Chapter Eleven
Micah wound his way around the other passengers who were milling about, picking up their luggage, and he crossed the depot toward Isaiah. It was like no time had passed—the last couple of weeks had never happened. Micah had the same friendly look on his face, the same straw hat with the dent in the side. And after a moment of numbness the first thing Isaiah felt was a blast of anger.
Micah came back now? After leaving Bethany, abandoning their wedding, and letting her look like the fool? He came back now? But on the heels of the anger came another sensation—grudging relief. That flow of young people leaving their community was frightening for more than just the older folks. It left everyone feeling off-balance, grief-stricken, and afraid for the future for all of them. If Micah could come back, maybe the damage Abe had done was reversible. Maybe there was hope for Lovina to come back, too. Or any of the others who’d already left. He scanned the other travelers, hoping to see his sister’s face among them, but there weren’t any more Amish on that bus.
“Isaiah!” Micah said, and he forced a smile that didn’t look natural. He had rings under his eyes and he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping.
“Hi—” Isaiah swallowed. “You’re back.”
“Yah.” Micah reached out to Isaiah’s hand and they shook, then had an awkward hug with a few thumps on the back. “I’m back. And I’m glad you’re the first one I’m seeing.”
“I don’t imagine I’m the one you’re here to see,” Isaiah said.
“No, but maybe we could talk a bit before I go find her,” Micah replied.
He looked like the same old friend—the same clothes—except when Micah pulled his hat off again and rubbed his hands through his hair, Isaiah noticed that he had an Englisher haircut now. That would take a while to grow out.
“So where did you go?” Isaiah asked, and they moved off to the side, away from the chatter of other people.
“I’m in Pittsburgh,” he replied. “There are some Mennonite churches that help out Amish kids who leave, and . . . so yeah. They’ve been really helping me out. I got a job at a hardware store, and the pay isn’t bad. Plus, I’m staying with this family, and their kids are grown, so they like having someone young around . . .” His voice trailed off. “How are things here?”
“Not great,” Isaiah admitted. “No one trusts me, but I’m doing what I can.”
“I know your daet is shunned, and I know you won’t break the rules right now, but honestly, Isaiah, if it were me, I’d be talking to my father,” Micah said with a shake of his head. “The bishop and elders can’t tell you how to relate to your own daet.”
“Have you seen Lovina?” Isaiah asked. “Because the bishop thought maybe she’d gone to find Daet, and—”
“No, I haven’t seen her,” Micah said. “I’m sorry. She’s . . . she’s left, too?”
“Yah.” Isaiah let out a shaky breath. “I have no idea where she went. I was half-hoping she’d gone with you.”
“No.” Micah swallowed. “So, is she going to be shunned, too, then? She was baptized—the rules are stronger for her than for me.”
“No, she’s not,” Isaiah said irritably. “And as for the bishop controlling my relationship with my father, you’re wrong there, too. He’s authorized my sisters and me to talk to him, even with the shunning. And he wants you all to come back.”
“He authorized it?” Micah looked surprised at that. “That’s . . . really good.”
“They aren’t the unfair, hard-nosed people you seem to think,” Isaiah said. “Some things just take time. But they do care.”
“Right.” Micah slapped his hat against his leg. “Look, I haven’t changed my mind about the bishop’s authority and all that. I’m not going to knuckle under for that man.”
“It’s not about one man, it’s about our entire community,” Isaiah retorted. “Are you telling me you have that out there with the Englishers? People who love you, who have known you since you were a baby?”
“They might not know me as well, but there’s a community, yah,” Micah replied. “The store I’m working at belongs to a Mennonite man. He helps out the Amish young people who leave. And there was this lady who gave me a free haircut”—Micah’s face colored—“it still feels strange. And the older couple I’m staying with, the lady is helping me learn how to do some cooking on those electric stoves—so weird. There’s no flame!—”
“Is there another girl?” Isaiah asked curtly.
