Chapter Twenty
“I should have stayed longer.” Miriam watched David climb into the buggy beside her. “Lydia worked so hard to be ready for today. It would be wrong to leave her with extra chores at the end of the day.”
“She has three sisters,” he pointed out drily. “Doesn’t the oldest of those have a girl about to start her rumspringa? I don’t think her mamm has left, either.”
Sol had a sister, too. And Lydia no doubt had some special friends.
Miriam sighed, absolving herself of guilt for her early departure, at least. “You’re right.”
“Almost always,” David said with a straight face.
She rolled her eyes, but felt her mood lighten.
He snapped the reins, and his horse started down the driveway, past the row of black buggies and patiently waiting horses. They were among the first to leave. Truthfully, Miriam was grateful. She didn’t like having to pretend with friends and family.
“You know they’re hosting a singing tonight in their barn,” she said, “even though their own kinder aren’t old enough to attend.”
That wasn’t uncommon; it made sense for the family who’d already scrubbed and cleared their barn to hold the event for the young, single members of the church. Others were no doubt staying to help with food and to chaperone.
“I heard talk,” David agreed.
“I haven’t attended one in years,” she heard herself say.
She felt the weight of his glance.
“Unmarried or not, I’d feel like an old man.”
She wasn’t surprised at his lack of interest, but privately felt some relief. It wouldn’t be unusual for a man his age to marry a girl not even twenty years old, but so far, she was the only girl or woman he had singled out.
“I don’t want you to think I was implying you’d done anything to earn Esther’s enmity,” he said suddenly. “That’s not what I meant when I asked if you knew why she hates you.”
She gazed down at her hands, folded on her lap. “I wish I knew, but I don’t.”
“Luke has noticed the way she treats you. I’m surprised other people haven’t.”
She stole a glance at him. “Mamm said something once. She worried that if I married Levi, I’d have to share a house with Esther. There’s no grossdawdi haus, you know.”
“Has nobody told Bishop Amos about her anger?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
“I think one of us should. I’m willing, if you don’t want to do it.”
Her stomach churned. “Will you wait? Let me think about it? I’m just afraid—” Ach, of so much. That Esther would fling around accusations, for one, and nobody would look at her, Miriam, the same again. That was selfish thinking, of course, and she should want what was best for Levi’s mamm.
What Esther said earlier had stuck in Miriam’s mind. The rest of the quote from Matthew had awakened her fears.
And why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, but not consider the plank in your own eye?
Or how can you say to your brother, “Let me remove the speck from your eye”; and look, a plank is in your own eye?
Hypocrite!
Was that her? Ignoring her own flaws to focus on someone else’s?
She thought David was watching her, because only now did he say, so gently, “Ja, of course I’ll wait. But if you need me, I’ll help.”
“Denke,” she murmured.
What if she talked to Esther? Visited her, as she hadn’t done in too long? Asked directly for an explanation of her enmity, and at a time and place when there would be no one else to hear?
Why hadn’t she done that long since?
Not liking to think of herself as a coward, she said, “There’s something about Levi I haven’t said.”
He looked sharply at her.
Miriam took a deep breath. “You probably know. He must have talked to you, his best friend, but—” She pressed her lips together, then made herself say it. “He didn’t want to marry me. I think he was about to tell me.”
“What?”
She peeked sideways. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No. No. He said things, but not that. Are you sure you’re not reading too much into a quarrel or two?”
“I’m sure.” Oddly, what she felt was a sense of peace. She might not want to talk about the accusations Levi had thrown at her, but at least David now knew the most important truth about her relationship with his best friend.
“Was he that foolish?” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”
Her smile felt remarkably natural. “You don’t have to say anything. It was a long time ago.” Nothing to do with him, really, but she wouldn’t tell him that.
They scarcely talked during the remainder of the drive. She could tell he was perturbed, but she felt free in a way she couldn’t have explained to anyone else.
For no good reason, the silence left her aware of David’s physical presence: those big hands holding the reins, his bold profile and the shadows beneath his sharp cheekbones, the strength in his shoulders and arms. Her skin prickled, as if she could almost feel a touch. She thought she was breathing too fast.
