Mamm nodded. “I know you. But not everyone is inclined to think the best of you. Remember that.”
Bethany put down her paring knife and went to the sink to wash her hands. Then she changed her apron and quickly tied on a freshly laundered one. As Lily turned to grab another apple, she swiped past a plate and it fell with a crash.
“Oh, Lily . . .” Mamm said, reaching for the broom. “You’ve got to be more careful!”
“Are we okay, Mamm?” Bethany asked.
Mamm looked up, broom in hand and a tired look on her face.
“Yah. We’re okay,” Mamm said. “Don’t be home too late.”
Bethany smiled. “I never am, Mamm.”
If only Mamm’s warnings didn’t sound with so much wisdom. But Bethany wanted just a few more days of being able to live her life without anyone else knowing her secret, a few more days before the criticism began. She should relish this—she’d never have it again.
* * *
Isaiah reined in the horses and squinted against the low, slanted rays of sunlight that splashed over the lush pasture, stretching the shadows of the trees and fence posts long. The Glicks’ home was a two-story farmhouse set on about five acres of land. They had some pasture, some stables, a chicken house, and a bit of wooded forest that they owned but wasn’t much use to them besides the odd bit of hunting. The front door to the house was propped open with a brick, and from inside, he could hear the clatter of broken glass and a female voice gently chastising.
Elizabeth hadn’t wanted to come along this evening. The combination of their chilly reception at the bonfire and the letter from their daet had left her quiet and subdued. So she’d opted to stay at the house with Aunt Rose.
Isaiah wasn’t keen on this either, but he was looking forward to seeing Bethany again. Strange how their friendship was starting to mean a whole lot more to him lately . . . and maybe what he needed was a good friend right now, not anything romantic. Romance might soothe some deep, lonesome place inside him, but it would be a betrayal of Micah, and if Isaiah was going to be different from his daet, he’d better start here and now.
Isaiah tied off the reins and hopped down from the buggy. The evening was still warm and sweat beaded on his forehead. He headed toward the side door, and it opened before he could knock. Bethany stood there, smoothing down her apron with one hand and a surprised look on her face.
“Hi,” he said, and he glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen, where Barbara Glick and Lily were crouched down, sweeping up what looked like a broken dish.
“Hello, Isaiah,” Barbara called. “Don’t be too late, now. When it finishes we expect Bethany home promptly.”
“Yah, of course,” he said. “Don’t worry about that.”
Barbara didn’t answer him, but she did cast Bethany an indecipherable look. Did Bethany’s mother think this was more than two friends going to a youth event? Granted, it might look that way, but he’d figured that Bethany would have explained that much.
“Let’s go,” Bethany said briskly.
Isaiah let Bethany leave ahead of him, then he looked back at her mother, who was staring after her, her lips pressed together in a line.
“Good night,” he said.
Barbara gave him a nod but didn’t answer, and Isaiah closed the door behind him. He met Bethany’s glance and they exchanged a small smile.
“Tension?” he said as they headed toward the buggy.
“Mamm is just worried about appearances,” she replied.
“You told her that this isn’t a date . . . right?” he said.
“Of course.”
It might still look otherwise, he realized, and he gave Bethany a hand up into the buggy. She slid down the bench seat to the other side, then he hoisted himself up and untied the reins. When he glanced toward the house as they headed back up the drive, he saw Lily at the side door, watching them with her head cocked to one side, as if she was trying to figure something out.
“Lily’s too curious for her own good,” Bethany said.
“About what?” he asked.
“Everything, I’m afraid. There’s no privacy in a house with a little sister.”
“Yah, I know about that,” he said, and they shared a rueful smile.
“Where’s Elizabeth?” she asked.
“She didn’t want to go,” he said. “She needs a break, I guess.”
Bethany was silent, and he looked over at her. She leaned back against the backrest and let out a soft sigh.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yah.”
“Because the last few days—” He swallowed. “I don’t know. You seem . . . upset about something.”
“I just want to get out of the house—I love my family dearly, but I’m much nicer to them when I’ve had some space to myself.”
Isaiah smiled at that. “Yah, I understand that, too.”
He guided the horses out of the drive and they started down the road.
“I’m pushing you into going to this, aren’t I?” Bethany asked.
“No . . . no. I mean . . . No, I’m happy to drive you.”
“That sounds like a yes,” she countered.
Isaiah chuckled. “I’m not feeling like eating strawberries at the moment, but it’s fine. You’re right—it’s good to get out. And I was looking forward to seeing you, actually.”
