Chapter Thirteen
He was met with beaming smiles. Dazed once again, shaky, he went directly to Amos, who shook his hand and drew him close for the kiss that told him of the restored fellowship.
Now he could easily have fallen to his knees on the concrete floor, but somehow he kept his footing, accepting other handshakes, smiles, brief touches. He knew that when they emerged from the barn, everything said and done in here would never be spoken about again. He had been forgiven, not just by these church members, but by his Lord.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miriam slip out without stopping to speak to him, but he felt confident that she believed in his repentance. Later, he might be haunted by his fear of how she’d feel if she knew what he hid from her, but now was not the time.
Friend after friend came up to him, warm and even jubilant. To Micah, David said, “You have a fine son. He kept me company while I waited.”
“He is a good boy,” his old friend said with a grin. “Mamm says better than I deserve.”
David laughed. “Give him a few more years.”
Suddenly serious, Micah said, “I pray every day that all of my kinder keep faith with the Lord.”
David’s parents had undoubtedly prayed for the same.
When Micah stepped aside, David came face-to-face with his brother. They didn’t look much alike, Jake four or five inches shorter, blond like Daad, David brown-haired like Mamm. Jake’s beard, tinged with red, accentuated their differences.
His smile was tentative. “Welcome home, brother.”
David refused to spoil the moment by questioning Jake’s sincerity. “It’s good to be welcome. Better, even, to be restored to the church.”
“I haven’t seen Mamm and Daad so happy in a long time.”
“I don’t believe that. They had you and Susan and your kinder.”
“You’re their oldest,” Jake said simply. “Having you gone was an ache that never went away.”
“I missed all of you, too. I . . . had more trouble than I should have accepting God’s will.” An understatement, it was as close as he could go in explanation right now, with them surrounded by other men. He’d have to think whether he should tell Jake more later.
“I sometimes thought you were closer to Levi than to your own family.” The statement lacked any sting, but told David he’d hurt his younger brother.
“We grew up together. He was part of my family, but only part.” He held out his hand. “Will you join me at the table?”
Jake clasped his hand. “Ja, gladly.” They shook, giving David hope that past hurts could be healed.
It took another ten or fifteen minutes before David was able to join the other men in carrying the benches out to the flat lawn and setting up some as tables, others as seating. The women descended in a flock with utensils, napkins, drinks, and food.
This would be the first meal where he could accept food or a dish from someone else’s hand. The Bowmans and his own mamm and daad had been loose with the rules required of them when eating with someone under a bann, even given Amos’s faith in him, but David had tried to avoid putting them in the wrong. However warmly they included him, he remained on the outside, knowing he’d brought this sense of isolation upon himself.
No longer. He’d been enveloped in love, forgiveness, and acceptance.
He caught sight of Miriam among the others, moving with her usual graceful purpose, the ribbons of her kapp flying when she whirled to hurry back to the kitchen.
Watching, it was David who felt a different kind of ache now.
Miriam hurried down the lane toward the family buggy carrying empty serving dishes that she’d just washed in the Kings’ kitchen. She didn’t plan to wait here; she’d go back to make sure Mamm didn’t need any more help, and seek out Elam to say goodbye, since she didn’t see him as often as she’d like. She hadn’t yet come face-to-face with David, either, but since he seemed to be surrounded by friends and family, his and hers, she could wait to express her happiness for him another time.
After setting the dishes in the back and taking a minute to stroke Polly’s nose and whisper, “We won’t be long, I promise,” she started back up the long, sloping driveway. She’d barely passed the next buggy when a man stepped out in front of her.
He seemed startled, but smiled. “Miriam, is that right?”
“Ja. You’re Gideon Lantz. I’m glad to see you here.”
“Yesterday several people urged me to visit for worship this week. I thought it was a good idea, since I live among the members of this district, especially close to the Millers and Esther Schwartz. I brought Esther today.”
“That was good of you.” She’d been careful to keep a crowd between her and Esther all day.
As they walked, he responded to her polite questions. He had come from Oswego County in New York, bordering Lake Ontario. “I like the rolling hills here,” he said. “It was getting too built up there, too crowded with tourists. I’d be plowing, and tour buses would pass.” He shook his head. “I sold my farm there to a young Amishman, getting plenty to start over here. He wanted to stay close to family.”