Clop, clop, clop, clop. The buggy swayed. A car or two passed without her really taking it in.
Copper met them at the corner of his pasture, his welcome ringing out, but David scarcely glanced at him. His brows pulled together, and he hadn’t looked at her in some time. She didn’t know what that meant.
The neigh became shrill as they continued on. A moment later, the buggy rolled up her driveway.
She should say something, but she couldn’t think what. He’d wonder why he’d bothered to invite this mute woman to drive with him.
“Whoa,” he murmured, drawing Dexter to a stop right beside her house. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him wrap the reins around a hook to free his hands. He intended to get out . . . ?
But instead he turned in the seat to face her. “If you can’t forget Levi, tell me now,” he said huskily.
She swallowed. “I can.” I have. Wasn’t that part of why she’d told him she would never have become Levi’s wife even if he hadn’t died?
A nerve beneath David’s eye jerked. As she stared, he lifted those large, strong hands and cradled her face in them. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo. He bent his head, brushed her lips with his, did so again. Hers had parted, she knew they had. His eyes blazed into hers, and then he deepened the kiss.
Somehow she’d come to be clutching his shirtfront. She might have one of his suspenders tight in her grip. Exhilarated beyond anything she’d felt before, all she could do was hold on.
But then, suddenly, David ripped his mouth from hers. She opened her eyes slowly, reluctantly, thinking . . .
Whatever she’d imagined, it hadn’t included the expression of remorse and even shame on his face as he wrenched backward.
Her fingers released the cloth they’d gripped. For an excruciating moment, they stared at each other. Then, with a cry, she scrambled out of his buggy, gathered up her skirts, and ran.
If he called her name, she didn’t hear it.
David jumped out of the buggy and ran around the back in time to see a last swish of Miriam’s skirts and the door close.
He stopped, his hands fisted at his sides. What had he done? He had to explain, but . . . would she ever speak to him again?
His chest and throat felt as if he were a horse wearing an ill-fitting, too-tight collar. Too heavy, too, enough to almost bring him to his knees.
If he went after her, hammered on the door, would she open it? Listen to him?
He gave a hunted glance down the driveway. Eli and Deborah would be along soon. Ja, they probably intended to give him and Miriam a few minutes alone, but not long. If they came home to find him in the house, Miriam obviously upset . . . no, that wouldn’t be good.
A deep groan escaped him, and he forced himself to trudge back around the buggy and climb into his seat. To lift the reins, cluck to Dexter, feel the wheels start to roll.
It would be better if he could turn in to his own driveway before they passed him on their way home. Even a smile and wave were beyond him right now.
What would she tell them? In losing her, he’d lost her family, too. How could it be otherwise? He’d begun to think of Luke as his closest friend, the person he could say almost anything to, but Luke wouldn’t like anyone who’d hurt his sister.
Miriam, so strong in many ways, kind and generous, yet defenseless, too. He’d seen that when Esther lashed out at her. Years ago, too, when Levi ignored her. Maybe anyone with such a good heart lacked the ability to guard herself.
Hadn’t Levi seen any deeper than Miriam’s pretty face? Had he really been doppick enough to turn away from her? David hadn’t known his friend was thinking like that, despite the complaints that had stunned and angered him.
If Levi had lived and rejected her, David wondered, might she have given him a chance? But he knew better. She admitted herself she’d been blind to him. And how did “might haves” matter, anyway? Levi’s death had changed David, Miriam, Esther, and their families in ways that couldn’t be taken back.
In the distance he saw a buggy approaching, but he’d reached his own land. Dexter turned without any signal from him, Copper cantering along the fence line beside them. It seemed the old mare didn’t offer the companionship the young horse demanded.
As they drew to a stop in front of the barn, a storm of yapping came from inside. He no longer shut the puppies in the stall when he was gone; they now had the run of the barn and even the house—something that would horrify his mother, who didn’t like animals inside—but he didn’t yet trust them to stay on the property, not to dash out into the road. Or to duck beneath the fence rail and chase Copper, still prone to striking out with a hoof.
