Jonah slipped the last buckle together on the bridle and looked up over the horse’s mane to see Lainey O’Toole walking toward him.
“Bess invited me,” she said, as she took in his confused look. “To church.”
“Our church?” he asked, wondering why Bess would have put Lainey in such an unfair position. She might have meant well, but Lainey shouldn’t feel obligated to come. “Our church . . . the service lasts for three hours.” He knew enough about the English to know they zoomed in and out of church in scarcely an hour’s time. Why, the first hymn was just wrapping up after an hour in an Amish church.
Lainey shrugged. “I’m used to that. The church I’ve been going to the last few years has long services, plus Sunday school.”
“The preachers speak in Deitsch.”
“I remember. I used to go with your mother.” She smiled. “As I recall, those preachers can get a good deal across with just their tone of voice.”
A laugh burst out of Jonah. She surprised him, this young woman.
“I can still understand a little bit of Deitsch. Growing up in Stoney Ridge . . . living with Simon those few years, I picked up a bit.”
Jonah looked past her to the rose fields, then turned back to her. “Du bisch so schee.” You are so lovely. Did he really just say that? Oh please no. He suddenly felt like Levi Miller, self-conscious and bashful and blurting out ridiculous, awkward compliments.
She gave him a blank look. “I guess I don’t remember as much as I thought.”
Oh, thank you, Lord! “I said, ‘Well then, hop up.’ ” He offered her his hand and helped her into the buggy. He happened to notice that she smelled as sweet as a lemon blossom.
This was how church was meant to be—pure and simple, Lainey thought as she followed behind Bertha and Bess. This must have been what church was like for the first disciples—no fancy church building with a steeple that grazed the sky. Just a home, shared, to worship in. And God was there.
Today, church was merely a well-swept barn. But God was here. She could feel his presence.
It was such a hot and humid July morning that the host—the Zooks of Beacon Hollow—decided to hold the meeting in the barn, where it would be cooler. The sliding doors were left wide open to let the breeze waft through.
Lainey sat in the back row bench on the women’s side, in between Bess and Bertha. Bess whispered to her that they had to sit in the back row because no one wanted to sit behind Bertha—she was too big. She also warned Lainey to watch her head. “Barn swallows might swoop in and steal your hair for their nest if they’re in the mood. I’ve seen it happen. Just two weeks ago, to Eli Smucker’s chin whiskers—”
Bertha leaned over and laid a calming hand on Bess, who snapped her lips shut and tucked her chin to her chest.
Lainey had to bite her lip to stop from grinning. She could barely contain the happiness she felt. It nearly spilled out of her. There was no place in the world she would rather be than where she was right that minute. It was a miracle of miracles. On one side of her was Bertha, a woman who had always been good to her, and on the other side was Bess, her very own sister. She could hardly hold back her feelings of praising God.
And to add to her happiness, she was still feeling a little dazed that Jonah had told her she was lovely. She was so startled by it that she pretended she didn’t understand him. But she did. It was a phrase Simon said to her mother in those rare moments when he was at his best. Hearing it from Jonah made her stomach feel funny. She glanced at him across the large room. His dark head was bowed, preparing for worship, she knew. Unlike her mind, which seemed to be darting around the room like one of those barn swallows. Where had these new thoughts about Jonah come from? He had always been just Jonah to her, Bertha’s son. She remembered that she had thought he was a good-looking young man. She had never been crazy about those scraggly Amish beards. Jonah’s was a full, soft brown beard that he had worn since he was twenty. She thought back to being disappointed when he started to grow that beard after he married Rebecca and covered up that fine square chin. His face had so many other interesting features, though, such as high cheekbones and gentle brown eyes that looked at her with warm concern.
Then, as if Jonah had read her mind, he looked up and caught her eye, and she felt a nervous quiver in her belly. She reached down to smooth out her dress as a small, elderly man stood up. A perfect, pure note, as dazzling as a sunrise, floated from his open mouth. The men joined in, then the women, all singing the same slow tune, the same quavery note, almost a chanting. Two hundred voices rising to the barn rafters. They sang for the longest time. Then they stopped, as if God himself was the choir director and signaled to everyone the end of the hymn.
