by Tricia Goyer
“It’s a beautiful night. It reminds me of ones back in Ohio when some of my friends would be at the Youth Singings and then sneak behind the barn to kiss the girls.”
“Ach, ja, and it was your friends and not you?” She forced a chuckle even though her heart felt heavy, oh, so heavy.
“Vell, I didn’t say that. Don’t all Amish boys do things that would make their mems blush?” He fiddled with the harmonica and then slipped it into the pocket of the flannel shirt that he wore over his Amish shirt and suspenders.
“So have you kissed many girls?” Her eyes widened with interest as she asked him. She couldn’t see his full face, only the lighted part that faced the moon, but he was handsome.
He winked at her. “A few. I forced myself to.”
“Ja, I imagine.”
“It’s partly the truth. All my friends were starting to date. I felt there was something wrong with me for not spending all my time watching the young women and trying to pick a bride. I went on some dates and kissed a few girls hoping to feel something. The kisses were nice . . . but I couldn’t think of a life with them past that. Every other Amishman on the planet wants a fraa who can cook well and tend to a house, but I’d like one with a twinkle of adventure in her eye.”
“Like someone who’d join a wagon ride with strangers she didn’t know?”
“Exactly.”
“Caleb, that was just a joke.”
“Not to me it wasn’t.”
He reached over and placed his index finger under her chin, and then raised it slowly so their eyes could meet. She saw something there. Something that wasn’t expected. Something in his gaze that the Amish hymns had brought out: loneliness.
She didn’t want to tell him that she’d felt the same loneliness. Yet while he’d tried to find affection in his past, sought it in being with her, she’d pushed it away. There was an ache inside, knowing that she was doing the very thing she’d promised herself she’d never do until after her schooling was complete. She allowed someone to enter into the tall walls of protection she’d placed around herself.
He’s going to hate me when he finds out that our care for each other can’t go any further than it has—that I’ve already chosen a different path.
She pulled her head back and looked away. His hand dropped to his side.
“You know that you can tell me anything, don’t you?” His words were low, soft, so that no one in the nearby tents could hear them.
“Ne . . . no, I can’t.” She stood and took a step back toward her tent. “I’ve made some choices, about my future. As much as I want to get to know you better, it’s not possible. I’m thinking that tomorrow I should ride with Millie and Annie.”
The smile on Caleb’s face faded, and he mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that?”
He stood too. “I said, ‘Does she think I’m going to give up this easy?’ ”
“I’m not worthy of you, Caleb. I’m not what you’re looking for. I guarantee that—”
“Don’t you ever say that again. You have no idea.”
She turned her head. “I’m not as brave as you think I am. I’m just running, that’s all. I’ve hurt so many people, and I don’t even feel guilty about it.”
“You haven’t hurt me, and I think others will offer you more grace than you think if you give yourself permission to let them in.”
She focused on the fading fire.
“The friendship we’ve developed over the last few days is too good to just ignore,” he said.
“And what about my running?”
“Yes, what about that? Are you going to get to the place where you trust me enough to tell me what that’s all about? I have a feeling I know.”
She paused then and tilted her chin. “Oh, you do, do you?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly, but I’m smart enough to know what pieces about you don’t fit. What you did today, bandaging up my leg . . . Well, that wasn’t just an ordinary bandaging job. It’s like you’re a nurse or something, disguising yourself under an Amish kapp.”
“How do you know that’s not the truth?” She chuckled, trying to keep things light, but deep in her gut a knife twisted. How could she have been so foolish to reveal so much to him with her actions? “I’m not a nurse, but there’s . . . Well, there’s a story behind that. There is a reason why I take it so seriously. There is a reason why I get so bothered and worried when someone’s doing something dangerous.”
“Can you tell me about it, Rebecca?” Caleb leaned in closer to her, and his face was lit by the warm, orange glow from the campfire.
Her chest felt tight and thick, and she blew out a heavy breath, wishing her tension would rise like the smoke from the fire and disappear. Instead it clung to her. She had to do it. She had to tell him the truth. If she cared for Caleb, she had to take a risk.
She returned to the log she’d been sitting on. The smoke from the dying fire hurt her eyes. She rubbed them, and she hoped Caleb didn’t think she was crying. There would be time enough for tears. They were always there—closer than she ever wanted them.
Caleb sat beside her and waited for her to pull her heart from her chest, turn it over in her hands, and spill it.
“I’ve wanted to be a nurse for seven years,” Rebecca finally said. “It’ll be eight years on September 19.”
“It wasn’t something you’ve always wanted to do?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Never thought of it. Until that day . . . Since then I haven’t thought of anything else.”
The tears came after all, throwing her off guard.
He sat. He waited. His blue eyes narrowed into slits as he concentrated on her breaths, waiting for her words. Rebecca tilted her head. His compassion surprised her, even though she didn’t know why. There was nothing expected about this man.
She turned her head sharply to the side and stared at the forest of trees that looked like every other forest of trees they’d driven past. He cleared his throat, but she refused to look at him.
