“Oh . . .” Sadie let out a breath, trying to shake the dream from her mind as she fully woke up. Samuel was next to her—he’d climbed up into her bed at some point during the night, and she smoothed a hand over his rumpled curls.
Mamm’s voice held apology. “I know it’s early, but if we can get things done quickly, maybe no one will notice.”
Sadie understood all too well. They didn’t want to spread the rumors that Daet was ailing. He might get better yet, but if the council of elders decided that the bishop couldn’t do his job anymore, they’d have a new lottery for another bishop . . . Daet would be crushed. He was already losing his ability to run his own farm. To take away his spiritual responsibilities would be cruelty.
“You’ll have to do the chores, Sadie,” Mamm urged her. “Let’s hope that Elizabeth and Amos sleep long this morning. I’ll keep things as quiet as possible downstairs.”
Sadie settled the sheet around Samuel’s sleeping form and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She’d been waiting for a chance to speak to Mamm alone ever since her in-laws had arrived, but that hadn’t been so easy.
“Mamm, there’s something I need to give you,” Sadie whispered after her mother. Sadie’s apron hung over the back of a chair, and she reached for it, fumbling in the pocket for the now familiar square of folded paper.
“This.” Sadie held out the letter. “I was waiting to catch you alone. It’s from Absolom.”
“Oh?!” Mamm snatched up the letter. “He wrote to you?”
“No.” Sadie shook her head. “He wrote to Elijah. Elijah gave it to me yesterday.”
Mamm nodded, her enthusiasm dampening. She swallowed a couple of times. She knew her mother was feeling the stab of that detail. She’d felt it, too.
“I’ll read it downstairs when I light the lamp. Now you hurry and get out there. Elijah arrives in an hour and a half, and if you can get a start before he gets here, maybe you can both be back inside before Elizabeth and Amos come down.”
Proprieties would have to wait for another time, it seemed, even with the Hochstetlers here to see.
“Mamm,” she whispered. “He named his daughter after you.”
Her mother put a hand across her mouth and shut her eyes for a moment as if holding back tears. Then she nodded slowly. “A girl . . .” She opened her eyes, and her tone firmed. “Well, he shouldn’t have bothered if I’ll never meet her.”
“Still . . .” Sadie said.
Mamm met her gaze for an agonizing moment and then slipped out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door softly behind her. Sadie stood in the darkness, her heart feeling heavy and sodden. It was impossible, wasn’t it? She wanted to see her brother so badly, but for what? He’d never come back, and she’d never go to the Englishers. They’d never speak again . . .
Sadie felt around for her clothes, pinning her dress into place by touch. She combed her hair quickly, then twisted it up into a bun at the back of her head to be concealed by a fresh white kapp that she pulled from her drawer. When she looked back to her sleeping son, he hadn’t moved an inch, and his breath came in a slow, even rhythm. May her in-laws be blessed with the blissful slumber of a tired toddler.
By the time Sadie got downstairs, the lamp was lit, and the downstairs was uncomfortably warm as it always was this time of year. Mamm stood by the lamp with the open letter pressed against her chest. Tears sparkled in her eyes.
“Mamm . . .” Sadie moved toward her mother, but Mamm folded the page quickly and slipped it into her pocket.
“I will show this to your father, and he and I will discuss it.”
“Absolom is a daet now,” Sadie said quietly.
“And still not married.” Mamm shook her head. “Again, I’m not sure if I should be glad for that, or not.”
“He’s thinking of you, though,” Sadie said. “He wouldn’t have named his baby for you if he weren’t.”
“And yet he did not write to me.” Her mother pressed her trembling lips together. “I’m his mamm.”
Sadie couldn’t comfort her mother there. She had nothing to offer. That offense was a private one between mother and son. Her son had left her, and he refused to come home. He’d left not only her, but his faith and the way of life she’d taught him so lovingly as he grew. Only a mother could feel the pain of that rejection.
“I don’t know what it’s worth,” Sadie said quietly. “But Elijah offered to take me to see Absolom. I could see his baby, talk to him. Maybe there’s hope he’ll change his mind if we go to him. I don’t think he’ll come to us.”
Mamm turned toward the stove and bent to light the burner. “Maybe.” Her voice was soft. “I’ll talk to your father. But I’m not sure it would be a good example to the rest of the community. We have a responsibility to them, too.”
“Okay.” They’d talk. That’s all she could ask. “I’ll go start the chores now.”
Sadie went into the mudroom and pulled on her rubber boots. There was work to be done, and as always, there was a strange comfort in that fact. Work gave them purpose, and kept them putting one foot in front of the other when they’d rather indulge their emotions.
Mamm would cook up a big breakfast, and Sadie would tend to the cattle. And when she got back, she would smile brightly, and they’d all pretend that nothing whatsoever was wrong. They were a good family, they were respected members of the community, and appearances must reflect that fact. People were watching, and people would talk. Their grief would have to remain private.
* * *
Elijah arrived at the Graber farm a few minutes later than usual, and he was deeply regretting having kissed Sadie the night before. It had been spontaneous and stupid, sparked by that dewy look in her eyes—her belief that she’d somehow not been enough for a man who was too blind to see the beautiful creature he’d married. And he wanted to erase that for her—as if a kiss could even do that.
