An Amish Reunion

by Amy Clipston

  “Go on. Eat your sandwich.” Cevilla folded her hands on the table.

  With a nod, Meghan picked up the sandwich and took a bite. The softness of the bread was heavenly, the peanut butter and jelly comforting. She took a sip of the apple juice. “This is really good.”

  “It’s more like cider than juice,” Cevilla explained. “Freshly made by Thomas Bontrager. Perry’s father.”

  Meghan nodded, although she didn’t really care who made the apple juice, or cider, or whatever. In silence, she finished both the sandwich and the drink. Cevilla handed her a paper napkin from the wooden holder in the middle of the table.

  “Now that you’ve had some sustenance, let’s talk.”

  She started to shake her head. What was going on in her life wasn’t any of this woman’s business. But suddenly she found herself answering. “My life . . .” She hung her head. “My life is a mess.”

  “Whose isn’t?”

  Meghan’s head popped up. “You don’t understand—”

  “Oh, I understand. I might not know the specifics, but I understand what it’s like when things seem to be falling apart.”

  “Have you ever lost a fiancé?”

  Cevilla’s gaze held hers. “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  “That was your own choice, though.”

  Cevilla chuckled. “You know my story.”

  “I know a little bit. Grandfather told me you were engaged to one of his friends when you all were young, while the Korean War was going on. He said you broke it off with him and joined the Amish.”

  “That’s the gist of it.”

  “You broke his heart.” Meghan couldn’t keep the edge out of her tone.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I did. I loved CJ. But I believed God was calling me to be Amish. My only regret is that I hurt him. My heart was broken too.”

  “And that’s your fault.” Meghan crossed her arms.

  “You can look at it that way.”

  “What other way is there to look at it?”

  Cevilla peered over her glasses. “It wouldn’t have been fair to marry CJ when my heart was somewhere else. I could have ignored God’s call, stayed English, and married CJ. We would have been happy on some level, I suppose. But CJ deserved someone who loved him completely, without doubts or hesitation. Everyone does.” She leaned forward, almost as if she knew about Conor. But Meghan knew Grandfather wouldn’t have revealed her secrets.

  Tears dripped down Meghan’s cheeks. “I’m not so sure I do.”

  “Oh? I’m sure your grandfather thinks so. And he’s a man of impeccable taste.” She leaned back. “He’s friends with me, you know.”

  Meghan couldn’t help but chuckle as she wiped her tears with her fingers. “I can see why. Although, why did you two lose touch over the years?”

  Cevilla glanced out the dark window. “That’s a good question,” she said softly. Then she turned. “But it’s possible we were meant to be reunited only at this point in time for a reason. It’s also possible that you were meant to come here for a reason.”

  Meghan nodded. “To help Grandfather.”

  “That,” she said, pushing her chair back and standing up with the assistance of her cane, “and to help yourself.” She yawned as she shuffled to stand beside Meghan. She put her hand on her shoulder. “Remember, child. You are worthy of love. We all are.” Then she smiled. “Now, I’m off to bed. You should be too. Those shadows under your eyes aren’t going to go away unless you get some good sleep. Just turn that black knob on the lamp to the right before you leave the kitchen.”

  Meghan watched her go. The lump in her throat was gone, and she felt a tiny flash of lightness in her heart. Did she really want to be with a man who would cheat on her? No.

  Then again, was she the only one at fault in their relationship? If she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit a tenseness had developed between her and Conor for several months. She had sensed it but chalked it all up to wedding jitters and refused to discuss anything with him except wedding plans—even though he’d tried to address what was going on between them. That didn’t give him license to find another woman, but yes, she was part of the problem with their relationship. She just wasn’t the sole problem, like her mother seemed to think.

  She went upstairs, sat back down on the edge of the bed, and took her phone out of her purse. After staring at it for a few moments, she turned it on. She still had some power left. She touched the phone icon with her thumb and then checked her recent calls. Conor’s name was there, popping up more than five times in the past week. She knew that, of course, just like she knew he’d left a voice mail message each time. She hadn’t listened to any of them. She hadn’t wanted to hear his voice, to listen to his explanations.

