“Hey, it’s me. I’m with Roy, and we’ve wrecked the car.”
We? Even with his pain and a high-pitch ringing in his ears, he was clear on the fact that she’d wrecked the car, taking him with her.
She told the person what road they were on. “I’ll be on the shoulder, near the viaduct but past the guardrail.” She paused. “Yeah, exactly there. Thanks. I owe you.”
She had just given him the words he was looking for to explain why she should call his phone. “Call my phone because I’ve earned it, Tiffany. I’ve earned your going to the great effort of touching that screen and calling my phone. That and much more, and we both know it.”
She huffed but unlocked her phone again and passed it to him. He touched Favorites and his name, but he heard no sound at all. He called it two more times while moving bags of clothes around, but it was no use. His phone wasn’t in hearing range. Disappointed as he was, he had to turn his attention to what was most important: getting up the embankment before they were too drained to do so. “Kumm.”
“My laptop! I’m not leaving without it.”
She loved that thing more than her own child, and she spent more time with it in a day than she had with Heidi in six weeks. “Then get it and come on, but I can’t carry it. I have one good arm, and we’ll both need my use of it to get to the top.”
She fumbled through the car until she came out with a computer bag. She slung the strap over her shoulder, and they went around the car and began climbing. He couldn’t remember ever being this thirsty before, and his feet dragged as he inched his way up the steep hill, steadying or tugging on Tiffany the whole way.
Finally they reached the top. He willed himself not to pass out, but the world was spinning. “Where’s Heidi?”
Tiffany’s eyes rolled as if she was about to pass out. He steadied her and removed the weight of the laptop. Somehow they both stayed standing. “Where’s Heidi?” he muttered. He feared that if he sat, he’d not be able to get up again. As they stood there, every second was excruciating, yet time almost didn’t seem to exist.
A car slowed as it came toward them and pulled onto the shoulder. The passenger door opened, and an unfamiliar woman with matted hair and wrinkled clothes was behind the wheel. Tiffany snatched the strap of the computer he was holding and wasted no time getting into the car. He grabbed the handle of the back door, but it was locked.
A burst of energy ran through him, and he stopped Tiffany from closing her door and grasped the handle of the computer bag. “Where’s Heidi?”
“Got money?” the driver asked.
What was wrong with these people?
“He doesn’t,” Tiffany said. “Apparently none left at all.”
“Tiffany!” He held on to the bag as the car rolled forward. “Where’s Heidi?”
As the car drove off, Tiffany couldn’t hold on to the computer bag, and as it came free, he went to his knees in pain.
Was he a fool to care this much? The value of God’s great gift of innocent little ones was ingrained in him. It was entrenched in every Amish person. How a man protected the vulnerable showed his true character. Heidi had no power. And by the time she did have any power, she would be so wounded that pain and sadness would have molded her life. Without a loved one to protect and provide for her, she was at the mercy of a merciless world.
Mustering all his strength, he staggered to his feet. He moved to the edge of the embankment to toss the laptop down it. The handle of the computer bag had been his only way to hold on to Tiffany and find out where Heidi was, but now it was just deadweight. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to get home, but there was no reason to carry four extra pounds in his one good hand.
Don’t! The voice called inside him. He lowered his hand and looked at the computer. Don’t? Fog and anxiety made it impossible to think, but he realized his best chance of finding answers or at least clues concerning Heidi’s whereabouts was this computer. His shoulders were in too much pain from his broken arm to put the strap around his neck, so he tucked the laptop under his good arm and headed toward home.
Home was a strange concept. Even when it was filled with pressure and secrets or anger from secrets revealed, which was sure to await him, home was a haven. It would center him despite there being nearly nothing left of him to center.
The distinct sound of horse hooves on pavement grabbed his attention. He couldn’t be seen like this. Rumors would spread like wildfire. He’d be questioned, first by those in the rig and later by the ministers. He’d be branded an adulterer and then shunned. He deserved that. But his children would pay the price of embarrassment for the rest of their lives. They would feel the shame of his wrongs. That shame would bring dishonor on them from their peers, and it would shape and twist their innocence, their lives.
He hurried up a hill and into the woods. He leaned against a tree, trying to catch his breath, and then rethought his decision. Maybe he shouldn’t hide. If the people in the buggy could get him home an hour sooner, he could have a better jump on searching for Heidi. The rig came into sight, and he started down the hill.
Don’t! Again he heard the voice. He grabbed a small tree, stopping his downhill momentum. Don’t? He probably should do it anyway, but he stayed put, wavering on what to do. The rig passed him by without the occupants seeing him.
He began walking toward home again. He fell and sprawled out on the damp ground with blood from his arm discoloring the leaves. Birds and squirrels seemed unfazed as he tried over and over to get up. The pain was too great, and he was too weak.
Eleven
Abigail set a cup of hot tea in front of Jemima. As she returned to the counter to get her own mug of tea, she caught a glimpse of the clock. Almost one. They’d returned from Tiffany’s a little more than three hours ago. She’d wanted to stay awake and comfort Jemima after they’d come home, but the body could stay awake only so many hours, regardless of what life was dishing out. Chris had gone to the guest room, and Abigail had curled up on the couch. Apparently she’d been out cold for almost the full three hours before jerking awake.