As Lainey inhaled the familiar barn smells of hay and animals, and heard that long, sad hymn, she felt a tidal wave of long-buried emotion. Songs and smells could bring a person back to a moment in time more than anything else. It was amazing how much could be conjured with just a few notes or a solitary whiff. Her thoughts drifted to the church service she had attended with Bertha just a few weeks before her mother had died. The wind that morning had the barest thread of warmth to it. It smelled of the thawing earth, of spring. Lainey suddenly realized that was the last true moment of childhood. The last moment she had been thoroughly happy. A sadness welled up inside her. She shut her eyes and pressed her fingers to her lips. She didn’t want to cry, not here. Not now.
And then came the preaching. She was fine through the first sermon, given by an elderly minister. That sermon was told in a preacher’s voice, hollow and joyless. It was the second sermon, given by Caleb Zook. She vaguely remembered him as a friend of Jonah’s. Caleb was the bishop now, married to the small, copper-haired woman sitting in front of Lainey, who had a baby in her arms and a toddler by her side. Lainey was amazed at how quiet her children were, how quiet all of the children were. When it was Caleb Zook’s turn to stand and preach, his eyes grazed the room and rested on his wife’s face. Some kind of silent communication passed between them, because he shifted his eyes and noticed Lainey sitting in the back row. He delivered his sermon in English. For some reason, such kindness touched her deeply and made her eyes well with tears. An odd pang of longing pierced her heart. She felt overcome with a desire to belong to this—to these people—forever.
The woman with the child on her hip kept her back turned, slowly ladling the apple butter into small bowls. Bess wanted her to hurry, so she could take out the platter with bread and apple butter and serve the farthest table, where Billy happened to be sitting with his friends after the church service ended. Billy had smiled at her during the sermon. Twice. She thought that when he smiled, he really meant it.
She glanced nervously over at Billy. Sometimes, for no reason, looking at him made her chest ache. It was the tall, strong, splendid sight of him, she supposed.
Bess cleared her throat, hoping the woman would notice she was there, waiting. But this woman could not be hurried. Bess chanced another look in Billy’s direction and her heart sunk. Sure enough, Betsy Mast had gotten there first. She was leaning over Billy’s shoulder, filling his glass with sweet tea. The dreamy look on Billy’s face as he looked up at Betsy made Bess think about dumping the bowl of apple butter right on his head.
The woman spun around and handed Bess a platter of freshly sliced bread. Bess went to find where her father was sitting instead, to serve him. She looked all over and couldn’t find him, so she set the bowl and platter at the nearest table. Then she spotted Jonah, still over by the barn, leaning one arm against the door, engrossed in a conversation with Lainey O’Toole. The way Jonah was looking at Lainey—standing a full foot taller than she did, his head bent down as if he didn’t want to miss a word she was saying—something about the sight caught Bess in the heart. She stopped and stared. She’d never seen her father pay such rapt attention to a woman.
Her grandmother came up behind her and silently watched. Then she took in a deep breath and let it out with, “Hoo-boy
. Didn’t see that coming.”
6
______
On Sunday evening, Jonah told Bertha he had decided to get the test to see if his bone marrow could be a match for Simon. “I’ll have the test and wait for the results. But I’m not bringing any of this up to Bess,” he told her. “There’s no reason to. If I’m not a match, that will be the end of it. I won’t let Bess get tested. She’s barely related to Simon. The chance of being a match is remote.”
Bertha gave a brief nod of her head. “One thing at a time.”
He wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but he needed to turn in for the night. He stood to leave but turned around to face her. “Mom, why are you going to such lengths for someone like Simon?”
“He’s the only brother I got,” was all she said.