  Maybe she should have.

  She checked the time. Would he even be home? Or worse, would his new girlfriend answer?

  Her eyes closed, and she pressed the phone to her chest. Part of her sleeplessness was because of a lack of closure between the two of them. She knew that, just like she knew she wouldn’t be able to move on if they never talked about what happened.

  Meghan looked at her phone again. She pressed his number. The phone rang once.

  “Meghan?”

  Her stomach lurched even as she heard the relief in his voice. “Yes, Conor, it’s me.”

  “Oh, Meghan, I’m so glad to hear from you. When you wouldn’t take my calls . . . although I understood. You didn’t have to take my calls.” He paused. “I’m . . .” His voice was thick. “I’m sorry.”

  Tears flowed freely now, but they weren’t all filled with sorrow this time. “Me too.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Richard sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, and stretched out his legs. He did a few leg lifts, simple exercises his physical therapist had given him to strengthen his muscles and hips after the fall. As he went through his regimen, he could hear the birds tweeting outside, see the sunshine streaming through the window, see the gleam of the polished wood trim around Cevilla’s closet. Quality work. He recognized it right away. He assumed nothing in this house was slapped together in a hurry, trying to meet a rushed deadline so a check could be collected and the next house built. He’d supervised the construction of his own house, knowing full well that contractors couldn’t always be trusted. That probably wasn’t a problem Cevilla had ever had to deal with.

  His exercises done, he stood, grabbed his cane, and went to the bathroom. A few minutes later he was walking toward the kitchen. A delectable smoky scent reached his nose. He smiled. Cevilla didn’t have to go through the trouble of making bacon. However, he was pleased that she had.

  When he walked into the kitchen, though, Cevilla wasn’t the one at the stove. It was Meghan. Not only was she cooking, but she was fully dressed and wearing a white apron tied around her waist.

  “Good morning, Grandfather.” She gave him a bright smile, one he hadn’t seen in a long time, and then turned over a bacon strip. “I’m making these extra crispy. Just the way you like them.”

  Richard nodded, dumbfounded. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Meghan—or her mother—cook. He hadn’t even been aware Meghan knew how, much less how he liked his bacon. He supposed she’d observed how their cook served it to him.

  He felt a touch on his arm and looked down into Cevilla’s pretty eyes. “Did you put her up to this?”

  “Me?” Cevilla scoffed. “Of course not. But I will say this: you can lead a horse to water.”

  But you can’t make it drink. His granddaughter and Cevilla must have had a conversation between the time he went to bed and now. He was curious, but he wouldn’t pry. It was enough for him to see Meghan smile. The bacon was a bonus.

  “Have a seat,” Meghan said, pointing in the direction of the table. “You too, Cevilla.”

  Cevilla started for a seat, but on impulse, Richard grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  She nodded, and then looked down at the
ir hands clasped together. Something moved in his heart. It felt so good to hold a woman’s hand . . . this woman’s hand. So much so that he didn’t want to let go.

  But she made the decision for him. She slipped her hand out of his and went to sit down. He followed her, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Had he offended her? That was the last thing he wanted to do.

  Meghan brought over a platter of bacon and set it down next to a bowl of hardboiled eggs. Again, another one of his favorites. Hardboiled was the only way he liked eggs, never scrambled or fried. He looked up at his granddaughter with tears in his eyes. This was the Meghan he knew, cooking skills aside. Thoughtful. Sweet. Caring. He hoped this meant she was back for good.

  She returned to the counter, and then brought two cups of tea and set them down in front of him and Cevilla. She left again and came back with a small white bowl. She placed it in front of him.

  “What’s this?”

  “Sugar,” Meghan said.

  He glanced up at her. “Really?”

  “A tiny bit won’t hurt.” She smiled, but the smile dimmed quickly. “You’ve managed your diabetes well all this time. I trust you know how much sugar you can have.”

