Chapter Fourteen
JULIA LIFTED HER head at the sound of the bell, surprised to see an older Amishman walking in. His iron-gray, somewhat stringy beard reached the middle of his chest. He seemed an unlikely customer, although she had sold quilt racks to a couple of Amishwomen and, once, a handsome wood chest to a young man just growing a beard. He had blushed during the entire transaction.
She smiled and came around the end of the counter. “May I help you?”
He studied her with unexpected care. “You must be Julia?”
“Yes.”
“You do gut work, so I’m told.”
“I do my best. Thank you. Denke.”
He nodded. “I am here to speak to Eli and Luke.”
“They’re both in the workshop, this way—” She felt her cheeks color. “You must know that.”
“Ja.” His smile was sweet. “But you were being helpful.” With a nod at her, he rapped on the door and entered the workroom.
The door didn’t quite close behind him, the gap only a few inches, but a temptation to her. If she walked just a little closer . . .
Who he was and what they were saying were none of her business. And besides, what if one of the men came out unexpectedly and caught her eavesdropping?
She wrinkled her nose. So much for personal integrity. Only the risk of being humiliated kept her from inexcusable nosiness.
Business had so far been slow today, so this would be a good chance to take some new photographs of the display room now that the furniture was accented by colorful quilts. They would liven up the website, which had been in the doldrums when she arrived.
Julia didn’t quite understand why. If Luke had worked in a computer field before returning to his faith, why hadn’t he taken over jobs like the website? He’d no doubt be faster and more efficient than she was. She was lucky, because whoever had set up the site in the first place had planned for changes to be made with an ease that was almost insulting.
As if that person had envisioned her ineptitude.
She surprised herself with a smile. No, that person had envisioned Eli fumbling to upload a photograph or change the posted hours. Yes, she fit in perfectly here at Bowman & Son’s Handcrafted Furniture—in all but one way. And that was a big one. The Berlin Wall, choked with twisted barbed wire and impregnated with mines.
No, it was wrong to use such a violent image to define the separation the Amish maintained from the modern world around them. They wouldn’t wish anyone to be hurt trying to draw too close. Better to picture a crevasse too deep to jump from her side, although they did occasionally make the leap from their side.
As Luke had done. But for those like him, a bridge existed, allowing a return trip. Julia wondered if it ever happened that outsiders sought to join the Amish. She didn’t suppose it was common, given how large the sacrifices the Amish made to live as they believed God asked them.
Her forehead wrinkled as she stood unmoving.
Were the lifestyle choices made by the Amish really sacrifices? Or did they only choose to concentrate on the things in life that truly mattered? It was true the women rarely had careers, but they had the joy of caring for the people they loved most. Many did essentially have part-time jobs as well, baking goods for sale or selling quilts or other crafts. And women like Ruth and Miriam weren’t discouraged from working, either. Julia had been told that, more unusually, an Amishwoman in a settlement near Jamestown was much admired for her skill in training buggy horses.
Shaking off useless thoughts, Julia fetched the digital camera and began snapping pictures, trying for angles that would captivate the eye. She had crouched to capture the sheen on the spindles of a rocking chair, when voices drifted through the open door to her.
She’d moved farther to the back of the store than she’d intended.
The men were speaking in Deitsh, of course, but she made out enough to get a sinking sensation in her stomach. Something arig—bad—had happened at a greitsweg. She knew that word, but had to grope for the meaning. Crossroad, that was it. A waegli was involved, a buggy. And if she was understanding right, the horse had been killed and maybe a person, too? They must all pray for Sol.
The voices became louder and she realized the visitor was emerging, accompanied by at least one of the men. Eli, who was saying that, ja, they would help for certain sure.
She stood, the camera in her hand. Hesitating to use her clumsy Deitsh with a stranger, she said in English, but timidly, “Is something wrong?”
Both men looked at her in surprise. No, all three men, because Luke had followed the others through the doorway, too.
