Love Finds You in Paradise, Pennsylvania

by Loree Lough

  “Levi,” Simon interrupted, lightly pressing a finger to the child’s lips, “please don’t talk, son.” Fear and agony sparkled in the boy’s eyes, and Simon resisted the urge to gently lay a palm over them. “Shh,” he said again, rocking forward and back, forward and back. His heart thumped as the enormity of the situation engulfed him. In one beat, he felt sadness and regret that he hadn’t reached the buggy sooner—in the next, unbridled, blinding rage toward the boy who had committed this hateful act. “Shh,” he repeated, “save your energy for—”

  His voice trailed off as he wondered what, exactly, he expected Levi to wait for. Simon had never been a fatalist, had always believed in holding onto that last web-thin thread of hope. But things looked bleak. He’d seen the mutilated bodies of deer, of cats and dogs that clung to life after run-ins with speeding cars and trucks, but Simon couldn’t remember an instance when a living being looked closer to death without actually being dead. How ironic that the same fluid that powered those vehicles was also responsible for this unspeakable crime.

  Tenderly clutching the now-shivering little body tight to his own, Simon closed his eyes and prayed for words that would comfort Levi. But none came. A great sob ached in his throat, yet he couldn’t give in to it. Not when the suffering child huddled against him needed reassurance and strength, needed to believe help would arrive soon to ease his excruciating pain.

  A small crowd had gathered, but Simon barely heard their shocked gasps and moans. He heard just one voice: “I…I am afraid,” Levi sputtered. “Is…is Mama coming…will she soon…be here?”

  “Don’t you worry, little Levi, you’ll see your mama soon enough.” Simon felt no guilt for the bold-faced lie. Instead, his guilt came from knowing that Hannah wouldn’t be with her boy again on this earth because he hadn’t reacted fast enough when he spotted those boys clustered on the street corner. Hadn’t run fast enough to catch the bottle of fire. Hadn’t reached the buggy in time to pull Levi to safety.

  Where was William? And the paramedics! Had anyone responded earlier, when he’d hollered for someone to fetch the boy’s father, to call 911? Get word to William, Lord, was his silent scream, so Levi will have at least one parent with him when—

  He couldn’t finish the thought.

  Simon felt dampness on his lap and, without looking, knew that Levi’s blood had soaked into his trousers. The snow between his boots, pushed toward the curb by a Paradise plow, had gone scarlet, and much as he wanted to put pressure on Levi’s wounds, there were simply too many, and he couldn’t stop the steady flow.

  “Will you…pray?”

  Oh, Levi, Simon thought, Levi, please don’t ask that of me. “Help me, Lord,” he whispered, his face tilted to the heavens. “Help me comfort him.”

  The instant the words exited his lips, Simon knew what Levi needed to hear.

  Soon, the heartrending tones of his lone baritone floated on the frigid winter wind. He didn’t remember having sung the song before, yet somehow he knew the lyrics as well as if he’d penned them himself. God, Simon believed, had put the words of Isaiah 40:31 onto his heart:

  “‘…and He will raise you up on eagles’ wings…’”

  Three verses sighed soft into the icy air before a woman stepped closer. Sitting beside Simon, her voice blended with his: “‘…bear you on the breath of dawn….’” Within seconds, a virtual choir, made up of Paradise citizens and visitors alike, formed a circle around Levi and the grieving man who held him close, their shoulder-to-shoulder bodies blocking the cold wind while they sang in sad harmony: “‘…and hold you in the palm…of his hands.’”

  When the hymn ended, Levi’s faltering voice crackled. “So…beautiful,” he sputtered, “…like…like the voices of angels….”

  The Amish didn’t worship with melody and lyric, organ and fife. Maybe that explained why these sweet strains plucked a restful chord in Levi. The Lord had sent calm in a most unusual way to this small, frail boy, and the proof was written on his now-peaceful features.

  Simon hung his head, unable to gaze upon this innocent face a moment longer. Thank You, Father, he prayed, oh, thank You for this miracle. Dare he hope it was a sign? That the Almighty intended to save Levi despite how bad things looked? That Hannah and William would have years and years to watch their youngest son fumble through adolescence and grow into manhood?

