by Amy Clipston
But as he followed her into the house, he noticed that she began to sway on her feet.
“Faith?”
“I-I can’t.” She clutched her stomach, her breath came out in quick gasps, and she dropped to her knees.
When David squatted on the floor beside her, he saw that her face was whiter than the bleached pine cabinets surrounding them.
“What’s wrong?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew what was wrong, and he knew that once more he’d managed to do exactly the wrong thing.
Chapter 6
David confessed the entire situation to his bruder later that night as they were completing their final check on the animals. Joseph was four years older and had run the family farm since their parents moved to Ohio to be closer to their dat’s parents. Their whole family was rather spread out with David’s other brother living in Virginia.
Nathan had been the reason David moved to Virginia. His brother had already established a successful cabinetry business there, and David wanted to learn from the best. His bruder was one of the finest craftsmen he’d ever met.
David returned to Indiana because there was a large Amish population, plenty of folks—both Englisch and Amish—who would hire him to build cabinets and furniture and even tiny houses. In truth, he liked the area better than Virginia. It felt good to be back on his family’s farm, and now his bruder was quickly filling their childhood home with kinner. They were up to six and had only been married five years.
“Faith passed out?” Joseph stared at him in disbelief.
“Pretty much. I mean, she never lost consciousness, but she wasn’t really able to move. I practically had to carry her outside.”
“And you think the tiny house caused it?”
“I guess. All she would say was that it felt like the walls were closing in and she couldn’t breathe.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“I wonder if she has trouble riding in buggies.”
“Hadn’t thought of that, though now that you mention it, hers seems to have extra windows in the back.”
“Perhaps Alton allowed it—given that she’s dealing with a medical condition and all.”
They’d brushed down the horses, put away any tools that had been left out, and walked back outside the barn. David looked up at the stars. The small pinpoints of light calmed his soul. They gave him a feeling of being in a vast open space, but also of being in the palm of Gotte’s hand. He wasn’t sure why that image popped into his mind.
Did Faith feel better when she was outside?
Did the stars give her a sense of safety?
How long had she been dealing with her condition?
“You care about her,” Joseph said, plopping down in a rocker under the barn eave.
“She’s a nice girl.”
“Nein. I mean you care about her as more than a friend.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“She’s all you’ve talked about for the last week.”
“Huh.”
“Bruder, you are a little clueless in regard to girls and dating and your own feelings.”
“And you’re an expert?” It came out as more of a growl than a statement. He softened it with, “Guess that’s what being married does to a man.”
“I was never as clueless as you are.” Joseph laughed and pushed the chair to rocking. “You’ve always been very—what’s the word—focused on your work.”
“I like what I do.”
“And that’s not a bad thing, but sometimes you don’t pick up on hints other people are sending out.”
“I definitely didn’t see any hints that Faith was going to melt down, though now that you mention it . . .” He perched on the edge of the other rocker. “She was a little hesitant to go inside.”
“Aha.”
“Don’t look so pleased. Remember when your oldest lost his front tooth, and it took you three days to notice?”
“Ya, well, this isn’t about me.”
“I just don’t understand how it happens. I mean, if I’m going to be Faith’s . . . friend”—David chose to ignore his bruder’s smirk—“I should probably know a little more about claustrophobia.”
Joseph shrugged as he rubbed the palm of his hand up and down the arm of the rocker. “Go to the library.”
“The library?”
“Sure. They have these contraptions called computers.”
“I know about computers. How do you think I learned about tiny houses?”
“So . . . go learn about claustrophobia. That way you can help your friend.”
David didn’t bother to answer, but Joseph’s laughter followed him as he walked to the main house and clomped up to his room. Faith was his friend, and he wanted to help rather than hurt her. He needed to go into town the next day for supplies anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to stop and do a little research at the library.
It didn’t mean that what he felt for her was anything more than a crush.
They were obviously mismatched. A person with claustrophobia dating a man who built tiny houses? Sounded like a plot for one of the romance books she’d mentioned. But his life wasn’t anything like a romance book, and Faith . . . Well, he was pretty sure Faith didn’t think about him in that way.
He would focus on being a good friend and not worry about where it might or might not lead.
* * *
Faith had just finished helping in the serving line when Bishop Alton walked over and asked if she had a minute to talk. The church service had gone well and the day was sunny. They were meeting at the Shrock’s home, which was one of Faith’s favorite places. The yard opened out over a lovely view of a pond. Already the children were playing down at the water’s edge, closely monitored by older siblings.
She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Of course.” She was a bit alarmed when he turned and motioned for David to join them.
He must want to talk about the letters. She tried to temper her enthusiasm. He might only tell them he’d learned nothing at all. In which case, the letters would probably never be returned to their original owners.
They sat at one of the picnic tables, and her worries melted away. The bishop was smiling, and David looked relaxed. It must be good news.
