An Uneasy Acceptance
SARAH TOSSED AND turned for the first few hours after she went to bed. Whenever she was on the verge of falling into a deep slumber, she would wake with a start, stare at her closed bedroom door, and wish she had a lock on it. Every time the floorboards creaked or the wind shook the planks of the house, she shivered and tensed. Waiting for Daniel to enter and prove himself to be a liar . . . and prove herself a weakling for believing such lies.
When she wasn’t waiting for his approach, she was pondering their latest conversation. She didn’t know whether she had been more disturbed by his refusal to take her bed, insisting on sleeping in the spare room, or by her fear that he would change his mind and slip into her bed in the dead of the night.
At twenty-seven years of age, she’d assumed she was long past the point of being surprised by life. Experience had taught her that expectations were not always met. Disappointment was a wasted emotion.
And though the Lord meant well, He was more than a bit stingy with hope.
But Daniel’s return had turned all that on its head. Despite all signs and hints to the contrary—the formal letter she’d received from his unit commander and his name appearing on the list of deceased—he’d returned.
And this was where the Lord seemed to enjoy teasing her the most. It seemed He’d not only decided to change Daniel on the outside, rendering him nearly unrecognizable, He’d gone and brought about even more changes to her husband’s personality.
Now, instead of being worn and exhausted and bitter, Daniel had somehow become lighter in spirit. Instead of looking at her in disappointment and barely contained fury . . . her husband was gazing at her with something akin to respect and gentleness.
It was a miraculous transformation. An almost unbelievable one.
One that she dared not trust.
Fancifully, she half imagined that the scars on the outside of his body had helped to heal some of the aches and fissures in his soul. She’d never understood why a man like Daniel had been so intent on being dissatisfied with his life. She’d always believed his family to be patient and caring. They’d treated her kindly before opting to move to Lancaster County in Pennsylvania.
And the Lord certainly knew that she had tried her best to be a good wife to him.
All night, snippets of their life together flashed by in a jumble of memories. Jagged scenes filled with private pain and furious accusations. Memories of animosity and disappointment. Some stated loudly, others borne in silence.
They’d been two unhappy people pulled together by an arranged marriage born of a desire for good land and social standing. They’d lived each day bonded by irrefutable vows and poorly kept promises.
She’d survived by avoiding him as much as possible.
And Daniel? Well, he’d found the best method of freedom . . . he’d simply left. In truth, no one had been more excited about the thought of entering the war than he.
To her shame, no one had been more eager to see him go than she.
Now, as the distant horizon turned milky gray, she lay on her side wondering what the Lord intended for them both to do, when she heard him stir. She clutched her favorite worn, frayed quilt to her chest as she heard the rustle of the husk-filled mattress beneath him every time he shifted. Of him slipping on his boots. She heard the door open and shut, then open again.
And then footsteps approached the bedroom.
As his feet shuffled closer, her heart began to beat faster. Dread warred with curiosity as she waited for the door to open. One minute passed. Two.
But never did the handle turn.
Only when she heard him opening the front door again did she climb out of her bed and scramble into her dress.
Back before he’d left for the war, their roles had been firmly in place. He worked the land; she cared for the animals. He managed their money and their time. She worked to accommodate him as much as she could.
Which was why—after she’d carefully fastened her gray wool dress together, pinned up her hair, arranged her kapp on top of it, and at last slipped on her shoes and stockings—she was so surprised to see that he’d gone out to the barn.
After pumping some water to heat for coffee, she gazed through the kitchen windowpane and stared at a flicker of light moving through the barn’s interior.
Back and forth it went, seemingly without reason.
Obviously, Daniel was looking for something that couldn’t be found.
After another minute of watching the light bob and dip, she decided to go out and see what he needed. Surely he wasn’t trying to milk Trudy? Trudy was temperamental on the best days.
However, when she stepped into the doorway of the barn, she realized Daniel wasn’t milking at all. Instead, he was walking along the circumference of the walls, his hands stretched out flat against the planks. His posture was rigid. And from what she could see of his face, he looked full of intent.
It was a mighty strange sight, indeed.
So much so that it suspended her reverie. “What are you doing?”
His head whipped around. For a split second, his eyes were wide. Filled with apprehension.
Before they went carefully blank.
“My activities are none of your concern,” he said at last.
She flinched. Stepped farther away from him.
Upon seeing her reaction, he scowled for a moment, before the muscles in his face eased and his tone turned fluid. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to frighten you. What I meant to say was that I thought I’d take a turn around the barn. See how things looked in the light of day.”
“Oh. I see.” She ached to point out that he held a candle in his hand. That the sun had barely begun its rise in the east. And that feeling planks in the wood seemed like a mighty strange way to become acquainted with anything. But she refrained. Questioning would only spur his anger.
At least, that was how it used to be.
“Is there a reason you came in here? Did you need something?”
“Nee. I, uh, came in here because I was curious as to what you were doing.” She reached out, ran a hand along the wall. “You know, I never asked why you first went to the barn instead of to the haus.”
