Chapter Seven
That night, Sadie lay in bed, unable to sleep. Her window was open, the curtain pulled back to let a cool breeze into the room, and with it the soft night sounds of crickets. Samuel was sound asleep in his little bed, his blankets flung aside. The excitement of his grandparents’ visit had worn him out.
But as she lay in her bed, she was equally exhausted but unable to sleep. Elijah’s kiss was replaying itself in her head. The softness of his lips, the way he’d pulled her close, not once asking for permission. Her heart pounded at the memory. That was how Elijah was different from Mervin. Elijah had always been able to awaken a spark in her, and Mervin had been, for the most part, properly distant. Mervin had never pulled her in for a forbidden kiss in the heat of an emotional moment. His fingers had never splayed over the small of her back like that, his lips hovering over hers before he sank down into the heat of her lips . . .
She should have walked away then—not stayed for more conversation. Because his offer to take her to see her brother was more tempting than she was comfortable with. She had been right to walk away. Elijah was the reason that Absolom had left to begin with, and she’d be stupid to follow the same man out into the Englisher world. He could be so tempting . . . she knew that well enough. He could look into her eyes and give her one of those half-cocked smiles, and she longed to follow. He was most definitely dangerous.
But she couldn’t quite put his offer out of her mind, either. Just one visit. She could see where her brother lived, meet this ominous Sharon. Maybe she could understand the draw, because part of the heartbreak was her complete inability to comprehend why her brother would do such a thing. How could an Englisher life be better than a solid, respectable life within the Amish community?
She rolled over, her legs getting tangled in her sheet, and she irritably kicked them free. Could she simply turn away from a chance to see her brother just once? It might be her last time seeing him—she could accept that. It would be painful, but at least it would be a proper good-bye. When the Amish left home, it was always in the dead of night because they knew if they had to look their parents in the face, they’d never be able to do it. Absolom had been no different.
Besides, she had a few regrets of her own when it came to her brother. The last time she saw Absolom, she’d argued with him about tramping his muddy boots into the kitchen, making messes for his sisters to clean.
He’d called her bossy, she’d called him spoiled, and he’d stomped off to bed, leaving her to clean it up alone. She’d left the kitchen as it was—to let Mamm see it so she could give Absolom what for. But there’d been no time for that. By the next morning, Absolom had vanished, and he’d wiped up the mud before he left. That was the last she’d seen of her brother.
Elijah was offering her a chance to change that—to wrap her arms around her brother’s neck and tell him how she missed him. She’d be able to say all the things she’d rehearsed year after year. She’d be able to plead with him to come back, because if she was part of the problem—her bossiness, her short temper—maybe she could fix her part of it to bring him home.
She lay on her side, her mind spinning and her heart swelling with hope. What if she could see Absolom again?
And mingled with the thoughts of her brother were thoughts of Elijah, too. He made it all seem innocent enough—just a visit. Was that what he’d done with Absolom? Because Elijah had a lonely sort of air about him and he reached out to her with memories of their adolescent romance, but she wasn’t made of stone. He’d been an older boy who listened when she talked. He’d shoot that sparkling grin of his in her direction, and while she’d huff and put up an act of being indifferent, she was privately happy that she could awaken those feelings in him. She’d taken it for granted in many ways, too, but now she knew that captivating a man wasn’t quite so easy as she’d assumed.
She and Elijah hadn’t been alone often, but when they were, he’d reach for her hand and twine his fingers through hers. He’d give her that slow, warm smile of his, and she would melt in reply. It was scandalous and wrong, but she hadn’t stopped him. She hadn’t pulled her hand back, told him to behave. If she had, she’d never have indulged in those heart-pounding entanglements by the creek—and she wouldn’t have longed for more of it.
Maybe it was best that he’d left Morinville after all, or she might have let things go too far and ended up pregnant. These things happened, even in Amish communities. When Elijah left with Absolom, she’d been heartbroken to lose them both, but more than that . . . she’d been wounded that Elijah hadn’t breathed a word of it to her. After those secret moments shared together, she’d been left out. He didn’t even give her a chance to talk him out of it.
And that was the most dangerous part of his influence—he was so likeable that she might have followed after him, too, given half a chance nine years ago. If she couldn’t have convinced him to stay, she’d have packed a bag, too. She’d have crept out of the house with Absolom and walked with him to whatever meeting place he and Elijah had decided upon. And she’d have told herself it was only to make sure that they both came back.