Stupid. That’s what it had been, and she’d been right to tell him off.
His own morning chores at home had taken longer, and Elijah hadn’t wanted to leave everything to his mother to finish on her own. They were all tired. Elijah’s father had been working extralong hours trying to make up for his slower production on the bishop’s large order, and the bishop’s ever-growing demands on Elijah’s time took away from any physical help he could offer to his parents now that he was back. Still, his mother remained steadfastly grateful for that paycheck, and Elijah couldn’t tell her what time on this farm was doing to him . . . the idiotic things he was coming to because he couldn’t quite tear his heart free from the one woman he’d never had a right to.
The sky was still dark as he unhitched his horses and brought them into the stable for some hay and oats, next to the Grabers’ draft horses. Then he headed for the cow barn where his morning chores would begin. The nights were getting chillier on this end of August, and Elijah picked up his pace to warm up. His boots crunched against gravel as he walked down the road. It was strange to be back on the Graber property this way. He’d spent years on this farm with his best friend, helping out with the haying, the calving, or just spending a Sunday evening with the family. And now he was here as an employee . . . still overstepping bounds with the same woman. He had to stop this. Coming back had been to help out his parents, not to get himself entangled in old mistakes.
The only sound was the far-off lowing of cattle and the chirp of insects. Back in the city, the constant hum of traffic and voices had been distracting until he’d learned how to tune it all out, but, by deafening himself to one thing, he found himself deafened to others, as well. He could not block out the sounds of the city without also cutting himself away from the whisper of his own mind. So many times, he’d lain in bed wishing for silence, remembering how it felt to walk outside in the predawn gray when he could actually hear himself think.
When Elijah pushed open the side door to the barn, he could see the soft glow of a lamp already hanging from a hook, and the sound of metal against concrete met
his ears. But instead of the bishop, he saw the soft gray of a woman’s dress contrasting with a white kapp.
“Sadie?”
She turned and wiped her forehead with her wrist as she met his gaze. “Good morning.”
Her complexion was pale, and faint rings showed in that fragile flesh under her eyes. She heaved the last shovelful of soiled hay into the wheelbarrow and put the shovel down with a heavy clank.
“So you managed to beat your daet out here, did you?” he asked.
She kept a hand on the cow’s rump as she moved around it toward the fresh hay. “Mamm woke me up. We’re hoping to be back inside before Mamm and Daet Hochstetler realize how much I’m doing for my father.”
“They don’t know about his illness?” he asked.
Sadie shook her head. “They know that he’s seen a doctor and has some medication, but we’re trying to hide how bad it really is. If the elders decided to replace Daet, he’d have nothing left.”
“He’d have a fully paid farm,” Elijah said.
She paused, met his gaze earnestly. “What is that compared to the purpose he gets from his position with the church? Money . . . there is a reason we aren’t supposed to be focused on all that.”
She was no longer the vulnerable woman from last night, and he felt his ire rise. If money weren’t a consideration, he wouldn’t even be here.
“The work—I know.” Elijah pulled a knife from his pocket and cut through the twine that held together a bail of hay. The twine broke with a ping, and the hay sprung free. He picked up a pitchfork and began transferring clean hay to the cow’s stall. Sadie moved toward the wheelbarrow.
“I’ll get that,” he said. “It’s heavy.”
And dirty, and smelly. Sadie didn’t belong out here in the barn, working her hands to blisters in men’s work. But there weren’t enough men to carry the weight around here on a regular basis. The Grabers hired seasonal workers normally, and as far as Elijah knew, he was the first full-time regular employee.
“Thanks.” She reached for the milking stool and a clean metal bucket instead.
“You know, the Englisher women get offended if you tell them they belong in the kitchen,” Elijah said.
Sadie set the stool on the ground and settled herself onto it. “A woman belongs where she’s needed.”
Elijah couldn’t help but smile. She was more like them than she thought—that urge to prove herself capable. He’d struggled with how to talk to Englisher women. They were so direct, and he didn’t understand the difference between a woman who was flirting with him and a woman who felt sorry for him. It had been awkward all around.
“I once told a woman that she should focus more on taking care of her home,” Elijah admitted.
“Insulting her housekeeping?” Sadie asked incredulously. “That’s a stupid move.”
“No, I meant that she shouldn’t be working in manual labor with us men. She didn’t take kindly to it, let me tell you. She reported me to our boss, and I almost got fired. The Englishers have rules against that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” She frowned.
“Suggesting that a woman doesn’t belong doing men’s work.”
The sound of milk hissing into the bucket filled the air, and Elijah added another forkful of hay into the trough for the cow.
“If you’re saying I shouldn’t be out here—” she began.
“No, I—” Elijah sighed. He hadn’t meant the story to be a judgment on her. He was just talking—sharing a little bit of his life from Chicago with the only person he could speak to about it. He was still sorting out the Englisher irregularities, trying to piece it all together and make sense of it. “I was just remembering. Sorry. That wasn’t aimed at you.”
