CHAPTER 28

Asa stripped off his church vest, hung it on a hanger, and put it in his closet. He closed the door and turned to look at the bedroom. His old bedroom, the one where he grew up. When Abigail left, he’d thrown himself into fixing up the house. God was keeping him here, and he couldn’t live in a dump. He’d also put in his two weeks’ notice at the plastics plant on Friday. He was done working in factories. He’d taken on Sol, Andrew, and Freemont as clients, and was ready to hang out his shingle as an accountant. When he’d finally made the decision, he’d felt freer than he had ever felt in his life. He also felt like he had a purpose.

He went downstairs to the kitchen to fix a sandwich, then take a Sunday afternoon nap. As he passed by the front door, he heard a knock. His heart flipped. Abigail? Was she back? He hurried to the door, opened it, and saw Andrew. “Oh,” Asa said, opening the door wider.

“Glad to see you too.” Andrew snickered and walked into the living room.

“Sorry.” Asa shut the door and gestured to the new couch he’d bought last week to replace the old one he had before. It wasn’t fancy, but it was nice. He’d chosen a dark blue color, briefly wondering if Abigail would like it, then realizing he couldn’t make his purchases—or any other decisions—based on her opinion. Not when she wasn’t in his life anymore.

Andrew sat down and crossed his ankle over his knee. He was still wearing his church clothes, including his black hat, which he took off and tossed beside him.

“I don’t have much to offer you for lunch,” Asa said.

“That’s okay. Joanna’s putting together something.” He patted his belly. “She’s going to have me fattened up soon enough.”

Asa sat down in the rocker. “I can think of worse fates.”

Andrew’s expression sobered. “Ya.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “I came by to see how you’re doing. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”

“You’re married,” Asa said with a shrug. “That keeps a man busy.”

“It does.” Andrew grinned, but it disappeared quickly. “Have you heard from Abigail?”

He shook his head. “I don’t expect to.”

“Maybe you should geh see her.”

“Nee.” Asa leveled his gaze at Andrew. “Absolutely not.”

“I didn’t take you for a prideful man, Asa.”

“It’s not pride.” He leaned forward. “Don’t get me wrong. I still care for Abigail. I still . . .”

“Love her?”

He swallowed. “Ya. And that’s why I’m not chasing her to Middlefield or wherever else she decides to geh. Mei place is here, in Birch Creek. That hasn’t changed just because Abigail left.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I used to think that was why God brought me here. Because Abigail and I were meant to be together. But that’s not why. I have purpose now, Andrew. I’m going to start mei own business soon.” He looked around the living room. “The haus is shaping up.”

“What about Abigail?”

He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I’ve had to put that in God’s hands. And it’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Andrew nodded. He picked up his hat and stood. “I better get home. I’m glad to see you’re doing okay.”

“Better than okay.” He stood and faced Andrew. The words were true. He missed Abigail, but he had a life here. A new beginning. And if he and Abigail were meant to be together, God would make a way. He truly believed that.

Irene sat in the living room with her father and mother while they waited for Andrew to come home. Her mother and Joanna had dropped him off at Asa’s before coming home, and now Joanna was in the kitchen preparing a cold lunch. Irene and Naomi had offered to help but Joanna had insisted on letting them all have time alone. Homer was also there with her, waiting for any scrap that might accidentally—or on purpose—fall on the floor.

Irene looked at her parents and smiled. They were sitting together on the couch, close but not touching. Yet they couldn’t stop looking at each other. Irene could feel the love between them, and it made her tear up again. Her mother had believed her father would come home one day—and now he was here.

“Are you sure they’ve captured everyone involved in the drug ring?” Mamm asked.

Daed nodded. “Ya, finally.” His answer was curt, and he didn’t elaborate. Irene wasn’t going to ask. She would probably never know what her father had gone through the past twelve years, and that didn’t matter. What was important was that he was here. He looked at Irene and then back at Mamm. “It’s so gut to be home.”

Irene noticed he’d slipped back into Pennsylvania Dietsch. Then he looked at Irene. “So who was the young man I saw leaving when I arrived?”

“Bartholomew,” Mamm said, giving him a warning look.

Daed frowned. “Sorry. I was only teasing.”