Sadie finally did fall asleep, and her dreams were plagued by dirty floors, her mother-in-law’s appalled expression as she surveyed the mess, and the dreadful certainty that while she stood there trying to explain herself to the old woman, her brother was slipping further and further away from them all . . . but she couldn’t stop explaining, and every time she tried to turn toward the door, there was more mud.
Sadie, what have you done?
She awoke to someone shaking her shoulder, and Sadie sputtered awake, sitting bolt upright.
“Shh . . . I’m sorry, Sadie.” It was Mamm. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Mamm?” Sadie rubbed a hand over her face. “What’s the matter? What time is it?”
“It’s four-ten. You haven’t overslept. Daet pushed it too hard yesterday, and I don’t want him to go out for chores this morning. He needs rest.”
“Oh . . .” Sadie let out a breath, trying to shake the dream from her mind as she fully woke up. Samuel was next to her—he’d climbed up into her bed at some point during the night, and she smoothed a hand over his rumpled curls.
Mamm’s voice held apology. “I know it’s early, but if we can get things done quickly, maybe no one will notice.”
Sadie understood all too well. They didn’t want to spread the rumors that Daet was ailing. He might get better yet, but if the council of elders decided that the bishop couldn’t do his job anymore, they’d have a new lottery for another bishop . . . Daet would be crushed. He was already losing his ability to run his own farm. To take away his spiritual responsibilities would be cruelty.
“You’ll have to do the chores, Sadie,” Mamm urged her. “Let’s hope that Elizabeth and Amos sleep long this morning. I’ll keep things as quiet as possible downstairs.”
Sadie settled the sheet around Samuel’s sleeping form and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She’d been waiting for a chance to speak to Mamm alone ever since her in-laws had arrived, but that hadn’t been so easy.
“Mamm, there’s something I need to give you,” Sadie whispered after her mother. Sadie’s apron hung over the back of a chair, and she reached for it, fumbling in the pocket for the now familiar square of folded paper.
“This.” Sadie held out the letter. “I was waiting to catch you alone. It’s from Absolom.”
“Oh?!” Mamm snatched up the letter. “He wrote to you?”
“No.” Sadie shook her head. “He wrote to Elijah. Elijah gave it to me yesterday.”
Mamm nodded, her enthusiasm dampening. She swallowed a couple of times. She knew her mother was feeling the stab of that detail. She’d felt it, too.
“I’ll read it downstairs when I light the lamp. Now you hurry and get out there. Elijah arrives in an hour and a half, and if you can get a start before he gets here, maybe you can both be back inside before Elizabeth and Amos come down.”
Proprieties would have to wait for another time, it seemed, even with the Hochstetlers here to see.
“Mamm,” she whispered. “He named his daughter after you.”
Her mother put a hand across her mouth and shut her eyes for a moment as if holding back tears. Then she nodded slowly. “A girl . . .” She opened her eyes, and her tone firmed. “Well, he shouldn’t have bothered if I’ll never meet her.”
“Still . . .” Sadie said.
Mamm met her gaze for an agonizing moment and then slipped out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door softly behind her. Sadie stood in the darkness, her heart feeling heavy and sodden. It was impossible, wasn’t it? She wanted to see her brother so badly, but for what? He’d never come back, and she’d never go to the Englishers. They’d never speak again . . .
Sadie felt around for her clothes, pinning her dress into place by touch. She combed her hair quickly, then twisted it up into a bun at the back of her head to be concealed by a fresh white kapp that she pulled from her drawer. When she looked back to her sleeping son, he hadn’t moved an inch, and his breath came in a slow, even rhythm. May her in-laws be blessed with the blissful slumber of a tired toddler.
By the time Sadie got downstairs, the lamp was lit, and the downstairs was uncomfortably warm as it always was this time of year. Mamm stood by the lamp with the open letter pressed against her chest. Tears sparkled in her eyes.
“Mamm . . .” Sadie moved toward her mother, but Mamm folded the page quickly and slipped it into her pocket.
“I will show this to your father, and he and I will discuss it.”
“Absolom is a daet now,” Sadie said quietly.
“And still not married.” Mamm shook her head. “Again, I’m not sure if I should be glad for that, or not.”
“He’s thinking of you, though,” Sadie said. “He wouldn’t have named his baby for you if he weren’t.”
