“I guess we’ll never know if Perry regretted his choices or not. I choose to think that he did.”
BETH ANNE BORNTRAGER
From the moment his father had walked into Jacob’s room, it was obvious his father had something important on his mind.
First his daed had fussed with the brush and spare change on the dresser; then he’d thumbed through the pair of Sports Illustrated magazines on his bedside table—and hadn’t made a single comment about how Jacob shouldn’t be indulging in such foolish fantasies.
Sitting in the recliner by the window, Jacob had watched and waited as patiently as he could. After all, he’d learned the hard way that it did no good to rush his father. All rushing did was bring on a lecture about being respectful.
But he had to get to the store soon, and he wanted to finish getting ready in private, not with his father looking on. When another minute passed, Jacob couldn’t take it anymore. “Daed, was there a reason you came in here? Besides, you know, reading about the latest statistics on the football teams?”
His father turned sharply and glared. “Jacob—”
Knowing where he was headed, Jacob cut off the lecture before it started. “I’m sorry, Daed. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it is obvious that you have something on your mind. We might as well get it over with.”
With a sigh, his father sat down on the desk chair. The old wood creaked slightly under his weight. At last he spoke. “Jacob, there’s no beating around the bush with this. The fact is, you are not being a good and decent person to Deborah Borntrager.”
Jacob looked at his dad and immediately regretted the conversational push he’d just given. Deborah was the last person in the world he wanted to talk about.
Especially with his father.
Picking up a pencil, his father tapped the end of it on the desk. “You know how we raised you. To value forgiveness. To not hold grievances. We may not always be the best examples”—his father shifted uncomfortably—“but, Jacob? Talk to me about this. You must have something to say about how you’ve been treating Deborah.”
“I really don’t.” Studying the line between his father’s eyebrows, Jacob wished he had the nerve to talk back to him. There was a whole set of excuses for his behavior spinning around in his mind, all of which he felt to be true.
But because he took honoring his father and mother to heart, he kept his silence. Telling his parents the truth would only lead to more uncomfortable conversations.
Slowly his father shook his head. “Jacob. I know what you are doing, and holding your tongue ain’t an option. I came in here to talk, and talk we will do.”
Practically feeling his father’s glare burning his skin, Jacob looked away. “I hear you, Father,” he said finally. “I know I’ve been rude to her.” He ached to add that he couldn’t help himself. That every time he saw her, he was reminded of just how messed up his life had become.
But how could he tell his dad that without revealing his own insecurities?
“And?”
“And nothing, Father.”
With a sigh, his father got up from the uncomfortable desk chair, walked to the side of the bed that faced Jacob, and sat down. To Jacob’s surprise, his feet were only clad in thick wool socks. Glancing at his father’s feet, how wide and solid they were, Jacob decided they were a perfect symbol for his father. If nothing else, his father was a robust, sturdy man. Usually his feet were planted solidly on the ground, and his will was just as unshakable.
“Jacob, I know it is hard, but you need to give your anger to the Lord. Vengeance is His, don’t you remember? There is nothing that happened that can’t be fixed.”
He didn’t want to be flip, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine how anything could be fixed. Too much had happened. Their once idyllic life had been shattered the moment Perry decided to welcome drugs into their world. “Daed, Perry died,” he said baldly.
“Ach. I know that. I mourn the loss, as well. But I’m sorry to say that there’s nothing we can do about that. We can’t bring him back to life.” He sighed, flexing his feet a bit, then added, “I don’t think Deborah could have done anything about her brother’s actions either. Perry was a strong-willed man. Don’t hold her responsible.”
Jacob bit the inside of his cheek in order to keep his silence.
Because seeing Deborah reminded him of Perry. Because Perry was dead, and therefore unable to pay for the consequences of his actions. Because, even though he’d never wanted to admit it, he’d always felt that she was meant for him.
But now there was no way he could ever fall in love with a woman who’s brother had hurt him so much.
“I don’t know, Daed,” he said instead of speaking the truth.
His father narrowed his eyes, looked like he wanted to say a great many things, but then got to his feet and padded to the door. “Things will get better, Jacob. I promise you that. Why, sometimes I think they already have! But please take a care with Deborah. Perry’s actions are not her doing and she truly needs some friends right now. You mustn’t forget, she’s lost a brother. And that is a mighty sad thing.”
“I’ll try and do better,” he promised. And he would. Just as soon as looking at her didn’t remind him of all that had happened.
Besides, his father was wrong.
No matter how much a person might want to deny it, the fact was you couldn’t change the past. What had been done was done.
A person needed to accept that. And then, of course, learn to live with the consequences.
Lydia loved being in Walker Anderson’s arms. But as the windows in his truck fogged up and their kisses became too passionate, she knew that once again, they needed to say good night.
Pulling out of his embrace, she scooted to her side of the bench seat. “Oh, Walker. That’s enough for now, I think.”
He immediately let her go, but his hand still reached for her own. “You sure?” His voice was a little husky, and a little out of breath.
She almost smiled. He sounded the way she felt inside. But someone had to keep a clear head. “I am sure, Walker.”