He was the one to say, “Yes, an Englisch teenager with friends in his car hit a buggy this morning.” Of course, he sounded grim. “An older boy was killed, the younger boy was injured but will be okay, and their father is in bad shape. Not conscious yet, and has so many broken bones he’ll probably be in the hospital and then rehab for months, at least, before he can walk again.” Pause. “A girl in the car wasn’t wearing a seat belt and is in critical condition, too.”
They would all pray for her as they would for their brethren, she knew. And that was one of the things she most admired about them.
Meeting the older man’s eyes, she said, “I’m so sorry. If . . . if there’s anything I can do . . . Give a ride to anyone, or help if you’ll be doing a fundraiser . . .” She stumbled to a stop and looked to Luke for help. “Was this anyone I’ve met?”
“I don’t think—” He visibly changed his mind. “The man’s name is Sol Graber. His wife Lydia quilts, I know. She might have been at that quilt frolic, or you could know her from the shop.”
A picture formed in her mind, the woman short and plump, and encouraging to the newer quilters.
“I have met her. The boy who died—?”
“Was her oldest, yes.”
Julia closed her eyes. “I can’t imagine.”
“Evenings, it would be a help if you could drive Lydia to the hospital or home sometimes. She has two younger children who will need her, too.”
“After work, I don’t do anything important. I can be available anytime.”
His keen blue eyes softened. The man who had brought the horrible news studied her quizzically and said, “That is good of you. I will give your name and phone number to the family.”
Eli stepped forward. “Did you meet Bishop Amos Troyer, Julia? He owns Troyer Bulk Foods.”
“Oh, I’ve been in there!” She smiled weakly. “I’m glad to meet you, even at such a dreadful time.”
“What happened, it is Gotte’s wille,” he told her gravely. “Always hard to understand, but we must believe Gott has a reason.”
She took an involuntary step back, but swallowed and nodded even though she thought, Hard to understand? That was the understatement of the year. The decade, in her case. What possible purpose would God have had in allowing the vicious attack on her? She didn’t believe she’d become a better person, only one who lived in fear. The man who’d assaulted her hadn’t been caught because of her.
How many times had she reminded herself of Romans 12:19?
Beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather give place to wrath; for it is written, “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,” says the Lord.
Nick believed no such thing, she knew. He yearned to take vengeance into his own hands. Either way, she took no comfort; she wanted that monster stopped so he couldn’t hurt other women.
She wanted to find some sort of silver lining to the painful dark event that had forever divided her life into a before and an after, yet she’d never achieved even that small comfort.
WITH DAYLIGHT STILL lasting well into the evening, Luke decided on Saturday to visit Sol in the hospital. Sol had regained consciousness on Thursday, Luke had heard. They’d been more casual friends than close; Sol—short for Solomon, of course—had been a placid boy who never questioned the rules. He’d apparently grown into an equally easygoing man who would never have dreamed of leaving the Amish life or questioning any part of the Ordnung, the unspoken rules that governed the lives of all Amish. Still, as children they’d gone to school together, and played baseball together during breaks and after the worship service. His father, Abram, was a close friend of Luke’s father’s.
Luke brought Abby along both because he wanted to include her in community events and because in her restrained way she still clung to him. She wouldn’t want to be left for additional hours at her grandparents’ house, however kind Grossmammi and Grossdaadi were to her. He had no intention of taking her into Sol’s room, however; he didn’t know what she’d seen or experienced when her mother died, but it had to have been bad. The waiting room would be full of Amish, because they always gathered in support of any members of their church who might be in need. Any of them would be happy to keep an eye on Abby for a few minutes.
He left Charlie still hitched to the buggy at the end of a row of other buggies and patiently waiting horses, then entered the hospital through a rear entrance, holding Abby’s small hand.
