“I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that. You’ve allowed yourself to get backed into a corner, and you’re hoping you’ll be fine.” She tried to reel in her emotions from being blindsided.
He said nothing, staring at her as if she’d spoken in a foreign language.
Determined not to voice even half of what she felt, she gave a slight shrug. It was the kindest reaction she could manage. “Makes sense, I guess.” She went to the stove and began cutting the lasagna. Why was this news so bitterly disappointing? Had she been holding out hope that he’d change, even though she knew where his heart was?
“Laura, Carolyn, Nevin, es iss Zeit esse.” Jemima called them to come eat.
Abigail dipped lasagna onto plates, glad she wasn’t facing Chris, but it didn’t take her long to have the plates ready. Jemima set them on the table.
Abigail drew a breath and turned around. The scurry of getting the children settled took a few minutes, but soon everyone sat and pulled the cloth napkins onto their laps.
Chris was leaving Sunday morning before the church meeting? Her eyes met his, and she couldn’t manage even a polite smile before closing her eyes for the silent prayer. She’d like to stay here, eyes closed, no conversation, but before she could gather herself, she heard movement. Prayer was over.
Just leave him alone. Eat. Pray. Make small talk. But don’t look at him.
She lifted her eyes and found his. “Where will you go?”
“There’s a room above the gym. It makes sense for all the training I’ll be doing.”
Roy passed the basket of bread to Chris. “I can see the attraction for Englisch to see an Amish man fight them.”
“Ex-Amish, apparently,” Abigail corrected.
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Abi.” Chris held the basket out to her. “I have to do this. That’s all I know.”
She made herself take the basket. When people were shunned, no one could take anything from their hands. He wouldn’t be shunned, at least not officially. He would simply be unwelcome in most Amish homes and ignored if seen somewhere, like in town.
She dreaded this for him. It was the one thing she hated about the old ways. If he chose to leave, he should be hugged, given going-away gifts, and told to return to visit as often as he could. But all she wanted to do at the moment was throw the basket of bread at him.
“When and where is the fight?” Roy asked.
Chris buttered his bread and answered him. “March fifteenth, at an abandoned barn on Englisch property this time. The people in power feel that an Amish person fighting an Englisch person in a barn will garner the kind of attention they’re looking for. But this isn’t a fight to attend, if that’s what you were thinking. It’ll be brutal, and it’s doubtful I’ll win.”
“Would you actually consider going?” Jemima asked.
“No.” Roy shook his head. “That’s for youth who haven’t been baptized into the church yet. The rest of us would get into too much trouble for going, but I can see the allure, even for the Amish.” Roy cut up small pieces of food on Nevin’s plate. “With this untrained guy coming in, I’m going to need your help next week, Abigail.”
“I can give you an hour before school and a few after, but I’ve got to be back in the classroom on Monday.”
“But you’re needed here.”
“My substitute has made it clear that she has plans for next week.”
“Then find someone else.”
Abigail dug her fork into the lasagna despite that she was not hungry. Her temples ached as blood pounded from her heart. “Funny, isn’t it? I don’t see you telling the men—not any uncles or brothers or Daed or even ex-Amish Chris over here—how they need to give up their days because it suits your needs. Care to explain that one, brother?”
“I just thought that since you’re single and good with horses, you could give me a few more weeks.”
“Hmm. So if I were your brother who was single and taught school, you’d ask him?”
Roy stared at her as if startled by a revelation. He pursed his lips and gave a nod. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll find someone else.”
The win did little to ease her frustrations.
“Abi, I’m not ex-Amish. I’m not leaving.”
She nodded, trying to keep her words in check. “You sure about that? Seems to me that wherever your body lands, the rest of you may or may not follow.”
“Abigail!” Disbelief rang in Jemima’s voice as she fed Simeon a bite of lasagna.
“It’s fine,” Chris said. “She was very clear on how she felt about men who sort of stay and sort of leave.”
“Yeah, no worries. Right, Chris?” She stared at him. “You were even in church yesterday.” Her tone held far more accusation than her words. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m too out of sorts.” She stood. “I’ll go on home now, but starting tomorrow I’ll be good as gold until you’re gone. I won’t complain or snap.”
No one said a word as she grabbed her coat and left.
If she’d hoped to end things with Chris on truly friendly terms, she’d just ruined it. Right now she didn’t care.
Men.
Twenty
Jemima used a pitchfork to toss fresh hay into the stalls. Earlier she’d mucked them out while Roy brought bails of straw and hay from the barn behind their home. He could do that with one good arm, but it took two hands to muck out stalls.
Chris had left yesterday, and Abigail was back at school today, but their new help, Aaron, wasn’t here. He was supposed to have arrived yesterday afternoon, but his Mamm called to say he had the flu. It sounded as if he’d be in bed all this week and maybe next week too.
This old poultry barn was a surprisingly effective makeshift stable for keeping all the horses separated. Fortunately Houdini seemed to be gaining strength daily, and no other horse had come down sick.