The moment he opened one of the wide doors, they burst out, barking, whirling, pushing between his legs, even nipping playfully at his trousers. David bent to give each a good rub. Dandy managed to swipe a tongue over his face. They had grown astonishingly in only two weeks, Dandy in particular. Seeing the size of his paws now, it was evident he’d end up substantially larger than his sister.
David realized he was thinking about everything but Miriam.
As he removed the harness from Dexter and hung pieces on the hooks designed just for them in the barn while taking care not to trip over a puppy, he wondered what she’d seen on his face. Kissing her had been . . . good. Ja, so good, the barbed stab of remorse, even of fear, had come out of nowhere.
He’d convinced himself he could court her, marry her, spend a lifetime with her, all without ever sharing the terror that still nibbled at him nights, the one that said, I killed my best friend because I wanted his girl.
He prayed that wasn’t so, but how could he ever be sure? And in that moment, holding her in his arms, in what should have been the happiest moment of his life, he’d known he could not go on deceiving her into believing his confession in front of the congregation included every wrong he had ever committed. It would be as if rot had begun in his body, unseen, but spreading until it consumed him.
As it had the maple tree that killed Levi.
Stopping for a minute, he bowed his head. Dear Lord, forgive me. He had almost fooled himself into believing all was well, every sin forgiven, leaving the way open to claiming the woman he’d loved for so long.
But that wasn’t love. Not the kind he yearned for. Whatever the outcome, he had to tell her the truth. Open himself to judgment.
Also unavoidable was another talk with Bishop Amos, who might place him under the meidung until everyone was convinced he truly had repented—assuming they ever did, when he had held back in his original confession.
Habit started him moving again. Dexter had stood around long enough today, weighted by the harness that might sometimes rub uncomfortably on his thin, sensitive skin. He deserved to receive his grain and then be turned loose to join his small herd.
Including the member of it that was now trumpeting his own demands.
David shook his head. He had to talk to Miriam, and soon. Make right what he could. She wasn’t working tomorrow, but that was because she was hosting a quilt frolic—finishing a wedding quilt for Elam that she’d pieced over the past weeks. He couldn’t intrude on that. Tuesday would be his first opportunity to speak with her, a good one because he had already promised to take her to work in the afternoon and return to be there when she closed the store.
It might be smart to arrive at the Bowmans’ early. Miriam was unlikely to eagerly await his arrival. In fact, he dreaded seeing the expression on her face when she first saw him.
The sensation of having his rib cage compressed increased.
He couldn’t bare his secrets to her during the drive to town, not when she was depending on him to keep her company at the end of the day.
On the way home, then.
That was assuming she hadn’t told her mamm and daad she never wanted to set eyes on David Miller again outside of church Sundays, and that when he pulled into the yard, Deborah didn’t march out to tell him that he needed to leave.
Not sure he could breathe, he let Dexter into the pasture and closed the gate. He prayed while he completed his essential chores, feeling guilty about the bounty of food in his refrigerator given by Miriam and her mamm.
They would forgive him, he knew that. Forgiveness was an essential tenet of the Amish faith, and for two such generous women, it would come easily. But forgiving a member of her church didn’t mean Miriam would be able to love him.
In his heart, he thought it impossible. Even so, he’d made his choice. He could not continue to lie to her.
Miriam had taken an unusual length of time debating with herself over what pattern to use for Elam’s wedding quilt. Some, like Fruit Basket or Bridal Bouquet, often made for weddings, seemed too fussy for Elam. Someday, she might make him a variation on the traditional Log Cabin quilt called Straight Furrows, because he was a farmer at heart. But she wanted to take advantage of the gathering of so many talented quilters with a pattern that left open spaces where the tiny, even stitches showed.
In the end, Miriam had pieced Checkers and Rails, all straight lines and sharp contrast, using green against the white background. Elam liked green.
The arriving women all exclaimed over the quilt top layered with batting and backing in the frame set up in the living room. Daad and Luke had moved some furniture this morning to allow space.
