Love in Unlikely Places

by Linda Byler

  She watched Ben walk up the road from the house the crew rented, and when he came to the back stairs, she hurried down and slid noiselessly through the sliding door. He watched her ascent, a light in his eyes, a smile on his face.

  “Don’t you look nice,” he said by way of a greeting.

  “I’m wearing work clothes, really.”

  He grinned. “How are you?”

  “Doing well. You?”

  “Good. I love my job, so time flies.”

  “When you’re having fun.”

  “Yup.”

  He looked down at her feet, then into her eyes, raised an eyebrow and pointed.

  “No. No shoes, I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.”

  They walked down the walkway, turned left, and walked along the water’s edge where the sand was wet enough to provide solid footing. Sure enough, what appeared to be wavy lines of dirt turned out to be seashells in a profusion of colors and shapes.

  Emma lifted her hands, a small gasp escaped her.

  “Oh my word. Seriously.”

  She bent immediately to select the perfectly scalloped ones, the small black ones, the conch shells that swirled with wide ranges of color.

  When her hands were full, she looked at Ben.

  “Oh, we don’t have anything to put these in.”

  He drew a plastic grocery bag from his pocket.

  “I came prepared.”

  “Oh great. This is great. I’ll get greedy and fill the whole bag.”

  “I figured you would.”

  She forgot about Ben and became like a child again, picking up shells, turning the over, exclaiming over the unique designs.

  “Look. Look at this one.”

  She held out a half-formed conch shell with pink and gray spirals.

  “It is absolutely beautiful.”

  She looked up at him for his response and found his eyes had changed into a light that seemed to imprison her own. For one long breathless moment their gazes were locked, united with the silent universal attraction of first love.

  “So are you,” he whispered.

  Emma blinked, blinked again, the only thing she could do to eliminate the spell he cast. She remembered his words then, and shook her head in denial.

  “I am not beautiful. You should see my sister.”

  “Now why would you say that?”

  She shrugged, didn’t trust being captured by his eyes.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “My sister Esther is a true beauty.”

  “I would like to meet her.”

  “She’s married.”

  “As you should be,” he said, grinning.

  “Twenty-six and growing,” Emma quipped.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am twenty-six years old.”

  He whistled soft and low. “You look about eighteen. Maybe nineteen.”

  Emma smiled. “Thank you.”

  He took her hand and held it, until she bent to pick up yet another shell. Then another. She was scurrying now, like a sandpiper, her feet and hands moving fast at the edge of the water as he stood watching.

  CHAPTER 8

  WHEN SHE RETURNED TO HIM AFTER ANOTHER FORAY INTO THE COLD water, holding her skirt up in one hand while she used the other to fish for more shells, he told her he had never seen anyone with skin and hair like hers.

  She dumped another handful of shells into the bag.

  “Makes sense,” she replied. “Last I checked I didn’t have a twin.”

  “You just don’t look like anyone I have ever seen.” He ignored her clever evasion of his compliment. “You’re not really a redhead, you’re not blond, and you’re definitely not a brunette. I don’t know what you are. Do you color your hair?”

  “Yeah,” she said, with sarcasm.

  He laughed. She loved his laugh.

  “You really do intrigue me. And it’s more than your amazing beauty.”

  “My what? Oh come on.”

  “I am serious.”

  “Why don’t we change the subject? Can we talk about you? Like how did you wind up here? I didn’t think there were any Amish settlements in this area.”

  She had abandoned the shell seeking and matched her stride with his. The sun was slipping almost to the expanse of water that met the sky, which was like a jumping-off post, a straight line where the ocean simply quit and the sky came down to meet its parallel line. The sky that had been blue was being painted in brushstrokes of purple, lavender, and a deep gold that surrounded the orange sun, a kaleidoscope of color that seemed to change as they walked.

  Tiny sandpipers bustled along at the water’s edge, their long, thin beaks probing the sand like knitting needles, finding whatever it was these birds loved to eat. Fat, insolent gulls with bold yellow eyes plodded beside them, the avian garbage trucks who would eat anything they could find, edible or not. They weren’t particularly impressed with the two human beings who walked along without resting on beach chairs. It was the ones who packed a basket of food and allowed them the leftovers they cared about.

  “I come from Lancaster County. Bowmansville,” he answered.

  Emma almost choked on her own gasp. What? Bowmansville. That was her sister’s husband, Sam King’s, hometown. It was an omen. Already, the dark crows of warning flew across her thoughts. She could not endure another monumental love that dropped her into the blackest chasm of loss and despair.

  “I came here to be the best builder I can be. I don’t have any attachments at home, only married brothers and sisters and aging parents who are still totally self-sufficient. So I’m staying all summer. I’m a partner with Daniel now, learning to go out on jobs by myself, without his crew. I love it. I especially love this job.”

  “I’m here for the summer too.”

  He caught her hand and held it close in his own.

  “Oh good! Perfect.”

  He looked at her and smiled, but she refused to look at him.

