by Leslie Gould
“Zane’s mother seems like a good woman,” Beth said as they reached the door.
“She is,” Lila answered. “His father is a good man too.”
“How about the son?”
Lila grimaced.
“It’s none of my business, but . . .” Beth peered at Lila, her hazel eyes full of concern. “Life can be complicated, jah?”
“Not so much,” Lila said. “We all have our places. I’ve always known that.” But she hadn’t always believed it. She used to think there would somehow be hope for her and Zane. That by some miracle she’d spend her life with him. That had been when she was a child. She’d grown up since then.
Beth took a long time to say anything. When she finally did, she simply said, “I suppose you’re right.”
Lila waited at the door as the woman left, hoping she wouldn’t say anything to Dat about what she suspected. If she did, her father would encourage her to marry Reuben as soon as possible, probably right after she joined the church.
15
Zane hoisted his duffel bag onto his back as he made his way through the crowd of people at the Philadelphia airport. He’d texted from Atlanta that his flight was delayed by a couple of hours, and that he would call and meet them at the curb once he had his luggage. Hopefully his parents had received the text before they left for Philly.
“Thank you for your sacrifice,” an older man said as Zane strode by him.
Zane slowed and told the man he was welcome. He appreciated the gratitude, but it always left him feeling a little awkward too. He hadn’t sacrificed that much.
He inhaled deeply as he walked toward baggage claim. So many people. And the smells of the food seemed overpowering. He missed the mountains and fresh air. He missed the thin bread and chutney and Aliah’s gosh-e fil. He missed Jaalal and even Benham, although he certainly didn’t have a relationship with the young man like he did with the grandparents.
In an effort to connect with Jaalal on a deeper level, Zane had shown him some photos of his family and their farm. The higher-ups encouraged it to dispel the misconceptions that all Americans lived fast, self-centered lives. As he went through the photos on his phone, he zipped past the ones of Lila. Jaalal had asked him to go back to those and Zane complied. Jaalal was curious about her, and Zane explained she was Plain. Then he tried to explain the Amish to Jaalal, who couldn’t believe there were Americans like that. Several times he repeated the word Amish, as if intrigued by the word. Zane explained their religious and nonresistant beliefs and that they educated their children in parochial one-room schools and pretty much operated like a village, even though they lived on farms spread across the countryside.
Jaalal listened closely and then said, “You like the girl, no?” Zane had answered she was a friend, but Jaalal laughed and said he didn’t believe him.
Yes, he missed Jaalal and his insights and wisdom, but Zane also missed his team—most of them. Sarge. Casey. Wade, who little by little was becoming more of his own man. Not Grant, though. The more Zane connected with the Afghan people the more resentful Grant became. He was as far from civil as possible. He continually made derogatory comments about the Afghan people.
At least Wade was backing off from supporting Grant. There were a few times when he seemed downright uncomfortable with what Grant was saying—not enough to call him on it, but at least enough not to back him up.
Zane swiped his hand across his chin. He’d shaved his beard off once he’d reached Bagram, but he was having a hard time getting used to his bare face. Grant never did stop harassing him about his lack of a mustache, but each time Zane weathered the man’s barbs, he thought of the Amish resilience and prayed for some measure of hope for the Afghan people, that someday they would know peace.
He knew it was unlikely though. Centuries of fighting hadn’t resolved anything for the tribal people, or the ones living in cities throughout the country.
Zane quickened his pace and lifted his head as he heard someone call his name on the other side of security. Adam jumped up and down ahead, a giant balloon in his hand that said Welcome Home. His parents both waved, huge grins on their faces.
He waved back and inhaled again. He was glad to be home, he really was. Seeing his family made his heart flutter. He increased his stride, practically running to the waiting area. In no time he had his arms wrapped around his parents and Adam all at the same time. He wasn’t surprised that his mother was crying, but when he finally pulled away he realized that they all were. Even him.
Zane spent the first couple of days of his furlough relaxing. Adam wasn’t out of school yet, but both Mom and Dad had taken time off. They asked him several times if he wanted to go into Philly or New York or for a hike in the Poconos, saying they’d take Adam out of school. He declined. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. He wanted to sleep and rest and read. He’d been reading through the Psalms, soaking it in. He’d felt God’s presence in Afghanistan in a way he’d never felt it before. He thought of the cliché “There are no atheists in foxholes.” He certainly hadn’t been in a foxhole. And there were atheists around—although there were lots of believers too. What he’d felt was a peace that God would take care of him no matter what.
He appreciated the Psalms now more than ever. David had been a soldier and a poet. He’d felt things deeply. His words were honest.
His thoughts often went to Lila. Maybe she hadn’t gotten his e-mail. Wouldn’t she have at least had the decency to respond if she had? He swallowed hard. Maybe her silence was for the best. He’d sent it in a moment of weakness.
On Zane’s third day home, he was sitting on the porch when Tim came down to say hello. He told him that Simon was coming home from Virginia, where he’d recently been stationed, for a few days of leave.
