He had no desire to burden his Daed with information, but he had to talk to someone before he imploded and became of no use to anyone—his family, his community, God, or himself. He needed advice, and no one seemed as wise or understanding as his Daed. Jemima had gone home to fix dinner and tend to the children, including Heidi. All the things his wife had said rolled through his head like constant storms churning the sea. Did her words come just from her pain and anger, or from a hidden place in her heart she’d never shared before?
His Mamm set another cup of coffee in front of his Daed, who was at the head of the table, making small talk about the job Abigail and Chris had done turning the former poultry barn into temporary stables.
“I’ll let you two talk.” Mamm smiled down at Roy. He hadn’t said he was here to talk, but she knew her son. She kissed his forehead and left the kitchen.
Roy held his mug firm, gathering his thoughts and his courage. “Daed,” he began, and he had to force the next few sentences out of his mouth, telling him about getting hooked on pain pills and the confusion. His voice cracked as he confessed going alone to Tiffany’s that one night.
Daed closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as he took deep breaths. Roy waited, not wanting to make his Daed go into shock. Daed lowered his hand and gestured to Roy to continue. Roy stumbled as he told him all the embarrassing details of waking in Tiffany’s bed, her coming up pregnant, and now Heidi living with them.
Daed stared at his mug, fidgeting with it for nearly a minute before he cleared his throat. “Son”—his eyes misted—“you’ve carried this by yourself all this time?”
Roy’s head pounded. His Daed had no words of condemnation? “I thought—”
His Daed’s hand came across the table and grabbed Roy’s forearm. “I know what you thought, but you were wrong. No man can carry the weight of something like this on his own without its injuring his view of himself and life and God.”
Roy hadn’t expected compassion, and he couldn’t make himself look up.
Daed leaned forward. “Look at me, Son.”
Roy lifted his eyes.
“I speak for myself, for your Mamm, and for God. We forgive you. Do you hear me?”
Roy wiped moisture from his eyes.
“Whatever this family goes through that’s embarrassing or problematic,” Daed continued, “I forgive you. Whatever you need that’s inconvenient or displeasing, I forgive you. God forgives you. Now you forgive you.”
Roy’s heart threatened to beat right out of his chest, and he could almost breathe again. “Denki,” he whispered. But it would be a while before he could forgive himself. That night shouldn’t have happened. How had he let himself get so hooked on prescription pain pills that he opened the door to this monster that was now eating his wife’s heart one slow bite at a time?
Daed took a sip of his coffee. “I had a suspicion about that baby when I saw her and no one wanted to talk about it. Actually, the look on Jemima’s face pretty much said it all.”
“She’s struggling.” Roy swallowed hard, fighting tears. That was an understatement. He tapped his fingertip against the rim of his mug. “It’s been an awful year, Daed. I never knew that life could feel so dark and confusing, but I just kept lying to everyone, thinking I could fix all the wrongs somehow and Jemima wouldn’t have to suffer like she is now.”
“Ya.” Daed nodded. “But that’s only part of why you kept this from everyone. You were also trying to stay in control and lying to yourself that you could handle everything.”
Was that true? “Well, I’m ready to come clean. I need to ask something of you and Mamm. There’s a possibility I’m looking at a divorce.”
“What?” His Daed sounded offended.
“Jemima needs freedom, but I can’t stay at the rental home. It’d be like reliving a nightmare just to enter that house again, much less try to make that place a home. Besides that, Heidi sleeps so little, and each caregiver needs a break to get a few hours of sleep. I’ll figure out a safe way she can stay with me as much as possible while I work, but I’d need four to six months of her staying here at least part of each workday.”
“A divorce?” His Daed seemed far more upset about that than the fact his son had been with another woman and that his wife’s heart was broken.
“I know that neither Jemima nor I could ever marry someone else, but it’s the most freedom I can give her.”
Daed leaned back against the chair and crossed his arms. “Roy, she has to forgive you. God demands it.”
“Is that why you wasted no time forgiving me just now?” Roy already knew the answer.
“Nee. It’s fully yours from my heart. I know God has that forgiveness toward you too.”
“You offered it to me because it matched what’s in your heart?”
“Ya.”
“But it’s not in Jemima’s heart to forgive me.”
“But God said we must forgive. And it’s your home. What else is she possibly going to do with four children to feed and clothe? They need a father in the home.”
Something akin to fire skittered up and down Roy’s skin, running to one spot: his chest. No wonder Jemima hated him. She’d told him she felt completely powerless, but in this moment he saw it—his beautiful, loving wife trapped, as if she’d been dragged into a cave and bound and gagged by the man who’d promised to take care of her.
His thoughts reeled. Unlike his sister, who’d stayed single because she refused to give up her own dreams and hand over her power to another, Jemima had chosen to put all of who she was in Roy’s hands. Once their choice was etched in stone, they slowly began to see each other without those rose-colored glasses. But he had other outlets through work that she didn’t have, ones that allowed him to pursue dreams and feel fulfilled while she washed the same dishes three to five times a day every day, year in and year out. He had accolades and outlets that went beyond their relationship while she waited on him to return home.
