“We have hymnals on order, and as more folks come to live here, we’ll build pew benches to accommodate everyone over in the big conference room,” Preacher Amos explained to Deborah as they took their seats. “And because I’ll be the only one preaching until we get another minister and a bishop, our service runs quite a bit shorter than normal. Not that I’ve heard anyone complain.”
On either side of her, Laura and Phoebe chuckled. In keeping with the tradition of having the eldest in the district seated in the front, Deborah and her friends sat in a row behind Mattie, Christine, and Rosetta. Amos shared a weathered hymnal, the Ausbund, with the boys and the women grouped themselves so they could sing from the two copies they had. Most Amish families had their own copies, which were often given as wedding gifts and passed down through the generations, even though each district kept a large supply of them for Sunday services in members’ homes.
Amos announced the hymn number and then sang the first note in his rich baritone voice. As she joined in the familiar German words, Deborah could easily distinguish between Roman’s reedier tone and Noah’s more confident way of carrying a tune. Someday Noah would probably lead their hymn singing, for his hesitation in expressing his thoughts disappeared when words were set to music.
Deborah glanced up and lost track of the song. Noah was looking at her over the top of his hymnal, his brown eyes aglow. His clean-shaven face appeared more relaxed, more inviting this morning, and as he continued singing about the love of Christ for His church Deborah wondered if his heart was shifting closer to the forgiveness she’d asked him for.
Phoebe elbowed her, fighting a smile. Deborah realized she’d gone silent—and in a group this small, everyone else would know she’d been distracted—so she rejoined the music with fresh energy. Could it be that Noah had reconsidered? Did he want to be with her again?
Deborah’s heart beat happily, filled with hope. Roman acted as Deacon, reading the scripture passage from the big King James Bible—the chapter from Matthew that included the Lord’s Prayer. Then Amos stood up to preach.
“As we move through the days of the lives our Lord has granted us,” he began, “we run across situations that befuddle us—and people who get our hearts out of kilter. We in this room are prime examples of folks undergoing major change,” he pointed out. He spoke without notes, looking at each of them. “And even though we initiated our change of location, we know that once the apple cart’s been upset, some of the apples get bruised. And maybe our cart won’t fill up again the way we’d hoped and prayed it would.”
The three sisters in front of Deborah nodded their agreement. Across from them, Roman sat with a faraway look in his eye while Noah, his arms crossed tightly, continued looking directly at Deborah.
“It behooves us to recall that in the prayer our Lord taught us,” Amos continued earnestly, “we are to petition God for His kingdom to come, for His will to be done, and for our daily bread. We ask Him, as well, to forgive us the trespasses—the sins—we have committed. But then comes a stinger.”
Although Amos was speaking to them in a quiet, conversational tone, his voice carried up into the high ceiling of the lobby. “We are to forgive others their trespasses in the same measure that God forgives us,” he stated emphatically. “Matter of fact, we can interpret this part of the prayer to mean that if we do not forgive others, God will not forgive us our sins, either. We walk a dangerous path if we allow the differences between us to fester.”
Preacher Amos glanced at the women’s side, and then focused on Roman and Noah. “What if God calls us home before we’ve reconciled with those whom we feel have done us wrong?” he asked eloquently. “How will we answer Him on the Judgment Day, if He says that the unforgiven sins on our earthly record translate into black marks against us in the Book of Life, in the hereafter?”
Although Amos was looking right at him, Noah kept his face carefully composed. He was still focused so intently on Deborah that she felt her face growing hot. She shifted in her chair, hoping Christine’s body would block her from Noah’s view—but Noah moved, too, enough to keep her in sight. His lips flickered.
Was Noah fighting a smile? Trying not to reveal his improvement of mood, his change of heart? Or was he making light of the sermon?
Deborah looked down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. Perhaps it was better not to encourage Noah’s attention by returning it. It was a relief, half an hour later, when Amos ended his sermon and they bowed their heads in silent prayer.