“I don’t feel like eating strawberries either,” she said. “I did half an hour ago, and I thought that seeing my friends might help, but I think I’ve changed my mind. . . .”
He squinted at her. “Do you want me to take you back, then?”
“No. I wouldn’t mind a drive. It feels good to be out.”
Yah, him too. He smiled over at her, and they carried on past the turn that would take them toward the farm hosting the strawberry event and he settled into the buggy’s rhythm. It felt good to be out with her next to him. Of everyone in his community right now, she was the one who seemed to understand him the best.
They rode in silence for several minutes, Bethany’s arm moving against his as they bumped over a dip in the road. He almost wished he could find another one and have her jostle against him once more. He felt freer out there than he’d felt in a long time, and having her with him was settling his nerves. She felt good next to him; she was a reason to stay strong.
They passed several farms of families they knew, but no one was out close enough to the road to see them. He reached over and took her hand. She smiled and dropped her gaze when his fingers closed over hers.
“So, what will you do now if you aren’t going to be a preacher?” Bethany asked.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He ran his fingers over hers, feeling the softness of her skin.
“You must have thought of something,” she said.
“I’m enjoying bookbinding,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t mind carrying on with your daet.”
“You’re good at it,” she said. “You picked up faster than Micah did.”
“Yah?” He smiled faintly. “But if Micah comes back, I suppose I could find another trade.”
They were approaching a little bridge he used to play around with his friends when he was a boy. They used to drop rocks over the edge of it and see who could make a bigger splash. And when Isaiah went out there alone he’d stare down at the water rippling past and let his mind wander with the current.
Ahead, beyond the bridge, was the farm that used to belong to his father . . . the farm that used to be home. So much had changed.
“If Micah did come back . . .” Bethany said quietly, “you wouldn’t work with him?”
“No.” He didn’t mean for the answer to be quite so curt, but it was the truth. “I couldn’t do it. Besides, I’m just helping out right now. If he came back, I’m sure your daet would much prefer him.”
Bethany was silent.
“I want to open my own business, though,” he said. “I don’t want to just work for some big, faceless company. I want my work to be who I am, to show what I stand for.”
“Maybe you could open a shop—make those birdhouses the Englishers like so much,” she suggested.
“Yah, maybe.”
“Or you could open a landscaping business. Englishers pay good money for that.”
“Hmm.”
“I don’t think a carpentry business would be good right now, because Enoch just opened that other one on the far side of town, but my daet was saying that there is steady work in construction—”
Isaiah inhaled a measured breath. “I don’t need you to fix my future, Bethany.”
“I’m not—” She pulled back her hand, and his hand felt empty without hers.
“You are!” he countered. He wished he could take her hand again, but it had been overstepping to begin with, and maybe his irritation was more with that than with her eagerness to fix his problems. “I don’t need you to find something new for me to focus on for when Micah comes back. I can handle that myself.”
And maybe he didn’t want to think about that just yet . . . Maybe he didn’t want to think past the here and now, because he knew what he’d promised Micah, and he knew that Bethany wasn’t going to be a part of his future—not in the way he’d like anyway.
“I wrote to Micah,” Isaiah said.
Bethany was silent for a beat. “What did you say?”
“That I was looking out for you,” he said. “I wanted him to know that there was still some honesty he could count on in our community.”
“I haven’t heard from him,” she said quietly. “I thought he might phone the neighbor or . . . something.”
Isaiah looked back to the road, running it all through in his head, sifting through it.
“You said that if he doesn’t come back for what you told him, you don’t want him back,” Isaiah said slowly. “What did you tell him?”
Bethany looked away, and for a moment he didn’t think she’d answer him.
“I told him that I’m pregnant with his baby,” she said, and her chin trembled as she said the words.
Her words were like a blow to the stomach and it took him a moment to register what she’d said.
“What?” He turned toward her, stunned. “Were you . . . telling him the truth?”
“You think I’d just tell a wild lie to get him back?” she asked bitterly.
“No, I just . . .” The thought was a shock—this didn’t happen in places like Bountiful. “Was it a lie?”
Bethany’s gaze misted and she shook her head. “No, it’s true. I found out a few days ago.”
His heart beat hard, trying to catch up to his brain. She was pregnant . . . That meant that if Micah came back, it was no longer a choice of what she wanted. The elders and the bishop would make sure that the couple got married and that the baby would be raised by married parents. And he’d just written to his friend, asking him to return.
It was the best thing—wasn’t it? She did need Micah, more than he’d even imagined when he wrote that letter.
