Mending Hearts

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  He felt as if his head had taken a blow from the farrier’s anvil.

  Has it occurred to you that, even if you did notice the tree was rotting, you couldn’t have made it fall on Levi? It might just as well have fallen on you. Killed you.

  Why hadn’t that ever occurred to him? Because he’d been blinded by anger and then guilt, and never recovered his sight?

  He’d told himself Levi had pulled the saw deeper into the tree trunk, as if he’d been responsible for that as well. Now . . . David didn’t even know if that were true. Whether it was or wasn’t, the rot might have weakened the structure of the bole closest to Levi. David had had no way to know.

  Miriam was right. That huge old maple tree could easily have crashed down on him, and he hated to think that Levi would have blamed himself. Told himself that if he’d shut up sooner or never started complaining in the first place, David wouldn’t have died.

  Would Levi have run away from home, from his church and God like David had? Esther would have felt so abandoned, with no one to blame but her own son.

  Slowly, David dropped to his knees. Ja, he’d made a mistake not backing off to assess how to bring down the damaged tree safely. But God chose to take Levi that day. Not him.

  We’re human, striving to be worthy but never perfect.

  So much tumbled through David’s mind, he felt as if he’d spun around too many times, until he didn’t know up from down.

  Trust in God. How many times had Miriam said that to him? Had he not been taught that God would not forsake him?

  For the first time in his life, he felt as if his heart was truly open to his Lord.

  A sense of peace trickled through him. He slumped . . . and he smiled as he remembered the fear he’d felt that his secret might be revealed.

  Ja, the passage from Luke had once seemed like a threat, but now felt like warm fingers of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

  For there is nothing covered that will not be revealed, nor hidden that will not be known.

  Therefore whatever you have spoken in the dark will be heard in the light, and what you have spoken in the ear in inner rooms will be proclaimed on the housetops.

  He stumbled, rising to his feet, but each stride he took lengthened, became more vigorous, until he felt like a man who’d been carrying ten pounds of mud on each boot and a hay bale slung across his shoulder, and had now cast them off.

  He could forgive himself . . . and pray he was worthy of the woman he loved.

  * * *

  * * *

  Friday, Miriam saw David out in the pasture with a lead line on Samuel’s horse. From the glimpse she got as her brother’s buggy passed at a brisk trot along the road, David was ambling along with the horse, his arm resting over the animal’s back as it snatched bites of grass.

  Afraid she was craning her neck to keep him in sight as long as possible, she was relieved when Julia said humorously, “Some people have to work harder than others.”

  Sounding tolerant, Luke commented, “David isn’t a man to laze around. I think he’s getting that horse used to him, teaching it that having a person close by doesn’t mean he’ll be hurt.”

  Ja, that was exactly what he was doing, Miriam realized.

  Saturday, most of the congregation gathered to build a grossdawdi haus onto Martha and Enoch Beiler’s already large farmhouse. Nobody had said whether Enoch was ready to hand over responsibility for the farm to his youngest son, Andy, or whether the growing family simply needed more room. Andy and his wife, Bethany, had six kinder already, and she was noticeably pregnant with the seventh.

  Daad and Luke had decided to close their store for the day to free them both to help. This was a joyous occasion, as building a house for a young couple would be, instead of the more common need to build a house or barn to replace one lost to fire or tornado damage.

  Miriam saw Isaac and Judith arriving with David’s brother, Jake, and the rest of the family—but not him. Busy in the kitchen helping find room in the refrigerator for food brought by a stream of women—including Judith, who greeted her with affection—Miriam wasn’t even sure he was here until their gazes intersected as she carried drinks outside and saw him buckling on a tool belt. She couldn’t tell anything from the brief eye contact, and really, what had she expected? She was being as foolish as a boy-crazy sixteen-year-old girl starting her rumspringa.

  Knowing her cheeks were heating, she didn’t let herself watch for David among the other men, hard at work.

  Whenever the Beiler women were otherwise occupied, talk turned among the rest of the women to the new bull Enoch and Andy had been telling everyone about. During a break in the construction, clumps of men gathered along the fence extending from the barn to admire the bull.

  As the women set out food on the tables, Mamm said scathingly, “How are we to keep the children from going to look?” she asked. “Why would Enoch want to have such a dangerous animal, with his growing family?”

  Reminded, Miriam turned to Julia, who was looking in that direction. Before she could issue any warnings, Julia said, “We must keep a closer eye than usual on the kinder.”

  “Ja.”

  Miriam did notice that, during middaagesse, when the women served the men, Luke kept Abby with him instead of turning her loose to play with the other kinder her age. He could be trusted to be vigilant.

  She also observed that David sat next to Luke, joined both by his own brother and father, and Elam.

  Whisking by her, Mamm startled her by saying with obvious satisfaction, “Like one of the family, ain’t so?”

  Miriam wheeled around. “What?”

  But Mamm hadn’t heard her and wouldn’t have responded if she had. It wasn’t as if Miriam didn’t know whom she’d been talking about.

  Esther was here, perhaps having ridden with Gideon and his kinder. When Miriam saw her going into the house, she thought about following. But then another woman popped out, and two carrying dishes went up the steps. There’d be no privacy now.