  The rude, piercing wails of emergency vehicles interrupted his hopeful prayer, growing louder as they drew closer, while Simon pictured the smirking teen who’d caused this misery. It took every bit of willpower he could muster to unclench his fists and jaw. There would be time enough later to ensure justice. For now, it was more important to put Levi safely into the waiting ambulance, where EMTs could—

  “D–Doctor Thomas?”

  Simon laid a palm on the boy’s cold, pale cheek and leaned in close. “Shh,” he repeated. “Can you hear the sirens? They’re here to take you to the hospital. They’ll fix you right up, good as new. Okay?”

  One weak nod was all the answer Simon would get.

  Levi grasped Simon’s hand and, with a power that contradicted his condition, held on tight. “Are we…are…we really are friends?”

  “You bet we are, big guy. I’m so very proud to call you my friend.”

  Eyes closed, a satisfied smile tugged at the corners of the boy’s pale blue lips. Then, “I…I love you, you know. Almost as much as I love Papa.”

  Grief groaned deep inside Simon, for instead of “I love you,” he heard “Goodbye…I’m dying.” He knew what the Amish said about death—that when God thought a person had lived out his usefulness, He called him home. Surely that couldn’t be the case for Levi. Not yet. He was barely more than a baby!

  “I—I love you, too, Levi.” And he had, from the day the boy entered this world, to this very moment. And no matter what happened today, he always would. Simon knuckled at the tears pooling in his eyes. Save him, Lord. Sweet Jesus, save him, please.

  The boy’s grip tightened still more as he glanced around, searching the faces that hovered above and mouthing Mama? Papa? Seth? Rebekah? And realizing they were not among those gathered, he gave a sad little nod, as if resigned to the fact that he’d meet his Maker today alone.

  “Tell them…tell them I am sorry,” Levi ground out. “And tell them—”

  “Levi,” Simon said, giving his shoulders a tender shake, “you have nothing to be sorry about!” He gentled his tone to add, “You have a job to do, kiddo…and that’s to concentrate. Hang on, little buddy. Stay with me, you hear, ’cause you’re gonna be fine, just—”

  “No,” came his hushed reply. “It is time.”

  “Aw, c’mon, now,” Simon said, faking a goofy grin. “How can you say a thing like that? Why, you’re nothin’ but a wet-behind-the-ears little pip-squeak, for the love of Pete!” He gave him a hug then kissed his chalky cheek. “You be quiet now, you hear me? Be quiet and let the paramedics and doctors do their thing. Got it?”

  “Psalm…cha–chapter eight, v–verse two…”

  Simon knew the verse well but had no intention of reciting it. At least not now. “Levi, I’m not kidding’,” Simon said, shaking a paternal finger under the boy’s nose. “You’re supposed to mind your elders, so you quiet down and rest, so—”

  He felt the boy stiffen, saw him grimace and try to lift his head. Simon’s efforts to blink back hot tears failed in that moment. “Levi,” he croaked past an aching sob, “I’m not kidding! Be still. Be quiet. Lie back and—”

  “‘Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings,’” Levi recited in a pure, clear voice, “‘hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.’” He grew quiet for a mere moment as one corner of his mouth lifted in a sad, slow smile. “I will miss your silly jokes, Doctor Thomas,” he said. “I will miss you.”

  And then his tiny body went completely slack.

  “Oh my,” wept the woman who’d sat beside Simon.

  “H
ow awful,” said another.

  “Heartbreaking…”

  “Tragic!”

  “Who did this awful thing?” someone demanded.

  “Those punk kids,” said another voice. “I saw them, running, when the buggy caught fire. And the fat one was laughing….”

  The next voice Simon would have recognized anywhere:

  “What is this?” William asked, shouldering his way through the crowd. “What—”

  His words stopped as surely as if a hangman’s noose had tightened around his throat. A myriad of expressions darted across his rugged, bearded face, from bewilderment and disbelief to concern…and unabashed grief.

  And in those same silent seconds, Levi’s soul left him. His gaze, still locked on Simon’s face, proved the truth of his final words. On his lips, the elfin grin that Simon had come to know and love, forever frozen in time.