Following directions, he took an elevator up two floors and went down a hall until he saw a waiting room filled with Amishmen and -women. If asked, he couldn’t have named one of them. All he saw was the one Englischer seated among them: Julia. He should have anticipated this; when she’d offered to drive Sol’s wife back and forth as needed, she had meant it. Julia was a woman who would keep promises, he knew.
She still wore her working attire of a drab skirt and white shirt, but the deep fire of her auburn hair stood out like a beacon.
Luke bent to pick up Abby, but the little girl stiffened, her eyes fixed ahead. Wrenching her hand from his, she cried, “Julia!” and raced toward her before he could do anything to stop her.
Julia saw her at the same moment and stood, taking a step, then another, until they collided. Abby hugged Julia’s legs until the woman Luke secretly wanted to hug, too, bent to squeeze his tiny daughter in her arms.
When he reached them, it was to find Abby crying even as tears streamed down Julia’s cheeks. Everyone else in the waiting room gaped. All were members of his church district, and all knew that his traumatized little girl didn’t speak.
Until now, for an Englischer.
A rock in his throat, he stood above the pair, unable to look away from the face of the beautiful woman his small daughter had chosen.
He was petty enough to feel a stab of hurt because Abby had said Julia’s name before calling him Daadi. But that hurt tumbled in a confusion of other emotions. He wanted to be able to take them both in his arms but couldn’t. He wanted not to feel so much for this woman who was forbidden to him. He wanted not to be standing here with no idea what he should do or say.
He identified the second person he knew of the many people in the waiting room when Bishop Amos rose to his feet and came to him. Neither Julia nor Abby so much as raised their heads.
“Why her?” he murmured.
Luke could only shake his head. “Abby trusted Julia immediately.”
Keen brown eyes studied him. “But she loves and trusts you.”
“Ja, sure, but not the same.”
“This is the first time she’s spoken.”
“It is.” He heard how choked he sounded.
“She still won’t wear a dress?”
“Not without a battle that would hurt our relationship. She’ll get there.” Or so he’d told himself. It would have been better if she hadn’t seen Julia again.
Except he was so moved by the sight of the joy and pain exhibited by Julia and Abby both, he couldn’t regret this moment, not as he should. He’d been blind not to see how much they both had hidden from him since he separated them.
“What should I do?” he asked helplessly.
Now the older man’s expression was pitying. “You must keep weaning her away. You know that. If Abby holds tight to the outside world, you will have a foot in it, too, ain’t so?”
Luke unclenched his teeth. “I committed myself to my faith.”
“Yet I think you still hold back a part of yourself.” The bishop paused, now watching as Julia wiped at her wet cheeks with her hand and stood. “She is not for you.”
Startled, Luke glanced at him. Had he been so obvious?
It would seem so.
His “no” was gruff. He’d known when returning home how much he would be giving up, starting with the career he’d worked so hard to achieve. His heart and, he wanted to believe, his Lord, had led him to turn his back on all that, and he hadn’t regretted his decision for a minute.
Until he became so tangled up about the child he’d claimed—and the woman he would have courted if that were in any way possible.
To Julia, he said, “Will you watch her for a minute while I visit with Sol?”
Her smile for him shook. “Of course I will.”
Two people came out of the room just as he approached. One was Sol’s wife, Lydia. Despite the strain on her face, she said, “So good of you to come, Luke! Sol will be so glad to see you. You go in now, shoo.”
“If there is anything I can do . . .”
“The bishop said you and your daad are donating beautiful furniture to be auctioned to pay the hospital bills. That is a big something, ja?”
“It doesn’t seem enough.” She had lost so much weight in a matter of days. Was she eating at all? “You should go to the cafeteria. There are plenty of people here to watch out for Sol.”
“Julia has been waiting for me—” She broke off, seeing Abby.
“She won’t mind staying longer.” He hated knowing how wrenching this goodbye between her and his dochder would be.
But it must be.