Daed tapped his index finger on the table near Roy. “You listen to me, Son.” His eyes reflected pure stubbornness. “She has to forgive you. She took that vow when she joined our faith before she married you. Forgiveness and being Amish are one and the same.”
He saw it! Jemima’s only refuge was their home life, who they were to each other. For her, it was as if an atomic bomb had gone off, because her sole refuge was their home and he’d brought his lies and deception into it. He’d brought in his child who was born of another woman. She was trapped.
“Roy?”
He scratched his chin through his beard. “I kept this secret from her of my own free will. I came to a place of knowing I had to keep Heidi of my own free will. Someday—perhaps just between her and God—Jemima will forgive me of her own free will. But forgiveness does not mean taking someone back. Even God does not demand that of her in this sort of thing.”
“It’s not as if you chose to be with Tiffany, but even if you had, Jemima would have to forgive you. Our community has faced this before, and you will be shunned, and she will forgive you and allow you back—completely back. It’s how our faith works.”
Roy knew that his father was right, because he had seen it happen to a woman when he was a teen. She had complied with the ministers: weeping in front of the Sunday gathering for church, saying the right words about forgiving her husband, although anyone could see that her heart was so broken she could hardly speak. The husband was shunned for a month, and his wife went on with life as though her husband hadn’t chosen to commit a sin against her and God. From the outside, it looked like she’d forgiven him. Her husband continued to live at home, and she continued going to church meetings and tending to their children, the garden, and the laundry. After a year had passed, she was unable to get out of bed. She was just a shell of the person she had been. He’d gone with his Mamm to visit her one time. She stared into the distance,
looking lost as she mumbled about being unable to enjoy her children or pray to God or love her husband.
Had she really forgiven her husband? That took time, and when forgiveness happened, it stirred love and grace and acceptance. Had her husband worked to rebuild what he’d torn apart, or had he demanded she bury her pain so he didn’t have the inconvenience or guilt of facing it? Or, in obedience, had she simply said the words and then buried all her hurt and anger until those things buried her?
“But isn’t it your life too, Roy? You made a mistake, but won’t this plan to give Jemima whatever she wants put you in a prison for it?”
That was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? One of them had to be in prison over this—a jail that had nothing to do with taking care of Heidi and everything to do with being confined by one’s spouse’s decisions and needs. “I won’t force her to be a prisoner in her own home. She already feels trapped. I won’t let the ministers be her warden, telling her how to feel and behave toward me. I refuse to be her warden, too, for that matter. I’ll keep working the farm. I’m unsure what I need to do to get the money for her to buy a food truck.” One idea he’d had made him feel sick. He could sell his prized stallions. Was that even viable? They sired healthy, good-tempered foals that became excellent trained horses. After saving for many years, he’d bought his first stallion on his eighteenth birthday. They were a part of him and an invaluable part of this farm. In order to have enough money to buy the food truck, he’d need to sell both stallions, and that would be a horrible business decision.
“Roy”—his Daed rose quickly—“do you have any idea what you’re saying?”
“I think so.”
“What about your children?”
Again insight hit. “I won’t put their needs above Jemima’s.” He’d even been putting his children above his wife. But not anymore. “The church and the children will be just fine as I put my wife’s needs above theirs. The children are young, and it won’t be so very hard for them to forgive me. I’ll stay close by and see them often.” He also needed to put Jemima ahead of Heidi. He’d chosen to do just that, but once he talked to social services, he’d changed his mind. He clearly wasn’t good at putting Jemima first and sticking to it. He had good intentions but not sufficient follow-through.
“I’m not sure a woman should ever be given that much power.”
His Daed meant well. He loved his wife and children, and he was a good Daed, but that didn’t stop him from seeing women as less important than men. Hadn’t Roy been similar in many ways until Abigail called him on it? He wasn’t as fully indoctrinated into that thinking as his Daed because the men Roy’s age weren’t as old school as their Daeds were. They did the dishes sometimes, and they took their restless children out of church at times, not always leaving that up to the women. They changed diapers, picked up a few groceries once in a while, and even helped weed the vegetable garden on occasion. His generation was making a few strides. Roy had thought he was one of the more progressive men among the Amish. He’d agreed to tend to the children one day a week so Jemima could run a food truck stand on Saturdays while Abigail ran it Monday through Friday. But after the plan was made, he’d emptied the savings account for another woman’s sake, and Jemima no longer could purchase the truck.
He sighed, disgusted with himself. “Daed, a man who does wrong and then uses his power and status in the church and community to make a woman behave as he needs or wants her to—as is convenient for him—is a weak man, taking advantage of the status God gave him. Jemima needs freedom, and I intend to give it to her.” Roy pushed back from the table and rose. “I need to see the ministers.”
