“Thanks. I mean, danki.”
“Your Pennsylvania Dutch is rusty.” She went ahead of him down the hall keeping one hand lightly in contact with the wall.
“I’m sure it will come back to me.” Did she recognize his voice now that his illness had healed? Did she suspect he was the man she knew as Booker? He longed to tell her, but he wasn’t Booker anymore. He’d left that life behind. He wanted her to know the man he was intent on becoming.
When they reached the kitchen she moved to the far side of the table and faced him. “Are you ready for coffee and cookies now?”
“Have you picked all the glass shards out of them?”
“All that I could see.” A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.
“Blind humor. Are you trying to put me at ease?”
“Why would you be ill at ease?”
Because I left you. Because I spent ten years excommunicated from the church and nobody believes I intend to stay now.
Instead of baring his soul, he took a seat at the table. “I have not spent much time with the sight-impaired. Feel free to correct me if I say something stupid.”
She pulled a pair of mugs from the cabinet beside the sink and carried them to the stove. He watched her fill them just to the brim and wondered how she managed a task he couldn’t do with his eyes closed.
Finally, his curiosity won out. “How can you do that without spilling any?”
She stiffened. “Practice.”
“This is where you tell me that was a stupid question.”
“Your question is not stupid. I’ve had years to learn how to do almost everything a sighted person can do. I simply do things differently.”
“I’m impressed by your skills.”
She carried the mugs to the table. “My skill at dropping plates?”
“Something tells me you don’t do that often. I’m sorry if my unannounced arrival was a shock.”
“I learned of your return to Berlin in a letter that arrived from my brother this morning, but I didn’t expect you to show up in my kitchen a few minutes later.”
“Did your brother pass on the juicy details of my trouble with Bishop Stoltzfus?” It was hard to keep that bitterness out of his voice. It had taken more courage than he thought he possessed to beg forgiveness from his bishop. When the man announced he didn’t believe Gideon was sincere, it caused quite a stir and a division in the church.
“William didn’t mention any details. Your family must have been overjoyed when you came back.”
He nodded his head and then realized she couldn’t see that. “My mother kept hugging me. She cried all day. When I told her to stop being sad, she said they were tears of joy and could not be stemmed.”
“I’m sure she meant it.”
“My youngest brother wasn’t quite so demonstrative.”
“He wasn’t happy at your return?”
“Let’s just say Joseph has reservations about whether or not I will stay.” Along with the bishop and half of his family’s congregation.
She rolled her cup between her palms. “I’m sorry, but can you blame him?”
“Not really.” It was hard to read her expression. Did she doubt his resolve in returning, too? How could she not? He wasn’t sure if he could stay.
Propping her elbows on the table, she said, “Time will give him the answer. Is that why you aren’t staying with them?”
“My mother thought it best if I spend some time with Adam, being as he spent a long time in the English world and came back to stay.”
She folded her arms across her chest. She had yet to take a sip of her coffee. It was clear she was struggling to be cordial.
He said, “I know it was a shock to you when I left the way I did.”
“You were never content with our slow Amish ways. I remember you as a wild, defiant boy.”
“And I remember you as a sweet-natured girl who forgave all my indiscretions. We had some fine times together during our rumspringa.”
Her face grew pale. She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Ja, fine times.”
“I was sorry to learn about your affliction. Adam told me the community has raised enough money for you to have surgery.”
“I don’t think of it as an affliction. It’s just the way my life is. The surgery’s chances of success are only fifty-fifty. I’m trying not to get my hopes up. I am happy here with my aenti. I have nieces and nephews who come to visit, so I am not lonely. I still have my quilting, and I enjoy that immensely.”
“That’s good.”
She finally took a sip of her coffee and he took a drink of his. The silence stretched out between them.
“I hope Adam can fix our washer. I know Vera doesn’t want to have to buy a new one.”
“I hear he’s a pretty good handyman.”
“Ja, people say so.” She nervously raised the cup to her lips again.
This small talk wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to start over with her. Earn her trust. Win her love. And he had absolutely no idea how to do that.
Rebecca wasn’t sure how much longer she could sit and pretend that Gideon Troyer was a normal visitor. Her heart was hammering. Her hands were shaking. She wanted him to leave. Even though she was the one who turned down his offer of marriage, she never gave up loving him. When he left it was as if he took a piece of her heart with him.
Now that scar on her heart was open and bleeding again.
She rose from her chair, knocking against the table in her haste. She heard the cups rattle but she didn’t care if they spilled. “Vera and Adam have been gone a long time. Perhaps you should see if you can help.”
“Rebecca, can you forgive me?”
She had sent him away. When the darkness descended over her life it wasn’t his fault he wasn’t there to hold her and comfort her. And yet it was his fault. If his faith had been strong, he would have been there for her.
She spoke the words her Amish teaching required her to say. “Of course I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago.”
“Thank you, Rebecca. It means the world to me.”
The sound of the outside door opening saved her from having to reply. When Vera and Adam returned, Rebecca excused herself and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom.