“It’s been three weeks,” Micah said, swallowing. “You think I hit the city and picked up a girl? Even the Englishers don’t work that fast.”
Isaiah wasn’t sure if that was good news or not. Good news for Bethany, definitely, but he did feel a stab of guilt about how quickly things had developed between him and Bethany.
“What about Lovina?” Isaiah asked. “Do you know where we could start looking?”
“I don’t know. There’s a few different places—she could have gone anywhere,” Micah said. “Look, I feel terrible that she left. It wasn’t because of me, was it?”
“It was because of my daet,” Isaiah said bitterly. “Not you.”
“She’s old enough to take care of herself,” Micah said.
“She’s only twenty.”
“She could be married with kinner at twenty,” Micah countered.
“Yah, well, she’s not!” Isaiah snapped, and then he sucked in a breath, looking for some calm. “We thought she’d be marrying Johannes soon, but that’s off, obviously. And having an Amish home is a whole lot safer than wandering some Englisher city! You know that.”
“So, Johannes must be a wreck,” Micah said.
“A whole lot like Bethany, yah,” Isaiah retorted.
Micah fell silent, and they stared at each other for a moment, the noise as the Englishers headed out to the street flooding around them.
“Did you get my letter?” Isaiah asked.
“No . . . I got hers, though,” Micah replied, and his cheeks colored. “And she sounded angry.”
Isaiah couldn’t help but smile bitterly at that. “Yah, she’s angry.”
“I never meant to do this to her,” Micah said, lowering his voice. “I didn’t! When I proposed I meant every word of it, and I thought I’d be with her for the rest of my life. I thought—”
“Yah, I get it,” Isaiah muttered, cutting him off. “You meant to be the kind of guy she could trust.”
“I did. I really meant to.”
“So what changed?” Isaiah demanded. “My daet lets you down and you walk out on your promises?”
“It . . . Didn’t your daet shake your faith at all?” Micah demanded, anger flashing in his eyes. “We’ve been told all our lives that Amish living means safety, that we’re different from the heathen out there. And all the while your daet was working some scam with a bunch of Englishers! Isaiah, Bountiful is no different! Our community just works harder with fewer comforts, and that’s it!”
“That’s not true,” Isaiah replied. “Being Amish means a whole lot more than that and you know it. It’s about family and community and pulling together when times are hard. We support one another. We stand by our word!”
“Did your daet?”
“No!” Isaiah snapped. “He didn’t. He let us all down, and me even more than you, so you can stop using my father as your excuse for all this. But there are other people in the community who embody everything we stand for—people you can trust!”
“Like who?”
“Like me!”
Isaiah was tired of holding it all in. He was trying to be the man everyone needed, even if they didn’t want him right now. He was trying to be as good of an Amish man as he knew how, and it was tearing him apart.
“I know,” Micah said, softening. “You’re a good friend. You always were . . . Bethany mentioned you in her letter, you know.”
Isaiah’s heart gave a little lurch. “Oh? What did she say?”
“That you stayed.” Micah sighed. “That you were facing all this, and I guess that you were a bigger man than I was for doing that.”
That wasn’t so bad . . . He’d been half afraid that she would have told him about whatever it was that seemed to be blossoming between them, but that couldn’t help anything.
“This has been really hard on her,” Isaiah said. “People were talking after you left, and she had to face everyone. You really broke her heart.”
“How about her parents?” Micah asked. “Do you know how they’re dealing with it?”
“I’m working with Nathaniel at the shop,” Isaiah said.
“You’re doing my job?” Micah squinted.
“Someone has to!” Isaiah said. “And I needed work. Our farm is gone. I’ve got to make some money, and Nathaniel needed the extra muscle. We’re working on some pretty big orders at the moment.”
“Right.” Micah chewed the inside of his cheek.
“When you leave like that you’re going to be replaced, Micah,” Isaiah said. “You should know that.”
And as the words came out, he heard the implied threat. Micah could be replaced in Bethany’s heart, too.
