The sounds of night—mostly crickets and tree frogs—echoed hour after hour. The kerosene lamp sputtered beside the bed, and Cara’s eyes grew heavy as she read the letters her mother had written to her father. Other correspondence was stacked on the nightstands—ones from her mother to her, from her dad to Cara, from her dad to her mom. She studied them again and again, trying to piece together the missing parts of her life. Through the open window, a summer breeze carried a sweet scent of flowers. Silvery moonbeams lay across the bedspread.
The differences between here and the Bronx were vast, and she could understand why her visit as a child had been chiseled into the recesses of her memory. Compared to the continual sirens, loud neighbors, and locked windows of her place in New York City, this was a vacation spot—except, just like New York, the people had issues. Not the same ones she’d been used to seeing, but problems nonetheless. She had them too. Clearly both her mom and dad did as well. But she’d expected more from a people who avoided worldly goods.
She skimmed a letter she’d read several times before. It seemed her mother had married her father without knowing he was an alcoholic. A lot of the letters were from her mother to her dad while he was in rehab. But her father’s problems weren’t the only ones her mother carried. She wrote about a horrible pain from childhood, but Cara hadn’t yet discovered what it was. Trevor’s father had been bad news, and Trevor came by his addiction honestly. Her parents were two hurting people who united in hopes of easing their pain. In some ways their relationship seemed to work…part of the time.
But reading these notes, letters, and journal entries was like catching the tail end of a conversation—confusing—and she wished she understood more. But right now she was tired of trying to sort out her parents’ past.
Ready to get out of Dry Lake, she tried to temper her restlessness. It’d been three days since she’d agreed to move to Ada’s house in Hope Crossing. Between Ada needing to square the rental agreement with the owners and Ephraim’s dad’s surgery, Cara was still stuck here. Ephraim hadn’t been around much since Sunday, and Lori constantly asked for him.
A slow cooing sound eased across the night air. Whatever bird made that noise, it was her favorite sound—soft and gentle as nightfall in the country. She placed the letters inside the box and slid into her jeans. From the foot of the bed, Better Days jumped up, wagging his tail. She picked him up and headed outside. It seemed the puppy would be fairly easy to housebreak, which would be important to Ephraim since the dog wouldn’t be under Lori’s watchful eye once they moved. After setting the dog on the grass, she studied the landscape.
The quiet beauty of Dry Lake contradicted her inner turmoil. She wondered if all Amish communities were this closed or if it simply seemed closed to her because of who her mother had been and who they thought Cara was. A whisper carrying her name floated through the night air, and she turned to see Ephraim in the entry of his hedged sanctuary.
She walked toward him. “How’s your dad?”
“Doing well. He’ll be released tomorrow. Actually, that’ll be today. What are you doing up?”
“I’ve been reading letters my mom wrote to my dad when he was in rehab.” She looked across the fields and to the pond. “I want out of here so badly, and yet there is something about this place. I can see why my mother missed it so much. Where did she live as a kid?”
“With Levina, but the rest of the family lived in the house next to Levi and Emma Riehl. Leroy Riehl and his wife live there now. Your grandmother died giving birth to your mother, and Levina, her grandmother, raised your mom. Fifty years ago we didn’t have a midwife in or near Dry Lake, and hospitals were a long way away. I heard your grandfather talking to some other men one time. He said your grandmother was a tiny woman and had a lot of difficulty with each birth, and she didn’t survive the night Malinda was born. Levina’s children were all grown, and she welcomed Malinda into her home. I’ve always heard there was bad blood between your mom and her dad—as if she resented him for giving her to someone else and never asking her to come home after she was no longer a baby. She didn’t move into her father’s home until Levina had some health issues and couldn’t take care of her. By that time your mother was sixteen or seventeen years old.”
“And my mom’s dad?”
“Your granddad died in the same car accident as my mother, and Mahlon’s dad, and Becca’s husband, and several others from the community. Three vanloads of Amish had hired drivers to take them to a wedding in Ohio. The driver of their van was going too fast and not paying attention to the road, and they slammed into a concrete highway divider.”
“Ephraim, I’m sorry.”
He stared at the night sky. “It was a huge loss, and I think it’s part of the reason the community is so defensive about outsiders. None of the adults in the community trusted the driver of the van that crashed, but everyone ignored their gut feeling and paid a really high price. Now they’re overly cautious about anything to do with outsiders.”