  He put his hand over hers. “Thank you, Meghan.”

  She turned her palm up and squeezed his hand. “Now, you two enjoy breakfast.” She took off the apron and hung it on a peg near the cabinets.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked.

  “I had a couple of eggs a little while ago. I thought I’d take a walk. It’s a beautiful morning. And don’t worry,” she said as she walked out of the kitchen. “I won’t get lost.”

  Richard turned at Cevilla’s chuckle. “I really do like her, Richard.”

  He nodded. “Me too.”

  Meghan was still out for her walk by the time they finished breakfast. As Cevilla stood and reached to clear the dishes, she noticed Richard was drumming his fingers against the table. “I’m sure she’s fine,” Cevilla said.

  “I know she is.” He looked at her and grinned. “Just like I know she’s going to be okay.”

  Cevilla stilled, the flutter in her stomach occurring again, like it had when he was holding her hand. It unnerved her that she hadn’t wanted to let go of his hand, so she had pulled away from him, which had brought a new emotion into play—regret. She didn’t like this roller coaster of emotions she was on. She hadn’t felt this way since . . .

  She’d never felt this way. Her love for CJ was the bloom of first love, filled with expectation for a long future together. That’s what romantic love had meant to her. But there would be no long future with her and Richard, and that was a fact. More importantly, why had the thought even crossed her mind?

  Yet it was crossing her mind again as he smiled at her, spreading warmth and comfort into her heart.

  She took their plates to the sink and leaned against it, confused. Lord, I don’t understand this. My time for love has passed, and I’ve always accepted that. I’m too old for these feelings. It’s impractical and illogical and—

  “Cevilla?”

  She looked over her shoulder and saw him standing behind her. When she turned around, he moved even closer, the soft look in his eyes intensifying her feelings. “Yes?” Although how she managed to speak, she had no idea, which was shocking for her. She was never at a loss for words.

  “I’m glad I came to see you.”

  “Me too.”

  Meghan arranged for them to stay at a bed-and-breakfast, but every morning she took Richard back to Cevilla’s house. For several days he’d been a willing participant in Cevilla’s guided tour of Birch Creek and Barton, courtesy of what Cevilla called a taxi—someone who lived in the area and drove them around in his car. His granddaughter had spent a lot of time taking long walks, napping on Cevilla’s couch, and cooking in the kitchen, which left him and Cevilla time to be together. Time he thoroughly enjoyed.

  He’d met several people in the community, including the bishop, Freemont Yoder. His memory wasn’t what it used to be so he didn’t remember everyone’s names, but their friendliness and the beauty of the landscape became etched in his mind and soul. The longer he stayed here, the more at peace he felt. He didn’t miss the bustle and superficiality of Los Angeles. It was as if this place, in the span of a few days, had started to feel like home.

  But it wasn’t home, and the day before he and Meghan were scheduled to return to California, he and Cevilla headed to her nephew Noah’s house for an early supper. To his surprise, she’d decided to take a buggy. “I asked Adam Chupp if I could have Judah Yoder come over with my old buggy and Shep, all ready to go,” she’d told him earlier that day as they were snacking on homemade date bars, courtesy of his granddaughter. He’d had no idea Meghan could bake too.

  Judah had complied, and by late afternoon they were heading to Noah’s in a buggy. Meghan had begged off, saying she had some phone calls to make. Richard was glad to see her getting into the swing of things again.

  “I’m impressed,” he said, as Cevilla steered Shep down the road.

  “Don’t be too much. I could let go of these reins and he’d get us to Noah’s on his own. He’s been there enough times.”

  Richard nodded and looked out the buggy’s opening. He breathed in the scent of fresh earth and clear air. “I understand why you moved here,” he said.

  “Iowa is just as nice,” she said, referring to where she’d originally lived after going back to the Amish.

  “I meant becoming Amish.” He turned to her.

  “Don’t tell me you’re considering it,” she said with a small chuckle.

  “Would it surprise you if I did?”