As they arrived at the bridge, Isaiah reined in the horses and guided them to the grassy side of the road. He turned toward Bethany and swallowed hard. “What are you going to do?”
Bethany sighed. “I have to tell my parents still.”
“You haven’t told anyone?”
“I told Micah in the letter . . . and you.” She licked her lips. “I shouldn’t have said anything to you, though. I don’t know why I did.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone. You’re safe with me, Beth.”
Her chin trembled again. “Yah. I hope so.”
“Seriously.” He reached out and caught her hand again, and this time it wasn’t just to be close to her. He wanted to pull her into his arms, tell her that he could help her fix this—but he couldn’t! What was he supposed to do? Sometimes a man’s instincts to make everything better were useless.
“I think my best hope is Micah coming back,” she said.
“And marrying him,” he said, his voice tight.
“Yah.”
Of course. That was what made sense. Micah had gotten her pregnant, and he needed to be the one to marry her and raise his own child. And Micah would want that—if Isaiah knew his friend at all.
“He’ll come back,” Isaiah said. “If that’s what you told him in your letter, there is no doubt.”
“I’m not so convinced,” she whispered. “For the last few weeks, he didn’t want to even talk about the wedding, or anything. He was supposed to be making the eck—and he hadn’t finished it yet.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t want to get married,” Isaiah countered.
“He knew he was leaving—I’m sure of it. He wanted me to go with him.”
“At least he didn’t marry you first,” Isaiah said.
To marry her and then leave—or ask her to leave her Amish life—that wouldn’t have been fair. In his friend’s defense, at least he’d left her single. And he hadn’t known that there was a baby coming . . .
“I have to tell my mamm and daet,” she said. “I won’t be able to hide it for much longer, I don’t think.”
He was still holding her hand, and he lifted her fingers and pressed his lips against them. It had been impulsive, done without even thinking, but she didn’t pull away.
“Come here,” he murmured, and he tugged her closer, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her gently against his chest. He could feel his own heartbeat reverberate through her body, and he let out a pent-up breath. He’d promised Micah that he’d look out for Bethany, that he’d protect her and make sure she was okay, but Micah had left her pregnant, and if his friend didn’t come back, she’d be in some big trouble.
Bethany leaned her forehead against his neck, and for a moment they both looked out at the lowering sun, the sky splashed orange and pink over the swell of the little white bridge.
The best solution for Bethany was to have her fiancé come back.
And even knowing that, Isaiah wasn’t looking forward to Micah’s return because these stolen moments alone with her would never happen again, and while Bethany would have her husband and raise her baby, Isaiah would go back to being very much alone.
* * *
Bethany leaned her head against Isaiah’s warm shoulder, a cool breeze rippling across the fields and moving her dress against her leg. Not having to look at Isaiah was comforting somehow. It was also a strange relief to have told someone . . . a momentary lightening of the burden.
Except Isaiah hadn’t said everything would be all right. She’d half-hoped he would—that he could show her how it would all work out and the dark worries be overshot. But of all people, Isaiah wouldn’t lie.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said quietly. A secret was only a secret when no one knew. In a community their size, one breathed secret could quickly make it around Bountiful.
“I’m glad you did,” he said.
“No, I mean—” She lifted her head from his shoulder and pulled back. “If anyone found out—I know the pressure I’m putting on you, asking you to keep a secret like this, but my future depends on it.”
“I know that,” he said earnestly. “Look, if you can’t trust my friendship with you, then trust my friendship with Micah. I told him I’d look out for you, and I’m going to do that.”
Bethany rubbed her hands over her arms, suddenly feeling chilly, even though it was a warm night. The sun sank ever lower along the horizon, and the little white bridge glowed pink.
“Is this why you’ve been so tired lately?” he asked. “And not feeling well?”
She nodded. “Yah, this is why.”
“And your mamm hasn’t realized?”
“Not yet, but she will soon, I’m sure.” Bethany looked down at her hands. “I want to tell her first. I don’t want to be caught. I’d rather confess.”
“And Micah . . . Do you trust him to stay, if he comes back?” Isaiah asked.
Bethany thought for a moment, her gaze moving over the silvery water as it flowed between the rocky banks, the light of the sunset flashing off the water.
“I don’t have much choice,” she said at last. “He’s the father.”
Because that detail did matter—who the father of this baby was. If the elders and bishop were told, they’d ask her very seriously to tell them who the young man was. No one else would raise a child like the father would. To any other man, this baby would be the child that constantly reminded him that his wife had been with someone else. The father of this child had a Gott-given responsibility to raise him or her, and to show this child what love was. They heard fatherhood preached about often enough—what it meant within a family, what it meant spiritually . . .