“And yet he did not write to me.” Her mother pressed her trembling lips together. “I’m his mamm.”
Sadie couldn’t comfort her mother there. She had nothing to offer. That offense was a private one between mother and son. Her son had left her, and he refused to come home. He’d left not only her, but his faith and the way of life she’d taught him so lovingly as he grew. Only a mother could feel the pain of that rejection.
“I don’t know what it’s worth,” Sadie said quietly. “But Elijah offered to take me to see Absolom. I could see his baby, talk to him. Maybe there’s hope he’ll change his mind if we go to him. I don’t think he’ll come to us.”
Mamm turned toward the stove and bent to light the burner. “Maybe.” Her voice was soft. “I’ll talk to your father. But I’m not sure it would be a good example to the rest of the community. We have a responsibility to them, too.”
“Okay.” They’d talk. That’s all she could ask. “I’ll go start the chores now.”
Sadie went into the mudroom and pulled on her rubber boots. There was work to be done, and as always, there was a strange comfort in that fact. Work gave them purpose, and kept them putting one foot in front of the other when they’d rather indulge their emotions.
Mamm would cook up a big breakfast, and Sadie would tend to the cattle. And when she got back, she would smile brightly, and they’d all pretend that nothing whatsoever was wrong. They were a good family, they were respected members of the community, and appearances must reflect that fact. People were watching, and people would talk. Their grief would have to remain private.
* * *
Elijah arrived at the Graber farm a few minutes later than usual, and he was deeply regretting having kissed Sadie the night before. It had been spontaneous and stupid, sparked by that dewy look in her eyes—her belief that she’d somehow not been enough for a man who was too blind to see the beautiful creature he’d married. And he wanted to erase that for her—as if a kiss could even do that.
Stupid. That’s what it had been, and she’d been right to tell him off.
His own morning chores at home had taken longer, and Elijah hadn’t wanted to leave everything to his mother to finish on her own. They were all tired. Elijah’s father had been working extralong hours trying to make up for his slower production on the bishop’s large order, and the bishop’s ever-growing demands on Elijah’s time took away from any physical help he could offer to his parents now that he was back. Still, his mother remained steadfastly grateful for that paycheck, and Elijah couldn’t tell her what time on this farm was doing to him . . . the idiotic things he was coming to because he couldn’t quite tear his heart free from the one woman he’d never had a right to.
The sky was still dark as he unhitched his horses and brought them into the stable for some hay and oats, next to the Grabers’ draft horses. Then he headed for the cow barn where his morning chores would begin. The nights were getting chillier on this end of August, and Elijah picked up his pace to warm up. His boots crunched against gravel as he walked down the road. It was strange to be back on the Graber property this way. He’d spent years on this farm with his best friend, helping out with the haying, the calving, or just spending a Sunday evening with the family. And now he was here as an employee . . . still overstepping bounds with the same woman. He had to stop this. Coming back had been to help out his parents, not to get himself entangled in old mistakes.
The only sound was the far-off lowing of cattle and the chirp of insects. Back in the city, the constant hum of traffic and voices had been distracting until he’d learned how to tune it all out, but, by deafening himself to one thing, he found himself deafened to others, as well. He could not block out the sounds of the city without also cutting himself away from the whisper of his own mind. So many times, he’d lain in bed wishing for silence, remembering how it felt to walk outside in the predawn gray when he could actually hear himself think.
When Elijah pushed open the side door to the barn, he could see the soft glow of a lamp already hanging from a hook, and the sound of metal against concrete met his ears. But instead of the bishop, he saw the soft gray of a woman’s dress contrasting with a white kapp.
“Sadie?”
She turned and wiped her forehead with her wrist as she met his gaze. “Good morning.”
Her complexion was pale, and faint rings showed in that fragile flesh under her eyes. She heaved the last shovelful of soiled hay into the wheelbarrow and put the shovel down with a heavy clank.
“So you managed to beat your daet out here, did you?” he asked.
She kept a hand on the cow’s rump as she moved around it toward the fresh hay. “Mamm woke me up. We’re hoping to be back inside before Mamm and Daet Hochstetler realize how much I’m doing for my father.”
“They don’t know about his illness?” he asked.
Sadie shook her head. “They know that he’s seen a doctor and has some medication, but we’re trying to hide how bad it really is. If the elders decided to replace Daet, he’d have nothing left.”
“He’d have a fully paid farm,” Elijah said.