“So how is Nathaniel, then?” Micah asked uncertainly.
“He’s angry, too, but . . . you’ll have to face him, I guess.”
“I guess.”
Isaiah wasn’t feeling a lot of pity for Micah right now. He had to expect some sort of fallout from walking out on his fiancée! But now that Micah was back, Isaiah was going to have to find a new job. In a rush, staring his friend in the face, he realized that whatever time he’d had working side by side with Bethany was now over, and his heart sank inside him.
Isaiah bent down and hoisted the box of leather to his shoulder. “I have to bring this back to the shop. Nathaniel needs it.”
“Right.”
“Are you going to see your parents first, or Bethany?” Isaiah asked.
“Bethany.”
That was the right answer, at least.
“Why don’t you get your luggage and we’ll head on over?” Isaiah said.
Micah headed wordlessly toward the last bag sitting alone beside the luggage sign, and Isaiah watched him as he gathered it up and made his way back. For a man who’d just discovered that he was a father and had come back to see the mother of his baby, his steps were rather slow.
Did Micah want to be here? It was hard to tell, but Micah was here.
“I know what Bethany said in her letter to you,” Isaiah said, his voice low.
Micah stared at him, his face blanching. “You do?”
“You owe her, Micah,” Isaiah said, the words coming out in a growl, then he pushed out the glass door and into the sunny heat.
Isaiah and Micah walked down the sidewalk together, and for the first time in days, there were only Englishers on the street and no Amish. One buggy rattled past, but the driver didn’t look in their direction.
When they approached Glick’s Book Bindery, Isaiah adjusted the box in his grip and opened the door. Bethany looked up from her seat and gave Isaiah a wary smile—likely still thinking about her daet’s lecture, but then her gaze slid past him to Micah, who came up behind him, and her face paled.
Isaiah went inside first, depositing the box on the counter, and Nathaniel turned; then he froze, too.
“Hello,” Micah said quietly.
“Micah . . .” Tears welled in Bethany’s eyes, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Isaiah’s heart gave a squeeze at the sight of her tears.
“Did you just arrive?” Nathaniel asked. “Come in—flip that sign to ‘Closed,’ Isaiah.”
Isaiah reached over and flipped the sign, then locked the door behind him. The family would need some privacy for this reunion. He shouldn’t be here for it either, he knew, but he wasn’t sure what else to do.
“Hi,” Micah said with a weak smile. “Bethany . . . I got your letter.”
Bethany didn’t say anything for a moment, and when she uncovered her mouth, her voice shook. “You, idiot . . . you left me!”
Isaiah felt a lump constrict his throat. Micah and Bethany had history, and it was time for him to let them sort it out between them. She’d never been his to begin with.
* * *
Bethany hadn’t meant for the words to leave her mouth, and when she glanced toward her father, expecting him to be glaring at her for her audacity, he didn’t look fazed. Instead he beckoned her forward.
“Micah, I’m sure you’re here to see Bethany,” her father said. “And you two will need some time to talk.”
“It’s good to see you,” Micah said, giving her father a hesitant smile.
“Yah, it’s good to see you, too, Micah,” her father said, but his tone remained somewhat tight, and he didn’t reach out to shake his hand. “Have you seen your parents yet?”
“No.”
“They’ll be relieved to have you home, son,” Daet said quietly. “But first things first, I’m going to lend you my buggy, and you and Bethany can go for a ride and talk in private.”
Bethany glanced toward Isaiah and found his gaze locked on hers, but his expression was wooden. He hated this—she could feel it radiating from him. She felt it, too, but her melancholy came with a dose of guilt as well. She’d had no right to be getting closer to Isaiah—but she had. Sure, she was single, but her situation was far too complicated to make whatever was developing with Isaiah okay.
And with Micah back—her breath caught in her throat and she felt a wave of misgiving. She’d wanted this, hadn’t she? She’d asked him to return. But now . . .