“Did you lose someone, Rebecca?”
She nodded and then closed her eyes, trapping the tears.
“She was my best friend.” The words caught. “Well, my sister . . . but even more than that, my friend. I—I don’t think I can talk about it.”
“Okay, you don’t need to.”
She expected him to prod but was thankful he didn’t. She felt his hand on her shoulder. No matter how she tried to hold them back, the memories resurfaced whether she was ready for them or not.
She’d never wanted to talk about it before—not with anyone. But for some reason it felt right, natural, for Rebecca to open her heart now. What would he think if she dared to share her story?
CHAPTER
17
Even though she was sitting by the campfire, in the middle of the Montana woods, her thoughts took her back again. They were always willing to take her back, no matter how much her heart ached in doing so.
It was her youngest sister, Misti, who had been first to warn them of the problem. “Something’s wrong with Claudia! Come quick!” Rebecca had tossed down the shirt she’d been folding and rushed to the door. Since Claudia was getting close to the time of the boppli, she’d been staying next door at their aenti’s house. While Rebecca’s family home was still full of younger kids, Aenti Diana had two empty rooms.
“We found Claudia on the floor curled in a ball,” Rebecca told Caleb. “The pains had come on all fast-like, and my mem told her not to worry. She and my aunts always had their babies fast.”
The memories were there, as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
“We got Claudia to her feet,” she said, “and Mem sent Misti next door to call for our driver.”
Rebecca let out a long sigh. “I wonder now if everything would be different if we would have called for the ambulance right then. Of course there is no way we could have known . . .
“Fifteen minutes later the driver still hadn’t arrived, and
Claudia told us she had to push. Even Mem was surprised, but she’d birthed eight children herself, and she had worked assisting a midwife when she was younger.
“Mem told Claudia that we’d deliver that boppli, and by we I knew she meant me too. Mem directed orders as if she’d been doing it all her life. Ten minutes later Claude slipped into this world. He was a huge baby—over nine pounds. And ten minutes after that Claudia slipped from this life into the next.”
“What happened?”
“She started hemorrhaging. Mem didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know how either. I wish . . . My one regret in life is that I wish I would have known how to stop her bleeding. Mem was panicked too. She’d never experienced that before. I stood there watching my sister’s life slip away, and I felt helpless. If I’d only had the right education . . .” Her words caught, then she continued. “Misti ran back to call for the ambulance then, but by the time they arrived, there was nothing they could do.”
“And you saw it all?”
“I stood there and held my sister’s hand. I was helpless. I never felt so useless. I kept telling her about her son, hoping that would make her fight for her life. But what good did that do? She was gone. Gone just like that.”
Rebecca felt tired now. Weary from telling her story.
“I’m sorry you had to face that, Rebecca.”
She glanced over at Caleb, and she could tell he wanted to say more. But what? What could someone say to ease her pain?
“I’m working on my nursing degree,” she finally said. “I’m working to be prepared. Maybe that helps you understand a little more about me now.”
Caleb nodded, and she rose and bid him a quick good night. People always felt uncomfortable when she told them her story, and she understood why. No one ever liked to talk about death. It was easier to talk about anything else. But as she walked to her tent, Rebecca realized that just because one didn’t like to talk about it didn’t mean it wasn’t going to happen. And no matter how much she prepared, one could never prepare enough—although she wished that wasn’t so.
Caleb woke early, and he couldn’t get Rebecca’s story off his mind. For the last few months he’d been running from what she’d had no choice but to face: death. He didn’t want to think about the hurt of not having his opa there to talk to, to lean on, but Rebecca had had no choice in losing her sister. She’d had no chance to say good-bye. Not really.
Caleb sat in the quiet of the morning and opened another letter from his mem. This one was from a few months prior.
Dear Caleb,
Sometimes we all forget that you’re in Montana. More than once I’ve set the table and included a plate for you. I know, son, that you are facing the most pain after your grandfather’s stroke—you two were so close—but the rest of us are trying to do the best we can too.
My best friend, Elizabeth, came to see me yesterday. She cared for her parents for many years when they were both ill and faced their loss. She’s walked the path that we do now.
Elizabeth goes to a New Order church now where they do more preaching about things than we typically hear, and while I don’t believe that I want to add any of their new ways into our way of living, she did say something that I haven’t forgotten since.
Elizabeth told me, “We just think we are in the land of the living, and that we’re going to die, but when we believe in God the opposite is true. We’re in the land of the dying, and because of Jesus we’re going to the land of the living. The land where there is no more pain, no more tears, and where we’ll be with Christ for eternity.”
I don’t know why I’m supposed to write that today. Or why you’re supposed to read it, but maybe—with whatever you’re dealing with, son—it gives you hope. Opa lived a good, active life, and I don’t think he would have any regrets.