That comment struck him as forever odd. It was similar to what Lainey said at church this morning when he told her that his mother lured him here to be a bone marrow transplant for Simon. She said that Bertha had told her all about Simon’s illness, but she hadn’t had the courage to see him yet. “I’d like to go with you to see him,” Lainey told him. “It’s my day off, if you don’t mind going tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” he asked her. He knew Simon had treated her badly. Everybody knew. It amazed him that she would even bother with Simon.
“He’s the only father I’ve known,” was how she answered him.
So early Monday morning, Jonah met Lainey in front of the bakery and they walked to the bus station to catch the first bus from Stoney Ridge to Lebanon. He felt a little uncomfortable at first, spending an entire day traveling with an English woman, but she soon put him at ease. She started by asking him questions about Bess. It was as if she couldn’t get enough of hearing stories about their life in Ohio. He found himself telling her all kinds of stories . . . Bess’s first day of school when she came home and told him she quit, that one day was enough. Levi Miller, who overly liked her and left wilted flowers for her in the mailbox until the mailman complained. Her cat, Blackie, who seemed to have abandoned her at Rose Hill Farm and taken up the life of a barn cat. They both started laughing then and couldn’t stop. He hadn’t laughed that often in a long time, and it felt so good.
Just being with Lainey felt good. He hadn’t enjoyed another woman’s company so much since . . . well, since he first met Rebecca, he realized with a start. He had taken one look at Rebecca, in her pale green dress that set off her hazel eyes, and he knew she was the one for him. He never wavered, not once. He just knew.
And here he was, with feelings stirring for Lainey. Yet this made no sense. No sense at all. It was downright wrong. Lainey was English. Besides, he felt with a sting of guilt, there was the Understanding he had with Sallie. Oh, this was wrong, wrong, wrong.
And yet . . . he couldn’t take his eyes off of Lainey. He found himself memorizing every feature, every expression, of her lovely face. He marveled at her beauty, her glorious black hair that curled around her head like a wreath.
The hour-and-a-half bus ride to Lebanon flew by, and soon they were standing at a nurse’s station in the hospital, filling out reams of paperwork. Then they had a long wait until a phlebotomist would be free to draw Jonah’s blood for the donor test, so the nurse pointed them to the waiting room.
Lainey looked at Jonah. “Maybe I’ll go see Simon while you’re waiting to get your blood drawn.”
“Not without me,” Jonah said firmly. It worried him, having her meet up with Simon after all these years. He remembered Simon to be unpredictable. Granted, his love for the drink had much to do with those moods. But even at his best, Simon was not a pleasant person.
There was something in Lainey’s expression right then—a sadness? A longing? He couldn’t quite tell. Then she gave him one of her inscrutable smiles and sat down in the plastic chair. He sat down next to her.
“Jonah, why would you be willing to share your bone marrow with Simon?”
He set his cane on the empty chair next to him. “I guess I’m doing it for my mother. Since he was shunned all those years, there hasn’t been much we could do for him. But this . . . well, maybe this would give Simon the push he needs to return to the church.” He crossed his arms against his chest. “That’s what she’s hoping, anyway, to encourage him to make things right with God before it’s too late.”
“Did you ever know that Bertha used to bring us meals on a regular basis?” Lainey asked. “And she would slip my mother money to pay bills.”
“What?” Jonah was stunned. “My parents . . . ?”
“No. Not your father. Only your mother.” Lainey tilted her head. “Your mother . . . she’s something else.”
Jonah couldn’t believe it. No Amish from their church went near Simon. To do so would risk their own good standing. They were quiet for a long time after that, until he finally asked, “So are you in Stoney Ridge this summer to see Simon?”
Her head was bowed as she quietly said, “He’s part of the reason. I need to tell him something.” She lifted her head and looked him in the eye, as if there was something she wanted to say. He’d had that feeling before when he was with her . . . as if there was something she was holding back. But then, how could he really know that? He was just getting to know her.
If Simon was part of the reason she was back in Stoney Ridge, what was the other part? He was just about to ask when a large graying woman in a nurse’s uniform pointed at him from the door to the lab. “Jonah Riehl?”