  Knowing Levi was beyond pain now, Simon drew him into a fierce hug and buried his face in the bloody, hand-knitted scarf wound round his neck. What began as a muted murmur grew in volume and intensity until every man and woman stepped back. “Nooo,” he moaned. “Not Levi. Why Levi? Why?” Sobs wracked Simon’s body as tears splashed upon Levi’s angelic face. His mournful “Nooo!” echoed from every window and wall on both sides of Main Street.

  A light snow had begun to fall as William took hold of Simon’s forearm. “Get up, Simon Thomas,” he said. “Get to your feet now, and give me my boy.”

  Simon heard the agony in William’s stern command. The man had shared home and hearth, workdays and meals, laughter and chastisements with this child, every day for nearly six years. If the loss had impacted Simon this deeply, how much more lamentable must it be for the boy’s father?

  An ambulance and squad car jerked to a halt not ten feet from where the buggy still puffed smudgy spirals of smoke into the cloudless blue sky. Even if the day had been a gray and stormy day, the sight would have looked alarmingly out of place.

  He thanked God for the men and women who answered official questions in his stead, for it took all the strength he could muster to grind out a pathetic, “I’m sorry, William, so, so sorry,” as the man took his boy’s limp body from Simon’s arms. “I wasn’t fast enough….”

  “Will you drive us to the undertaker’s, Simon?”

  The simple question snapped him to attention. Horse long gone and his carriage destroyed, William had no transportation. Leave it to an Amishman to put his grief into perspective, to consider what must be done. “Of course,” Simon agreed. “Anything…” He could see on the man’s haggard face how desperately he wanted to be home with Hannah, with his other children, but this first stop was a miserable necessity.

  Feet planted in the blooded snow, William raised his bearded chin. “I will wait here,” he said, staring into his boy’s face, “while you fetch your truck.”

  A moment later, when Simon parked at the curb, several uniformed officers stepped up, intent on taking the boy to the hospital, getting witness statements, arranging for an autopsy. But William was adamant. “No!” he grated, “no hospitals. No autopsy. We can easily see what killed him.” He put his back to them. “My family and I, we will handle this in our way. God’s way,” he stated.

  “I’ll come to the station later,” Simon told the nearest officer. “For now, let him go. And let me help him.”

  Every policeman present had lived in Paradise long enough to know that the Amish had rules for things like this. Nodding, each stepped back, making room for William to carry the lifeless body of his youngest son to Simon’s pickup.

  It wasn’t a surprise, really, when the man climbed into the truck bed. He sat with his back to the wheel well, holding Levi close and dipping his head, his face hidden in the shade of his wide black hat brim. It would have been warmer in the front passenger seat, but Simon understood the man’s need for privacy in these last minutes with his son.

  It was a short drive to Brown Funeral Home. Simon could have parked out front, where the red-and-blue strobes of emergency vehicles, reflected in every shop window, were clearly visible. Instead, he drove around back and, girding himself for yet another look at Levi’s battered little body, hurried from the cab. “I’ll go inside,” he said as William scooted from the truck bed, “and get old man Jakes to roll a gurney outside.”

  William’s black hat dipped further as he nodded his agreement.

  Minutes ago, Simon had loped up the street, counting his blessings and listing the ways the little town seemed like a little slice of heaven.

  How quickly things can change, he thought, stepping into the dim hush of the funeral parlor, because right now, Paradise seemed like anything but.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hannah’s work-hardened hands trembled as she tucked the quilt under Levi’s chin. “He was a good boy,” she said, giving it a loving pat, “never asked for much.” A shaky sigh passed her lips. “Just a quilt…”

  Her quiet confession reminded Julia of that day in the café, when Levi had teasingly asked why strangers had his mother’s beautiful creations on their beds but he did not.

  “Just a quilt…”

  Julia rested a hand on her friend’s forearm and gave a slight squeeze. Throughout the day, Hannah managed to hold her composure through dozens of compassionate embraces and soothing words offered by family, friends, and neighbors. But this gentle touch unlatched the gates of Hannah’s carefully guarded heart, and the usually stoic woman fell sobbing into Julia’s arms. As her wristwatch counted the seconds, Julia prayed the Lord would help her find the right words to comfort this grieving mother. “You are such a good mother,” she whispered, patting Hannah’s back. “Levi thought so.”