She could understand some of that. Breaking trust only took a moment, and regaining it could take a lifetime or more. “Maybe my mom felt abandoned by her dad and that had a lot to do with why she took up with an Englischer and left.”
“Maybe.”
Cara moved to the bench swing. “It all seems like such a lie.”
“How picturesque life can look. You get this quick view of something, and it looks appealing and wonderful—like the quaint appearance of being Amish. But it’s all a lie.”
He took a seat beside her. “Sunday evening you and Lori were near the huge trees by the pond as the sun was setting, and if someone had taken a snapshot of that, it’d warm the heart of every person who saw it. But the struggle for food, shelter, and safety is huge. That fight doesn’t discount the truth seen in that flash of time. Love is real, and it’s worth the battle. That’s not a lie, Cara.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m so tired of thinking about all of it.”
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled something out. Dangling a key in front of her, he smiled. “Maybe this will help. Paint and tools have been delivered. One bathroom is now in working order. The kitchen sink will be fixed tomorrow. A gas stove and refrigerator will be delivered early next week at the latest.”
She placed her palm under the key, and he dropped it. Clutching the key in her fist, she relaxed against the back of the swing. “You were right, you know.”
“Well, as my Daadi used to say—”
“Your who?”
“My grandfather.”
“Okay.”
“He used to say that even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while.”
She laughed. “You’re weird, Ephraim. Who cracks jokes before sunup?”
He suppressed a smile, making slight lines around the edges of his mouth. “You were saying I was right about something?”
“I needed this transition, a place to live while coping with all I’ve learned. But what does my leaving mean for you?”
She elbowed him. “How long before you’re not shunned anymore?”
“The bishop hasn’t put a set time on it.”
“But I’ll be gone.”
“It’s a discipline for past actions, similar to grounding a teen or taking away certain privileges. Only unlike getting in trouble with your parents, none of your friends thinks it’s cool.”
“You know what I think?”
“Do I want to know?”
She huffed and pointed at him. “I think if God were real, he’d make that bishop apologize.”
Ephraim started laughing and seemed unable to stop.
“What?”
“You’re only going to believe He’s real if He makes the bishop own up to something he’s not really wrong in?”
“Not wrong? We didn’t do anything close to going against that Bible of yours.” As soon as she said it, she lost her confidence. “Did we?”
“Well, ya, sort of. Godliness asks us to abstain from the appearance of evil, and you staying in my home overnight… well, you know. There’s nothing wrong in being held accountable, Cara.”
“It’s ridiculous. With all the bad in the world, you’re shunned because you did something that appeared wrong? Where’s the proof of your God’s love in that?”
“You love your daughter, but you can’t hold something in your hand as proof of that. Love is action on her behalf all the time. God’s love is action on our behalf all the time. But we’re in the middle of a battle. Part of life is ‘fighting the good fight’ to keep the faith. If there were no evil coming against us, we wouldn’t have to fight to keep the faith, right?”
A feeling of being offended jabbed needles at her, yet chills and confusion washed over her. “I like you. And I think you like me. So let’s do our friendship a favor and not discuss this God issue again, okay?”
He stood. “Do you believe in nature?”
“Then come look at its glory through the telescope.”
When she shook her head, he held out his hand. “I’m not going to chance messing up our friendship by trying to convince you about God. That’s His job. I only want to show you some spectacular things in the sky.”
Cara placed her hand in his. They walked the few steps to his telescope.
She looked through the lens. “I don’t see anything but my own eyelashes.”
Ephraim made a few adjustments. “Here, try again. But don’t blink right before you place your eye against the eyeglass frame.”
Cara tried again. He stood right behind her, showing her how to adjust the finder scope and focuser. She wondered how many times he’d done this with Anna Mary. Had she felt like Cara did at this moment?
“Cara?”
She blinked. “Sorry. What’d you say?”
“Place your eye near the rim, and then adjust this until you can see.”
“Okay.”
She could barely think with him so close—the softness of his tone as he spoke, the warmth radiating from his skin, the gentleness in every move. But then she saw a view so breathtaking she couldn’t believe her eyes. A strip of stars hung in the sky on a backdrop of gold and silver dust. She’d always heard there were way more stars in the sky than were visible to the naked eye. Suddenly every problem she’d ever faced took on a different perspective—as if it were a fleck inside earth’s time line.