June humidity lay heavy on Andy as he sat on the back steps and reread the letter Eva wrote to Tobias. It wasn’t long, but in it she assured Tobias that she loved him and believed in him. She apologized for not living with him like other Mamms did. Her few, simple words brought a lot of comfort to Tobias and to Andy. But one thing she wrote struck him as profound, and it kept churning in his heart: live life based on what you know to be true, not what others think is true of you.
She was speaking in the context of Tobias trusting that she was proud of him even though others might think she didn’t care because she wasn’t around. But was Andy staying away from Jolene because of what others thought their relationship had been?
He folded the letter. He had read it many times, and it sounded as if she’d returned to Apple Ridge at some point and seen Tobias, watched him even. It had given her peace to know he was a whole and healthy boy. Andy used to think that if he had the power to turn back time, he never would’ve married Eva. But then he wouldn’t have Tobias, and Eva was right—Tobias was a gift.
“Daed, kumm look!”
He put the letter in his pocket. Tobias had Miss T in the round pen, training her to back up on cue, very useful for driving carts and carriages. “That’s great, Tobias.”
His son had grieved his mother’s death and would continue to do so, but Tobias felt good about the letter. If Andy had only one word to describe Tobias, it would be thankful. His son saw the silver lining in everything. Andy watched him for a while, applauded, and then headed inside. It was time to put the letter away for good unless Tobias asked for it.
The full bloom of the dogwood caught his eye.
Jolene.
Andy couldn’t make himself call or write or visit her. He longed to, but so much stood between them. He’d hurt her, damaged her reputation, and disappeared from her life.
What was he supposed to do? Go up to her and say, “Now that my wife is gone …”?
No. Contacting her would be wrong for a hundred reasons.
A pair of cardinals flitted in and out of the dogwood regularly these days, and when he’d investigated, he saw that they were building a nest.
He couldn’t help but smile. He went to his bedroom and put the letter inside the top drawer. As he closed it, something small and metallic fell, and he instinctively reached out his hand.
The key.
How in the world?
It must’ve been on the very edge of his dresser, but he kept it in the same drawer where he’d just put the letter. When he’d taken out the letter earlier today, maybe the key had been stuck between the folds in the page and then had fallen onto the top of the dresser.
Just as quickly as it had fallen into his hands, an idea fell into his mind.
The attic.
The moment Jolene entered the attic, she knew something was different. But what? It was mid-June, and the air was stifling up here. The problem with waiting until nighttime to paint was the lighting wasn’t good.
She was glad now that Glen had come up here and learned her secret. Since that day a year ago, he’d gathered information from other Amish districts and had asked bishops who did allow art to write letters, and Glen had presented the information to their bishop, asking him to change his stance. Glen was such a kind man, but she didn’t regret letting him go.
What must it be like to paint out in the open or in a spare room?
As she reached for a paint pallet, an unusual piece of paper on her very cluttered desk caught her eye. She picked up the thick ivory paper that contained only two lines:
Willing, but unsure.
Let peace guide us.
Her heart jumped and skipped like sparks flying from a flame, and her internal reaction stunned her. But she knew it was Andy. Not only because she’d guarded the keys diligently, but because she could feel his presence. He’d been here. She closed her eyes and basked in the feel of it.
He must have seen her dozens of paintings. Embarrassment caused her cheeks to burn. She hadn’t expected that Andy would ever enter their attic. It had to have been obvious to him that he was the man in the pictures and she was the woman.
She grabbed a fine paintbrush, dipped it in red paint, and responded. Under the phrase “Willing, but unsure,” she wrote, “Timeless friendship.” He was willing to step forward or stay away, and she felt that either way, they were timeless friends. What else they were remained to be discovered. Why was her heart pounding so? Was she happy that he’d contacted her, or was she terrified? Maybe both.
Beneath “Let peace guide us,” she wrote, “Share more … but not in person.”
What was he thinking and feeling? He was free to let her know, but she wasn’t ready to look at his truth full on, not if she wanted to keep the peace she’d worked so hard to regain.
She left the paper there and picked up a paintbrush. It seemed like a very sky-blue-and-sunny-yellow kind of painting day.