They would need to keep the horses apart for just two more weeks. With or without Aaron’s help, that shouldn’t be too difficult. But it would require at least one week of her working with Roy. After that he should be out of the sling and able to work on his own. Could she hold her tongue and work beside him? Did she have a choice? Today was their first day, and Jemima’s thoughts railed against her husband.
She understood why Abigail had been so upset when Chris made plans with Roy and told her nothing. She could feel Abigail’s sense of displacement when she learned that Chris intended to fight regardless of whether he was up to it or what that decision did to them as a potential couple. Chris’s decision made no sense to Jemima.
The one thing she could credit Roy with was that keeping his secrets had made sense. But she still had issues with the secrets. Lots of them. Even if she could fully believe his story of spending only one night with Tiffany, a night that he didn’t even remember—and she was torn between wanting to believe him and fearing she was being naive—she still had nine months of lies to wade through. She cringed when she thought of him leaving the house as if he were going to work and instead going to her house to help parent Heidi. Of all the people, Tiffany Porter! Jemima had been so jealous when he was going out with Tiffany, an Englisch girl, that she’d later been tempted not to date him. But he’d convinced her that there was nothing between them, that he hadn’t sown any wild oats with Tiffany on their few dates as teens.
Had that been more lies? Was Jemima playing the fool, a trapped-with-no-way-out fool?
Roy walked by, pulling a hose. He had deep dark circles under his eyes from getting up with Heidi at night. And the baby had fussed for several hours every night since she’d arrived at their house, so they were trying another new formula for sensitive stomachs. Thank goodness Roy’s Mamm, Naomi, had agreed to take care of the little ones. Still, Jemima would have to stop work at times to go there and nu
rse Simeon, and she also had a pump she could use. She would pick them up after she got Laura from school. The number of children and the workload didn’t bother her. She and Roy had hoped to have at least six children. But Heidi’s presence was just about Jemima’s undoing.
She sighed and stabbed the pitchfork into more hay and slung it over the rail of the next stall. At least the physical work with the horses should make the time pass quickly. After Roy and she fed the horses, they would attach a lead and walk them and then groom them. She just had to get through being near Roy until the kids were tucked into bed. Then she could escape with Simeon into her bedroom while Roy kept Heidi in the guest room. But not even her bedroom brought peace since Heidi was in her home, crying sporadically throughout the night.
Roy started to fill the water container in the stall where Jemima was shoveling hay. “I need to send Chris a text thanking him for setting up this hose. I can’t imagine hauling water all the way out here like he had to do the first few days.”
“Ya.” She recoiled when Roy’s arm brushed hers.
His brows knit together, but he didn’t say anything.
She dug into the hay bale and carried it to the next stall. Every day since she had found out about Roy’s secrets had been completely devoid of joy. She had no hope of chasing her dreams of a food truck anymore, nothing to look forward to, and no expectation of feeling again the joy of just being alive and loved. Would things ever get better? Probably not with Heidi as a constant reminder of her broken marriage, of her commitment to Roy with no way out. There would be at least eighteen years of raising her, pretending, and hiding things from everyone, including her own children. Was that even possible? When Heidi was no longer a crying baby, she’d be a toddler, and then a child, and then a teen—each stage with new demands and needs. Could they really keep this secret from the community that whole time?
What would she give to go back in time and not get married? She couldn’t wish for her children not to exist. But maybe if she’d never married, their souls would’ve been put in the children of another couple who didn’t make each other so miserable.
Roy turned the hose nozzle to off, and the sound of water stopped. “Jemima, you’re crying.”
Was she? “No, I’m not.” But when she brushed her sleeve against her eyes, it was wet. She turned so he couldn’t see her face. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” Roy walked a few steps closer to her.
She kept looking at the ground and saw his feet stop, leaving a gulf of a few feet between them. Was he afraid to close the distance?
“I know this is hard. If you could believe me about what took place, it would help both of us. But, please, you have to believe that I love you.”
“The magic words, right?” Jemima turned away and stuck the pitchfork into the bale of hay. “It doesn’t really matter how either of us feels. There is no choice here. We’re stuck together until death. Apparently that’s fine with you. But it’s not with me, and I have no say and no choices.” She turned around, facing him. “I’m trapped like these horses. Grab a lead, Roy, and you can trot me out for some air on church Sundays before penning me up again.”
Roy’s eyes were huge with dismay. “That’s not who we are. It’s how you feel right now, but it’s skewed, Jemima. We have our whole lives before us, with hope and joy just beyond this darkness.”
“Ya. Gut. I feel so much better now. Why don’t you spell it out for me, tell me how I should feel?” How could he not see her side in this? “This marriage came with a lot of promises from you, but it’s taken away any control I ever had over my own life. I love our children. I’m not going to run off and abandon them. And what would be my other option? Take our four children somewhere when I have no money and no ability to make money? I have less autonomy in this mess than a child.”
He dropped the hose, blinking at her. “You’d take our kids and leave our marriage if you could? Over something that wasn’t even an affair? I didn’t mean to sleep with Tiffany. Do you believe me?”