Julia was here today, of course, as were David’s cousin Katura Kemp and her mamm, Rebecca, plus Judith, Susanna Fisher, and Mara Eicher. Lydia Graber, a fine quilter, had been pleased by Miriam’s invitation. There’d been nearly a year where she had neither the time nor energy to join with other women at frolics.
Mamm didn’t quilt at all, but she and Rose were helping in their own way by happily preparing lunch for the group and entertaining Abby and Rose’s kinder.
Tired and heartsick, Miriam struggled to set aside thoughts of David. She loved to quilt, and these were all friends who shared her love.
They chatted and teased each other, Miriam’s childhood friend, Mara, suggesting she should have used the Hearts and Gizzards pattern for her brother. “Fitting, when you love him even though he was sometimes awful to you.”
Miriam had to laugh. “Ja, Elam stayed a brat longer than any other boy I knew.”
They all liked Anna Rose Esch, who was shy but so good-hearted, and remarked on how happy she must be that Elam’s farm was just down the road from her daad’s. “Young as she is, being close to her mamm will be just what she needs,” Rebecca said with a nod and a possibly anxious glance at her daughter, undoubtedly being eyed by many boys already, pretty and sweet natured as she was.
From long practice, even a hearty laugh didn’t slow the movement of their fingers: gathering fabric onto the tiny needles they all used, pulling the thread through, not even pausing at the heavier layers of fabric at seams.
They broke for middaagesse, meat loaf sandwiches, hot potato salad, sweet onion salad, and rhubarb crunch. Nothing they had to pick up that might make their fingers greasy, although they all washed their hands anyway before going back to work.
Talk turned to childbirth, a few glances at Katura keeping the conversation from becoming too descriptive, followed by relief that Tamara and her boppli were both well. Kinder in general engrossed them—Mara claimed one of her boys was a jumping bean.
“Like David was,” Judith agreed. “And fine he is, once he grew up.”
Hearing her complacency, Miriam thought about what David had told her. Should she suggest Mara talk to a doctor about her son?
Maybe privately, she decided.
The teacher for the school in Mara’s church district was getting married, and all speculated on whom the school board might choose to replace her in September. A favorite topic was rumors of who else might marry, giving them a chance to tease Katura, who blushed fiercely.
Nobody had teased Miriam in years, but today was an exception. Mara raised her eyebrows at her. “Maybe your daad will be planting celery, too, ain’t so?”
Miriam didn’t know what her expression gave away, but when she shook her head, no one pressed the subject, although she was aware of curious glances. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Judith’s smile die. Miriam was grateful right then for Abby, who appeared at her side, wanting a hug before her nap.
Listening more than participating in the chatter that soon became natural again, Miriam knew with a deep ache why that was so. She and Katura were the only two unmarried women here, and that was only because at seventeen David’s pretty cousin wasn’t yet baptized or ready to make that commitment. But Katura would, Miriam knew without asking. As much as Miriam valued the closeness they all shared, she too often felt like an auslander among them. Even Julia, her sister by marriage and dearest friend, had become one of them in a way Miriam hadn’t. She was married, a mamm, expecting another child. Soon to let go of the job that had given them something in common.
For all the confidence she’d gained, the independence, Miriam knew the truth: whatever she’d told herself, she hadn’t chosen to leave the path she’d expected to walk. The angry words Levi flung at her, followed by his death, ja, those had done damage. But once she’d seen David, she’d glimpsed another truth. She hadn’t felt anything like what Mamm described feeling about Daad for any man—until David. Why that was so, she didn’t know . . . but it hardly mattered now.
Miriam tied off her thread with a tiny knot that would be invisible, and took a moment to run her fingertips over the part of the quilt that was finished. She loved the texture, not soft, no, but strong enough to endure, to be used by Elam and Anna Rose’s son or daughter, and the kinder that came after them.
She could recapture the contentment she’d so firmly believed she felt before she’d seen David at the barn raising. As Julia had suggested once, he’d marry someday, grow a beard, become a daad and—not a stranger, but no different to her than Ira Hilty or Jacob Miller or any of the other members of her church.
She had to believe that.