“I’ve heard that land there costs so much, most Amish can’t afford it anymore.”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “If I’d put it up for auction, I could have gotten more, but I wouldn’t have felt good about that. I didn’t need the extra money.”
Not surprised, she was quiet for a minute. “The tourists are getting to be a nuisance here, too, but I haven’t yet seen a bus full of people driving by to stare.”
“I will never understand why people are so curious about us.”
“It’s the horses. If we’d just switch to driving cars, they’d probably lose interest.”
He gave a low, gruff laugh. “That’s probably so.”
She smiled. “I hear you have children.”
“Ja, a girl and a boy. They go to the nearest school. With the new friends they’re making in your district, I may ask your bishop if we can join you.”
“That’s wunderbaar!” she exclaimed. “We recently had a family move away, so I think this might be a good time.”
A sudden smile softened a face that had, at first sight, struck her as closed as David’s. The smile was not for her. “Here comes my Rebekah now.”
A tall girl with one brown pigtail flopping out of her kapp ran at full-tilt toward them. “Daadi!” she cried. “You weren’t anywhere.”
“I carried some things to the buggy for Esther. You were too busy playing to notice.” He gently tugged her braid. “You’re all strubly. So busy you were, it wonders me that you looked for me at all.”
“Daadi,” she protested, pouting.
He laid his hand atop her head. “I think we’re all ready to go home. If you find your brother, I’ll fetch Esther.”
“I know where Zeb is,” she declared, and turned to race back the way she came.
Gideon shook his head. “That one never slows down.”
Miriam chuckled. “I was that way, too.
The skin beside his eyes crinkled with his smile. “You don’t slow down much even now, ain’t so?”
Oh, heavens—had he noticed how antsy she was during worship?
A man strode past the little girl toward them. David, alone for the first time since he’d arrived.
Gideon nodded. “David. Have you seen Esther?”
“Over there with Deborah, I think.” He pointed.
“Denke.” Gideon walked away.
David watched him go for a moment, his jaw knotted. The two had planned last week’s work frolic together. Had they ended up clashing in some way? Miriam couldn’t imagine.
Then he glanced at her. “Is he driving you home?”
“Me? Of course not! I doubt he’d have room. He has two children and brought Esther, too, you know. Why would you think—”
“Just . . . he seemed extra friendly.”
Perplexed, she said, “Well, he wasn’t. We happened to be walking back at the same time and had a neighborly chat, that’s all.”
“Neighborly.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked tentatively.
“No.” Frowning, he gazed down at her. “May I drive you home?”
Now truly befuddled, she gaped for longer than was probably polite. Was this his way of letting her know he might want to court her? Except for that tense moment when she’d thought he might kiss her, he hadn’t shown any indication that he was drawn to her as anything but a friend. Had he?
Not wanting to make a fool out of herself, she joked, “Do you want to make sure I don’t try to rescue Copper on my own again?”
His mouth tightened. “No. If you’d rather go with your mamm and daad . . .”
Her heart beat as if she’d run all the way to the house, like little Rebekah.
“I’d be glad to go with you,” she said hastily. “I’ve been wanting to say how happy I am that the bann has ended and you’ve been accepted back among us with such joy.”
“Denke,” he said, a little stiffly. Maybe that was a flush on his cheeks?
“I see Daad.” Better than having to tell her mother, who wouldn’t be able to hide her delight that David had singled her out. Miriam would have to deal with Mamm’s speculation later, but not where others among their community would note it. Particularly Esther, if she still lingered in the group around Mamm. “I’ll let him know I’m going with you.”
“I’ll wait here.”
She started toward the barn, then turned around, walking backward to tease, “I should have asked how safe this is. Copper isn’t pulling your buggy today, is he?”
His grin pleased her. “Copper isn’t ready for such an exciting day. You can trust yourself to Dexter.”
Miriam laughed and hurried toward her father. Ridiculous to feel so stirred up, so . . . giddy, when she didn’t know whether David was being anything but friendly. After all, he did live right next door from her family. He wouldn’t be going out of his way to deliver her home.