  She enjoyed eating with Julia and Abby as well as some other young mothers who had embraced Julia from the minute she joined their faith. She reflected again on how her friendship with Julia was bound to change, or even wane, once she quit work to raise Abby and the new boppli, as well as the others that would undoubtedly come.

  How could it be otherwise, with Miriam still living at home, a spinster with no kinder, working almost full-time, and Julia happy to have the family for which she’d longed? At least they would always be sisters.

  After the meal, she was gathering dishes to take to the kitchen when David walked up to her.

  Small lines creased his forehead when he asked, “Are you and your mother leaving now?”

  “No, we’re helping Martha sort and pack the things to be moved to the grossdawdi haus when it’s done. We came with Daad.”

  “Then will you let me take you home today?”

  Her heart gave a hard squeeze and her cheeks heated. “I . . . yes. Denke.”

  “Good,” he said quietly, and strode toward the new addition, where men were resuming work.

  Afraid she’d drop the stack of dishes, she had to make herself slow down rather than hurry for the house. She set down the pile on the counter within reach of the woman currently doing the washing, and started out. From the porch, she scanned the clusters of women in search of Esther, finally spotting her standing alone, watching boys too young to help the men play an exuberant game of eckball.

  Oh, Miriam didn’t want to do this! But thinking about David, not knowing what he intended to say to her, she knew she had to try to get answers from Levi’s mamm.

  Not having seen her coming, Esther started when Miriam touched her arm lightly. She jerked around, almost looking frightened when she saw Miriam.

  “What do you want?”

  “To speak to you. I’ve tortured m
yself over your son’s death for six years now. I need to know why you don’t like me.”

  “You claiming to be his promised wife when you weren’t—”

  Miriam felt no compunction about interrupting. “I have never once told anyone that he had asked me to marry him. He hadn’t, and you and I both know he wasn’t going to. If you had something to do with that, please tell me why. I can forgive your anger, but I need to understand.”

  Esther started to turn away. Fired by determination, Miriam gripped her arm to stop her.

  “No. I’m not asking so much. Whatever you may think, I loved Levi, and I would have loved you.”

  Something changed on Esther’s wrinkled face. Her eyes usually radiated a kind of burning zeal, but suddenly they were damp. “You were too young, too silly.” Her voice sounded rusty.

  “Too young to marry then,” Miriam agreed.

  “There was talk. Everyone started saying, ‘Ach, you’ll have a daughter in no time. You must be so pleased.’” This bitterness was more brittle than usual.

  “But you weren’t. Was there another girl you wanted for Levi?”

  “He was too young, not steady enough! Running around with David, neglecting the crops, going to buggy races—” She broke off. “You thought I didn’t know that.”

  “I never went with him, never watched those. Those races are dangerous. I thought—” Her turn to stop, take a deep breath. “He was too old to still be taking such foolish chances.”

  They stared at each other.

  Then Esther firmed her lips. “Trying to talk sense into him was useless. I thought having you, so pretty and eager, wasn’t good for him.”

  “You told him lies about me.”

  “Not lies.” Esther looked away. “Just saying, ‘Did you notice she always touches Aaron’s shoulder when she pours his coffee at fellowship meals?’ or, ‘Are you sure she isn’t sweet on David, so much time she spends watching you two?’”

  “I never flirted with other boys or men. I was . . . was blind to all of them but Levi.”

  Esther lifted her chin, her gaze defiant. “I suppose you want me to say I’m sorry, but I did what I thought was right for my own son.”

  Miriam’s eyes burned with tears. Regretful tears, but angry, too. Although he was blurry, she saw David break away from the men shifting bundles of shingles to the foot of a ladder and start toward her. She shook her head fiercely and he stopped, still watching them.

  “But he’s been gone for six years, and you’ve kept accusing me of flirting with all the men, of thinking only of myself.”

  Esther’s face convulsed. “I had to believe—”

  “That it was my fault he died.” Oh, why hadn’t she guessed? “Because you knew he was upset when he left with David that day. Otherwise, you would have to blame yourself.”

  Esther’s grief hit Miriam like a blow. “I did blame myself,” she whispered. “I kept trying, but I couldn’t help—”

  Miriam stepped forward and wrapped the too-frail woman in her arms. “I blamed myself, too. More than either of us, David blamed himself. But it was an accident, Esther. Levi didn’t die because he wasn’t paying attention to what he was supposed to be doing. The tree fell wrong because it was rotten, nothing to do with any of us. God needed Levi. We can’t know why, but we must have faith. You know that.”

  Esther shook. Miriam cried. And a minute later, strong arms closed around them both.

  * * *

  * * *

  Such a scene they’d made! Miriam was embarrassed long after she’d fled into the house to wash her face and compose herself, leaving Esther sitting in the shade with Amos. David . . . he must have gone back to work.

  Miriam felt hollow when she emerged from the house to the steady beat of hammers tacking the shingles in place on the roof. Some families with young kinder were starting to leave. And no wonder! Windows had been installed, lacking only curtains. The new front door stood open, and Daad, Reuben Eicher, and Bart Kauffman were building a railing for the front porch, but talking and laughing, too.