  She turned to him, her mouth agape. “What?”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, waving off her surprise. “I have no plans to make a change.”

  “Oh.”

  He looked at her, but she was staring straight ahead, her expression unreadable. Was she disappointed? His heart leapt a bit at the thought. He hadn’t revealed his true feelings for her this past week, but they were still strong. She, on the other hand, had kept a friendly distance, which disappointed him. But what had he expected? That she’d fall for him after a weeklong reunion?

  Richard settled back in the buggy seat. He’d enjoyed his time with Cevilla, even as friends.

  They arrived at her nephew’s, and she pulled into the driveway. Noah came outside, helped them from the buggy, and immediately led the horse to the barn. Noah was a tall, lanky man with a friendly smile. Richard had already met him and his petite wife, Ivy, at their antique store in Barton. “Why don’t you come with me, city slicker?” Noah said to Richard with a grin. “I bet you’ve never stepped foot in a barn.”

  “I have,” Richard said, pretending to be offended. “I’ve even fed a horse.”

  Noah’s brow lifted. “Really. You fed a horse.”

  “Don’t give him a hard time, Noah.” Cevilla shook her cane at him.

  Her nephew held up his hand. “I promise I won’t.”

  “Go on inside, Cevilla,” Richard said. “I’d like to take a look at Noah’s barn.”

  She paused, but then nodded and went inside. Richard followed Noah into the barn and watched him give his horse some grain. Richard was taking in the entire scene. He hadn’t specified that his encounter with a horse had been feeding a pony a carrot at a fair he took Meghan to when she was little. He really was a city slicker.

  Noah shut the stall door and turned to Richard, his expression serious. “What are your intentions toward my great-aunt?”

  Richard was caught off guard. “Intentions?”

  “Yes, intentions.” Noah met his gaze straight on.

  Richard tugged at the collar of his shirt. He hadn’t expected to be interrogated tonight. But he also respected Noah for it. “We’re friends,” he insisted. “When you get to be my age, you don’t have many of those left.”

  Noah’s expression softened. “I suppose not. What happens
after you leave?”

  That question had been on his mind. What would happen after he left? Would he and Cevilla stay in contact? Or would they fall away from each other again, this time for good. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I suppose Cevilla and I will figure something out.”

  Her nephew nodded. “I’m sorry for prying. Cevilla means a lot to me.”

  “I understand.” She means a lot to me too.

  “What’s going on between you and Richard?”

  Cevilla looked at her niece. “Humph. Aren’t you a nosy posy?”

  Ivy smiled. “Of course I am. I learned from the best.”

  “If you’re referring to me,” she said, adding a few grape tomatoes to the fresh salad she’d helped Ivy prepare, “I will remind you that I haven’t interfered in yer and Noah’s life since you got married.”

  “True.” Ivy dried her hands on a kitchen towel and walked over to her. “But you did plenty of interfering before we were married.”

  She couldn’t deny that. “Is that the reason you invited us over for supper tonight? For payback? I’ll have you know that Richard and I are only friends.”

  Saying the words surprisingly caused her a bit of pain. She had quickly grown accustomed to his company, and she’d felt younger and more vibrant than she had in years. He was such a gentleman, just as he’d been even at an early age. He was intelligent, able to converse on any subject. But even better were the silent times they spent in each other’s company, when they didn’t have to say a word. Like earlier today, when she was crocheting in the living room and he was reading a copy of The Budget newspaper she’d had in a basket near the couch.

  Then he’d put down the paper and looked at her at the same time she looked up from her crochet. His smile had reached her clear to her toes. She would miss that smile . . . She would miss him.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Ivy put her hand on Cevilla’s arm.

  “Honey, you didn’t upset me.” Cevilla patted Ivy’s hand and smiled.

  The men came inside, and after they washed up, they all sat down for supper. Noah and Richard got along wonderfully, not that Cevilla was surprised. The food was delicious, which Richard mentioned more than a few times. “It will be hard to go back to boring eating after this week,” he said, adding more gravy to his mashed potatoes.