Chapter Nineteen
Sadie’s heart leapt in her chest as Mamm came around the side of the house with a handful of beets in her hands. Mamm stopped, stared, and then tears welled in her eyes. She dropped the produce and ran toward her son.
“Absolom!” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek over and over before she released him and looked into the car seat.
“That’s Sarah,” Absolom said. “And this, here, is Chase.”
The little boy stared up at them, his eyes round and filled with heartbreak. Chase was here without his mother—the mother Chase assured her would come back. She always comes back. Where was she now? Dread wormed its way up Sadie’s stomach. Something was wrong—very wrong.
Daet came out and there were more introductions, but a wagon turned into the drive, the horses clopping steadily toward them. She recognized Elijah immediately, and she squeezed Samuel’s hand a little tighter.
She hadn’t seen Elijah since that night when they’d both said too much, and now he was here—driving a pair of draft horses that pulled a flat wagon, a load in the back that she couldn’t make out. She didn’t know why he was here, but she was grateful for his arrival all the same. There was something about Elijah that steadied her when she was off balance, and she had to curb the urge to run down the drive toward him.
They’d have to stop that—the slipping into each other’s arms so easily. They were like magnets, always seeming to clap back together again, and it wouldn’t do—her heart couldn’t take any more of this, and she had a son who needed her, too.
Samuel tugged free of Sadie’s hand and trotted toward Chase—as he would. Samuel didn’t get to see other children that often, so a little boy about his own age was a rare treat. Daet glanced up at the approaching wagon, and Sadie strode down the steps and put her hand on her father’s arm as she passed him.
“I’ll see what he wants,” she said.
As if that was her only reason to be heading toward him . . . but the family didn’t need to know about their unrequited feelings for each other. This would be her own personal grief, and she’d get over it privately, as she’d done before.
“Hi,” Elijah said as she came up beside the wagon. His gaze moved between Absolom and Sadie. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Sadie said. “My brother just arrived with the kids.”
“And Sharon?” Elijah swung down to the ground and reached for her hand—something he seemed to do without thinking. Sadie pulled her hand back. Holding hands every time she saw him wouldn’t make this any easier. Elijah’s face colored. “Sorry.”
Sadie took a step back and looked toward her family. “I have no idea where Sharon is.... You don’t think—”
“He can’t return without her,” Elijah said with a shrug. “I mean, unless she left him, but the kids . . .”
“Yah. That’s my thought. If the children are here, then this is just a visit.”
A wave of sadness washed over her, and she heaved a sigh. Just a visit meant that in a matter of days, her brother would be shunned, and this would be the last time he saw his family. This would be one last, agonizing good-bye.
“Why are you here?” Sadie asked, glancing at the back of the wagon. A tarp covered something large and round.
“I’m delivering barbed-wire fencing,” Elijah said.
“So you’re working with your daet?” She squinted up at him. “After all, I mean.”
“Yah.” He nodded quickly. “Until I go back.... Sadie, I’ve missed you.”
Sadie swallowed as her throat tightened with emotion. “We’ll get used to it. I did before.”
Anyone could endure grief. Over time it lessened, and one learned to carry around the burden of it a little more easily. She’d learned to carry that aching loneliness when Absolom and Elijah disappeared, and she’d shouldered the grief of her husband’s death. She could endure this, too . . . if she could just find her balance underneath it.
Sadie watched as Daet shook Absolom’s hand, his lined face awash in emotion. After nine years of longing to see him again, her parents were finally able to touch their son. She could only imagine what they were feeling right now.
“Come on, then,” Sadie said. “You might as well come in. You’re as much a part of this as anyone.”
It was better to see where things stood, because she couldn’t cling to any more useless hope.
“Let’s get you all inside,” Mamm said, broadening her gaze to include Elijah this time. “Come on, now. This is something to celebrate!”
Everyone went inside, and there was a jumble of chatter and commotion while Mamm brought out shoofly pie. Rosmanda made lemonade, and Sadie stared at her brother in silence.