Lord, I feel something important—maybe something life-changing—will happen today. Guide my mind and my heart. Help me to be still and know that You are God, and that You watch over us in all of our comings and goings.
Deborah didn’t peek, but she sensed Noah might be peering at her even as his head was bowed. During their courtship they had occasionally engaged in this sort of playful eye contact during church, to relieve the monotony of a service that typically lasted three hours. After another hymn, Amos pronounced a benediction and they all rose from their chairs.
“Denki, Amos,” Mattie said as she picked up her chair. “Your message was thought-provoking, as always.”
Following the others’ example, Deborah started toward the dining room to return her chair to the table. As she and Phoebe and Laura headed toward the kitchen to set out the food they’d prepared yesterday, however, Noah grasped her elbow.
“How about a buggy ride after dinner?” he asked in a low voice. “It’s not going to be like our common meal in Coldstream, where we had dozens of other folks to visit with for an entire afternoon. I—I could show you some of the places around Promise and out in the countryside.”
Deborah’s heart thumped like an excited puppy’s tail. “I’ve missed our rides,” she said, aware of how his warm hand still cupped her elbow. “Shall I pack us a picnic, like we used to take?”
“Gut idea. Never can tell how long we’ll be gone.”
Deborah’s breath caught. While her hopes rippled like flags in a breeze, she realized that their afternoon jaunt could either turn out to be too short or way too long, depending upon how the conversation went. She had no doubt that the focus would be on her, and on her Coldstream story. What if Noah has the same nasty plan as Isaac Chupp, when he took you out into unfamiliar countryside and dumped you?
Noah was still watching her, awaiting her response—although while she’d been standing this close to him, Deborah had forgotten where the conversation had left off.
She would have to trust him once they were alone in the buggy, as she had during their long courtship. And Noah, in turn, would simply have to believe what she said about the night that had so drastically changed her life. Deborah knew she’d need to plead her case persuasively, without the support of her friends. There would be no second-guessing and probably no second chances to reconcile with Noah if pertinent details slipped her mind while she was under pressure.
Deborah put a smile on her face, hoping she appeared more confident than she felt. “I can’t wait,” she replied. “I’m so glad you asked, Noah.”
Preacher Amos stopped in the kitchen doorway to gaze at them. “It’s a sight for sore eyes to see the two of you talking to each other,” he said. “Noah, I commend you for making your peace with Deborah. I almost insisted that you apologize to her—forgive her for breaking your engagement—right after I pronounced the benediction, but the Spirit whispered in my ear to leave it up to you.” He flashed them a bright smile. “As always, God knew what He was doing.”
Deborah considered the preacher’s words. If she trusted that God indeed had the perfect plan for her life, maybe someday she would look back on the ordeal she’d gone through in Coldstream and see how every frightening, humiliating detail had contributed to her growth in the Christian faith.
For now, though, she was on pins and needles.
* * *
As his mare clip-clopped along the county highway, Noah concentrated on the curves and hills that surrounded the
tiny town of Promise, trying not to let Deborah’s nearness weaken his resolve. It was just like old times, having her beside him in the open buggy, sitting so close that their elbows rubbed. But he couldn’t let memories of happier days distract him. Even though she lifted her face to the sunshine in a mesmerizing way—even though she looked so kissable with her eyes closed as her kapp strings fluttered in the breeze—his mission wasn’t to romance her again.
He needed the truth.
“It’s hillier here than it is around Coldstream,” she remarked as they passed a small farmstead. “More wooded areas, too. You probably have to watch for deer and wild turkeys crossing the road.”
“Lots of those around,” Noah agreed. He suspected Deborah was making small talk to distract him, although she’d always been more talkative than he was. Couldn’t she sense how difficult it was for him to ask questions that might have answers he didn’t want to hear?
“A lot of the places we’ve passed make me think the owners are hard-pressed,” she went on, gesturing toward a barn that looked ready to collapse. “Truman Wickey’s farm is by far the prettiest place I’ve seen. He must be doing really well.”