He sat up straighter and ran a hand through his blond hair, kicking up the golden strands this way and that, like he did when he was agitated. “Sorry. I know you’re right.”
She was right . . . but she still missed being in his arms. “We have to be careful, you know.”
“I know. But . . . Lydia, we’ve also got to decide what we’re going to do about our future.”
She didn’t even try to pretend that she didn’t understand what he was talking about. Ever since they’d fallen in love, they’d put the practical sides of their lives on hold. It had been so much easier to stay in the sweet haze of a new romance.
After all, who wanted to dwell on all they were going through? First, they’d been suspects in Perry’s murder investigation. And then she’d found out that she’d been adopted. There was also the matter of grieving for Perry. For most of the last few years, she’d been sure she’d marry Perry. So even though they’d broken up long before he died, a portion of her heart had been his.
And she’d grieved for the boy he used to be.
But now she and Walker were in a quandary. She was Amish and he was not. She wanted to remain faithful to her church and her upbringing, while Walker didn’t seem to have any desire to become Amish. These were mighty big problems that should have kept them apart from each other.
But they were in love, armed with feelings that were far from passing fancies.
When she looked at Walker, she felt like she’d finally come home. She was comfortable with Walker, more comfortable and happier than with any other person in her life. He understood her, and she understood him. She was proud of him, and proud of all the things he believed in.
But being proud of someone and loving them didn’t necessarily mean that all their problems went away. Or that they had a hope of an easy, trouble-free future.
Taking a chance, she said, “Walker, what do you think we should do?”
“I don’t know. It seems like there’re only two choices. Either you leave your faith or I become Amish.” He chuckled then, letting Lydia know that the last “choice” he mentioned wasn’t really an option as far as he was concerned.
Perhaps it was the woman’s place in a relationship to do all the changing? And granted, she’d been so torn about whether her birth mom had been Amish or English, she would’ve thought that she’d have easily given up living Plain.
But something had happened when everything in her life had turned upside down. In the middle of figuring out who her birth parents were, she’d figured out who she was.
And her heart was telling her that she was Amish.
“There is one other choice, I suppose,” she said quietly.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
She cleared her throat. “We could break up.”
He pulled his hands away and clenched them on his lap. “Really? You’re actually thinking like that?” His voice was hoarse and thick. Almost as if he was fighting back tears.
“Nee,” she said in a rush. “But, well, it’s true, don’tcha think? Some relationships aren’t meant to be.”
“Not meant to be? Huh.” Silence descended on them as a raccoon skittered across the dead-end street, his striped tail illuminated in the glow of the midnight moon.
Lydia’s hands began to tremble in the ominous quiet between them. She began to regret her words, especially when he turned on the ignition and without another word pulled out into the dark, windy street.
She gazed at him, watching the muscle in his cheek pulse every time the shadows switched and the moon’s glow hit his face just right. He was mad, and hurt.
Lydia didn’t blame Walker. If the conversation had been reversed, and if he had been the one to bring it up, she would have been upset, too.
But she didn’t attempt to take back her words. Someone had to be practical. When they were almost at her house, he turned her way and finally spoke. “Do you want to break up, Lydia?”
“Not at all,” she replied, so quickly that her words were practically stumbling over each other. “Walker, I wouldn’t have kissed you like I did if I didn’t love you. You know that, yes?”
After he pulled into her driveway and parked, he spoke again. “I know you love me. And I love you, too, Lydia.” When he gazed at her, his brown eyes piercing in the night, he said, “Don’t give up on us. Not yet. I know things are hard, and that we’re still trying to get used to each other’s lifestyles. But we’ll figure something out. I promise, we will.”
“I won’t give up, Walker.” Lifting her chin, she said, “I’m going to start praying really hard. The Lord has to have a solution for us, don’tcha think? I just need to pray more often and ask for His guidance.”
His gaze softened. For a moment, she worried that he was going to tease her—after all, Englischers didn’t always embrace the total faith in the Lord that the Amish did.
“That was a good reminder, Lydia,” he finally said. “You are exactly right. I’ll pray harder, too.” Looking beyond her, he smiled. “You’d best go on inside. I think your mom is waiting up for you. She’s probably ready to go to sleep.”
Reaching out, she squeezed his hand quickly, then opened her door and stepped out. “Good night, Walker. Sleep well.”
“ ’Night, Lydia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She stayed on the front porch until he drove out of sight. Then quietly, she opened the front door and slipped inside.
From inside her parents’ bedroom doorway, she saw her mother’s shadow.
“Thank you for watching for me, but I am home safe.”
“I’m glad of that.”
Lydia ached to rush to her mother’s arms and confide everything. To share how wonderful-gut it felt to be in Walker’s arms. To share all the sweet things he said to her, and how she was sure they were meant to be together.
But she was anxious to begin her prayers, and now wasn’t the right time, anyway. Her mother was tired, and would be shocked to learn all that Lydia was contemplating.
“Gut naught, Mamm,” she said simply as she went to her room. The moment she closed her door, she fell to her knees and began to pray.
Only after her knees had gone numb and she climbed in bed did she even think about what she would do if God didn’t give her prayers some answers.
Being alone all over again was going to be a very terrible place to be.