“It’s okay.” She grinned. “His name is Solomon Troyer.”

“Irene works for him,” Mamm explained. “Painting birdhouses.”

“Oh.” Daed looked chastened. “Sorry. I thought . . . never mind. I should mind mei own business.”

“Nee, it’s all right.” She looked at both her parents. “I like him. And he likes me.” No reason to admit that they were in love, not when it was so new. She wanted to keep that to herself.

The faint sound of the back door opening silenced them. “Andrew’s home,” Mamm said.

Daed stood up. “I’ll geh see him, then.”

When he left, Mamm watched him walk out of the living room. “I can’t believe he’s home.”

“Me either.” She went to sit next to her mother. “We all have so much catching up to do.”

“I think you have some catching up to do with me,” Mamm said. She leaned closer to her. “I didn’t know Sol was here.”

“It was an unexpected visit.”

Mamm’s face beamed, her smile wider than Irene had ever seen it. She hugged her mother. “You look happy,” she said.

“I am,” Mamm whispered, hugging Irene tight. “I’m so very, very happy.”

Me too. Sol loved her, and now she had her father back. It was more than she’d ever hoped for.

Later that evening, after supper, Naomi couldn’t wait to be alone with her husband. Now they were upstairs in their room, and her heart was so filled with joy she thought it might burst.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Naomi lifted her hand to touch Bartholomew’s face. He looked so different, yet the same. The warmth in his blue eyes, his square jaw, hair so soft she couldn’t resist touching it. These were all familiar. But the grays that threaded through the short, sandy-blond strands, the stress lines on his forehead, the slight slump of his posture—these were the changes.

“You look the same,” he said, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. He ran this thumb over the top of her cheek, right below her glasses. “Still beautiful.”

She almost melted at the tears in his eyes. She took his hand and led him to the edge of her bed. Their bed. She could hardly believe it. It would be their bed now, just like everything else here. They shared it now. Not mine, but ours. He sat down next to her, keeping his hand in hers.

She gazed at him again. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s like being on our first date again.” He smiled. “Getting to know each other.”

“Yet already knowing.”

He nodded. “Something like that.” He lifted their clasped hands together. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be here with you. I’ve dreamt of this moment for years.” He shifted his gaze to her. “Along with other moments.”

She blushed. “Me too,” she admitted, unable to look him in the eye. He made her feel like a young girl all over again, stripping away the years of worry and longing and sacrifice.

“Naomi.” He touched her chin and he turned her to face him. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not.”

“Yer hand is shaking.”

“I’m just . . .” She didn’t know how to describe it. “Happy,” she said, tightening her grip around his hand. “So very, very happy.”

Bartholomew kissed her forehead. “Me too. I’m also sorry.”

She put her fingers to his lips. “You don’t have to say it.”

“Ya, I do.” He moved her hand. “I’ll say it every day for as long as I live. I can’t make up for what I’ve done to you . . . to our familye.”

“There’s nothing to make up. You’re here. That’s what matters.” She ran her hand across the sides of his short hair. “I don’t know how I feel about this, though,” she said, desperate for some levity. She’d spent so long without him that she didn’t want their first moment alone to be filled with sorrowful reminders.

He ran his hand through his short hair. “Ya. But it will grow.” He glanced down. “I’ll need new clothes too.”

She extricated her hand from his and went to the closet. She pulled out a shirt, then a pair of pants. “Will these do?”

He joined her at the closet. “You saved these?”

“I knew you’d come back. I wanted them to be here when you did.”

He took them from her. “You had that much faith.”

“I did. In God, and in you.”

“Even after I couldn’t write to you anymore?”

She paused, knowing she had to tell him the truth. “I was upset. Nee, more than upset.” She gazed up at him. “I was devastated. The thought of never hearing from you again was more than I could bear. And I thought . . .” She turned away from him.

“You thought what?”

“That maybe I was wrong. That God hadn’t promised me you would return, that it was just wishful thinking.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “That maybe you had found someone else.”

He hung the clothes back in the closet, then came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re the only one for me, Naomi. There never was, never could be, anyone else. I love you.” He turned her to face him. “And I will never leave you again. I promise.” He bent and kissed her.

She melted into his embrace, and poured her heart out to him . . . as she had been waiting to do for so long.