The voice of common sense didn’t squelch this lighter-than-air feeling that made her want to twirl like she had as a little girl until her head spun like a yo-yo.
David couldn’t think of a thing to say.
They’d turned onto the road, and he flicked the reins. His onkel’s obedient horse speeded up willingly to a trot.
He tried not to lie to himself, so he knew why he’d asked Miriam to ride with him. Seeing her with Gideon, the two talking like best friends, so close their arms might have brushed against each other, had hit him hard, almost as if he’d really taken a blow. He’d grown comfortable with the idea of he and Miriam as friends. Her status as a spinster seemed set in people’s minds; he hadn’t thought about what he’d feel if that changed.
Now he knew.
He’d gone ab im kopf, as wildly off in his head as his horse.
Everyone would assume he was announcing his intention of becoming a come-calling friend, a man interested in marriage. She would think that. If he didn’t want her to, he needed to say something. Now.
I wanted to talk to you about Esther. That would work, except he had nothing new to say. So far as he knew, Levi’s mamm had endured the work frolic with reasonable grace.
He could throw out the idea of Miriam coming over when she had time to help with Copper, but he knew better than to make such a suggestion. She was already so busy, he wondered how she managed. Working, if not full-time, close to it, helping her mother, jumping in whenever anyone else needed her. Quilting, too. Anyway, inviting her again to spend time at his place, alone with him, would be as bad as asking if he could drive her home in his buggy.
He stole a glance at her, to see her sitting with a very straight back, staring straight ahead. Given that her face was shielded by the black bonnet, she certainly wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t the only uncomfortable one, then—although she might be now because he’d been mute so far, acting like a doppick.
“I heard about Ira Hilty’s wife,” he heard himself say. Good, a topic. “That you’ve been helping out. I know him, but not her.”
“They met when she was here visiting from Iowa. Rudy and Hannah Brenneman are Tamara’s aenti and onkel. She’s . . . having to stay resting as much as possible.”
The subject of pregnancy was a delicate one. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. Amishmen pretended they hadn’t noticed a woman was pregnant until they could express congratulations after the birth. For certain sure, Miriam had been careful not to say that Tamara was having health problems related to her pregnancy.
“It’s good of you to help so Ira can keep working.”
“I’m only one of many. I know Judith spent a morning with Tamara this week.”
It was actually his mother who’d mentioned the difficulties Ira’s wife was having.
“They have three children,” Miriam continued. “Only the oldest is in school. That’s mostly why Tamara can’t be left alone.”
“Two preschoolers would be a handful,” he agreed.
Her face relaxed into a reminiscent smile. “I’ve had fun with them. Ann, the oldest, is learning to be a good cook. Usually I don’t have a chance to spend much time with children, except for Abby, of course.”
Did she sound . . . wistful?
Of course she did. With her warmth and sense of humor and endless energy, she’d be a wonderful mother. If she and Levi had married, she’d probably have three kinder by now, like Tamara.
If that had happened, would Levi have been able to continue as David’s partner in their logging business? The thought hadn’t occurred to him before, but he saw now that it would have been challenging. Even with Levi single, he’d been able to work at the second job only because David, in turn, had spent so much time helping on the Schwartz farm instead of his own family’s.
Daad had never once said, I need you, too. He had to have guessed early on that his oldest wasn’t meant to be a farmer—ach, maybe he hadn’t wanted him to be, as useless as David had been, wound up like a top—but he could have used a second strong back in the years before Jake was old enough to step in.
I must have worn blinders, David couldn’t help thinking. He’d been smart in one way to find work he could do, and do well, but now many of his choices just seemed selfish. He’d certainly gone astray from his faith long before he realized it.
“What are you thinking?” Miriam asked softly. For the first time since he’d helped her into the buggy, she was looking at him.
He didn’t respond for a minute. Then: “I keep stumbling over memories. Today Jake said that Levi was more my brother than he’d ever been. Not as if he was jealous,” he said hastily. “Still, it made me see that I hurt his feelings. Just now, I thought about Daad, who needed me working beside him. Instead, I was determined to start the business with Levi.”
“Did your father ever complain?”
“No. I think he’d given up on me farming with him. He knew how restless I was.”
“He’s a good daad.”