She paused, met his gaze earnestly. “What is that compared to the purpose he gets from his position with the church? Money . . . there is a reason we aren’t supposed to be focused on all that.”
She was no longer the vulnerable woman from last night, and he felt his ire rise. If money weren’t a consideration, he wouldn’t even be here.
“The work—I know.” Elijah pulled a knife from his pocket and cut through the twine that held together a bail of hay. The twine broke with a ping, and the hay sprung free. He picked up a pitchfork and began transferring clean hay to the cow’s stall. Sadie moved toward the wheelbarrow.
“I’ll get that,” he said. “It’s heavy.”
And dirty, and smelly. Sadie didn’t belong out here in the barn, working her hands to blisters in men’s work. But there weren’t enough men to carry the weight around here on a regular basis. The Grabers hired seasonal workers normally, and as far as Elijah knew, he was the first full-time regular employee.
“Thanks.” She reached for the milking stool and a clean metal bucket instead.
“You know, the Englisher women get offended if you tell them they belong in the kitchen,” Elijah said.
Sadie set the stool on the ground and settled herself onto it. “A woman belongs where she’s needed.”
Elijah couldn’t help but smile. She was more like them than she thought—that urge to prove herself capable. He’d struggled with how to talk to Englisher women. They were so direct, and he didn’t understand the difference between a woman who was flirting with him and a woman who felt sorry for him. It had been awkward all around.
“I once told a woman that she should focus more on taking care of her home,” Elijah admitted.
“Insulting her housekeeping?” Sadie asked incredulously. “That’s a stupid move.”
“No, I meant that she shouldn’t be working in manual labor with us men. She didn’t take kindly to it, let me tell you. She reported me to our boss, and I almost got fired. The Englishers have rules against that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” She frowned.
“Suggesting that a woman doesn’t belong doing men’s work.”
The sound of milk hissing into the bucket filled the air, and Elijah added another forkful of hay into the trough for the cow.
“If you’re saying I shouldn’t be out here—” she began.
“No, I—” Elijah sighed. He hadn’t meant the story to be a judgment on her. He was just talking—sharing a little bit of his life from Chicago with the only person he could speak to about it. He was still sorting out the Englisher irregularities, trying to piece it all together and make sense of it. “I was just remembering. Sorry. That wasn’t aimed at you.”
“I have little choice, Elijah.” She sounded offended. “Daet is ill. My brothers have land of their own, and if word gets out—”
“Sadie!” His voice reverberated through the barn, and she fell silent. “I didn’t mean that. I was just talking.”
The milk drummed into the bucket in a steady rhythm, and Elijah took the wheelbarrow outside to empty it. Sadie seemed to be expecting judgment from every corner. Maybe because she’d been experiencing it, he realized. He’d felt like a failure in that construction job. He’d been the least-skilled worker there; even the women knew more than he did. He’d bumbled through everything from the job to the social interactions. He didn’t know how to banter with the men, and the women who seemed friendlier toward him hadn’t stayed that way. He’d kept putting his foot in his mouth.
When Elijah came back inside, Sadie had moved on to the next cow, her fingers working in a steady rhythm as the milk sprayed into the bucket.
“Why do you tell those stories?” Sadie asked, and he paused at the stall where she milked. “They’re all like that—strange and uncomfortable.”
“I guess I have all these memories I can’t do anything with. They don’t belong anywhere, but I can’t just shove them into a drawer, either. Nine years is a long time. I need to—” He shook his head, looking for the words. “Sometimes a man just needs to be heard. I do the same thing with the Englishers—tell them stories that make no sense to them.”
“You could just admit that you made a nine-year mistake,” she replied. “That would make it easier to sort out.”
Sadie rose from the stool and she reached for the milk pail, her arm trembling under the weight of it. He caught the pail in his own grip as she exited the stall, and her fingers lingered next to his as he caught her gaze.
“So what am I supposed to do?” he asked, his voice low.
“You ask me?” She met his gaze uncertainly.
“Who else do I ask?” He felt a rush of frustration. He’d honestly wanted an answer—some piece of Amish wisdom that had eluded him, that filled in the gaps. She’d lived some hard years, too—whether she admitted to it or not. She wasn’t the same teenage girl who’d caught his eye all those years ago. She was a woman, warm and fragrant right in front of him, her chin raised so she could look him in the face—always so fearless when it came to him.
