Cara blew out the flame to the kerosene lamp on the kitchen table, gathered several letters that her mother had written, and walked to the back door of Ada’s home. Ephraim moved through the darkness, repairing the gaps in the fence as if fixing it tomorrow would be too late. She’d seen two men in black suits arrive in a buggy and talk with him hours ago. He hadn’t come inside since—not even for supper. She’d left him alone, knowing there were times when work did for a man what talking did for a woman.
Robbie had arrived an hour ago, spoken to Ephraim, and then left by himself. Whatever was going on, she’d bet the roof over her head that her presence was still making his life harder. She stepped onto the small back porch. Ephraim stopped cold and watched as she walked to him.
“I knew they’d come for you—those men in black. And yet you’re still here.”
“Faith in God is required. Remaining Amish is not.”
She wanted to ask if he meant that he was willing to leave the Amish faith. If he said yes, part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms. But with the weight of her mother’s past resting inside the letters she carried, she steadied her emotions. “Faith.” She made a small gesture toward the sky. “I have faith that night will come and day will follow, again and again.” She looked back at the house. “I have faith that either a need will be met or I’ll have the strength to survive if it’s not. Of late, I even have faith in you. But, Ephraim, I have no faith in your God, and I never will.”
His eyes moved over her face, but he said nothing.
She held out the letters. “In my mothers own handwriting, in letters meant for me when I came of age, she confesses that she was never the same after leaving Dry Lake. She latched on to a different life for all the wrong reasons—out of hurt, betrayal, even out of my dad’s need of her. So she stayed and married him. When she realized who she truly was and what she’d given up to marry him, her loyalty would not let her leave.”
She stared at the letters. “Go home, Ephraim. Live as you need to, repair whatever damage has taken place. You’ve seen Lori and me safely through the storm, and we’re fine now. My guess is you and Anna Mary are not so fine.” She slid the letters into her back pocket. “She loves you, Ephraim. Don’t throw that away because of a few crazy weeks with an outsider. I’m sure she’s not happy that you spend so much time here with me. But given a chance, she’ll forgive you. Go, make the right choice—not just for you, but for your children and grandchildren and all generations to come.”
Crickets chirped, and the beauty of night seemed to move around them, but he said nothing. After long minutes of silence, he motioned for them to walk. They went through the back gate, across the wooden footbridge, and up to the top of the hill.
The darkened landscape surrounded them—the silhouette of rolling hills, trees, and valleys. A few stars shone through the hazy summer sky. They moved to the fallen tree and sat.
“Mahlon took a few days off starting last Saturday and hasn’t returned.” He pointed to the edge of the wood nearby, and she spotted three deer slowly entering the open field. “Since he was a teen, I’ve known he has a deep restlessness inside him—the kind that makes a man either leave or always wish he had.”
“What will the community do?”
He sighed. “Grieve. And wait to hear from him.”
“You need to be there for Deborah.”
“I can’t even talk to her.” He rose. “It’s all so frustrating. My sister’s probably sick over Mahlon’s absence. If any woman around is worth coming back for, it’s her.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He removed his hat and ran his hands through his hair. “It’s possible. I don’t know if it’ll work, but maybe Deborah could talk to you while I’m nearby.”
“And you could talk to her through me, like we do with Ada.”
“I need to see if she’s okay. And I know she’ll draw strength from you.”
“From me?” Cara scoffed.
He smiled and put his hat on. “Yes, you. If anyone knows how to take what a man has dished out and become stronger, you do.”
“You’re strange, you know that? Who else would see a homeless woman with a child and call that strong?”
“Possessions don’t make a person strong—decisions do. Although I never thought about that before knowing you. While you were in the midst of the battle, you decided what you were and were not willing to give up, and you never let go. Deborah needs to see that.”
“I don’t think she’ll see what you see in me, but I’ll go. When?”
“Ada’s hired Robbie to come by around eleven in the morning and take her to Dry Lake for a Sunday visit since there’s no service. You could ride with her. Go to my Daed’s house and ask to talk to Deborah in the hiddy. I’ll meet you there.”
“It won’t cause you problems for me to be there again?”