His expression turned even more remote. “As you can tell, the war changed me. I hoped walking around the barn would help me get my bearings.” Looking away, he ran a hand along the barn’s walls again. “I’m still trying to get used to be being back.”
“I understand,” she said. Though she didn’t. Not really. “I mean, I’m trying to understand.”
He smiled tightly. “And I am trying to adjust to being home. We simply need some time, Sarah.”
She gripped a fistful of the skirt of her dress and squeezed tight. Just as she used to do when she was unsure of the state of his temper.
“Daniel, I was thinking that we should pay a call on the bishop.”
“Why?”
“To let him know of your return, of course.”
“What do you think he is going to say, Sarah?”
She squeezed her fist tighter. Surely causing terrible wrinkles in the fabric. “What do I think he’ll say about what?”
“About my return.” His brows rose. “Do you expect that he’ll be mighty pleased to see me? Or, perhaps, do you think he’ll be forthcoming about the community’s treatment of you?”
His voice was filled with sarcasm and bitterness.
“I think our bishop will be grateful that you’ve returned, Daniel. I’m sure Jeremiah will.”
“Jeremiah?”
“Our preacher. Don’t you remember?”
He shook his head. “Oh, but of course. The names and places still get jumbled in my head.”
She remembered just then that he’d said he’d lost his memory for a time. “Ah. Well, I think everyone is going to be mighty glad to see that you have returned safe and sound. That is what I think will happen.”
His expression clouded again. “I think it would be best to wait before we see others. I don’t want to pay a call on the bishop today.”
She nodded before turning back to the house. Though she had so many questions . . . for once there was nothing left to say.
AFTER SHARING A breakfast of cornmeal cakes slathered with butter, John loaded his shotgun, sheathed his knife, and went out to the woods. He was determined to bring back a hare or a squirrel, something for Sarah to make into stew for supper. The woman was painfully thin—it was obvious that she’d been subsisting on far too little for far too long.
She’d carefully folded her hands over her chest when he told her of his plans. “Do you think going out hunting is a gut idea, Daniel?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Her nervousness surprised him. Surely she didn’t believe he wasn’t able to provide for her?
She worried her bottom lip. “No reason. But, um, it’s just that one can get lost in the woods easily . . .”
It was almost as if she’d read his mind. He’d been hoping to make enough markers to return easily. He could only imagine that ruckus it would create if he showed up uninvited and unannounced on another person’s property.
But remembering Daniel’s pride—and his own self-respect—he pushed away her concerns. “I’ll be fine, Sarah.”
“Would you like me to come with you? I’ll be quiet. I promise.”
He felt so bad for her . . . and so incensed with Daniel. What kind of man ran roughshod over a beautiful, sweet woman like Sarah?
However, he was determined to keep to his plan, and to seek a little bit of private time. “I’ll be fine on my own,” he said tersely.
In truth, he needed some time to himself. Every time he was around Sarah, he found himself thinking about other things than his real reason to be at the farm—and that was to locate the jar of money Daniel had bragged was hidden near the barn. Only when he found it would he be able to move on with his life. Only then would he be able to reinvent himself, and this time for good. Without that money, he was nothing but a poor man with a painful past and no future to speak of.
Now, as Sarah continued to stare at him in a troubled way, it was obvious that only a history of being derided made her hold her tongue.
“Daniel, please. Please be careful.”
“I will.” As an olive branch, he said, “Also, about church tomorrow, I’m thinking that you were right. It would be best if we went.”
Her eyes widened. “You do?”
“Jah. It is time. After all, I am back, right?” He also was anxious to meet the rest of her church community, these folks who were so devout that they were willing to practically shun Sarah because they were upset about her husband’s choices. He couldn’t wait to look them in the eye.
“Jah.” But she still looked so afraid of him, he wasn’t sure if she was relieved or further dismayed by his proclamation. “All right, Daniel. I’ll plan for us to go church tomorrow. If that is what you wish for us to do.”
She was everything he had ever desired. Submissive, gentle. Everything that he’d yearned to have. Everything he’d never imagined he’d have.
Reflecting on how she’d felt in his arms, when she’d dared to relax in his embrace for that split second, he wondered again about what kind of man Daniel Ropp had been. What kind of man mistreated a woman like her?
What kind of man put his life in jeopardy when he had her by his side?
Realizing she was staring at him, still patiently waiting for a response, he bit one out. “It is.”
As he’d expected, she retreated, looking slightly chastised.
He made himself ignore his feelings of remorse. Instead, he slapped his hat back on his head, gripped his shotgun securely, and headed toward the woods. Only when he was out of sight did he lean against the trunk of an old elm, exhale slowly, and dare to face the truth:
He had become a very bad man. A terrible man.
And even though Daniel had abused and berated his wife . . . Even though he’d broken his promises about cherishing her and looking after her . . . Even though he’d even gone so far as to steal from her . . .
John was worse.
It was difficult medicine to swallow. Especially in the light of day.