  Hannah took one step back and blotted her tears on a corner of her apron. “You…you think he did?”

  Julia nodded. “I know he did.” She recalled the way Levi’s face would light up as his mama entered a room or how he put his whole body into every hug he gave to or accepted from her.

  “They will take him to the graveyard soon,” Hannah said. She gripped Julia’s hands tightly. “Will you come?”

  “Of course I will.” She’d attended Amish viewings before, parking her car amid dozens of horse-drawn buggies outside simple farmhouses. Her comments at each service had been heartfelt, but she’d always slipped away before the funeral. Today, Julia had arrived early to help the neighbor ladies wash dishes, refill bowls of food, and arrange cakes and pies on the very table where she’d shared so many meals with the Gundens.

  To get even one invitation to dine with an Amish family was an honor in itself. But by asking Julia back dozens of times—and including her in the family prayers—they’d made it clear she’d become a friend. She treasured the title, so yes, she’d stay.

  All day, people came and went, paying their respects and praying over the body of the little boy whose traditional white Amish burial clothes were hidden beneath a crazy quilt of flannel and cotton that more than made up in intricate stitchery and designs what it lacked in bright color.

  “I will miss him,” Hannah said, tracing one of the feathers she’d sewn into the fabric.

  “We’ll all miss him. But he took a big step ahead of us, and we’re blessed that we don’t have to mourn his passing, as people do who have no hope of the afterlife.”

  For the first time during that long, sad day, Hannah’s smile reached her eyes. Clasping both hands at her waist, she said, “Well, listen to you, Julia Spencer. Praise His holy name, for He helped you figure it out, finally.” She flung an arm around Julia’s shoulders for a sisterly hug. “Am I to expect you’ll become one of us, then, and live Plain?”

  Difficult as it was to fix her gaze on Levi’s gentle, ever-sleeping face, it was easier than telling Hannah that nothing of the kind would ever happen. She didn’t have the courage to live as these good people lived, sacrificing modern conveniences, saying no to bright colors and fashionable clothing, enduring the curious stares of tourists. And laying to rest an innocent lit
tle boy who died a horrible death because an Englisher had been led by judgmental hatred to kill. Worse still—being expected to openly forgive the boy who had taken Levi from them, because to do anything else was, in their minds, as serious a sin as the killing itself.

  No, Julia didn’t possess strength of character like that, and never would. But she’d never say so to Hannah. Today, of all days, the woman deserved to be surrounded—and supported—by friends and loved ones who shared her deep grief…and respected her beliefs.

  Hannah finger-combed Levi’s blond bangs into place then patted his cheek. “At least he is not part of this sinful world anymore.”

  Julia swallowed the sob that ached in her throat, remembering how those now-forever-closed blue eyes had sparkled with boyish enthusiasm. Oh, what she’d give to hug him one last time or hear one of the silly rhymes he made up to make her laugh.

  “It is time,” William said, one hand pressing his wide-brimmed black hat to his chest. He’d already donned his winter jacket and held Hannah’s with his free hand.

  Nodding, Hannah relieved him of her coat. “Would you look at that,” she said, pointing.

  Julia glanced toward the door, where Simon sat on a long wooden bench between Seth and Rebekah, an arm slung over each of their shoulders. Tears glistened in the children’s red-rimmed eyes, and in Simon’s, too, as he spoke softly, first to one and then the other. “He may not be Plain,” Hannah added, securing her black bonnet under her chin, “but he is good to the bone.”

  He looked up just then, and when his green-eyed gaze locked on Julia, it nearly took her breath away. Oh, how she loved this wonderful, bighearted man who was like a magnet for lost animals and brokenhearted children. He popped a kiss to each child’s cheek and then joined her.

  “They’re leaving for the cemetery now.” Watching his jaw muscles bulge and relax as he fought tears reminded her how he’d looked when she opened her door on the night of the accident and found him on the porch, still wearing a bloodied shirt and pants. It had taken him nearly an hour, between bouts of sobbing, to tell her what had happened as she quietly stroked the back of his hand, knowing that words would have been of little value to this man who’d seen Levi take his first breath…and watched him draw his last.