He shook his head. “It shouldn’t, but I don’t care if it does.”
It seemed Ephraim had changed inwardly even more than her life had outwardly. He wasn’t the same man who’d asked her to get off his property the first time he saw her, or the one who’d paid for two bus tickets to New York, or the one who’d tried to hide her from everyone he knew. But like he always said, the things that separated them would always stand firm. That’s why she had no choice but to send him home to Anna Mary.
She cleared her throat, wishing she could undo the damage she’d caused him. “Does Ada know about Mahlon?”
“She hasn’t said so, but I think she does.”
“I got the mail from the box a few days ago. I think he’d written to her, but I don’t know what the letter said. It didn’t seem to be good news, though. Why wouldn’t she tell anyone about it?”
“Whatever he wrote, I’m sure she doesn’t want to alarm anyone.”
“I came here and totally disrupted your life. You chose to ignore the Amish rules and are being shunned. Mahlon’s mother decided to move out of Dry Lake and take me with her. Is it possible Mahlon’s absence has something to do with me?”
“No. Although I see why it could look that way. Mahlon’s been odd since the day we lost so many members in the car wreck, his Daed among them. He got worse after being in New York the day the Twin Towers fell. Deborah says he felt the earth shake, saw the smoke rise, and heard the screams of those trapped inside. His mother had been in the towers the day before. The experience did something to him.”
“That would affect anyone.”
“Deborah has loved him since she was a child.” He sighed. “I have no idea what this might do to her.”
Cara stood. “You need to go home tonight, ‘From, and start acting like the Amish man you are.”
He stayed on the log, looking up at her. “Ya. I know.”
When he rose, mere inches separated them. Regardless of the Amish stance against electrical energy, it ran unrestricted between them.
Afraid to keep lingering, she turned away and started walking. But she wasn’t ready to go back to Ada’s. Tonight was all they had, and so they’d walk.
Ephraim stayed beside her, saying nothing for a long time. Finally he cleared his throat. “Since I didn’t leave with Robbie, I’ll use Ada’s horse to get back to Dry Lake. I’ll put the mare in the pasture, and tomorrow Israel Kauffman or Grey or someone will recognize her, realize I borrowed her, and see to it she’s returned to Ada by tomorrow night.” She appreciated his effort to make small talk. “How can you know all that?”
“Too many years of experience among my people.” His half smile looked more sad than happy but she knew he was right—the Amish were his people.
Deborah sat on the floor of Mahlon’s bedroom, too weary to cry anymore. She held his shirt to her face, breathing in his aroma. Except for the occasional headlights of passing cars, darkness surrounded her. She kept telling herself to light a kerosene lamp or walk back home, but she continued to sit here hour after hour, trying to make sense of it all and figure out a way to fix it.
She longed to hear from him, to know he was safe. But if something hadn’t kept him, if he hadn’t been in an accident of some sort… if he’d chosen to leave like this… she wasn’t sure she wanted to know that. And yet, not to know the truth meant living in limbo every second of every day. She couldn’t stand that either. So she’d prayed until she was sick of it, but she kept praying anyway.
Israel Kauffman and Mahlon’s cousin Jonathan had come here with her long before dark. She’d emptied his dresser, footlocker, and night-stands. They’d dismantled his bed and moved all the heavy furniture. She’d asked them to go on home and let her pack his huge, messy closet on her own. They’d taken the grandfather clock with them, so she didn’t know what time it was. But it didn’t matter. It was somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow.
The closet was empty, and boxes were scattered throughout the room. Her prayers had changed shape and purpose since four days ago, when he should have come home and didn’t. But her feelings had not altered. She was scared, and more than that she felt like a fool. Who lets a loved one go off without knowing where or how to reach him? Who lets someone talk in jumbled circles without insisting he make sense?
Car lights shone on the wall, but rather than moving around the room as they did when a vehicle passed the house, they stayed in one spot. Then they disappeared. She got up from the floor and moved to the window. Through the blackness of night, she saw a car parked on the shoulder of the road a hundred feet or so from the house. A light came on inside the car, and the door opened.
Mahlon!