She closed the door and leaned against it. Angry tears stung her eyes. Wiping at them with fierce swipes, she vowed they would be the last tears she shed over Gideon Troyer.
Up until a month ago, her life had a simple rhythm. Gardening in the spring and summer, canning in the fall and quilting over the long winter days. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see the fresh greenness of the spring. She could smell it in the air and feel the warmth of the sun on her face. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t watch the snow fall. She knew when it fell by the silence that blanketed the land. It was enough for her to work and feel the seasons passing by, for they defined her life.
Then, a few short weeks ago, she met a man who touched her soul the way only one man had before. That he was forbidden to her was as painful as holding someone else’s child and knowing she would never hold her own babe. The day she gave him her quilt was the first time in her life she questioned her decision to stay among the Amish.
The morning after he left, she woke knowing he had been the test—and she passed. If she never regained her vision, her faith was strong enough to sustain that disappointment. Contentment had entered her soul.
Now Gideon was back and her heart was being torn once more. All her old feelings for him came rushing back to life at the sound of his voice.
Why now? Why, after so many years of darkness and bitterness overcome, was she being tested again?
“Haven’t I suffered enough, Lord? Haven’t I paid long enough for my sin?”
Chapter Nine
Gideon arrived at Rebecca’s home the following afternoon with the needed part in his pocket. In spite of all the parts in Vera’s barn, Adam couldn’t find the right one. Yesterday hadn’t gone as well as G
ideon hoped. Instead of being thrilled to see him, Rebecca had looked terrified. Hopefully, once the shock of his arrival wore off she would remember how close they had been.
As he climbed out of Adam’s buggy, he noticed the sounds of several wind chimes around the property. He’d been too nervous to notice them yesterday. He wondered if it was Vera or Rebecca who enjoyed the musical notes.
To his relief, Rebecca answered the door when he knocked. He’d been half afraid she would be hiding in her room or gone. “Good afternoon, Rebecca. It’s Gideon. I have come to finish the work on your washing machine.”
“I’ve been expecting you. My aunt will be back shortly. She took a kettle of soup to a neighbor who has been ill.” She stepped back to let him enter.
He stomped his feet to rid his boots of the clinging snow and entered the kitchen with his toolbox in hand. The smell of cooking apples filled the air.
She said, “I’m sure you remember where the washer is. I will let you find your own way.” Her nonchalant tone took him aback. She went to the stove, picked up a ladle and began stirring the contents of a large pan.
Again, not the reaction he had hoped for. He said, “Something sure smells good.”
“Pie filling.”
When she didn’t elaborate he searched his mind for something to breech the growing chasm he sensed between them. “As I recall, you were a pretty good cook.”
She laid the ladle down. “I don’t recollect that you were interested in my housewifely skills.”
“True. I was more about finding ways to sneak a kiss from you than trying out your cooking.” He waited for her response.
Turning around, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Ja, that is the way I remember you—as a shallow fellow often up to no good.”
Definitely not the reaction he was hoping for. “That about sums up my misspent youth. Fortunately, I grew up.”
“Better late than never.” She turned back to the stove, but he noticed her hand wasn’t quite steady as she put the lid on the kettle.
Accepting his dismissal with a heavy heart, Gideon went out to the rear porch and began reassembling her washing machine. He took his time, making sure the new piece fit perfectly, then he fired up the gas motor and began filling the machine.
When it looked as if everything was going to work, he stuck his head inside the back door. “Rebecca, do you have some clothes to be washed? I want to run a cycle and make sure the drum empties as it should and I don’t want to waste all the water.”
She came to the hallway, but didn’t come toward him. “I have baking to do. The laundry can wait.”
“I know it can, but why should it? Let me get one load out of your way.”
“Laundry is woman’s work.”
“Unless a man is unmarried, then he must learn to do his own.”
She hesitated, but finally nodded once. “We have several loads, but they aren’t sorted.”
“I promise not to mix whites and colors.”
“I doubt you used a wringer washer where you lived before.”
“No, but I remember helping my mother with her laundry chores. I think I can manage.”
“Very well. I will get the hamper.”
She entered a room partway down the hall and came out a few seconds later with a tall, woven wood clothes basket. “My aunt will be grateful to have her work cut in half before washday. Don’t add too much soap.”
“No problem.” He took the burden from her and returned to the machine. She stood for a moment as if she wanted to say something more, but in the end, she went inside without another comment.
He found the laundry detergent inside a cabinet hanging on the wall. After adding the recommended amount to the tub, he followed with a dozen dresses and aprons in assorted colors of blue. The old washer chugged along without missing a beat. Glancing up, he happened to notice a reflection in the porch window. Rebecca stood just inside the door listening to him.
He started to hum while he worked, a German hymn, a song he knew Rebecca liked when they were young. She had a sweet voice and often led the girls during the youth singings they had attended. Memories of the tame gatherings he’d found boring as a teenager now ranked among the highlights of his time with Rebecca.