Isaiah was silent, and she looked over at him to find his jaw set. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the dash rail. What was he thinking? Had his opinion of her just dropped? She rubbed her hand over her stomach—something she had started doing more often now that she knew about the baby.
“I didn’t mean to end up like this,” she said, her voice shaking. “He promised he’d marry me.”
“And he will yet,” Isaiah said gruffly.
“What are you going to do, march out to the city and drag him back?” she asked bitterly.
“Yah, maybe.” He turned to look at her, his gaze dark and glittering.
Bethany shook her head, imagining Isaiah doing just that—stomping into some Englisher house and grabbing Micah by the collar. It was a ridiculous mental image because she didn’t know what Englisher houses even looked like on the inside, and she had no idea how Micah had been living....
“It isn’t exactly the kind of wedding a girl dreams of, I can tell you that,” she said.
“Micah is a good man,” Isaiah said. “I know he left the Amish life, but he couldn’t have left all his morals and his ideals behind, too. He knows what’s right and wrong. And he has a heart—”
Isaiah’s words broke off, and he reached out and wrapped a stray tendril of her hair around one finger, then released it with a gentle tug.
“Oh . . .” She took the bit of hair and tucked it back under her kapp.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.
She nodded, but then tears welled in her eyes, and Isaiah slid closer along the bench and cupped her cheek in his warm, work-toughened palm. He didn’t say anything, but when she looked up at him, his lips came down over hers, warm, soft, and insistent.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she let them flutter shut. Isaiah slid an arm around her waist, and when he pulled back he rested his forehead against hers and let out a ragged sigh.
“Why did you do that?” she whispered.
“Because I realized that when Micah comes back I’m not going to be able to do that again. I’m not going to be able to take you for drives, or talk to you, or—you’ll be off-limits.”
“I’m already off-limits!” she shot back. “I’m pregnant with your best friend’s baby!”
“You think I don’t know that?” His gaze flashed and he straightened, pulling back. “You chose the wrong guy back then, you know that?”
Bethany stared at him, stunned. “A girl waits to be chosen. That’s how it works with us Amish.”
“And the first guy who came calling, you agreed to marry!” Isaiah shook his head. “Look, I’m not saying Micah wasn’t a worthy man, but he wasn’t the right one.”
Bethany felt anger steadily rising up inside her. “And in a community this size, I was supposed to turn away a good man who wanted to marry me? I was supposed to take those chances?”
“Did any of it feel wrong to you?” he demanded. “Choosing him, I mean . . . Wasn’t there any hesitation, any sense that he wasn’t the man for you? Because I could have told you that much!”
“In hindsight, yah. But my parents loved him! They thought he was ideal—” Her voice choked, and she clenched her teeth together in anger. She’d trusted her parents’ instincts because they knew what love and devotion looked like. They had experience. And there was a thrill in being engaged . . .
Isaiah rubbed his hands over his face. “I get why you accepted him. I just wish you’d waited a little longer—made him work for it.”
“Do you?” she demanded. “Because I could have just as easily ended up single for the rest of my life, just because I turned down an eligible man! And waiting for who, exactly?”
“For me!” Isaiah’s hot gaze raked over her, and she felt her cheeks heat in response.
“You never showed interest!”
Isaiah raised an eyebrow. “Yah, I did. You just didn’t notice.”
“How? How did you show it?” she demanded.
“I talked to you, I smiled at you, I went out of my way to spend time with you,” he said.
“You did that to all the girls,” she said incredulously.
“No, I didn’t. And if you’d stopped to look, you would have noticed that. Yeah, I might not have been the first one you noticed—”
“Not the first man?” she said. “Do you know how the girls saw you? They all had crushes on you! All but Mary Fisher, and she had a wild crush on Micah. But the others? It was you! And I wasn’t going to put out my pie with all the other girls and hope you chose me. Because I wouldn’t have won that!”
A family of ducks—some adults and a scattering of yellow ducklings—came down the stream, the soft quacks surfing the breeze toward them.
“You would have,” Isaiah breathed.
Bethany stared at him. He would have chosen her? Out of all the girls in the community, all the girls who baked better and were prettier, he’d have chosen her?
“It’s a little late now,” she said, and she felt tears rising inside her.