She wanted to scream his name and run to see him, but neither her voice nor her body would obey her. He moved to the side of the car and leaned against it. Staring out at the field, he lit a match, and soon she saw smoke circle around him. A man got out of the drivers side and sat on the hood of the vehicle. They just stayed there, smoking and talking as if nothing mattered—not her pain or worry or anything.
Another vehicle headed toward them. Mahlon glanced at it before tossing his cigarette to the ground. He walked to the cattle gate, opened it, and called for his horse. A truck with a trailer attached to it pulled up beside the car. While Mahlon harnessed his horse, his friend opened the tailgate of the trailer. After the horse was loaded, the driver of the truck held something out the window. Mahlon went to the man, took whatever it was, and stepped away before the man left.
He stayed in the middle of the road, looking at the place where he’d grown up. As she stood there too bewildered to move, realization bore down on her like a merciless drought. She longed for a man she clearly didn’t know. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t put together the pieces of her childhood love and the lonely stranger she was now watching.
He was safe. But her heart broke anyway.
The man she’d willingly give herself to had no intentions of returning to her. Somehow she was seeing what he couldn’t tell her—as if she was meant to be here, meant to see the truth for herself When he got into the car, she ran down the steps, out the back door, and toward the road.
As the car came toward her, she waved her arms. “Mahlon, wait!”
Mahlon looked straight at her, but the car kept going.
“Mahlon!” she screamed as loud as she could.
The brake lights glowed bright red, and then small white lights shined as the car backed up. It stopped. When Mahlon opened the door, she saw Eric in his military uniform. Mahlon got out and closed the door, but Eric didn’t drive off.
“Why?” She choked on her tears.
He studied her as he’d done a thousand times before, but his face was a mixture of uncertainty and hardness. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” she yelled. “I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked for an explanation.”
He shook his head and held out an envelope. “I was going to leave this in your mailbox. It’s for you and Mamm.”
Wondering what could possibly end the twisting confusion inside her, she snatched it from him and looked inside.
“Money?” She gasped. “You’re leaving me, and you’re going to fix it by giving me money?”
He stepped toward her, his hands reaching for her shoulders, but she took a step back. “I can’t do this, Deb.”
“Can’t do what?”
He said nothing, but she saw a tear trail down his face.
“You have someone else?”
“Never, not in a million years. I swear that to you.”
“Then why?”
“I joined the faith, but not all of me did. Parts did, slivers too small to find most days. You were all that held me here, and finally I know that I can’t live like this.”
His words were short, and she should understand them, but her mind couldn’t grab on to any of it. “I…I believed you. All this time I thought you really loved me. But you don’t, do you? Why? Why can’t you love me like I do you?”
“Don’t do this to yourself, Deb.”
“You’re the one doing this! And what about your mother? You’re her only child. She gave up everything to raise you.”
“That’s what parents do.”
“You promised to always be here for her, and now you do this?”
“She’ll be fine. She’s already proved that. And eventually you will too. But I never will—not if I stay.”
Deborah’s legs shook, and she feared she might fall over. “This can’t be. It just can’t.”
“Take the money. I’ll send more when I can.”
She thrust the money toward him. “I don’t need anything from you, Mahlon Stoltzfus. Absolutely nothing ever again!”
He closed his eyes, and fresh tears fell onto his cheeks. When he turned to get into the car, she threw the envelope at him, and money scattered everywhere. She left it there and hurried down the road, glad her home was in the opposite direction from the way his vehicle was headed.
“Deb, I’m sorry!” Mahlon yelled, but she refused to turn back.
Unable to see for the tears, she kept running until her legs and lungs were burning. She thought she might pass out, but she refused to stop.
The sound of hoofbeats came from in front of her. Dizzy and confused, she couldn’t make out who got off the horse that stopped somewhere ahead of her. Then Ephraim filled her view.
When he tried to reach for her, she shoved him away. “He was here, and he… he left.” She sobbed. “Why, Ephraim? He doesn’t love me. Why doesn’t he love me?”
Her brother stepped forward. When he placed his arms around her, she was too weak to lash out. She melted into his arms and wept.