Was he back? Was this a homecoming? Or was it something else? There was sadness in her brother’s eyes that Sadie couldn’t dismiss. She bent over the car seat, fumbled with the clasps, then lifted tiny Sarah into her arms. The baby wriggled and snuggled into the crook of her arm, and Sadie looked down into that infant face—a little older already—and wondered if this would be the last time she’d hold her niece.
Chase edged closer to Samuel, and the boys regarded each other solemnly. They weren’t cousins in the traditional sense, but they were connected to each other.
“Where’s your TV?” Chase asked.
Samuel blinked, confused. He wouldn’t even know what a television was.
“There is no TV here, Chase,” Sadie said, crouching down next to him with Sarah tipped up onto her shoulder. “Here we have cows and horses, and barns and fields . . . but no TV.”
“Oh . . .” Chase looked around. “Where’s the cows?”
“Outside.”
“I’ve never seen a cow.”
That statement might have shocked Sadie before she’d seen her brother’s life in the city, but it didn’t surprise her now. Chase likely had never left the city.
“Then you’re in for a treat. We’ll show you some while you’re here,” Sadie said with a reassuring smile. “Where’s your mamm?”
“Mommy,” he corrected her, and then Chase’s lower lip quivered, and his face crumpled into tears. Sadie stood up, and since Elijah was the closest one to her, she passed the infant into his strong arms, then gathered Chase into hers. Chase pulled his knees up to fit all of himself onto her lap, closing himself into a ball as he sobbed into her shoulder, his entire body shaking with the force of his grief.
“Chase?” she whispered. “Chase, what’s happened?”
But he was too young to explain, if he even knew. She’d cared for nieces and nephews for years before she had Samuel, so she knew a child’s cry, and she’d never heard a sob so deep and guttural as this one. Sadie stayed crouched on the ground with the boy in her arms, and she stared at her brother in horror. “Absolom . . .”
Her brother looked toward her at the sound of Chase’s crying. “You okay, buddy?” her brother asked, then he shrugged helplessly. “Maybe it’s been a long day.”
This had nothing to do with a child’s exhaustion. This was deeper . . .
“I asked him where his mother is,” Sadie said. “And his heart broke. Absolom, where is Sharon?”
Silence settled over the kitchen, and Absolom shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Elijah rocked back and forth in an instinctual rhythm with the infant in his arms, but the rest of the family was as still as ice. All eyes were on Absolom.
“She—uh—went out with some friends.... At least I thought that was where she was going. Later, I found a note she’d left.” Absolom’s chin trembled, and he swallowed hard. “The note said that it was too much. She couldn’t take it anymore. She said she hated the kind of mother she was, and she just wanted—”
Her brother didn’t finish, and he looked toward his mother pleadingly. He’d come back for help—Sadie could see it in his eyes.
“When we were there?” Sadie asked.
“No, she came back that time.” Absolom’s agonized gaze flickered toward her. “It was a few days later. In the note, she asked if I’d take the kids. I kept it, in case there was any legal trouble.”
“She left her children?” Sadie said, switching to German to spare Chase, but her eyes welled with tears. “She left them behind?”
“Yah.” Absolom sucked in a shaky breath. “She left us all. That’s why I’m here. I need help.”
* * *
Elijah felt pinned to the spot by the slight weight of the baby girl in his arms, and his heart slammed in his chest. Sharon had left her children? It was too horrible to wrap his head around in just a moment, and he absently patted the baby’s diapered rump as the reality of the situation sank in. Sharon—his friend who had watched hours of television with him, clued him in on how things worked in the Englisher world . . . Sharon, the one who had loved Elijah in spite of all their differences, who’d sat up with them both late into the night listening to them talk about their families, their heartbreak, their anger . . .
She’d just left?
“Doesn’t this . . . Sharon . . . have family?” Bishop Graber asked.
“No.” Elijah answered for Absolom this time. “She was raised in what’s called the foster system. She had no parents, and once she turned eighteen, she was on her own.”