He nodded.
“In here. Now.” Her lips compressed into a flat line. “Hope you got big-sized veins cuz I’ve had too many folks in here today with itty bitty veins. Had to poke ’em a hundred times.”
His dark eyebrows shot up in alarm. “I’ll be back soon,” he told Lainey. “Real soon, I hope.”
Fifteen minutes later, he came out, unrolling his sleeve. He looked around the waiting room for Lainey, but she was gone.
As soon as Jonah left with the nurse, Lainey went to find Simon. She finally located him on a ward for terminally ill patients. He was at the far end of the ward, and she felt herself trembling as she approached him. When she was about ten feet away, she stopped and watched him for a while. He was sleeping and looked so peaceful. Simon had been handsome before alcohol had thickened his face. He had good features, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes. Once, he had been a big man. Now, he seemed shriveled, like a grape left out in the sun. His face, once smooth and glossy, was like old shoe leather.
She used to be terrified of him. He could be sweet and charming, but then something minor could trigger an explosive rage.
She remembered one time when she served him a piece of cake she had made and waited by his side, hoping to see if he liked it. He had eaten it in its entirety. Then, instead of complimenting her, he yanked the blue ribbon she won at the county fair for her cherry tart off of the refrigerator and tore it into pieces. “You were getting too fond of that ribbon. Don’t you think I’ve noticed?”
She didn’t answer him, which had enraged him.
“Pride goeth before a fall. You should be ashamed!”
She glanced at her mother for help, but her mother looked away. “You’re right,” Lainey said meekly. “I was too fond of winning that ribbon.”
Afterward, her mother had tried to explain to her that it was getting injured in the war that had made Simon so quick to anger. Lainey wasn’t so sure. She thought he was born mad, though he was the only Amish-born person she’d ever known who had a temper on him. They were gentle people, she knew that to be true. Gentle like Jonah.
Simon opened his eyes and stared at her. Then recognition dawned in his eyes. Those eyes—icy blue—combined with his mane of thick white hair had always reminded Lainey of a Siberian Husky. “Elaine?”
Elaine, her mother. Lainey supposed she did resemble her mother, at least in coloring. Certainly more than Bess did. Bess took after Simon, that was plain to see. “No, Simon. I’m not Elaine. She died over fifteen years ago. I’m Lain
ey, her daughter.”
Simon peered at her, trying to comprehend what she was saying. He was very ill, she could tell that. “I got married once,” he said. “Long time ago, she left me. That’s when my life took a turn.”
“She didn’t leave you, Simon. She died having your baby.”
He closed his eyes and was quiet for a moment. After a while, he opened one eye. “I don’t suppose you have something to drink?” he asked her, licking his lips.
“There’s some water by your bedside.” She went to it and poured a glass, then held it out to him.
“I was hoping for something a little stronger,” he said, brushing her hand away that held the water glass. “Course, I don’t drink much as a habit. Don’t have the taste for it.”
She knew that was a lie. Simon drank like a fish.
He put his head back down on the pillow and gazed at her. “So, you’re Lainey. All growed up.”
She nodded.
“I don’t have money, if that’s what you’re after.”
“I don’t want your money, Simon.”
“You must want something. Showing up after all these years, without a word. You’re after something. Everybody wants something.”
“I don’t want anything from you. I wanted to tell you that . . . I forgive you. That’s all.” She exhaled. “I just want you to know that I forgive you.”
He snorted. “For what?”
She dropped her head and didn’t see him grab her arm until he had it tight in his grip.
“For what?” he snarled, like an angry dog. “I put a roof over your head and food in your mouth. You weren’t even my kid. You should be thanking me.”
His grip was weaker than she would have expected. She peeled his fingers off of her arm as calmly as if she was peeling a banana, and stepped back. “You can’t hurt me anymore.” She took in a deep breath. “No matter what you think, Simon, you do need to be forgiven. And no matter what, I do forgive you.”
The Search (Lancaster County Secrets 3) Page 10