He walked into the room to find a man he wouldn’t have recognized, so heavily bandaged and covered in casts was much of his body. One leg was in traction, one arm raised by a pulley system, too. Even Sol’s head was engulfed in a white turban. Reaching the bed, Luke laid a hand on his boyhood friend’s shoulder, one of the few places on the wounded body that might feel his touch.
Sol had survived. God had been with him, knew he was still needed here. What Luke hadn’t thought to ask was whether anyone had told Sol about his oldest boy.
But then the swollen eyes raised to him, and a fat tear formed in each. He knew, all right—and however powerful his faith and humility, he grieved and had to be railing against God’s decision.
Luke sat in the chair pulled up to the bed and said bluntly, “We were never promised an easy life.”
Sol’s swollen lips barely moved. “Gone, my David. Hard to accept, that is. My fault not to hear that car coming, so fast.”
Luke gently gripped his shoulder again. “Not your fault. You know better. What could you have done, with it happening so fast? You are a careful man, and a good father.”
Sol cried in what would have been racking sobs, if he had been able. Luke kept a hand on him, and felt his own eyes sting with tears.
JULIA HADN’T BEEN able to resist lifting Abby onto her lap. Other women would have been glad to watch over Luke’s daughter, but she wouldn’t give them a chance. These few stolen minutes were too precious.
Smile tremulous, she looked down into that sweet, thin face. “You said my name.”
Abby wrinkled her nose.
Despite the tears that still stung her eyes, Julia laughed. “You gave yourself away. You might as well talk.”
The little girl’s lips pinched together, but a smile seemed to dance in her blue eyes.
“I’ll tell you a secret.” Julia bent her head and whispered in Abby’s ear. “If you ask out loud for what you want, you’re more likely to get it. People won’t have to guess what you’re trying to say. And think how happy your daadi will be. How can he say no to you then?”
Abby shrank into herself.
“What is it, sweetheart? Why don’t you want to talk?”
Abby whispered, too. “I’m s’posed to shut up.”
The nasty edge in the “shut up” part had to be pure mimicry. Julia rarely felt violent impulses, but right now was an exception. Betraying her anger would only scare Abby, though.
Instead, she said, “Bah, humbug. Most of us like loud little girls. Ones who can shout, ‘Cookie!’” The two women sitting closest to them had tilted their heads as they eavesdropped without apology. Julia looked at them. “That’s so, isn’t it?”
The younger of the two grinned. “Ja. When we get older, we learn to ask in a nice voice, but making noise, small children should.”
Bishop Amos was near enough to hear, too, she suddenly realized. Heat crept onto her cheeks as she met his eyes. A nod of approval astonished her.
He spoke directly to Abby. “Yes, little one. Our children are precious to us. We love to hear their voices.”
Julia smiled tenderly at Abby. “What do you say?”
For a moment, nothing. Then she said, “Cookie!” but cringed.
It was obvious that the someone who’d told her to shut up had also hit her.
Julia hid this burst of anger, too, and hugged Abby harder. “That’s wonderful. Say it again, so loud everyone hears you.”
“Cookie!”
Several of the women clapped for her. “Wunderbaar!” exclaimed an older woman.
Abby looked around in such astonishment, she broke Julia’s heart all over again. She kissed the top of Abby’s head. “You are wonderful.” Then movement snagged her attention. “Here comes your daadi. Can you surprise him?”
Had Luke heard the to-do out here? But creases furrowed his forehead, and he held his mouth and jaw tightly. His eyes met hers, a kind of desperation in them that awakened an ache beneath her breastbone.
Abby stirred on her lap. Her face lit up and she wriggled until Julia let her slide to her feet. Then she said, almost loudly, “Daadi!”
His stare left Julia and settled on his daughter. He didn’t so much lower himself to his knees as collapse. He swallowed, held out his arms . . . and Abby flew into them.
Julia cried again. Then, knowing she couldn’t bear another goodbye, she fled, determined to find Lydia in the cafeteria and take her home.