“Will he be staying at the house?” Zane thought maybe he’d stay with his grandparents.
“Jah,” Tim answered. “Of course.”
Zane was a little surprised.
“It will give the girls a break from the milking.”
After Tim left, Zane went into the house and found Mom in the kitchen, setting the table. He told her Tim had stopped by and was quite friendly.
She explained that Tim had a “friend” who seemed to be having a positive influence on him.
“What kind of friend?” Zane asked, confused.
“Trudy’s teacher. She’s in her early forties, and it seems she and Tim have been seeing quite a bit of each other.”
“You’re kidding.” He couldn’t fathom Tim Lehman courting.
“She quilts with us.” Mom put the knives and forks in place. “She’s the Beth who signed the back of your quilt.”
Just before Zane left for furlough, a red-white-and-blue quilt had arrived that had been signed by Mom, Lila’s grandmother, Eve, and this Beth. But not Lila. He’d put it in his footlocker back at the base, not intending to take it into the field. He knew how much work went into it—and prayers. It meant a lot. He planned to send a thank-you to the ladies when he returned. It would probably mean more sent from Afghanistan.
“Lila was supposed to sign the quilt too, but she was working at the restaurant the Saturday we finished it.”
“Oh” was all Zane managed to say. She hadn’t come over, even though she knew he was home. Rose had come over with Trudy a couple of times already.
The next day, he had a text from Simon, asking Zane to pick him up at the train station in Lancaster, with the explanation that Daniel wasn’t driving his truck anymore.
Zane hadn’t seen Daniel yet, but he still hoped to. It sounded as if he were planning to join the church, which probably meant he and Jenny would soon marry. Zane couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Except for the Amish youth, no one he knew admitted to wanting to settle down. Even Casey talked about the freedom she had by not being married. It wasn’t as if Zane had told anyone he longed to be married either though. Why would he when the girl he wanted was off-limits?
He’d probably be finishing up h
is tour in Afghanistan when Daniel and Jenny married. That was fine with him. The last thing he wanted to see was Lila and Reuben together at an Amish wedding. Then again, the two of them would probably be marrying around then too, if not sooner.
Zane waited inside the train station, wearing his civilian clothes—jeans and a T-shirt. He spotted Simon in his uniform first and nearly laughed. The Amish boy wearing fatigues while the Englisch soldier wore jeans. It could have been worse—Zane could have borrowed a pair of Simon’s old pants, suspenders, and shirt. He wished he’d thought of it.
“Bro!” Simon called out from across the train station and started running. Zane strolled forward, his arms extended.
Simon hugged him hard, whacking him on the back. Two women stopped to stare and then thanked Simon for his service.
Simon stepped back and pointed to Zane. “Thank him. He’s home from Afghanistan on furlough.”
The women gushed a little and then thanked Zane.
He nodded an acknowledgment. He wasn’t serving any more than Simon. He’d just been sent to a more dangerous place.
He grabbed Simon’s backpack from him, but his friend held on tight. “No way,” he said. “You’re my superior.”
“Knock it off,” Zane said. “I’m your friend.”
“You’re my brother.”
Zane nodded, grabbed the backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and swung his other arm over Simon’s shoulder.
“Daniel has the day off,” Simon said. “I told him we’d pick him up.”
“All right,” Zane said.
A half hour later they were with Daniel at his place. Simon changed into civilian clothes and then suggested they go get something to eat.
“Anywhere you want to go,” Zane said. It was late on a Saturday afternoon in the middle of May, which meant the entire county was crawling with tourists.
“The buffet on the highway. I’m ready for some home cooking, or at least close to it.”
Zane nodded, trying to keep his expression even. That was where Lila worked. He could only hope it was her day off.
On the way, Simon entertained them with stories about boot camp. “I knew I was naive,” he said. “But I had no idea how badly. We had all sorts of people trying to prove themselves. Some days I thought everyone was going to kill one another before the Army could.”
“How were things by the end?”
“Good,” Simon said. “Not totally conflict free but a whole lot better.”
“Did anyone go down . . .” Zane stopped, realizing how stupid his question was.
“For my boot camp graduation?”
Zane nodded. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Your dad offered to.”
“Really?” Zane loosened his grip on the steering wheel. He wasn’t surprised.
“But I told him not to. Insisted, in fact. I’ve enjoyed my independence. It’s been the best thing for me.”
When they reached the Plain Buffet, Simon was the first one out of Zane’s truck. He practically ran into the restaurant. Zane could understand he’d be excited to see Lila but was surprised at his enthusiasm. He glanced at Daniel, who shrugged and said, “Obviously he has it bad.”
Zane shook his head. “For?”
“Mandy.”
“Who’s Mandy?”
“A girl Simon was seeing, sort of, before he left.”
“Ah,” Zane said. That explained it. By the time he and Zane stepped inside, Simon had his arms around a girl wearing a Mennonite Kapp. Zane recognized her from the time he’d come into the restaurant with his parents, when Lila was working. Mandy had a twinkle in her eyes as she unwrapped Simon’s arms from around her.