She understood loneliness as well as they did—she’d just had a lifetime to get used to it.
“No family . . .” Sarah shook her head slowly. “So you’ve come home, then?” She turned to Absolom with a faint smile. “You’ll raise your children here—as Amish.”
“No.” Absolom cleared his throat. “I can’t, Mamm. I’m sorry. I want the kids to have a safe and happy childhood— I want them to swim in the creek and climb trees. I want Chase to see cows, finally! But I can’t stay here—”
“Why not?” the bishop boomed, rising to his feet. “What holds you back from coming home now?”
“Me!” Absolom raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m not the same, Daet! I can’t settle back into this life! The world is so much bigger than this . . . and I can’t just leave Sharon behind. She’s going to hate herself for having done this—I know her. I’ve got to find her.”
Absolom’s voice trailed off, and they were left in silence. Absolom was in love with Sharon, and he couldn’t just turn that off, either. Elijah understood his friend’s heartbreak better than anyone. Sometimes a woman could lodge so deeply into a man’s heart that he simply couldn’t move on without her.
“Then how do you suggest we help you?” Sarah asked desperately, and Absolom understood her panic. They lived a simple life right here in Morinville. They never traveled more than ten miles in either direction. What could they even offer him?
“Take care of my kids, Mamm,” Absolom said quietly. “Until I can find their mother again. Elijah and I will start up our business, and that will give us more financial stability. Then I can take them back again and provide for them properly. But that building isn’t a safe place for little kids. And the daycares I could afford—I don’t think they’re safe, either. I can’t do it alone. I need someone to help me out, Mamm. Please.”
“No . . .” she whispered. “Son, you have to come back—” Her voice shook. “In two days, the community votes on your shunning. . . . If you leave these children here, and you come back shunned—what would they see?”
“Shunning!” Absolom’s voice rose in desperation.
“You’ve refused our counsel, chosen life outside of God’s will,” the bishop said woodenly. “If I don’t offer you up to community justice in the same way any other son would be, then I am worse than a hypocrite.”
“You won’t help me . . .” Absolom breathed. “Even now.”
But a thought had started to turn in Elijah’s mind. Tradition was powerful and demanding, but perhaps Elijah could offer something that tradition could not—a way out.
“Bishop Graber,” Elijah said and adjusted the baby in his arms. “If Absolom were shunned and had no food, we would be permitted to feed him.”
“Yah.” The bishop frowned. “But you could not sit with him while he ate.”
“And if Absolom were shunned and we came across him wounded in the road, we could bring him back to our own land and nurse him back to health.”
“Yah.” The bishop’s frown deepened. “But once he was well, you’d be required to turn your back once more.”
“Even if Absolom is shunned, he could visit his children—have some time alone with them. The children wouldn’t be Amish—not in the strictest sense—and not until they were adults and could choose through baptism.”
“We could . . .” Sarah’s breath grew shallow and hopeful.
“No!” the bishop roared.
Little Sarah started to cry. Elijah adjusted the baby up against his shoulder, leaning his cheek next to her downy head.
“You are my son, Absolom—” Tears welled in the bishop’s eyes. “But I cannot bend for you anymore. If you don’t come back home, confess your sin, and rejoin our community—” A tear slipped down the weathered face of the old bishop. “If you don’t come home properly, then I cannot make the consequences of your bad choices any easier for you to bear. You chose the Englisher life, and you discovered just how much you gave up when you made that choice. You either come home fully and completely, or nothing. These children will not be raised in this house without you.”
The baby’s cries subsided with Elijah’s rocking, and he looked down at Chase sitting on Sadie’s lap. His large eyes were fixed on Elijah in heartbroken confusion. This conversation was in German, a language he didn’t know, but Chase seemed to sense the import of the words, if not the meaning.