“Bethany?” Daet said.
She’d missed something, and she looked back toward her father.
“Yah?”
“Go with Micah. Isaiah and I can keep working on this order. In fact, Isaiah can drive me home after we close up. Right, Isaiah?”
“Yah,” Isaiah said, but his voice sounded strangled.
“Go on, now,” Daet said.
She could see the hope in her father’s eyes. He’d been angry with Micah before, and now it seemed that all was forgiven . . . but it wasn’t for her. She’d hoped that Micah would answer her letter—even come back—but now that she was looking him in the face, she felt a deep and rising anger.
Micah ambled around the counter just like he’d never left and paused when he got to where she stood.
“Does your daet know?” he asked softly.
Bethany shook her head. “Maybe we’ll tell them together.”
Micah didn’t answer that, but he nodded toward the back door. “Come talk with me?”
She nodded, and before she followed him toward the door, she stole one more glance in Isaiah’s direction. Isaiah’s gaze was still locked on her, but as her eyes met his, he looked away. Was he angry?
Bethany followed Micah out the back door and she shut it firmly behind her. Micah paused and came closer, leaning in as if to kiss her, and she turned her face so that his lips brushed her cheek instead.
“I missed you,” Micah said.
“Not enough to come back on your own,” she replied.
Micah licked his lips. “I had no idea you were pregnant, Beth. Are you sure? Is there any possibility of a mistake?”
“I took the test,” she said. “And my waist is getting thicker. I’ve been letting out my dresses.”
Micah nodded a couple of times. “I can’t remember when we—” His cheeks reddened. “Is it early still, then?”
“Yah, it’s early,” she said, but she instinctively slid a hand over her stomach.
“So there is the possibility that it might—I mean, this early, things go wrong sometimes, don’t they?” he asked.
She winced at the words. “Are you hoping?”
“I’m just trying to be realistic,” he said.
“Well, I love this baby already, so you can stop wishing it gone, Micah!”
“I’m not, I’m—” Micah shook his head. “I’m sorry, Bethany. I’m sorry for saying the wrong things, and for having gotten you into this situation to begin with. It’s my fault—I know it!”
“And the thought of having a child?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“I—” Micah swallowed. “I don’t think either of us are ready for this.”
“If we’d gotten married, we would have been praying for this,” she countered. They were plenty old enough to marry and have kinner, and up until a few weeks ago, he’d been more than eager to take a husband’s privilege with her.
“Yah, but we aren’t married,” Micah said.
The words were like a slap in the face. He didn’t want to come back and marry her—she felt the truth of it in a rush. His promises, the love he said would never change . . . it had changed.
“Let me get the buggy hitched up,” Micah said. “We obviously need to talk.”
Bethany waited, and as she stood there in the mid-morning sunlight, she felt like the world was spinning around her. If Micah came back, she’d somehow imagined everything being exactly the same. But it wasn’t—Micah had changed, and so had she. In such a short period of time, it was like talking to a relative stranger.
When Micah brought the buggy around he reached down to give her a hand up, and she accepted his help, then settled in with a more than proper eighteen inches between them. She didn’t have any desire to scoot closer, to feel his arm against hers.
“Bethany, I am sorry for this,” he said, giving the reins a flick. “When I left I know it was a shock. When I asked you to marry me, I thought I’d get over my doubts. I really did.”
“There’s a baby coming,” she said bluntly. “I don’t think it is about your doubts and certainties anymore. A baby is coming, and you and I are going to be parents.”
“Yah.” He glanced over at her. “And I want to do the right thing, but I need you to meet me in the middle.”
Bethany frowned. “There is no middle ground between right and wrong.”
“There’s more than you think,” he replied.
“Is that what the Mennonites say?” she asked.
“Bethany, listen. I’m willing to marry you. I promised I would, and now there’s a baby coming, but I can’t live here,” he said.