“I have some answers for you.” Bishop Alton wiggled his eyebrows. “I believe I’ve found the Mary and Peter from your letters.”
“You have?” Faith immediately sat up straighter.
“So they’re still alive?” David asked.
“Are they married?”
“Are they near here?”
Bishop Alton held up a hand to stop their questions. “Mary Fisher is a widow now. She’s here in Shipshe, but in a different church district than ours. Back in 1970, when she was dating Peter Yutzy, her name was Glick.”
“Mary Glick and Peter Yutzy.” Faith shook her head. “I don’t know either of them.”
“No reason you would. It’s unlikely that your paths would have ever crossed. Peter now lives in Middlebury.”
“So they never married?” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, but it was difficult. She’d already envisioned them with a house full of kinner and grandkinner. But their last names were different, so it was obvious they hadn’t married each other.
They’d so clearly been in love. What happened? How had it happened? And would they even want the letters now?
Bishop Alton pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and slid it across the picnic table. “Here are numbers for the phone shacks closest to each of them, if you’d like to contact them.”
David studied Faith for a moment, and then looked back at the bishop. “Do you think we should?”
He took his time answering. It was his way, Faith had learned. At times he took so long to reply she wondered if he’d even heard a question. But her mamm had explained that he was simply weighing his words, a habit they could all stand to practice more often.
Finally, Bishop Alton crossed his arms on th
e table and smiled at them. “Gotte’s ways are mysterious, yes?”
She and David both nodded.
“That package of letters was hidden beneath the kudzu vines for a very long time.” He studied Faith. “David says a stray dog ran into the vines, and that’s why you went in.”
“Ya.” She thought of the way Pebbles danced around her when she came home, how she already loved to chase after a ball, though she was more likely to fall on top of it than fetch it.
“Going into those vines must have been difficult for you. Gotte gave you a compassionate heart, Faith. You cared about that little dog more than your fear.”
“It already feels like we’ve had Pebbles for years instead of weeks.”
“You cared enough to go into a situation that might have otherwise scared you.”
“It did scare me—a little. But not as much as I would expect.” She’d wondered about that. Why hadn’t she had a panic attack under the kudzu vines? But then, she’d been so intent on finding the dog.
“Gotte directed your paths—both of you.” He looked at David and nodded. “I think it would be gut to see this through.”
And with that, he stood, wished them a fine Sabbath, and went to speak to Mr. Shrock.
“I guess that means we have his blessing,” Faith said.
“I guess it does.”
“So, do you want to call them?”
“Sure. I can do that.” David cleared his throat. “Hey, about what happened at my place—”
“We don’t have to talk about that.”
“I want to.”
Faith thought she might die of embarrassment right then. She’d actually been trying to avoid David before the bishop called him over. Now, the way he was looking at her—waiting for her to say something—she wished she could melt into the ground.
But she couldn’t, and perhaps she’d been running from who she was long enough. Instead of making an excuse and running away, she crossed her arms on the table and looked David in the eye.
“I had a panic attack, plain and simple. It was caused by my claustrophobia, which I’m learning to deal with. Certain situations can still bring on an attack though.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think about how being in a closed space might affect you—again. Call me a slow learner.”
“A slow learner?”
“Seems to be that way.”
“I think I remember you did well in school.”
“School was easy compared to life.”
That made her laugh, and then her embarrassment and defensiveness slipped away. David asked if she’d eaten, which she hadn’t because she’d been too busy serving the food.
He waited for her to make herself a plate and sat with her while she enjoyed the delicious food.
When she finished, David asked her to walk around the pond.
It was a fine spring Sunday. The strong winds from earlier in the week had died down. All around them trees were budding, the grass was sprouting, and flowers were beginning to bloom. It was almost as if nature were agreeing with her mood. They had a real chance to return the letters to Mary and Peter. She wondered what it must have been like to love someone so much and then see him sent away because of a war.
Glancing at David, she wondered if he’d ever been in love. She’d certainly never felt that way about anyone. Oh, she’d had a crush on a guy before—John Hochstettler in fifth grade came to mind. And she’d been infatuated by a couple different men—most recently her neighbor’s cousin who was visiting from Lancaster. But she’d never had the courage to do anything about those feelings. She’d never really wanted to do anything about them.
Had David ever seriously dated a woman?
She didn’t ask. It wasn’t really any of her business, and they weren’t close in that way. She had a sense that they were fast becoming friends, and she was learning that he was a good man, not nearly as somber as she’d thought—perhaps before she’d only noticed him when he was frowning. Now he seemed to wear a smile often, at least when she was around, and the smile accentuated how handsome he was.
Yes, she’d like to be friends with David Lapp, and maybe—well, maybe she could dare to hope that one day they might mean even more to one another. But for now, she’d push those dreams away and focus on their friendship.
That felt good and right.
For now, they needed to put to bed the mystery of the lost letters.
