Chapter Twenty-Two
When Nick kissed Mamm on the cheek and thanked her for dinner, David rose from the table, too. Already scraping uneaten food into a pail and piling dirty dishes in the sink, Miriam turned. She hadn’t yet had the chance to thank him. His departure would give her the best opportunity, although with his horse and buggy right outside, there’d be no stroll to the fence line.
“I’ll walk with you,” she said.
“Ja—” Eli started to push back from the table.
Luke applied gentle pressure to their father’s shoulders. “Mamm is right,” he said. “You need to sit or lie down. No work this week, either.”
“What?”
Miriam made sure her daad didn’t see her smile as she slipped out after David and Nick.
Both waited for her, and they walked the short distance together.
“Stubborn old man,” she declared.
Nick laughed. “Probably, but your father is a good man. I feel lucky that Julia married into your family. All of you have been so welcoming to her.”
“We love her,” Miriam said simply. “I was so glad when she decided to join us and marry Luke.”
There had been a time when she detected a wince on his face, and knew he wasn’t all that glad. She didn’t see anything like that now. Maybe he had become truly reconciled.
They’d reached the hitching post where Dexter waited. Nick held out a hand to David. “Thank you.”
“I did nothing special,” he began automatically.
Nick shook his head and said, “Thank you, anyway. Now, I should go first so I’m not revving my engine behind you.”
David laid a hand on his horse’s neck. “That wouldn’t bother Dexter.”
“Now, Copper . . . ,” Miriam couldn’t stop herself from murmuring.
His amusement still reminded her of the tension between them. His strange reaction after that kiss. Her behavior. She needed to keep a dignified distance, not tease him—but first she had to express her heartfelt thanks. Today had been frightening enough. She couldn’t imagine how she would have felt if she had been alone. Whether David denied it or not, she believed that, with his calm steadiness, he’d saved Luke and Julia from being hurt, or worse.
They all said goodbye, and the police chief strode to his big vehicle, jumped in, and started the engine. Dexter rotated one ear before pricking both at his master.
“David,” she began, “I must thank you. If you hadn’t been there—”
The back door slammed, followed by voices. She closed her eyes in defeat.
“If I hadn’t been there—” Voice rough and even desperate, David broke off in turn.
Luke and Elam walked across the grass toward them.
A storm seemed to brew in David’s gray eyes as he looked at her. “I need to talk to you. To explain—”
The other two men arrived, seemingly unaware that she and their neighbor might be doing anything but saying a pleasant goodbye. Glad for their presence, she both wanted and didn’t want to hear what David had to say. Miriam backed away.
David’s gaze caught hers just before she turned and rushed back to the house. He was upset, for sure. Feeling guilty because he’d hurt her feelings, maybe?
What difference did it make? she asked herself drearily.
David tossed a rubber ball into the small pond at the back of his land. Both puppies, already soaking wet, flung themselves in after it, splashing water that reached David’s pant legs. Dandy beat his littermate to the ball. She tried to snatch it from his jaws, but failed. Both were good swimmers, having webbing between their toes that showed their retriever heritage. Susie was going to have to learn to be exceptionally sneaky if she was ever to outdo her brother at anything, though.
David considered stripping and diving in himself. He hadn’t done that for many years, not since he and Levi—
He groaned.
Not tonight. One of these evenings, he might bring a fishing pole and try for catfish or sun perch. As a boy, he’d caught fish from this pond with his onkel’s help.
He tried to grab the ball from Dandy, who dodged to evade him. The puppy grasped only part of the concept of playing fetch. Just then a rabbit made a dash for the woods, and both puppies tore after it. Somewhere along the way, the ball dropped to the ground. Of course, the rabbit vanished long before two clumsy puppies could catch it.
Despite wanting to enjoy their pleasure in the outing, the needed companionship they gave him, the peace of the evening, David instead brooded.
How was he ever to talk to Miriam?
If he had a chance, it was only because she thought of him as a hero, an idea he rejected. She ought to know better. He was still reliving those terrifying moments two days later, especially at night when he should be sleeping.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he knew he wouldn’t have accepted her death any better than he had Levi’s. Which meant he still fought against the Gelassenheit that defined the Leit. Miriam was right that he didn’t accept God’s will as he should.
He prayed that he would learn. That he could, twisted inside as he’d known he was all those years ago.