  “Don’t you want to stay?”

  “I do . . .”

  “What?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  She tugged at her hand till he released it.

  She said softly, “I am simply not good company so you might not want to hang out with me.”

  He stopped, made a sound of exasperation.

  “Now whatever is that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugged, looked away.

  “Oh come on. You know, finally I have found someone who, you know . . . Alright. I’m getting this all wrong. Look. I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m no spring chicken, more like an old rooster, and I’m just trying . . .”

  Here Emma burst out laughing, in spite of wanting to stay aloof.

  “No, I’m serious. I’m getting older, and so far in life, I haven’t found anyone I want to continue seeing, as in dating seriously, with marriage. Picky, they say. You’re too picky. Which I am, I guess. But every girl I ask, or that I have ever dated, is just . . . well, not what I am really looking for.”

  “Didn’t anyone ever break up with you?” Emma broke in.

  “No. I didn’t date a whole lot.”

  Emma said nothing.

  “Anyway, my sisters have done everything except tie me up and drag me to girls, and now they’ve actually given up. They tell each other I’m a stubborn old bachelor, spoiled rotten, baby of the family, and blah, blah, blah.”

  Emma hid her smile. She loved his expressions, his earnest hand movements.

  She decided to be honest.

  “Well, you’re lucky. I have had my heart broken into a thousand irretrievable pieces and I have absolutely no intention of letting it happen again. I don’t mind hanging out with you, but if you’re looking for more . . .”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh come on now. Don’t tell me I’ll have to fight for your affections like a valiant knight.” He pretended to pull a sword out of his belt and wave it in front of her.

  She didn’t allow herself to be
amused.

  “Of course not. Save all your time and energy, cause it won’t happen. I’m not going through it again.”

  But she knew she would, for him. She would, certainly.

  “So how do I go about this if I want to be friends? As in walking for miles along a beach without the thought of romance entering my head? Not to mention the heart, which must remain absent, of course.”

  She burst out laughing. She couldn’t help herself.

  He was a delightful conversationalist, besides being one of the best-looking men she had ever seen. And he was so confident. It was a rare trait among her people, who were taught obedience and humility from a young age. How deeply and how often had ministers extolled the virtues of Rebecca of old, who had drawn a veil across her face when she met Isaac.

  Breezy, confident, his gait energized, jaunty. He was who he was and not ashamed of it. How many men would have come up those stairs to present himself to her like he had?

  Oh, she felt the same tug, the same wonder of him she had felt for Sam King. Was she ready to meet this challenge? Knowing the outcome of the first disastrous try?

  “You know, this is getting complicated. If you have never experienced heartbreak, you have no idea.”

  He stopped and turned toward her. In the fading light, with his blond good looks, his eyes open wide, his eyebrows in arcs of incredulity, he was a powerful force.

  “But, Emma, you have to start somewhere. You can’t go hiding under a rock, peep out from time to time, and figure a guy will come along with a sign on his shirt that says ‘This one is safe,’ or ‘This one is the right one. He won’t break your heart.’”

  He was so earnest that in spite of trying to remain serious, she burst out laughing yet again.

  “You really are different,” she said. “We have known each other for only a few days and here we are, talking about personal issues that would take some men a year.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just forget it.”

  It was beyond twilight now, the heaving ocean having swallowed the sun. The sky’s vibrant colors were being subdued into submission by the approaching night, the stars appearing one by one, as if there were tiny holes poked into the huge dome overhead.

  “It’s getting dark,” Emma said.

  “It is never very dark on the beach,” Ben answered. “It seems the starlight and the pale color of the sand sort of lights everything up. I love the ocean at night. Sometime I want to go on a cruise. You know, one of those huge ships that have, like, ten stories, or whatever. They just plow through the waves, totally master of the seas. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Like the Titanic, you mean?”

  “Oh, come on. That was over a century ago.”

  “It can happen.”

  “But there is all this technology to predict weather.”

  The night was coming on fast now, and it was, as he said, magical. They needed no light to guide them, with the pristine stars and the pure slice of a brilliant half-moon that seemed to be suspended very close above them. The night was crisp, chilly.

  Emma wrapped her arms around her waist, shivered slightly.

  They had a long way to walk, in her estimation.

  “Getting cold?” he asked.

  “Sort of.”

  “I could put my arm around you, but that would be too much like romance, right?”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  “Now what is that supposed to mean? Whatever, as in, okay, if you want to, or whatever, as in, don’t even think about it, you really have a nerve?”

  And again, she found herself laughing where she wasn’t planning on it.

  “Let’s run,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  She ran beside him, in an easy lope, energized by the chill that crept up around them. She had always been proud of her ability to run with Dena, her legs strong and capable from the hard work in the produce fields. Her breathing accelerated as they ran, her bare feet leaving small indentations in the sand. They didn’t speak, simply sliced through the wonders of sand, water, and the ever-increasing light from the stars.

  She slowed, and stopped.

  “How will you know where we are?” she asked.