“I have little choice, Elijah.” She sounded offended. “Daet is ill. My brothers have land of their own, and if word gets out—”
“Sadie!” His voice reverberated through the barn, and she fell silent. “I didn’t mean that. I was just talking.”
The milk drummed into the bucket in a steady rhythm, and Elijah took the wheelbarrow outside to empty it. Sadie seemed to be expecting judgment from every corner. Maybe because she’d been experiencing it, he realized. He’d felt like a failure in that construction job. He’d been the least-skilled worker there; even the women knew more than he did. He’d bumbled through everything from the job to the social interactions. He didn’t know how to banter with the men, and the women who seemed friendlier toward him hadn’t stayed that way. He’d kept putting his foot in his mouth.
When Elijah came back inside, Sadie had moved on to the next cow, her fingers working in a steady rhythm as the milk sprayed into the bucket.
“Why do you tell those stories?” Sadie asked, and he paused at the stall where she milked. “They’re all like that—strange and uncomfortable.”
“I guess I have all these memories I can’t do anything with. They don’t belong anywhere, but I can’t just shove them into a drawer, either. Nine years is a long time. I need to—” He shook his head, looking for the words. “Sometimes a man just needs to be heard. I do the same thing with the Englishers—tell them stories that make no sense to them.”
“You could just admit that you made a nine-year mistake,” she replied. “That would make it easier to sort out.”
Sadie rose from the stool and she reached for the milk pail, her arm trembling under the weight of it. He caught the pail in his own grip as she exited the stall, and her fingers lingered next to his as he caught her gaze.
“So what am I supposed to do?” he asked, his voice low.
“You ask me?” She met his gaze uncertainly.
“Who else do I ask?” He felt a rush of frustration. He’d honestly wanted an answer—some piece of Amish wisdom that had eluded him, that filled in the gaps. She’d lived some hard years, too—whether she admitted to it or not. She wasn’t the same teenage girl who’d caught his eye all those years ago. She was a woman, warm and fragrant right in front of him, her chin raised so she could look him in the face—always so fearless when it came to him.
“You should just come home,” she said softly. “Permanently, and then put it all in the past. That’s my advice.”
She didn’t get it. A man could want to erase a part of himself so much, and it could still be impossible.
“Back in the city, I used to lie in bed at night listening to the traffic. It was frustrating—so noisy and bright. The lights would move along my wall, shining through the curtains. But I’d lie there trying to sleep, and I’d think of the things I loved about Morinville. Like the creek, or walking down that dusty road with you and Absolom when we’d talk about the future and what we wanted out of life. Absolom and I had craved freedom—and we have it. But what we scramble for isn’t always what makes us happy.”
She let out a pent-up breath, but her fingers remained on the pail handle next to his. She smelled of soap and something like vanilla. Her complexion was pale and spattered with the faintest of freckles, and he found his gaze moving down to her lips in spite of himself.
“I would have been happy,” she said. “If my husband had lived long enough for us to figure each other out.”
Elijah released the pail, and she moved away from him a few steps.
“I’m sorry it was so difficult,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she replied softly. “Like anything, happiness requires some work first.”
She had a point, he realized. Life didn’t just fall together. People worked for it—in the fields, in the home.... Even Englishers scrambled after happiness as they milled through shopping malls.
“So what are your plans now?” she asked.
Elijah shrugged. “To help my daet get his finances settled, and then go back, I suppose.”
“Still?” She shook her head. “Why not work your daet’s business?”
It would certainly be the Amish way, but his daet’s business had been driven into the ground, thanks to her overzealous father. He sho
ok his head. “There’s no future with it.”
“The future is in the family,” she countered. “In building something over generations and—”
“My father’s business is nearly bankrupt.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. “Your father insisted that he take out an electric tool, and his competitors overran him.”
She fell silent for a moment, then licked her lips. “But those are the sacrifices we make, aren’t they? The Amish life is one of simplicity and there is a cost to that, but the benefits outweigh what we might give up.”
She was one to talk!
“Sadie, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but you’ve never experienced a day of financial hardship in your life. You have no idea what a family faces when their livelihood is at stake. The ideals get tilled under with the money.”
“Then we work harder—”
“We?” he asked bitterly. “Your father could have made an exception as he did for other businesses. Our home has stayed staunchly Amish. A family can’t live by the Ordnung if it can’t make enough to survive, and poverty is shameful.”
“My father is fair,” she retorted. “A line has to be drawn somewhere, Elijah. You know that.”
There were other businesses that were treated more leniently, but she wasn’t going to see that right now.
“Your father is capable of great flexibility,” Elijah said bitterly. “Where it comes to Absolom, he’ll bend so far that he’ll brush the ground—wait and see.”
“My father has shown no partiality—” she began angrily.
“Oh, he will.”
Sadie glared at him, her blue eyes icy in the glow of the gas lantern. “Absolom is his son. I dearly hope he bends for him and brings him home where he belongs!”
“I know.” Elijah gave her a tight smile. Was she going to finally understand this? “And that will make all the difference. For you. Your family will flourish, Sadie. But no, I won’t follow my father’s business down into the dust. I want a whole lot more than that.”
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