Jemima couldn’t stop quiet tears from flowing.
Abigail set her mug on the table and put her arm around Jemima’s shoulders. She hugged her. “We’ll get through this, whatever this is. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I promise.”
Jemima wiped her tears. “Don’t ever use the word promise. Not ever. Roy said it daily, often several times a day this past year, and like a fool I believed him.”
Abigail gave her sister-in-law another squeeze and then sat at the head of the table, near her.
Jemima stared at the table. “How could I ignore all the signs that were right in front of my face?”
Abigail didn’t have any answers, and Jemima had already said these things, but Abigail just let her talk.
A floor creaked and she looked that way.
Chris.
He’d seemed different, less distant with Abigail as the night had worn on without Roy returning. Not that it mattered. But even now, standing there barefoot with uncombed hair, he was quite a good-looking specimen. Handsome Amish men weren’t that hard to come by. Maybe it was part of the genetic heritage. But finding a man with the right temperament to build a life with—that was challenging. Ya, she was picky, unwilling to raise beloved children with an unequally yoked partner who had more power over her decisions than she did.
But Chris drew her. He was energetic, smart, and a hard worker. Based on their talk Saturday morning, he was pretty comfortable being honest about himself, about feeling haunted and guilty. That was a lot to say to someone he’d just met, and the fact that he didn’t expound on it indicated he knew when to draw boundaries. But they each had deal breakers in a relationship, and they’d each done a deal-breaking thing. He needed a woman who walked in stoic self-denial, offering only patience and kindness no matter what was happe
ning inside her. She needed someone who wanted emotional honesty even when it was uncomfortable. Besides that, he’d made up his mind to step back from her before talking to her about any of it.
“How could he do this?” Jemima asked once again.
Abigail returned her attention to Jemima. “I know what this looks like with Roy, and maybe it is as it looks, but—”
Jemima slapped her hand against the table. “He’s been sneaking out at all hours and coming home at all hours for nearly two months. He was gone overnight on business last Friday, and it wasn’t the first time in the last six or so weeks. Based on the baby clothes at Tiffany’s, I’d say that’s just about how old that infant is. As we learned Saturday, he emptied forty thousand dollars from our savings, and half of that money was yours. Are you really going to sit there and tell me to continue hoping it’s not what it looks like?”
Abigail took a sip of her tea. “Nee.”
Jemima was in no state of mind to hear Abigail right now. Earlier today Jemima had wanted to protect Roy, believing that he’d been made crooked inside somehow and that he needed help, not condemnation. But if he was guilty, as he appeared to be, it changed everything.
“Jemima”—Abigail reached across the table and gently took her hands—“however this goes from here, I’m with you. Do you understand me? You’re not alone.”
It didn’t matter what Roy was guilty of. The church would demand that Jemima forgive him and walk in love. Forgive and let go. Abigail had seen the results of forced forgiveness in women’s lives. The intense and immediate requirement didn’t allow people to sort through all the facets and to slowly find healing and forgiveness between them and God or them and the person. It didn’t require the person who’d caused the train wreck to help clean it up and sort through the debris of lies, shattered trust, and broken hearts. Roy would be shunned for a period of time, heaping shame on him and his wife, and that was the end of it. Jemima was still supposed to be his dutiful and faithful wife, still serve him as a humble servant.
Abigail could hardly imagine what that would do to any woman’s soul. But if Jemima chose to divorce him, Abigail would stand by her, move in with her—whatever she needed.
Jemima squeezed Abigail’s hands, seeming to understand what she was offering. “Denki.” Without another word, she rose, put on her coat, grabbed a basket of freshly washed diapers, and went outside.
Abigail pressed her fingertips against her forehead, covering her face. Dear God, is it true? Has my brother betrayed his wife?
Unwilling for Chris to see the emotions on her face, she rose and turned her back to him as she lowered her hands.
“I was wrong.” Chris’s hoarse whisper stopped her cold, but she didn’t face him. “I saw you fly into a rage with Roy on Saturday, and I thought…” He went to the percolator on the stove and poured a cup of coffee. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I judged who you were, and I was wrong. I’m truly sorry.” He held out the mug to her even though she had her own on the table. He was offering a kind gesture.
She didn’t take it. “You could’ve withheld making a judgment. You could’ve given me the benefit of the doubt. My stars, Chris, you could’ve asked me why I lost my temper like I did.”
He pulled the mug back and rested it in his palm. “Ya, but when people are hiding who they are, none of what you just said would’ve been helpful or wise. I’ve been down that road with a woman—withholding judgment, giving the benefit of the doubt, and asking directly.”
Her hurt feelings from Chris’s previous sudden change of heart toward her quieted, and she saw a different man in front of her, perhaps one as cautious as she was and someone who was caught off guard by her presence as much as she was by his. But what struck her as sad was that Chris seemed to know firsthand a side to people she was just now experiencing.