That was a good question. “Lying would still serve a purpose for you, wouldn’t it? I’d still be angry about all the other lies, but if I could simply believe your version, I’d have my feet under me much sooner, and my anger wouldn’t engulf everything between us that ever mattered.”
She met his eyes as she’d done tens of thousands of times, and she saw what appeared to be honesty. Was he really telling her the truth?
His eyes remained steadfast on hers. “It happened as I said, Jem. Before God, it did.”
His words mingled with the truth she saw in his eyes, and something inside her, something real between them that was beyond her rage, saw the unvarnished honesty.
He was being completely forthright about what took place between Tiffany and him. She could feel his frustration from being forced to deal with Tiffany, his anger that had grown until he was on the edge of hating her. Maybe he did hate her. Yet, even with that full insight, Jemima was tempted to pretend she was unsure what had taken place and lash out at him with renewed anger.
God, help me! Where was her integrity? Her sense of decency and mercy?
She instantly knew where it was: buried under her rage.
She wanted to hurt him, but she had to admit what she now knew for sure. She sighed. “I was wavering, but, ya, I believe you. I believe that it was a single night with Tiffany, and unintentional, and that you don’t remember any more than what you’ve said.”
His body seemed to deflate with relief. “Gut. Wunderbaar gut.” He remained in place, and his relief quickly seemed to wane. “But you’d still leave if you could.”
“I can’t leave, so what difference does my answer make?” She raised her hands, palms up, before turning to grab the pitchfork. This whole conversation was pointless. They needed to finish their work with the horses so they could get away from each other.
“Tell me what you need, Jem. How do I help you forgive me? We have to find our way through this somehow or eventually everything between us will be ripped apart.”
She turned around and faced him. “I can’t forgive. I just can’t. You spent months lying to me and stealing money. Where did I think you were when you were with Tiffany? What lie did you tell me so you could be with Tiffany at the hospital as she gave birth to your daughter? After Heidi was born, how many times did you lead me to believe you were dealing with horse business when you were actually going to Tiffany’s house? I’m sorry if I’m not getting over the loss of trust in our marriage fast enough for you.” She jabbed the pitchfork into the hay again and dumped the load into another stall.
She kept moving, but had Roy even blinked?
“What?” she scoffed.
“You’re grieving the loss of our marriage?”
“If I’m being honest, I started that grieving process long before I found out about Heidi. There’s been a distance between us, and it’s not a new feeling.”
“If you’re talking about this past year, surely you know now why I was trying to keep it from you. I was trying to protect you.”
“It goes back before that! Your idea of being partners in marriage is to protect me as if I’m a fragile child, one with a chronic illness.”
He was silent for a moment and then tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think I understand.”
Would he ever be able to? “The horses.” She gestured to the stables around them. “I know it’s hard work, but you ask and depend on your sister to work with you. Not until now, when you had no other choice, have you asked me to be a part of your business. You’ve always gone to the auctions alone and made all the buying decisions without me. Ever since we’ve been married, you’ve held total control over our finances while I’ve cooked and cleaned for you. And I’m always there for you whenever you return. Just me there, waiting to be informed. Even if the Amish ways were different and I could ask f
or a divorce, I couldn’t leave, because I have no power and no money. You’ve created a cage for me. It was a beautiful cage in many ways until this thing with Tiffany, but it is a trap.” Her face was hot, and she fought to keep back her tears. Not wanting to bare any more of herself to him, she turned and walked out the door of the makeshift stable.
The cool early-March air helped her stop the tears from forming, and she took several deep breaths as she looked out over the fields. He’d never understand. She would have been better off to be like Abigail and never marry, never be so vulnerable.
She heard Roy’s steps approaching.
“I don’t understand, Jemima. How can you feel trapped? Both of us have responsibilities to each other, the children, the community, and God—not necessarily in that order. Didn’t we make our life choices when we decided to marry? It’s the Amish way: the man provides, and the woman stays home with her young children. How is it not freedom to be at home, protecting and nurturing the gifts God gave us?”
She looked over the hills of the property. There was a deep river at the bottom of a large hill, and she sometimes took the children there to dip their toes in the water. “The only way I could find freedom would be to walk into the center of the river and let it sweep me away until I no longer existed on this planet. But our children need me, so I can’t do that.”
There. She’d said it. Her dream of late was to end everything. That would be freedom.
Twenty-One
Roy’s insides were in knots as his Mamm passed him a cup of coffee. Jemima wished she could walk into the river and let it sweep her away? He felt as though he’d go crazy if he didn’t talk to someone. He’d left the stables and come straight here, to the home he’d grown up in, to tell his Daed everything. A fresh jolt of emotion shot through his nerves.
Everything.
Roy managed a nod of thanks to his Mamm. He ran his hand over the familiar kitchen table and inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. The fragrant aroma of the coffee stirred memories of sitting at this table through his growing-up years and talking as his Daed sipped on coffee. It was six in the evening, but his Daed could drink coffee at any time without it affecting his sleep. Caffeine too late in the day usually kept Roy awake at night, but no matter how potent this delicious brew of caffeine was, it wouldn’t begin to touch his exhaustion.
The Englisch Daughter Page 16