Perhaps she should be grateful for that much—he was still willing to get married. But she didn’t feel the same elation she’d felt the first time he’d proposed, and she realized that if she weren’t pregnant and he came back again, she wouldn’t want to marry him after all.
Something had changed between them—something she couldn’t quantify, but it was different all the same.
“You want to go to a different community and start over?” she asked, and she felt a pang of loneliness at the very thought. She’d already be marrying a man she no longer loved—did she have to give up her family, too? “It’s just that I want to be close by my mamm. And Lily could babysit—I know she’d love it. I don’t want to be away from my family when I’m having my first baby. There is a lot more pressure on a woman than men seem to realize. My sisters—”
“I don’t want to go to a different Amish community,” he broke in. “I want to go back to the city.”
Bethany stared at him. “What?” she asked feebly.
“I’m serious. It isn’t what you think out there. The church that has been helping me has some really good Christian people in it, and there’s more opportunity for me out there—”
“You had opportunity here,” she cut in.
“Bethany, I don’t believe in it anymore!” he said. “Can’t you see that?”
“But I do,” she said.
“Yah . . .” He sighed. “I’m trying to be fair here. I’ll marry you and do right by you, but not here. We can be Mennonite; we can live simply and raise our kinner to be good Christians.”
But not Amish. Her heart hammered hard in her chest, and it was only then that she started to look around to see where Micah had been driving them. They were headed toward her home, and she felt a wave of panic.
“My parents don’t know about the baby yet,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to tell them.” She brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. “That’s not true, actually. I haven’t been brave enough to tell them.”
“We’ll tell them together,” Micah said.
“I’m not sure I want that now,” she said.
“Why not?” Micah demanded. “I’m the father. We’re going to raise this child together—”
“Are we?” she demanded. “Because you’ve gone Mennonite and I haven’t!”
“What’s worse, going Mennonite with me or staying Amish and being a single mother?” he shot back.
“Going Mennonite!” she retorted. “Micah, what are you even thinking? You expect me to leave my faith, my family, and my salvation—”
“You won’t go to hell, Bethany,” he said irritably.
“I’m not debating theology with you!” she retorted. “You asked me to marry you and be your Amish wife. And now that I have very few choices, you’re going to change that on me?”
“I’m trying to do the right thing here!” Micah shot back. “I thought you might appreciate that!”
“This is not the right thing,” she said, her voice shaking.
Why had he come back if he was only going to make impossible demands? Or was this his way of getting out of the whole marriage and making it her choice instead of his own?
Micah expertly guided the horses around a pothole and they headed up her drive.
“I thought we needed to talk,” she said.
“I thought we needed to start telling our parents the situation,” he countered.
“I told you, I haven’t told them yet,” she said. “I wanted to talk to them alone.”
“Yah?” Micah said, turning. “We don’t have a lot of time!”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Because I have a job to get back to and I don’t want to lose it!”
There it was—Micah was here on a mission—a very short-term one—and he was going to head back just as soon as he could. His life wasn’t here anymore and Bethany was going to have a very serious choice to make.
Micah reined in the horses just before the drive and turned toward her. “What do you want, Bethany? Do you want me to go back to Pittsburgh? Do you want me to drop you off and let you have a conversation with your mamm alone . . . or do you want me to go inside with you and we’ll tell her together?”
“Let me tell her alone,” Bethany said. “You go on home to your parents and tell them, too. I think it’s better that way.”
Micah gave a curt nod. “Okay. Fine.”
“I don’t think you have a right to be angry about this,” she said.
“I know. It’s fine. I’ll come back here when I’m done with my parents and I’ll face yours like a man. I’m not going to dodge that.”
She had to admire his bravery right now, and she nodded. “Thank you, Micah. I’ll see you later, then.”
Then she climbed down from the buggy and started down the drive toward her house. She’d been avoiding this for too long. It was time to tell her mamm the truth.