It seemed curious how he’d come here for advice but as he talked he knew what he had to do: set Jemima free.
“Whoa, Son. Slow it down.” Daed stood. “I doubt that what you’re saying is right, but clearly I can’t change your mind. What I do know is that once the ministers learn of this, everything that happens afterward is written in stone. If you want to give Jemima the freedom to choose, then let her choose. Are you sure she wants the ministers to know?”
He wasn’t, actually. He’d just assumed. Was it natural for him to come up with a plan and try to control how things played out without involving Jemima?
“You’re right.” He hugged his Daed, glad he’d come here to talk. “Denki.”
His Daed held him. “We’ll say nothing to anyone, but your Mamm and I are here for you.”
“I know the deal of buying the farm from you was that I’d never get in a bind and need your help, but if you could give me a week or two until Aaron, Chris’s replacement, is over the flu…”
His Daed nodded.
“Thanks.” Roy walked out the door, just as he had so many times in his life, and now, just as then, he knew one thing for absolute certain: his Daed loved him unconditionally.
He longed to give that to Jemima.
Maybe she needed to talk to someone, to vent to a therapist who wouldn’t shove the need to instantly forgive her husband down her throat. That might be more helpful than talking to anyone else. He didn’t know. Maybe they needed a marriage counselor.
But he now understood that he was stubborn and willful, making decisions for Jemima rather than with her. He loved his wife. He couldn’t imagine loving her any more than he did. The desire to protect her wasn’t wrong. But doing so at the expense of treating her as an equal—different but equal—that was wrong.
Twenty-Two
From inside the vehicle of an Englisch driver, Abigail stared at the front of the boxing gym. It was a narrow brick building with really dirty windows. Butterflies fluttered their wings in her stomach until she felt nauseated. Why hadn’t she said what needed to be said before Chris left Mirth yesterday morning? She’d been cold and moody toward him for the last week, and it wasn’t until a few hours after he was gone that she realized how wrong she’d been. Her conscience had kept her awake all through the night, whispering his name, urging her to look him in the eye and talk to him.
“I won’t be more than thirty minutes, Teresa.”
“It’s a long way to come for such a short conversation.” Teresa held up her cell phone. “Ever heard of one of these?”
Abigail waggled her cell. “Nope.” She chuckled and slid it into the pocket of her apron before getting out of the car. What was she doing? She opened the door to the gym and slipped inside. A dozen men were working out, all in shorts and very few with a shirt. Some were talking with trainers and other men faced each other, swinging their gloved fists and hitting each other.
The men slowly stopped until most of them were gawking at her, and the awkwardness of the moment threatened to steal her resolve. How long had it been since a woman had entered this place? It was possible that she was the first Amish woman to enter this old building, at least since it had become a boxing gym.
She scanned the men, trying to see beyond the shock of shorts and bare chests.
A man came toward her, smiling. “You in the right place, miss?”
She nodded.
“Then my guess is that you’re looking for Amish Chris.”
Again she nodded.
He pointed to a set of stairs. “Go up those stairs, last door to your right.”
“Denki.”
The man laughed. “He mumbles those strange words at me sometimes too.”
She went up the stairs, down the dreary, smelly hallway, and knocked on the last door to the right.
“Enter.”
Was that Chris’s voice? She knocked again. A few moments later the door opened as slowly as if pushed by a breeze. Chris no longer had the pageboy haircut of an Amish man, and the bridge of his nose was red, maybe swollen. But he had on his typical Amish pants and suspenders over a brightly colored T-shirt.
“Abi.” He looked down the hallway. “What are you doing here?”
“May I come in?”
“Sure.” He stepped back.
The room was sparse and dingy with a lone dirty curtainless window. It had scratched wood floors and a tiny sink filled with dishes. A misshapen navy blue couch faced a television no bigger than Tiffany’s laptop. Should she offer to make this room a little homier? He’d only been living here since yesterday morning.
“Is everything okay?” Chris asked.
Why would he be willing to stay in a gym or fight another human to keep his word, to help his brother? She’d thought coming here would help them in some way, but seeing him living like this was really hard.
“Nee.” She hadn’t come here to judge him, and she prayed for grace to understand him.
He motioned toward a kitchen chair. “Care to sit?”
“Ya.” She sat. “I’ve been thinking.” She’d told him Monday a week ago that she would finish out the week with kindness and no cold shoulder, but that’s not what she’d done. She’d stopped talking to him and being kind. She’d been disappointed in his decision, and she’d used silence as punishment. But after he was gone, as she reflected on how she’d behaved, she saw her flaws, her unkindness.
“You’ve been thinking.”
She licked her bottom lip. “Uh, ya. See, I’m demanding in my opinions of how things should work in relationships while criticizing men for being demanding in their opinions of how things should work in relationships. And I’m sorry.”
His brows furrowed, and he looked confused. “You’re here, in an Englisch boxing gym, to apologize?”
The Englisch Daughter Page 17