“You should just come home,” she said softly. “Permanently, and then put it all in the past. That’s my advice.”
She didn’t get it. A man could want to erase a part of himself so much, and it could still be impossible.
“Back in the city, I used to lie in bed at night listening to the traffic. It was frustrating—so noisy and bright. The lights would move along my wall, shining through the curtains. But I’d lie there trying to sleep, and I’d think of the things I loved about Morinville. Like the creek, or walking down that dusty road with you and Absolom when we’d talk about the future and what we wanted out of life. Absolom and I had craved freedom—and we have it. But what we scramble for isn’t always what makes us happy.”
She let out a pent-up breath, but her fingers remained on the pail handle next to his. She smelled of soap and something like vanilla. Her complexion was pale and spattered with the faintest of freckles, and he found his gaze moving down to her lips in spite of himself.
“I would have been happy,” she said. “If my husband had lived long enough for us to figure each other out.”
Elijah released the pail, and she moved away from him a few steps.
“I’m sorry it was so difficult,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she replied softly. “Like anything, happiness requires some work first.”
She had a point, he realized. Life didn’t just fall together. People worked for it—in the fields, in the home.... Even Englishers scrambled after happiness as they milled through shopping malls.
“So what are your plans now?” she asked.
Elijah shrugged. “To help my daet get his finances settled, and then go back, I suppose.”
“Still?” She shook her head. “Why not work your daet’s business?”
It would certainly be the Amish way, but his daet’s business had been driven into the ground, thanks to her overzealous father. He shook his head. “There’s no future with it.”
“The future is in the family,” she countered. “In building something over generations and—”
“My father’s business is nearly bankrupt.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “Your father insisted that he take out an electric tool, and his competitors overran him.”
She fell silent for a moment, then licked her lips. “But those are the sacrifices we make, aren’t they? The Amish life is one of simplicity and there is a cost to that, but the benefits outweigh what we might give up.”
She was one to talk!
“Sadie, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but you’ve never experienced a day of financial hardship in your life. You have no idea what a family faces when their livelihood is at stake. The ideals get tilled under with the money.”
“Then we work harder—”
“We?” he asked bitterly. “Your father could have made an exception as he did for other businesses. Our home has stayed staunchly Amish. A family can’t live by the Ordnung if it can’t make enough to survive, and poverty is shameful.”
“My father is fair,” she retorted. “A line has to be drawn somewhere, Elijah. You know that.”
There were other businesses that were treated more leniently, but she wasn’t going to see that right now.
“Your father is capable of great flexibility,” Elijah said bitterly. “Where it comes to Absolom, he’ll bend so far that he’ll brush the ground—wait and see.”
“My father has shown no partiality—” she began angrily.
“Oh, he will.”
Sadie glared at him, her blue eyes icy in the glow of the gas lantern. “Absolom is his son. I dearly hope he bends for him and brings him home where he belongs!”
“I know.” Elijah gave her a tight smile. Was she going to finally understand this? “And that will make all the difference. For you. Your family will flourish, Sadie. But no, I won’t follow my father’s business down into the dust. I want a whole lot more than that.”
Elijah pushed open the side door and chill, morning air rushed around him, bracing him against whatever it was he kept feeling for this woman. She was blind to her father’s faults, and perhaps that was even understandable. But it didn’t help him. Whenever he was around Sadie, he found himself opening up to her, longing to be understood by someone in this blasted community. And was it so stupid of him to want that from her? Except he wasn’t planning on staying, so what was he trying to do here?
Sadie came outside behind him, the door banging shut. Elijah turned, and she rubbed her hands over her arms, but her eyes still flashed fire.
“So tell me this, Elijah. If you resent my father so much, why did you take this job?”
“Why do you think?” Had she forgotten so much about him already?
“The money?” She sounded embarrassed to even say it.
He laughed bitterly. “It factors in, believe me. But as I told you before, I promised your brother I’d make sure you were okay.”
“And I am.” She straightened her spine as she said the words.
“Are you?”
He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response. Color infused her cheeks and she dropped her gaze. She wasn’t okay. She was scared—and while she’d always been cautious in the past, she’d never been afraid.
“The only difference between you and I, Sadie, is that I’m willing to do something if I’m not happy. That’s it. No husband is going to solve your problems. If you don’t take charge of your own life, someone else will do it for you.”
She was no better than he was, no purer or more righteous. She was just more afraid.