  David had just pried open a can of primer or paint, but turned as if he’d been watching for her, his face creased with worry. She managed a smile before seeking out her own family just in time to hear Julia telling Mamm that her feet were swelling and she and Luke were going home so that she could lie down.

  Faced with Mamm’s alarm, she said, “The doctor said not to worry. Mostly, it’s just so hot, and I’ve been dashing around more than usual today, besides. I’m usually sitting at work, you know. And Luke insists on helping in the garden, even though he has plenty else to do.”

  Knowing her face must be splotchy, Miriam still gave her a quick hug around her much-thickened waist. “My brother would do anything at all for you, as you know perfectly well.”

  It was good to see a blush on someone else’s cheeks.

  Her mother turned to her with concern. “What happened with—”

  Miriam seized the moment to say, “David asked to drive me home, Mamm. I think we might leave soon, too.”

  Her mother beamed. “I’ve been expecting this.”

  Miriam felt her own smile freeze. “You don’t understand.” Did she? She added hastily, “Don’t expect too much, Mammi,” and rushed away.

  That was becoming a bad habit.

  * * *

  * * *

  Sitting beside him in the buggy, Miriam appeared completely composed, although it was hard to be sure with the black bonnet hiding her face when she wasn’t looking directly at him.

  After a minute, he said, “I’ve never seen Esther break down like that.”

  “It’s been coming a long time,” Miriam said, her voice huskier than usual. “She wanted to blame you or me for Levi’s death so she didn’t have to accept that it was her own fault she’d lost him.”

  Was she hiding her face because she feared it might still be puffy from tears? She didn’t need to. After he’d seen her embracing the woman who’d been so unkind to her, he had fought to keep his emotions in check. Miriam would never be able to hold on to anger. Her heart truly was too big.

  “But blaming others didn’t work.” David was quiet for a moment. “I never knew.”

  “I didn’t, either.”

  Noting a gnarled oak he was surprised the Englisch road department hadn’t butchered, he realized how quickly the short drive home was passing.

  “Were your mamm and daad ready to leave?” he blurted.

  Miriam said, “I don’t think so. Daad looked happy talking with his friends. He was giving advice on what finish should be used on the floor. As if anyone needed it. Did I hurry you away?”

  “No.” So nervous a semitruck could have come up behind them without his noticing, he said, “Once the roof was on, I could have left anytime. I . . . hoped to have a chance to talk to you.”

  The glance she finally cast him was full of nerves, a match for his own. But . . . she wouldn’t have agreed to be alone with him if she weren’t willing to hear what he had to say, would she?

  A man using his head wouldn’t be pushy. He would drive her home, kiss her lightly, at most, and take his time instead of insisting on talking about deeper feelings.

  David wasn’t sure he’d used his head yet where Miriam Bowman was concerned. She made him impatient, eager, hopeful, a lot of things he hadn’t felt in years.

  There was the Bowmans’ mailbox. At least today, coming from the opposite direction, they wouldn’t pass his place and stir up Copper.

  Her thoughts might be paralleling his, because she said, “I expected to see Copper pulling your buggy today.”

  A laugh relieved some of his tension. “I wasn’t sure how well he’d do, waiting all day. I need to be sure he won’t bite or kick if he gets bored.”

  Her chuckle was a lovely ripple of sound, genuine after the sorrow for Levi’s mamm. “The
boys are good with horses, but maybe not that good.”

  “Also . . .” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to take a chance with you.”

  That earned him a startled, shy glance.

  He barely had to signal the approaching turn to Dexter, who was coming to be as familiar with this driveway as he was with his own. Without being asked, he resumed his trot toward the house.

  Anxiety had David speaking rapidly. “What you told me Thursday helped me more than you can know. You were right. Everything you said. I wish I’d been more careful that day, not let anger take my attention from where it needed to be . . . but it’s true that the tree could have fallen any direction. I never let myself see that.”

  “Because then you’d have understood that you weren’t responsible for what happened.”

  “Not . . . entirely responsible.” He smiled at her exasperation. “I believe it’s important to do every job as carefully as we can to protect the people around us. But I do trust in God. I accept that he had need of Levi, and maybe another purpose for me.”

  “Oh, David.” She laid an impulsive hand on his arm. “I’m so glad. I only hope Esther can accept that, too.”

  He wished she would keep her hand where it was. He wanted . . . maybe too much.

  Dexter swept past the house. Shaking his head, David pulled back on the reins. “Whoa.” The horse stopped right beside the hitching post, as if that had been his goal all along. He was smarter, maybe, than the man who was supposed to be in charge.

  David turned to look at Miriam. “Can we walk a little?”

  Her head bobbed. “Ja. Certain sure.”

  He might have imagined that she sounded breathless, but didn’t think so.

  She’d already stepped down from the buggy by the time he tethered Dexter. She untied the ribbons beneath her chin that secured her bonnet, and took it off, leaving only the sheer white kapp that revealed sunny blond hair smoothed back from her face.