He could keep his mouth shut, follow his original inclination, and stay away from Miriam. Never tell her, never call her a friend, never kiss her again. After the way she’d run from him, he knew she’d accept that, even if there’d then be talk about them. Neighborly, that’s all they’d be. He might have managed if they’d had little to do with each other from the beginning. If Onkel Hiram hadn’t left him the farm right next door to the Bowmans.
If Onkel Hiram hadn’t left him the land . . . would he have come home?
He shook off that thought, remembering how much he had missed his family, his friends, the Leit. Working with horses had reminded him constantly of the life he’d left behind, made him feel he wasn’t so far away. Ja, sooner or later, he’d have humbled himself. Maybe if he’d waited, come home with nothing, that humility would have gone deeper. Repentant enough, he’d have never thought he could keep a secret.
Now . . . he had to confess, even though he knew the result. Miriam deserved to know the truth.
Would she walk with him if he knocked on the Bowmans’ door some evening after dinner? Probably—but he didn’t like knowing what Eli and Deborah would think.
Yapping, bumping against each other, occasionally tripping and tumbling over to roll like pill bugs, the puppies raced back to him.
David smiled ruefully. As his onkel had done, he intended to keep this part of the land native. He’d seen wild turkeys strutting up here, quail, skunks, groundhogs, and, of course, white-tailed deer. Hummingbirds and bees drew nectar from the wildflowers that thrived amid the long grasses.
He’d grown up hunting, but never enjoyed it and didn’t see the necessity now. Although—his diet would suffer if Deborah Bowman quit sending home baskets of her food.
With a grimace, he reverted to his problem. He could go to the quilt shop during the day and ask to speak to Miriam—but that would be conspicuous enough to cause talk he didn’t think she’d like any more than he would.
Copper, turned out to pasture, neighed what sounded like a challenge. David turned, narrowing his eyes against the sun, and saw a buggy rolling up his driveway. The horse, a solid brown, wasn’t familiar to him.
He whistled and started back through the long grass, emerging from beside the barn just as the buggy came to a stop. Of course, the puppies barked and whirled around the horse, who tossed his head once before ignoring them.
He did recognize the man climbing from the buggy: Samuel Ropp, the hatmaker who had called the police. David had seen the police talking to him in the alley. In his fifties, Samuel was short and stocky, his belly getting round, his beard mixed gray and brown. The straw hat he wore covered his hair.
“Give me a minute,” David called, and caught Dandy and Susie because he was smarter than they were. They protested being shut in the barn, but settled down to whining instead of yapping.
Walking over to Samuel, David said, “How can I help you?”
If Samuel were here about a horse, it wasn’t the one hitched to his buggy.
Miriam didn’t argue when Luke and Daad decided to stop at David’s place Friday to invite him to dinner. How could she? They would wonder. And . . . her feelings were mixed. He’d proved the kind of man he was, while being reluctant to accept any thanks. She wanted to see him, even as a part of her would have preferred to hide from him.
Her family liked him. She had to get used to having him around often. It would become easier with time, she told herself.
They arrived just as he was leading a horse she didn’t recognize from the arena to the barn. It was a handsome bay with a white blaze on his nose, dancing at the end of the lead rope, flinging his head up. He tried to rear at the sight of her brother’s gelding and the buggy, but David subdued him with seeming effortlessness and led him into the barn.
“I wonder if he’s bought another young one?” Luke speculated.
“Young, for certain sure,” her daad said, “and no better behaved than the one he already has.”
Who had cantered beside them until the pasture fence stopped him, but hadn’t bucked the way he might have a few weeks ago. Miriam didn’t comment, though.
A minute later, David reappeared from the depths of the barn, the puppies gamboling around his feet. He went to Luke’s side of the buggy and greeted the family civilly. When her brother asked, David shook his head.
“That horse belongs to Samuel Ropp. He finally stopped by yesterday and we came to an agreement.” He sounded wry. “One more to his benefit than mine, unless he spreads a good word about me once I return his horse to him.”
Julia laughed. “Is he as wild as your Copper?”
“Not quite as bad as Copper was when I bought him, but not ready to pull a buggy out on the road yet.” He made a face. “Getting him here made me wish I could pull a horse trailer behind Dexter.”