Chapter 7
Faith’s head was pounding, and the rocking of the buggy only agitated her already nauseous stomach.
“You okay?” David asked.
“Ya, just a little . . .” She wiggled her hand back and forth, but closed her eyes, trying to ward off the rising anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her.
“If you’re worried about the storm, it isn’t predicted to hit until tonight. I checked the forecasts at the library this morning.”
Faith nodded, and then realized her bobbing head didn’t convey much about how she was feeling. “My counselor says storms are disturbing to claustrophobics for two reasons.”
“Ya?” David actually seemed interested. When he reached over and squeezed her hand, she jumped. She reminded herself that it was just a spring storm, and David was just a friend, and they were just in a buggy together. She really did need to calm down or she might hyperventilate.
“Ya, uh, two-fold. One, the visual aspect of the clouds pressing down.”
David leaned forward to scan the sky. “I can see how they might appear that way.”
“And two, the barometric pressure dropping might trigger a chemical reaction in my brain. There’s a lot that doctors don’t know about claustrophobia.”
She thought he might not answer, even worried he might think her a child for being afraid of a mere spring storm. Instead, he smiled at her. “I’m glad you shared that with me. I’m sorry you have to deal with it, but if I know what’s going on, maybe I can help.”
She couldn’t look at him. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she was horrified that she might actually cry. What was wrong with her? Why were her emotions pinging all over the place? Her counselor said when her emotions became overwhelming, she should close her eyes and picture something that she enjoyed.
Faith shut her eyes and thought of Pebbles . . . and that, the image of a beagle that was fast becoming a part of her family, calmed her racing heart.
She opened her eyes and looked out the buggy’s window. She stared at the sky long enough to understand that the black clouds were still a good distance away. Why could she imagine them pressing up against the buggy? She scooted closer to her door, just in case. In case of what, she didn’t really know, but she felt better near an exit.
David turned the horse down a rutted lane, slowing to minimize the rocking of the buggy.
“You’re sure this is the place?”
“Ya. When I talked to Mary on the phone, she described it quite well.”
The daddi haus came into view first. David parked near the front porch, set the brake, and jumped out to secure the mare to the hitching post. A woman Faith assumed to be Mary Glick, or rather Mary Fisher, stood on the porch waiting for them. Faith hopped out of the buggy, her nausea temporarily relieved by the light breeze. She hadn’t realized she’d broken into a sweat, but now she shivered slightly as she hurried toward the porch.
“I suppose you’re the young man who called me.” Mary looked for all the world like the typical Amish grandmother—starched white apron, gray dress, white kapp properly pinned in place.
Faith noticed a few wavy white strands peeking from the sides of the kapp. Mary was short, somewhat round, and lines stretched out from her eyes testifying to a generally happy disposition. At the moment, however, she looked worried.
“I’m still a little confused why you’re here,” Mary added.
Was this really the woman Peter had written such heartfelt letters to? It was hard to imagine her young and in love, with her entire life before her. That life was now l
ong in the past. Faith had a moment of doubt, wondering if her parents were right. Perhaps she shouldn’t have meddled.
But it was too late for such thoughts.
David was already explaining again about the letters.
“You said as much on the phone.” Mary had sat down in one of the rockers, so Faith and David did the same. “I’m old but not senile. I can remember a conversation from earlier this morning. Lots of people named Mary live in the area. Tell me why you think I’m the Mary in the letters.”
Faith glanced at David, and he nodded once, smiling, giving her the confidence to proceed.
“Did you once step out with someone named Peter?”
“That was many years ago.”
“The letters we found were from a man named Peter to a girl named Mary.”
“A girl who had a sycamore tree in her backyard,” David added. “And a glider swing.”
“I spent many an hour in that old swing.”
“And Peter was sent to Ohio—”
“Because of the war.” Mary clasped her hands in her lap. “Ya, perhaps you have found the Mary those letters were addressed to, but that person—that Mary? She doesn’t exist anymore. And if I sound bitter, well, I don’t mean to be. The war was a very difficult time for all of us. I’m not sure it’s a thing your generation could understand.”
For the briefest moment, Faith was able to see the young girl who had fallen in love during a tumultuous time. Two bright spots blossomed on Mary’s cheeks, and her voice trembled slightly when she tried to speak. She took a moment to compose herself—staring out at the approaching storm. When she raised her eyes to study them, Faith had the sinking feeling that she’d already made up her mind. A hard resolve had come over her features.
“It’s true that I once cared for a young man named Peter . . . Peter Yutzy. He broke my heart the summer of 1970.” She raised a hand, spotted with age. “Gotte is my witness, though, He had another plan for me. I married a gut man—one I miss to this day. Gotte blessed us with nearly forty years. Together we raised a fine family. My oldest son lives there in the main house. All of the kinner are close by, and they take care of me. The grandkinner are the joy of my life. I have no desire to step into the long ago.”