When the wash cycle was done, he fed the clothes through the wringer and into the rinse tub. After letting them soak a few minutes, he stirred them with a wooden stick he found propped in the corner, and then fed them back through the wringer again. He piled the wet clothes on a Formica-topped table beside the back door.
He stopped humming and said as if to himself, “If I were Vera’s clothespins, where would I be hiding?” He started opening cabinets.
After a second, Rebecca stepped through the doorway. Her expression had softened. “They are out on the clothesline post in a clothespin bag.”
“I would have found them.” He tried to sound defensive, but he was smiling.
“Maybe you would. Maybe not.”
He didn’t want to break the thin thread of friendliness he saw forming between them. “The machine seems to be working fine. Eli Imhoff made a perfect replacement for the gear.”
“You must thank him for us.”
“I will. I’ll see him at church services on Sunday.” He hoped his statement made it clear he was returning to his Amish faith, not just paying it lip service.
He walked out the porch door to the clothesline reel hanging off the side of the house. Over the doorway, he noticed another small set of brass wind chimes clinking in the breeze. After pulling the retractable line from the side of the house, he stretched it to a T-post in the center of the yard and fastened it.
Setting the basket of clothes carefully in the snow, he began to hang them up, humming again as he did. This time he chose an English hymn with a familiar tune although he couldn’t recall the exact words of the song.
He had five dresses pinned to the line before she ventured out the door. She stopped a few feet away from him with her arms crossed against the cold. “‘Amazing Grace’ has always been one of my favorites.”
“I’m a bit rusty on the words. How does it go?”
She sang the opening lines. “‘Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see.’”
He could have kicked himself. He stammered, “I didn’t mean to… That was thoughtless of me. Forgive me.”
She arched one eyebrow. “Gideon, I don’t need the lyrics of a song to remind me that I’m blind.”
“No, I guess not.” From friend to fool in three seconds flat. Maybe he didn’t deserve to win her heart.
He might be able to accept that if he didn’t care for her so deeply.
“It’s still one of my favorite hymns,” she insisted.
He relaxed when he realized she wasn’t upset. “You should go back in the house before you catch your death. You don’t even have a coat on.”
“Don’t forget to empty the water from the washer tub. I don’t want to find a giant ice cube in it the next time I need to use it.”
“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry,” he assured her.
She cocked her head to the side slightly, as if listening, then she turned around and headed straight toward the back door. He realized the wind chimes were a means to help her find her way.
She opened the porch door, but paused. “You weren’t shallow and always up to no good when we were young. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Before he could reply, she went inside. Gideon watched her disappear into the house and seeds of happiness sprouted in his heart. Things might be looking up for him, after all.
Inside the house, Rebecca moved her pie filling off the stove and set it to cooling on the counter. Nervous butterflies churned in her stomach. She felt like a teenager waiting to sneak out of her first date. Gideon Troyer was back.
She had spent a sleepless night building up her defenses against the charm he possessed. A lot of good it had done.
Hearing him stutter an apology for reminding her that she was blind made her remember the little boy she used to know. The boy who had gotten in trouble in the third grade for cutting the ribbons off her kapp. The boy who dared her to ride standing up on the back of her papa’s plow horse and bore the brunt of her father’s displeasure when she fell off and sprained her ankle.
Gideon had charmed her from the age of eight. Why did she think it would be different now?
She heard the back door open and close and then his footsteps coming up the hallway. If he would be living in Hope Springs she would have to accustom herself to meeting him now and again. They had been friends long before they became starry-eyed teenagers in love with the idea of being in love.
“Have you anything else that needs fixing?” he asked.
Could he fix an old broken heart? Where would he find the parts for that?
“Nee, I don’t believe we do. Would you like some coffee before you go?”
“I would. Will you be making one of your pies soon?” She heard the smile in his voice and smiled back.
“I’ll be making apple strudel soon.”
“Sounds great. What can I do to help?”
“Stay out of my way and enjoy your coffee.”
“Bossy as ever, aren’t you?”
She rose to his bait. “I was never bossy.”
“Yes, you were.”
“Do you want strudel or not?” she demanded with mock severity.
“You’ve always had a wonderful personality, a giving nature, a sweet temper.”
“That’s better.”
“Was that good enough for hot strudel with maybe a touch of cream?”
She chuckled. “Ja.”
“Wunderbaar!”
“See, it is always better to tell the truth, Gideon. The truth earns its own reward.”
A warm glow of satisfaction settled in the middle of her chest. She would hold fast to their friendship. Perhaps in time, she would even learn to let go of the love that was never meant to be.
The sound of the front door opening signaled her aunt’s return. Vera came into the kitchen along with a gust of cold winter wind. “I believe we are going to get more snow. Hello, Gideon. I see by the clothes on the line that my washer has been repaired. Rebecca, I told you not to worry about getting the wash done.”
Patricia Davids Christmas Brides of Amish Country: An Amish ChristmasThe Christmas QuiltA Hope Springs Christmas Page 28