  “The houses. It isn’t far. Let’s walk. I hate for this night to be over. I’m afraid you won’t do this again.”

  “We can,” she murmured.

  “When?”

  “It’s not easy for me to get away. I am in charge of the two children. If I’m not there for their bedtime, I’m not doing my job. Roger and Kathy are very busy people. She’s always working on her computer, and he seems to take his responsibilities as surgeon very seriously.”

  “They definitely have money,” Ben said.

  “A powerful work ethic, too.”

  “You’re right. I can’t begin to imagine the amount going into this house. They’re reinforcing everything to twice the recommendation for hurricanes.”

  “They’re smart.”

  “They say some of these houses have been completely rebuilt, from one storm or another. I’ve questioned how wise it is to own a house in an area that can be like a sitting duck for the elements.”

  “But it’s so beautiful. The scenery here is unreal. I love the scent of salt water and sand, and . . . and that swampy, mucky smell.”

  For a long moment he said nothing, so that she was afraid she’d said something disturbing. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion.

  “Emma, I believe we are kindred spirits,” he said.

  She did not know how to respond to this.

  “I mean, I love the smell of this place, just like you. I love it. We are both older, with no luck at getting married. We are considered oddities by our families, because Amish people get married. It’s what we do.”

  “Not everyone,” she said.

  He laughed softly.

  “Your Titanic is always going to sink.”

  “What? Are you saying I’m a pessimist? An old maid pessimist?”

  She punched his forearm. He caught her hand and held it.

  “No. You are most definitely not destined to be single. Don’t you believe in God’s ability to plunk us down exactly where He wants us?”

  “You mean like a Monopoly board where we roll the dice and go where we’re supposed to? One shake of the dice and I land in North Carolina where you have already been parked. But I might get a go-to-jail card and that’s where I’ll sit. You can’t know the outcome of anything.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  He spoke with a note of exasperation, released her hand, and guided her to the faint outline of the walkway with a hand pressed lightly to her back. They stopped at the stairway leading to the back deck, and the glass door that would be slid back to swallow her whole, leaving only disappointment in its wake.

  “Goodnight, Emma. I’m sorry if I have offended you. I’ll see you around.”

  “Goodnight.”

  He moved off through the night, the sound of his shoes creating a soft, sifting note of finality.

  She stood very still, listening to the fading footsteps. Why did she do that, she wondered. Why had she purposefully repelled him? She had always done it, ever since Sam King. Held them all away, jabbing at each suitor with her sharp-edged saber, afraid of reliving the pain of heartbreak.

  Somehow, she could not bring herself to climb the stairs, so she sat on the bottom step, cupped her hands around her face, allowed her shoulders to fall with despair. There were no tears, only a dull acceptance of her fate.

  She sat on the bottom step until the chill of the night became an uncomfortable veil that she shrugged off. She turned and went up the steps, knocking lightly before trying the door. Inserting her fingers in the handle, she tugged, then pulled. There was no doorbell, so she rapped on the aluminum frame, harder.

  Putting both hands against the sides of her face, she peered into the kitchen, tilted her head to see the soft yellow glow of a lamp in the liv
ing room. There was no one in front of the television, although she could tell it had not been turned off.

  What if they had both gone to bed early, locked the doors without a thought for her return? She did not relish a night spent on the deck, neither would she hunker down in the sand below. Turning, she stood at the railing of the deck, taking in the semi dark of the night, the mellow breeze that held the chill of early summer by the sea, pondering her dilemma.

  Her employers had a television set in their bedroom, which meant if they were engrossed in a show, or working on their laptops, would they hear a rapping sound or a doorbell? Surely they would hear the bell if there was one.

  She made her way down the stairs, around the side of the house, and up the front steps. She saw the small orange glow before reaching the top. Yes. She reached out and held a forefinger to it and was rewarded with the sound of a clear ding-dong inside. She stood back, wrapped her arms around her torso, rubbing the palms of her hands up and down her forearms.

  Nothing.

  She tried again, and waited.

  The third time, she heard footsteps, the sound of a lock being turned. Then another. Kathy’s form was in silhouette against the backdrop of a low yellow lamp.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said.

  “Oh! Well, I forgot you were out.”

  She laughed self-consciously, stepped aside to allow Emma to come through the door.

  “I didn’t think I’d be this late,” Emma answered.

  Kathy stepped out to lock the door again, then drew herself up to her full height, and laughed again, a grating sound of condescension.

  “So . . . the walk must have been rather engrossing?”

  Her voice rose at the end, turning it into a question.

  “We . . . I was gathering shells. They’re on the back deck.”

  “It’s okay for this one time to be going out like this, but I’d appreciate if it wouldn’t happen again. Thank you.”

  With that, Emma was effectively disposed of by Kathy, who turned her back to enter the hallway that led to the bedroom. Emma stood, staring after the receding figure in the white bathrobe before making her way slowly up the stairs, feeling like a truant schoolgirl.