“Ja.” David’s mouth twisted. “More patient than I deserved. What I just thought, when you asked, is that I must have worn blinders night and day. For a horse sharing the road with cars and motorcycles and bicycles, wearing them is a good idea. For a man, it means you’re so busy looking ahead, you’re blind to too many other people and their needs.”
Almost expecting her to rush to assure him he was being too hard on himself, David was surprised by her silence. He glanced over to see her expression troubled.
“I did the same.” Her tone had a weight to it. “Levi meant so much to me, I didn’t really see other people. Julia says I was fixed on him.” She frowned. “No, not that—fixated. It’s not a word I know, but it sounds right. You and I should have been friends, but we weren’t.”
“No.” He prayed that she never knew why that was, as far as he was concerned. What would she feel, thinking a man she’d never even looked at twice had been obsessed with her?
Ja, fixated. Narrisch—mad—for a girl five and a half years younger than him, one who looked at him, on the rare occasions when she actually did, as if she wasn’t quite sure who he was. He’d spent time with other girls before she caught his eye at her first singing after reaching rumspringa, but from then on he’d watched her. She was pretty and he would have liked to smooch with her, sure, but what amazed him was her generosity and unfailing kindness. Ja, and her smile, bright as the sun at its height.
Most often aimed at Levi.
“I’m sorry, David,” Miriam said suddenly. “I don’t know what was wrong with me. Please forgive me.”
“Forgive you?” Startled, he might have put more emphasis on that than he should have. “You didn’t owe me anything. You were never rude.”
“Wasn’t I?”
And speaking of not seeing . . . they were nearly home. Ahead, Copper had heard the hoofbeats or smelled his pasture mate, because he danced in the corner formed by the fence, neighing a welcome.
Dexter trotted faster.
“Oh, no.” Miriam again. “This hasn’t been a happy conversation, has it? I didn’t mean to get stuck in the past. I had mostly put it all behind me, you know.”
“Until I came home?” he asked harshly.
“Ja, I think so,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “That’s no excuse.”
“You’re not the only one stuck. I thought when I came home—” Throat clogging, he broke off.
They had swept past Copper, who turned to canter along the fence line, keeping even with them, tossing his head.
David had to shake the reins to let Dexter know that he couldn’t turn in to his own driveway but must go on. Stopped by the fence, the two-year-old let out a ringing protest behind them that had Dexter’s ears swiveling.
The Bowmans’ mailbox and driveway lay just ahead. Mollified, Dexter turned there instead.
Panic squeezed David’s chest. Whatever he’d intended, this conversation during the drive wasn’t it. In fact, it qualified as a disaster, he thought.
Except . . . both of them were willing to speak openly to each other. That meant something, didn’t it?
Compressed gravel crunched beneath the wheels. Within seconds, the narrow lane opened into a wider space from the house to the barn, allowing for buggies to turn around easily.
They had left before Eli and Deborah, and Miriam was the only one of their kinder left at home. The silence made him wonder why they had no dogs.
When he stopped the buggy as close to the house as possible, David doubted it had crossed her mind that he might kiss her. Not that the idea had crossed his mind—except a few thousand times when he lay awake at night, wondering whether he could ever move past this futile attraction to a woman who would never be his.
This afternoon, she had agreed to let him bring her home . . . and, under the circumstances, that held only one meaning among the Amish.
Had he imagined . . . ? Had his invitation come out of nowhere but a refusal to see Miriam Bowman turn to some other man . . . ? Ja. He still dreamed.
But she had already opened her door and sprang out with her usual grace. “Denke, David. I’m glad we talked.” She offered him a smile that was almost impish. “Maybe where we set our feet from now on won’t be so sticky, ain’t so?”
So sticky? Ah. He got it.
“Maybe not.”
“And if you really need it . . .” She looked shy. “You will always have my forgiveness.”
It was a knife blade sliding between his ribs straight into his heart. If she ever did know, how could she forgive him?
“Denke,” he said hoarsely, the best he could come up with.
From the shadow beneath the bonnet brim, her eyes searched his gravely for a moment before she nodded and rushed toward her house.
At least he didn’t have to worry about her thinking he wanted to court her, he thought bleakly. He’d apparently taken care of that.
He should be glad.