If you were to live your life today without regrets, what would you be doing? Would you be where you are now—this day? I’ve been thinking of that, and I have to ask you too. For me the answer is yes. Many would think that an Amish woman doesn’t live an exciting life, but it’s a fulfilled one. I’ve been surrounded with piles of laundry, but also my children’s and now grandchildren’s laughter. I’ve served up many meals, but I’ve been served smiles and warm embraces in return. I live a life seeing the beauty of God in creation, and that changes me deep in my heart. It’s not an exciting life, but it’s a good one. I suppose it just takes me pausing to enjoy it. Opa’s stroke has caused me to do that.
I hope everything is gut for you in Montana. We still haven’t heard from you, although Amos wrote his mem and said you are doing well. We hear you are building houses. We read in the Budget that one of the Amish families up there opened their back door at night to let in their dog and a bear cub came in instead. They didn’t realize it until morning when the man of the house had his glasses on. Did you hear that? It’s a good thing that the mother bear didn’t come around.
Your sister Miriam is due to have another boppli. I believe the little one will be born before you return, unless you surprise us. I wish the West Kootenai community was closer. I believe your dat would travel there if he didn’t have so much farmwork. I know you understand. Also, danki for sending part of your paycheck. With it, Dat was able to buy a new horse. She’s a beauty, and he named her Montana Sky. Sky for short.
If you can, please write and tell us what it is like there. Do you like the community? We miss you, son. The losses seem to pile up.
Love, Mem
Caleb couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but the tears came now. Hot and fresh on his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away and then folded up Mem’s letter and put it back into the envelope before homesickness overtook him.
He didn’t know why he had waited so long to read Mem’s letters. Then again, he did. Reading them would change things. It would make him think about life, about going on without Opa. But today, with Rebecca by his side, that suddenly didn’t seem as daunting as it once had.
CHAPTER
18
Caleb had rushed through the chores at record speed. As Annie finished making breakfast, he packed up all the tents. When they washed up dishes in the creek, he gathered up the horses and hitched them to the wagons. Others watched him curiously, but they didn’t ask him what his hurry was. It wasn’t even nine o’clock when they were already on the road for the day. As he settled on the wagon seat, Caleb’s heart nearly felt like it would burst with Rebecca by his side.
“Rebecca, I couldn’t sleep last night. Mostly because I kept thinking about you. My mem has always called me impulsive. If I see a tree, I want to climb it. If I see a high cliff over the lake, I jump first and don’t think about hitting the water until I’m midair. And after you told me about losing your sister, well, I’ve never felt so close to another person. It’s got me thinking . . .” His words jumbled in his mind and he tried to sort them, tried not to act too excited about the realization he wanted her—needed her—in his life for longer than this trip.
Rebecca lifted a hand, interrupting him. “Caleb, wait. I need to tell you something.”
“Don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”
“I don’t deserve to hear those words—any words of kindness.”
He looked over at Rebecca. She was biting her lip. She wiggled from side to side, as if trying to get comfortable. And then she pressed her lips into a thin line, as if she was trying to keep her pent-up words from escaping.
“I don’t know how to tell you this. I don’t want to tell you, but I have to. I just have to make myself say it.” Her words spouted out, causing his shoulders to tense.
“When I left Indiana, I did it with no plans to go back for a very long time. I snuck out and hitched a ride to the train station, and I packed my suitcase without Amish clothes.”
“I don’t understand.” The road got bumpy, and Caleb knew he needed to do a better job at guiding the horses over the terrain—especially with the makeshift spoke—but all he could focus on was her words.<
br />
“Marianna urged me to tell you on the first day of our trip—to tell you that I don’t have plans for returning to Indiana, for being Amish. I didn’t even add any Amish clothes to my suitcase. I just happened to be wearing them when I left. The ones I’ve been wearing this week belong to Marianna, and the only reason I put them on in Montana was because I saw you at the lake. You impressed me, Caleb, and I wanted to get to know you better. I didn’t think anything serious would kumme out of it, but I knew you wouldn’t even look at me twice unless I was wearing Amish clothes.
“I lied, Caleb. I lied when you asked about my family. We’re not close. I’ve been pushing them away.”
He heard her words and he felt them, like small jabs to his heart. “Why—why are you leaving?”
“I want to go to nursing school. I already have my high school diploma and my first year of college done. There are too many unnecessary deaths in my community. I never want to feel helpless again, like I felt when Claudia died. Yet . . . what I didn’t realize is that on my quest to bring healing to people, all I’ve done is bring them pain. I’ve been hurting my parents, over and over, keeping them at arm’s length. I’ve hurt my friends. And now . . . I know I’ve hurt you.”
Caleb didn’t know what to say. What to do. A flood of anger rushed over him. She’d been sitting by his side, wearing that kapp and dress, acting the part. His fists tightened around the reins. The nerves in his neck tightened until he was sure they were going to snap. “Does anyone else know?”
“Millie.” Her voice was small, timid. “She asked me about it that day we went for huckleberries. She heard it from Susan Carash.”
Caleb smacked his forehead. “If Susan knows, it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the folks in West Kootenai know.” His face felt hot. His shoulders tightened. He reached back and rubbed his neck. “So I’m the fool. I’m the one who’s driving you and wooing you. I’m the laughingstock.”