He gazed out the kitchen window above the sink. “She was charming and gorgeous and deceitful. She would pull accusations against me out of thin air and then fly into a rage as if they were founded. She would tell me things people had said to her, and I was shocked anyone could talk to her or treat her that way. She’d beg me to keep what she’d told me between us, and I did, but I joined her in her anger against those people, believing what she’d said. The longer we were together, the more I realized there was a constant buzz of chaos around her, and our lives kept moving from one drama to another.” He sighed and sat down at the kitchen table.
Abigail sat too. “What caused you to figure her out?”
He tapped his finger on the table, keeping his eyes on that same spot. “As blind as love is, I saw flickers of things, red flags maybe, that led me to believe she had some mental-health issues. I was determined that we would get help together and things would smooth out, so I convinced her to see a doctor. She fought it at first but eventually agreed. We saw several doctors, and she was diagnosed. It wasn’t until we were nearing the end of instruction so we could join the faith and marry—a mere two months away from being bound to her for the rest of my life—when I really saw her.”
Abigail had chills as he spoke, and she waited, listening to the wood crackle in the stove as it burned.
He touched his chest. “With my eyes I saw, and it was as if God Himself had opened my eyes. Mental illness was only a small part of her issues. She was stubborn beyond reason, and my gut said she wasn’t taking her medication and didn’t intend to. But maybe the biggest issue was that for all her humor and charisma, she had a mean streak a mile wide. In that moment, I saw that every false accusation, whether against me or others, and all her tears and outbursts of rage were her ways of manipulating me, stirring up storms just for the satisfaction of it. I understand that was partly due to the mental illness, but I know what I saw, and she had far more responsibility for her actions than she would ever admit. Seeing her true self changed me, and she didn’t possess enough lies or tears or false praise to pull me in again.” He turned the mug, fidgeting with it. “And I hate that I grieved over the loss of her, but I did.” He drew a deep breath. “That was seven years ago.”
Her heart pounded. He’d come within weeks of living with Abigail’s worst fear: being bound for life to a difficult person.
“I’m sorry you went through that and grateful you saw the truth before it was too late.”
“Ya, exactly.”
She appreciated his opening up to her, but how could she have this moment with Chris while Jemima’s heart was shattered? Life was often rays of light and laughter shining through thunderous gray clouds. She looked out the window to check on Jemima, who had gone outside to hang clothes on the line. But she was standing on the edge of the porch now, staring off.
Abigail shifted her attention to Chris. His eyes held her so close and gently she felt as if they were embracing before a first kiss. Whatever this was between them, she liked it, at least some of the time.
She searched her heart. “I guess if I’m honest with myself, I didn’t really want to talk about why I’d reacted to Roy as I did. It was easier to accept your decision that we wouldn’t be good together as clear evidence that another man wasn’t worthy of my time.” She shrugged. “No traumatic incident brought me to that cynical place with men. Just observations of various people that increased when my friends started pairing off.”
“Observations?” He rose, went to the stove, and topped off his coffee.
“We can talk about all that later, but I need to be clear.” She stood, facing him. “It looks as if we’ll be stuck together for a while. I may have to ask Sarah, my substitute, to fill in for me at school for a little longer. As for us, we are way too early in this relationship to know anything beyond that we are attracted to each other.”
His eyes bore into hers. “One hundred percent attracted.”
Her heart pounded and she stepped forward, despite telling herself to step back. “Definitely.”
“B
ut I know there’s a lot about me that could derail us.”
She didn’t step back. “That’s reassuring. Thanks.”
“In the words of a very wise woman, men are annoying, present company included.” His tone was serious, but his smile was genuine. “Kidding aside, I have times when I live by my own rules, not the Ordnung.” He held out the mug to her.
She took it this time and enjoyed a sip before returning it to him. “Let’s not discuss it now.” She sounded relaxed, but she was at the end of her ability to learn truths too heavy to bear. “Let’s just hold off, maybe pretend this could be a viable relationship for now.”
“You sure you don’t want to clear the air?” He took a drink.
She knew this dance—the one of committing to not committing. The Englisch said the man should lead in a dance, but she’d always led the one concerning relationships. The beat was different with each set of participants, but the steps were the same: one tiny step forward and two giant steps back. It reminded her of the game Mother May I. It was always awkward, and for once she wished it were unnecessary.
Maybe levity would help. “Wow, we’re alone in a home, sharing the same cup of coffee, and you want to inundate me with uncomfortable honesty. You’re not very skilled at sweeping a woman off her feet.”
“Is that what you want, Abi? For me to ignore the truth of who I am and try to sweep you off your feet?”
“Nee.”
“Of course you don’t. Even I knew that.”
Unlike the others she’d danced with, Chris seemed to know her well, even though they’d met only a few days ago.
“Ya, if you tried to sweep me off my feet, I’d have to deck you. I just find it a shame you didn’t try.”
He laughed. “I think—”
“Abigail!” Jemima screamed. “Kumm quick!”
Twelve
A man on the horizon went to his knees. He was so far away that Jemima couldn’t see who it was. But she knew. Her heart knew.
The Englisch Daughter Page 9