“Yah. Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?” she demanded. “It is too late! I’m having a baby and you’re trying to prove that you’re more Amish than your preacher father ever was. You’re going to court a girl who’s pregnant with your best friend’s child? I’ll make this easy for you, Isaiah. You can’t choose me. Not anymore. If you want to get the respect of the community, you’ve got to find someone beyond reproach, and that is no longer me.”
The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but they were true. She was no longer one of the “good girls” in the community—that was over. She was officially a scandal now, even if no one knew it yet.
Isaiah didn’t answer her, and the sun sank steadily lower behind the hills in the distance. They sat in silence in the near darkness, and Bethany felt a welling of grief building up inside her.
“Do you feel anything for me?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Does it matter?” she asked.
“Yah. I think it does.”
But she wouldn’t answer him because he was wrong there—it didn’t matter. She’d listened to the honeyed words of her own fiancé and look where that left her! Her best-case scenario was having Micah come back, in which case admitting to any of her convoluted feelings would only hurt her future with the father of her child. And if Micah didn’t return, she still couldn’t be the woman for Isaiah. She knew what he needed as well as he did, and whether she married Micah or not, Isaiah would find a proper Amish girl with a good reputation, and he’d marry her.
Would he love that other girl, though? Really and deeply?
She looked over to find Isaiah’s miserable gaze locked on her.
“You need to admit it,” she said. “Admit that I’m not the kind of girl you need anymore.”
“Are you going to admit you feel something for me?” he asked, his voice low and rough.
She smiled bitterly. “Fine. I feel something. You?”
“Yeah, I feel something.” He reached out and touched the top of her hand.
“You know what I’m saying,” she said. “You can’t marry me and you know it.”
“I can’t marry you, but not for the reason you think,” he retorted.
“Then humor me,” she said, her voice strengthening. “Why not?”
Already, the other girls who had mooned after him were winning. She could feel it. And she was no longer stupid enough to listen to those sweet words. Words meant nothing.
“I made a promise to Micah,” he said. “And I intend to keep it. I have to be the kind of man I want to live beside in this community. I’m nothing if I can’t stand by my word.”
Isaiah was standing by his principles. Why did that hurt?
“I think I should go home,” she said, leaning back in the seat.
“You sure?” he asked, and when she looked over at him again she saw his dark gaze moving over her face, his strong hand resting on the seat next to hers. His shoulders were broad, and it was oh, so tempting to just forget about all the reasons why this wouldn’t work and enjoy the feeling of someone wanting her again.
“I wouldn’t kiss you again,” he added. “We could just talk. We can get out and stand on the bridge—no temptation that way.”
It was a paltry offering—as if a bridge was public enough to take away any temptation—but if he gave his word, she was inclined to believe him.
“You won’t kiss me?” she whispered.
“I promise.”
The sky was darkening to a medium blue behind them, and the sun came lower, blushing the horizon in red. Somewhere not far away, there was a strawberry social happening, but here in the cool evening, there was only a little creek babbling across the rocks, and the horses that stamped their feet and swished their tails against the insects that were attracted to their warmth.
“We might not get more chances like this one,” he said. “And I don’t mean for kisses and that sort of thing . . . I mean for talking, and for being alone. We don’t have much more time like this where we’ll be together.”
And he was right. Her pregnancy was about to change everything.
“I suppose we could talk,” she said quietly, and he smiled.
“Come on. Let’s get out,” he said, and he led the way, hopping down from the buggy and holding out his hand to her to help her down. He was very proper, and he released her hand once she had her balance, and they strolled toward the creek together.
“I used to play by this bridge when I was little,” he said.
“Me too.”
Her arm brushed against his warm, strong biceps.
“I used to drop little paper boats over the edge and watch them float away,” he said.
“I used to pretend I was a horse and gallop down it while I waited for my daet to buy produce from a farm up there—” She nodded up the road. And when she got older she used to imagine that she was being courted, and the boy would propose to her in the center of that bridge. But that was a memory she wouldn’t share with anyone....
“It used to look bigger,” Isaiah said, and he looked down at her, his gaze tender. “And grown-up responsibilities felt like an eternity away.”
Bethany leaned her head against Isaiah’s shoulder and turned her gaze to the rippling water. Once upon a time she and Isaiah were both just kinner, trusting in this Amish community and hardly knowing there was anything beyond it. She certainly hadn’t imagined her fiancé disappearing on her, and she’d only heard the word “Mennonite” whispered among the adults, hardly even understanding what it referred to.
So much had changed now that they were grown, and Bethany wished with every fiber of her being that she could go back and try living this life again. Maybe she’d make some different choices and come out happier.