* * *
In the kitchen, with late-morning sunlight spilling over a freshly mopped floor, Bethany sat down at the table and pressed her damp palms against the cool wood. The kitchen smelled of bleach—the counters were all clear and the sinks empty. Lily leaned against the table, her apron dirty from kitchen work.
“Is it very serious, then?” Mamm asked. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s private, Mamm,” Bethany said, and she cast her younger sister an apologetic smile.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Lily pleaded.
“Lily, go do some weeding in the garden,” Mamm said.
“I could go out and play instead,” Lily said plaintively. “I don’t see why I should be punished because Bethany’s got a secret.”
“The weeding has to be done anyway,” Mamm said. “Go on, now. Outside.”
Lily heaved a sigh, but she knew better than to argue twice, and she headed outside, pulling the door shut behind her as she headed toward the garden with a bucket. Mamm watched her go, then turned back.
“She won’t hear a thing,” Mamm said. “Now, what’s going on?”
“First of all, Micah’s back,” Bethany said, and her mother broke out into a smile.
“Is that all?” Mamm asked.
“He’s back because I wrote to him,” she said, swallowing. “And I told him I’m pregnant.”
Mamm’s smile faded, and she put a hand up to her chest. “Is that why you’ve been pale and putting on some weight?”
“Yah.” And it was rather irritating to know that her mamm had noticed her weight so quickly.
“How long have you known this?” Mamm breathed.
“A week.” Bethany felt her eyes mist. “I’m so, so sorry, Mamm! I know it was wrong of me, and I wouldn’t have done it if Micah hadn’t promised to marry me! But it was stupid and I know that, so I don’t need you to lecture me and tell me everything I already know—”
“Oh, my girl . . .” Mamm stood up, circled around the table, and wrapped her arms around her, pulling Bethany’s head against her, smoothing her hand over Bethany’s face the way she used to do when she was a little girl.
“I don’t know what to do,” Bethany said, and she pulled back, wiping at the tears on her face.
“Micah’s here, isn’t he?” Mamm asked. “He came back for you. I’ll tell you what you do—you marry him!”
“He came back to marry me, yah,” Bethany said. “But he wants me to go Mennonite with him.”
Mamm’s face blanched, and she sank into the chair next to her. “And you said?”
“No, of course,” Bethany replied. “He asked me to go Mennonite with him before, and I turned him down. He’s back, but he won’t live an Amish life.”
Mamm rubbed her hands over her face. “This is bad. . . .”
“I know,” Bethany said.
“Why did you wait a whole week before telling me?” Mamm asked.
“I—” Bethany’s chin trembled. “I was ashamed of myself.”
Mamm sucked in a breath. “I don’t think we have time for shame, my dear. If we can convince Micah to stay Amish, your problems are over. A quick wedding will be easy enough to throw together, and everyone will turn a blind eye at an early baby. At least the two of you will be married. He was happy enough to work at the shop with your daet before—”
“I don’t think he will,” Bethany said. “And I’m not sure I want to force him. If he doesn’t love me—”
“He made a baby with you,” Mamm said. “I don’t care if he has soft and gooey feelings for you or not, he’s the father of your child, and he made promises that he is obliged to keep.”
“The only way that works is if the boy wants to stay Amish and is afraid of being shunned!” Bethany said. “Micah’s not afraid of that!”
“It also works if the boy has any kind of conscience at all!” Mamm shot back, then she lowered her voice. “You’re scared, but you did the right thing by coming to me. Your father and I will discuss it and we’ll come up with a plan. It’s a good sign that Micah came back at all. So, while he might be saying that he doesn’t want an Amish life now, we have some time to convince him.” Mamm pressed her lips together into a determined line. “As do the bishop, the elders, and his own father.”
The community pressure would be applied, and if all went well, Micah would do as the community ordered, marry her, and remain Amish.
Bethany’s stomach knotted inside her. “Not quite a girl’s dream, having a boy ordered to make an honest wife of her.”
Mamm reached over and put her hand over Bethany’s. “We’re no longer dealing with wishes and dreams, Bethany.”