Miriam ached to ask if he’d taken Copper out on the road, but kept her mouth shut. She remembered the day she gone to the hat store to tell Samuel about David, and her understanding that she was so much bolder than most Amish women, and especially unmarried ones. She’d repulsed David, and that quality might be why. Act like a maidal, she ordered herself, be shy, self-effacing.
Pretend.
Why bother, when David already knew her too well?
She had missed some of the conversation, but heard him agreeing to dinner and to the suggestion that he wash up at their house.
Miriam shifted to give him as much room as possible, nodding at David when he got in but not meeting his eyes. The first thing he did was look at her father. “You’re back at work so soon?”
Daad scowled. “I took a bump on the head, that’s all. And it happened three days ago!”
“Just surprised to see you,” David said mildly.
Daad huffed. He had not been a good invalid, to no one’s surprise.
Luke told David how relieved all the merchants in town were that two robbers had been arrested. A reporter for the newspaper had wanted to interview Miriam and take her picture besides, and Luke heard that the same man had badgered Samuel Ropp.
Miriam agreed that she’d said a few words, but not allowed the photograph, of course. Her daad had been too grumpy even to talk about his experience—although that wasn’t how Luke described their daad’s interaction with the newspaperman. Peeking from beneath her bonnet, she saw David suppress a smile.
He hopped out in front of the house and held out a hand to help her. She hoped her hesitation wasn’t long enough for anyone to notice. She reacted to the warmth and strength of his hand, as she always did, but didn’t let herself linger. Mamm would need help.
Something fizzed inside Miriam, though, however stern she tried to be with herself.
Would David ask her after dinner to walk with him?
As always, Deborah filled baskets with leftovers, jars of canned fruit and vegetables, and baked goods. Mostly cookies, David noted; did that mean Miriam had spent the week baking? Luke, Julia, and Abby left first, carrying enough food to feed them for a day or two. His own basket would last longer.
Once he’d thanked Deborah, his eyes met Miriam’s. “Would you walk with me?” he asked.
She went very still for a moment, like a field mouse caught out in the open when the shadow of a hawk passed over it. But he wondered a moment later if he’d imagined it, because she smiled and said, “Ja, certain sure. I suppose you’re curious about all the talk in town.”
Playing along, he grinned at Deborah. “My mamm won’t be happy if I don’t keep her up on the latest.” Which was true enough.
She laughed. Miriam didn’t. Eli, he thought, didn’t even hear the byplay, lines deeply creased on his forehead. He wouldn’t admit he’d gone back to work too soon, and would have rebuffed any attempt to persuade him to go lie down until David was gone.
Going out the back door, he reflected that he needed to return several baskets. He’d gotten behind. Better to think of something so trivial rather than what he intended to tell Miriam.
His shoulders tightened.
“I’m glad Samuel brought the horse to you,” she said after a minute, when the silence had stretched uncomfortably.
“Thanks to you and your daad.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t thank us if he isn’t paying you enough to make it worth your time.”
David jerked a shrug. “We’ll see.” His turn to make an effort. “You went to work Wednesday, not even taking a day off?”
“Of course I did,” she said sharply. “Ruth counts on me. We were especially busy, with so many people coming in because they wanted to hear exactly what happened.”
Ja, he could imagine that. “Did any of them buy anything?”
“Oh—spools of thread or a yard of fabric.” Miriam suddenly sounded tired. “Enough to give them an excuse.”
“Eli doesn’t look good.”
She shook her head. “It was all we could do to make him stay home for two days. This morning, even Mamm threw up her hands. I didn’t get a chance to ask Luke how much work Daad actually did, but you can tell his head aches.”
“Enough to make him stay home tomorrow, maybe.”
“Daad?” she scoffed. “Not him.”
No, Eli Bowman had his share of pride, although he wouldn’t call it that.
David looked around to see that they were almost out of sight of the house now. He drew in a deep breath that failed to steady him, as he’d hoped.
“You know I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
Because she quit walking, he did the same. She looked . . . wary, probably guessing that whatever he had to say wasn’t good news. He set the basket down by his feet.
“After I kissed you, I don’t know what you thought—”
Some powerful emotion darkened her eyes. She backed up a step.
He swallowed. Looked away from her, focusing on a bluebird with an orange throat perched on the branch of a bladdernut, a shrubby small tree. He felt his fingernails biting into his palms.
“This is something I’ve never told anyone. It has to do with why I ran away.”
