Mending Hearts

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  Levi’s relationship with his mother hadn’t been easy, but even with his best friend, he’d never been so blunt as to say, Mamm hates Miriam. What am I to do?

  What would he have done? David wondered now. He couldn’t have abandoned his mother, but surely he wouldn’t have abandoned Miriam, either. Being confronted with such a choice would have torn him in two.

  David kept an eye out for Miriam—not that he didn’t always—and saw her a few minutes later, setting out food for the men who were finding places at the long tables. As always, the women would eat when the men were done; there wasn’t room for everyone to eat together.

  Inevitably, she and Esther passed each other a couple of times, but neither paused or spoke. Miriam never came close to him; in fact, he had to wonder if she wasn’t deliberately keeping her distance. And that led to his worrying that he had said something wrong. Was she shamed that he’d heard?

  Then he frowned. What if she’d taken his question about why Esther was so angry at her as an accusation? An implication that she must have done something to deserve that kind of accusation? David didn’t want to believe she’d jump to such a false conclusion, but as upset as she’d been, she wouldn’t have been thinking clearly.

  He calmed himself with the reminder that he’d have time alone with her during the drive home. Unless she changed her mind?

  He watched Esther, too, during her less frequent appearances. Her face remained set and closed, her lips thin. Nobody else seemed to notice anything different about her, and maybe there wasn’t. When had he last seen her smile? Surely when he was a boy—but he couldn’t picture it.

  What if he talked to her? Would she be honest about her fury?

  He grimaced. She didn’t like him, either. He had taken to staying away, grateful others had offered the help she still needed. Eventually, for Levi’s sake, he’d go back, but . . . not yet.

  “Making faces?” Sitting across the table from him, Jake spoke up, his eyebrows arched. “The apples in that pie sour?”

  He forced himself to relax, if only outwardly. If he were to talk to anyone about Esther, it would be the bishop . . . and he couldn’t even do that without discussing it further with Miriam.

  “I haven’t taken a bite yet,” he pointed out. “Just thinking about my aching back.”

  His brother grinned. “You’ve become lazy like the Englischers. Or should I say, you’re no stronger than a boy?”

  “Not unless you want to start trouble.”

  “‘And be at peace among yourselves,’” his brother said piously.

  Recognizing the quote from Thessalonians, David countered, “Do you think our Lord would consider taunts to be the way to keep the peace?”

  Beside him, Luke laughed. “Enough! We each have our strengths. I doubt you could use a saw the way I can, or convince a headstrong horse to do as he’s told the way David does.”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .” But Jake, grinning, subsided when he felt his father’s elbow in his ribs.

  Jake was distracted by a question from a friend down the table when Luke asked quietly, “Are you all right?”

  David forked up a bite of the pie. “Ja, I was . . . concerned about someone else, not me. Trying to decide how much I can help.”

  Luke looked past him, and David turned his head to see Esther snatching up dirty plates from the table the minute men had taken a last bite, not asking if they’d intended to have a second serving.

  “Take your fingers off if you’re not careful, that one,” Luke murmured, and David realized he’d made a logical leap to a conclusion that was wrong . . . but not so very wrong.

  “She’s not a happy woman,” he said, just as quietly. “Fixing that might be something only she can do.”

  “She isn’t kind to Miriam, I’ve seen that.”

  David glanced sharply at his new friend. “No, but your sister forgives her, no matter how often it’s necessary.”

  “She does.” But Luke looked perturbed. “But will God forgive Esther, if she clings to her imagined wrongs and never offers the forgiveness He expects of us?”

  There was no answer to that. David didn’t even try.

  After a minute, Luke said, “I forgot to say that Samuel Ropp came into the store yesterday to ask about you. Miriam told him that Daad and I think highly of you, but I don’t think he believed her.”

  She’d mentioned recommending him to Samuel. David shrugged. “He either brings the horse to me or he doesn’t.”

  “The printer in town makes business cards. We get ours done there, and so does Micah Yoder and many others.”

  “Does the printer design them, too? I don’t want fancy, but eye-catching would be good.”

  “That’s true. Miriam came up with ours, including a drawing of a rocking chair. She made up the one for the quilt store, too. Ruth was grateful.”

  “An artist, is she?”

  “Ja, in her way. I’m sure she’d be glad to help.”

  Had Miriam ever in her life turned anyone down who sought help from her?

  No need to even answer that.

  “I’ll ask her.” David grinned. “Lately I’ve come up with a list of all the things that I’m no good at—”

  “Some with your brother’s help.”

  He chuckled. “Ja, Jake is ever helpful. Designing something to advertise my services has gone on my list.”

  Obviously amused, Luke said, “But you and Levi had business cards. Who designed those? Levi?”

  “Levi never quite said, but I’m guessing it was really Miriam.”

  Luke gave a hearty laugh. “Of course it was.” He sighed, rubbed his belly, and said, “I suppose it’s time to heave myself up so Julia can sit down.”

  “You’re right. Your daughter, too—although I’ve never seen her eat enough to keep a bird alive.”

  As the two men joined the exodus from the table, Luke made a sound that expressed his exasperation. “You know that saying, ‘You can lead a horse to water’?”

  “She may have a growth spurt someday.” He looked ruefully down at himself. “I certainly did.”

  “You and me both. My mother used to complain that she’d barely sew a pair of pants for me than they suddenly ended in the middle of my shins.”

  “Mine, too. But just think. We didn’t have time to wear out our clothes, so our younger brothers probably never needed new ones.”

  “Maybe that’s why they’re so fond of us.”

  The two men laughed again.

  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 a
greed.

  “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.<
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  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.