“Anybody who owns the big equipment Truman uses has to have a chunk of change to back up his business,” Noah replied in a rush. “But, Deborah, I—”
When she focused her soulful green eyes on him, Noah lost track of what he’d intended to say. And then, when he hesitated a few moments too long, Deborah’s eyebrows rose in bewilderment.
“What is it, Noah?” she murmured. “Say it out loud. I can’t read your mind.”
Resentment flared within him. How many times had she said that during their courtship? Deborah had to know what he was stewing about today, yet she insisted on pointing up his flaw, his inability to articulate ideas as readily as most folks did. At tense moments like these, he wished for just half of Preacher Amos’s eloquence.
Noah steered the horse onto an unpaved side road so he wouldn’t have to be as aware of traffic. “So—what happened the night the Bender barn burned down?” he blurted.
Deborah looked up the road, as though she wanted to avoid his gaze now that the subject matter had gotten serious. “What exactly do you want to know?”
Frustration made Noah grip the leather lines. The horse stopped in the middle of the road, which was just as well. “Start at the beginning.”
A sigh escaped her. “I looked down the road from our house and saw flames coming out the back of the Benders’ barn, so I rushed to our phone shanty. I called nine-one-one and then—”
“Why didn’t you alert the menfolk by ringing the fire bell, instead of involving the law?” Noah demanded. “You knew you’d be getting yourself into hot water by—”
“Because all the men were at Bishop Obadiah’s place!” Deborah shot back. “They were practicing hymns so new fellows could become song leaders—they wouldn’t even have heard the bell. By the time I could’ve hitched up a horse and driven clear across the district to tell them, the barn—and maybe the house and the sheds—would’ve been gone. And with the new family who bought the Bender place not moved in yet—”
She paused, throwing up her arms in exasperation. “Noah, if you’re determined to criticize everything I say, why not just take me back to the lodge?” she asked plaintively. “Do you have any idea how upsetting it is that my own dat wouldn’t hear me out—and now you won’t, either? Why can’t you believe I did the best I knew how?”
Noah let out the breath he’d been holding. When Deborah got riled up, there was no reasoning with her.
Maybe reason isn’t what’s needed here. Maybe patience is the better approach, because this is your future at stake, as much as Deborah’s.
Noah wondered how Preacher Amos’s voice had taken over his thoughts, but he probably stood a better chance of understanding Deborah’s situation—not to mention the bruise that had almost faded away—if he approached this problem the way he thought Amos would.
“Okay. Sorry,” Noah murmured. “So you called the emergency number. Then what?”
Deborah looked away, as though recalling the details upset her. “I ran down the road to the barn,” she murmured. “I saw Isaac and some of his English buddies drinking and smoking in there.”
Noah scowled. “But how could they not know the place was in flames? Why did they stick around—”
“How would I know what Isaac was thinking?” Deborah interrupted. “There were a lot of empty beer bottles on the floor. Maybe he and the others were so drunk they didn’t notice the fire—or maybe they weren’t smoking um, regular cigarettes. Or maybe they set the fire, seeing who could stay there the longest on a dare.”
Noah had no trouble imagining such a thing. Isaac Chupp was all about pushing trouble to the limits, seeing what he could get away with. “And they would’ve known the men were miles away,” he speculated. “And maybe they figured that since nobody was living at the Bender place, they could be long gone before anybody caught them.”
“That’s how I see it, jah.”
“But why’d you stay there, Deborah?” Noah asked as he turned to face her. “You had to know Isaac would—he’s got a reputation for getting too fresh with—”
“When somebody hollered that sirens were coming, the guys rushed out the door,” Deborah rasped. “Isaac saw me outside, stepping out of the way when his friends scattered toward the cars they’d parked out back. He grabbed hold of me—started hollering at me for calling the cops—”
Deborah’s anguish made Noah’s throat tighten, but he couldn’t let her off the hook. Couldn’t let the wetness shining in her eyes inspire his pity. “You surely could’ve broken away—or slapped him, or—”
“Really?” she blurted. “If you got a grip on my arm, how far away would I get? Isaac’s taller than you, and—and maybe stronger.”