She was watching him, he knew that much. He kept his gaze on the bird as it sidestepped along the branch, its head tipping one way and then the other.
“I was . . . jealous of Levi,” he said hoarsely. “Because of you.”
“Me?” Miriam whispered.
“Ja. I . . . liked you. You were always kind, never sly or small-minded like some girls. Not a gossip, either. Your smile warmed anyone you spoke to.” He paused. “I knew I was too old for you, but I would have courted you, except”—he grimaced—“you saw only Levi.”
After a pause, she murmured, “I had no idea.”
Nobody else noticed how he felt, either. He’d been grateful for that. He was like Eli, not wanting to appear less in anyone’s eyes. Taking too much pride in accomplishments, that was a sin most Amish successfully avoided. The kind of pride that made a man want to hold his head high, that was something else.
“I know. I never would have said anything.”
“But . . . he’s been gone a long time.”
David stole a glance to see crinkles on her forehead. “Because of me,” he said heavily.
“You? What are you talking about?”
“I was mad at him. He was grumbling—” No, this part he couldn’t tell her. Or . . . only tiptoe around it. “Esther had talked to him—”
Now he couldn’t look away from her widening eyes.
“About me.”
“He was wondering. Asking me what I thought. Telling me you’d argued.”
He couldn’t forget how anger had welled up in him, knotting in his belly, tightening his chest. How could Levi doubt Miriam because his mamm judged harshly and had a sharp tongue? Miriam deserved better from the man she loved.
She squeezed her upper arms, each with the opposite hand. Hugging herself. Her shock showed. “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Tell him what you thought?”
“No.” Not him. He’d bitten his tongue when he should have set down his ax.
He’d been making the undercut in a huge old maple with the ax he kept razor sharp. The deep V not only helped determine which direction the tree would fall, it exposed the heart of the trunk. Let him see any flaws in the grain or decay. Depending on what he saw, he was always the one to make the judgment.
Not noticing his silence, Levi stood to one side, continuing to jabber when he should have been counting his blessings. Swinging with his usual precision, David had sent chips flying furiously, but he never looked at the core of the tree.
Except—even now, he knew what he’d seen. What he had to have seen. Grain that twisted as if two small trees had wound together and become one, although, if so, that wasn’t obvious from the outside. Worse yet, he’d been blind to the rot that was especially common as maple trees aged. He and Levi had been taking this one out in hopes of good wood, not because it was a danger to a house or barn, but it didn’t matter. He had let himself be distracted when his partner depended on him for his safety.
That would be bad enough, him too confident he could stay focused when it was important, but his greatest fear was that he had seen the flaws and made the same calculations he always would before he stomped around to the other side and picked up one end of the crosscut saw.
He’d snapped at Levi to shut his trap and get to work instead.
Levi had scowled. “This is important!”
David didn’t know what his friend saw on his face, but after a moment he’d stepped forward and grabbed his end of the saw.
David still wondered if he’d made sure Levi’s cut bit deeper on his side, or if he’d only let it happen because he was mad about what Levi was saying, or because he’d stood around and let David do all the work.
“You know the tree fell the wrong way,” he heard himself say now.
Her expression taut with apprehension, Miriam barely nodded.
He had to force the rest out through a throat so rough it seemed to have splinters. “Or maybe I was so angry, it fell the way I wanted it to.”
Her expression changed slowly. He was painfully aware of each incremental change: the skin tightening over her cheekbones, her mouth forming an O, her eyes . . .
Ach, he couldn’t look into her eyes.
“You”—her voice hitched—“wanted him to die?”
David shuddered. Had his anger truly been so destructive? He prayed that it wasn’t so—but at the very least, he had become careless because of temper and jealousy. He was the expert on felling trees, the one who’d always had an uncanny eye for when they’d groan and start in slow motion, precisely where their monstrous weight would land.
That day, he had been cataclysmically wrong.
He said honestly, “No, not that. But . . .”
Miriam took a slow step backward. Then another, and another. At last she said, each word rimed with ice, “He really is gone because of you.”
“I thought I’d put it behind me. I wanted to court you.” David gave his head a hard shake. “But I couldn’t. Not . . . without you knowing it was my fault.”
Her eyes brimmed with shock and grief, or even something more caustic. Her lips parted. He braced himself . . . but it was a sob that ripped through her.
She turned and ran.