Elijah had known Chase since he was a toddler, and this boy’s little heart couldn’t take any more rejection . . . and neither could Elijah’s. He knew what it was like to be cast aside, to feel like an outsider no matter where he went. He knew what it felt like to have his community turn their back on him, to have his own father choose a church over him. He’d never outrun that aching part of his heart, and it was very possible that he’d never fully heal from that betrayal with the English, either. He’d have to find his peace with it all, and maybe he could find some meaning by making a difference in the lives of two children—giving them the acceptance he’d missed.
“The children won’t be raised in this house,” Elijah said slowly. “We must respect that. But they could be raised in mine—”
All eyes swept toward Elijah, and he looked down at the infant in his arms. So small, so fragile, and already being cast out. He knew that he was letting his friend down in one way, but he could make it up with this offer.
“Absolom, I know we said we’d open that business together, but what if I stayed here? What if I took the kids and loved them like my own until you could come for them? I won’t have Chase rejected again. I’ll raise him. I’ll love him like my own. And I’ll raise this little girl, too.”
“How?” the bishop demanded. “You’re a single man!”
“My mamm will help me. She’d never turn away helpless children. She’ll be glad to have some kinner in the house again.”
Heaven knew she might not ever get grandchildren from him.
Absolom rubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders seeming to deflate. “I don’t make enough to raise them. I’d keep them with me if I could, but if I knew they were safe, and if I could visit them—”
Elijah turned to the bishop. He was their spiritual leader. As much as Elijah wanted to do right by his friend, he could not do so without the bishop’s blessing.
“Please, Bishop Graber,” Elijah said quietly. “I am asking your permission to accept these children into my home. I will raise them as Amish, and I will make it my life’s duty and sole goal to give them the faith of my forefathers. I’m not family, but I’m Absolom’s friend. I want to do right by Absolom, and by you. If you’ll allow it.”
The bishop was silent, and he turned toward Sarah, his eyes searching her face for answers.
“Mamm?” he murmured. “What do you say?”
Sarah nodded slowly. “You will maintain the community’s respect for standing by what is right and true. You’ll spare them seeing any weakness from you, and you won’t be the cause of any weaker member to stumble.” She reached out and took his weathered hand in hers. “And the kinner could be safe and loved with the Fishers.”
“What about my shunning?” Absolom asked quietly.
“That is up to the community, my son,” the bishop said, his voice tight with emotion. “The community will speak. That is out of my hands.”
Absolom crossed the room and eased the baby out of Elijah’s arms. He looked down into his daughter’s face, and tears spilled down his cheeks.
“I will visit, little one,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ll love you always, and I promise to visit just as often as I can . . .”
Sadie rose to her feet with the boy in her arms, his short legs wrapped around her waist. Samuel stood at her side, his eyes wide and his blond curls rumpled. Elijah had just taken on a family—and chosen to stay. His heart hammered in his chest, and he searched his own emotions, looking for a sign that he was making a miserable mistake. Would he regret this—staying here—if it meant that Sadie still married another man? The Amish life ran deep, and there could be pain in that plunge. Not everyone chose an Amish life out of religious certainty—at least Elijah hadn’t. He’d always question, but maybe he could repay his friend a little bit. Maybe he wouldn’t ever be a wealthy man, but he could make a difference for two little children who needed to be chosen just once.
“Thank you, Elijah,” Absolom said, tears in his voice. “I don’t know how I can repay you—”
“Just come home . . . someday,” Elijah pleaded. “Find a way to come home.”
Elijah had found his way home, and as he looked down at Sadie beside him, her gentle gaze met his. He loved her . . . oh, how he loved her. She’d been his plumb line and his foundation for years, even when he was away. And she’d continue to be, even if she married a man more deserving than he was.
Sometimes the way home hurt more than the road that led away, because instead of spreading wider, it carved down deeper. There was nothing easy about the narrow path, but looking at these children, Elijah knew he was making the right choice.
They needed him, and he would need this community to support him in this new role. His faith wasn’t based on certainty—it was supported by hope and a sense that the God who required the narrow path of the Amish could accept his wayward heart, too.