Noah didn’t care to be reminded—especially by Deborah—of all the ways Isaac Chupp was superior to him, even if he didn’t understand how the bishop’s lazy son could be physically stronger than he was. Already the images in his mind were too vivid, and Deborah wasn’t nearly finished with her story. “And then?” he asked, struggling to lower his voice.
She blinked fiercely to keep from crying. “He shoved me into his rig. Said we’d get away from the cops and then he’d set our story straight—tell me what I was to say if anybody asked about the fire.” Deborah sighed deeply. “I realized then that I’d gotten myself in too deep, and that when Dat found out what I’d done—and who I’d been with—there’d be no right way to explain my situation. But I was already along for the ride, and it was getting dark. I had no idea where Isaac was taking me . . . or what he might do to get back at me.”
Deborah’s desperation made Noah’s heart shrivel. He didn’t really want to know any more, yet he had to hear her out. It would be one thing to forgive her, as his Christian duty, but it was another thing altogether to consider courting her again if she’d been . . . compromised.
“So he kept urging his poor horse along the back roads, going too fast in the darkness,” she continued in a resigned voice. “When he finally stopped, I didn’t have a clue where we were. He told me I was to deny any knowledge of him and his friends being in the barn—and if Sheriff Renfro came nosing around his place, he’d know it was me who’d tattled,” Deborah added emphatically. “When Isaac said he wanted to seal the deal with a—a kiss—”
Noah clenched his jaw. The mere thought of Chupp kissing his Deborah made him crazy.
“—I slapped him, as hard as I could,” Deborah went on doggedly. “That made him really mad. He threw open the buggy door and hopped out. Told me I was getting out, too—which was fine by me, until he grabbed hold of my neck and shoved me down into the ditch. And then he drove off.”
Noah could hardly breathe. He was grateful that Deborah had avoided Isaac’s advances, but there had to be more. Preacher Eli hadn’t banished his daughter on the basis of what Deborah had said so far. Had he?
Resisting the urge to take Deborah’s hand, he gave her a moment to collect herself. “So how’d you get home?”
Deborah’s expression turned bleak. “Started walking,” she replied heavily. “But I’d scraped my knees on some rocks in the ditch, so my stockings were torn, and once I finally reached a paved road, I still had no idea which direction to go. It’s really dark out in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night. I got so scared I cried out for God’s help.”
Noah looked away. Why was he putting Deborah through this ordeal again? Why couldn’t he just take her in his arms and comfort her?
“And then a car came along. It slowed down.”
Deborah’s voice had gotten so soft he could barely hear her. Noah decided he’d better withhold his affection until he’d listened to the entire story.
“It was that redheaded kid, Kerry,” she said.
“The one Isaac runs the roads with in that noisy old car?”
Deborah nodded. “He offered me a ride home. Said he’d been following the buggy from a ways behind us, figuring Isaac might . . . hurt me.”
“And?” Noah really didn’t want to hear anymore, but maybe it would do her good to clear her conscience by confessing the whole truth.
A tear dribbled down Deborah’s cheek. “I knew that as a member of the church, I wasn’t supposed to get into his car, but—but I didn’t know what else to do. I thought maybe God had sent Kerry to help me.” She sighed bitterly, swiping at her eyes. “Turns out he had the same ideas as Isaac, about how I could repay his favor. He—he got grabby in the car. I tried to open the door—”
“While the car was moving?” Noah’s eyes widened as he imagined this scene.
Deborah’s dejected gaze told of a desperation he couldn’t fathom. “Well, jah,” she rasped, “but I couldn’t unlock my door. Then we swerved off the road on my side. Kerry was so drunk he cranked the wheel hard to get the car back on the pavement, but it went too far. He hit a guardrail.”
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