“I’m on duty. Are you trying to get me fired?” she joked, pointing toward a table. “That’s my section.” She was obviously happy to see him. He grinned and led the way.
Zane glanced around as he followed.
“Don’t worry,” Daniel said. “Lila’s not working. She’s at Mammi’s shop today.”
Zane ignored Daniel’s comment and slid into the booth across from Simon. Daniel slid next to Zane. Obviously, they were going to be Simon’s audience.
And they were. Simon continued on about how great the Army was and how well he’d done on his marksmanship tests. “Not to brag or anything,” he said, “but I got a perfect score.”
Daniel kicked Simon under the table.
“Careful or you’ll end up being a sniper,” Zane said.
“Exactly,” Simon said. “I can’t wait.”
Zane shook his head. “You’re kidding—right?”
“No. What better job could I have than protecting other soldiers? It’s the most important job in the Army.”
Zane shook his head. “A medic is the most important job.” And next to that civil affairs, but he wasn’t going to say that. Taking care of people was far more important than shooting them.
“Yeah, well, if the sniper does his job there’s no need for a medic.”
Daniel shifted in his seat as Mandy arrived to take their drink order and then said, “Go fill your plates.”
When they returned with their food, Zane asked Daniel about Jenny. He blushed as he pressed his fork tines against his mashed potatoes. “She’s good. We both finished our class to join the church.” He paused and then added, “So did Lila.”
Zane didn’t react, at least he hoped he didn’t.
“That’s why I sold my truck and gave up my cell phone,” Daniel said. “We’re all joining next week.”
“Gideon’s going to douse you, huh?” Zane smiled. Lila had explained how the bishop poured water over the heads of those he baptized.
“Yep.” Daniel seemed happy as could be about it.
“What about work?”
“I’m still doing construction. For Jenny’s uncle, though—not the guy from before.”
Zane nodded. Jenny’s paternal uncle had taken over her father’s construction firm. That was a good place for Daniel. Perhaps he could work into being a partner. The money would be much better than working for anyone else. Monika had probably arranged all of it.
“So are you going to move in with Dat once you’re married?” Simon teased.
Daniel didn’t take the bait. “Monika and Gideon are building a Dawdi Haus for when they’re older. Jenny and I’ll live there for the time being.” He blushed again.
Simon turned his attention to Zane. “How about you? Have you found anyone in the Army who suits your fancy?”
Zane shook his head.
“You will, in time,” Simon said.
Zane shook his head again. “I’m out of there as soon as possible. After I come home from Afghanistan, I’ll only have five months left.”
“You’re kidding,” Simon said. “Why would you leave so soon?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I feel good about what I’m doing right now—but in general, I still don’t think these two wars are right.”
A look of disgust passed over Simon’s face. “It’s your country—love it or leave it.”
Zane could just imagine Simon hearing that from some gung-ho military man. “That’s not how it works,” Zane said. “That’s actually what we fight for—so people can have differing opinions. So people like the Amish can live out their beliefs.”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “But you’re not Amish.” He shoved a fork loaded with green beans into his mouth.
Zane exhaled, not wanting to get into an argument with Simon. “But I still have a right to my beliefs,” he said as calmly as he could.
“Not really,” Simon answered. “You sold your soul to Uncle Sam.” Then he broke out in a grin, but Zane knew he wasn’t joking.
He hadn’t sold his soul, but it sounded as if Simon had. Zane didn’t fault his friend for his beliefs—he just hated that simplistic thinking. All of it was complex, whether one was in Afghanistan or back home. Simon had no idea just how complex it could be.
Zane just wanted to make it through without having to do anything
he’d regret for the rest of his life. Simon, on the other hand, seemed to think he’d have no regrets. No matter what.
The next Friday, several days after Simon had returned to Virginia, Zane went into town to Dad’s work. He wore his dress uniform, at his father’s request. They were having a gathering for a group of veterans, and Dad wanted Zane to share about his experience in Afghanistan, saying it was good for them to hear about the positive work going on and that it was helping citizens.
Zane appreciated the meeting more than he thought he would. The vets had all served in Afghanistan and Iraq. Some had pretty severe injuries—from lost limbs to obvious brain trauma. What impacted Zane most was that their physical injuries weren’t their biggest hurts. What happened to others—or what they inflicted on others—was what haunted them. One man talked about horrible nightmares after an accidental attack on civilians. Another talked about a car filled with children that exploded at a checkpoint he manned. A third talked about a shootout that left a little boy dead.
He couldn’t help but question his involvement in war, once again, after listening to their stories.
On the way home, after he turned onto Juneberry Lane, he slowed even more than usual when he reached the Lehmans’ drive. He peered down it, as always. Dresses hung on the line, blowing in the breeze. Burgundy, green, and blue. And black aprons. But no one was in sight. His heart ached at the thought of not even catching a glimpse of Lila while he was home.
Home. That was what he longed for—and it wasn’t the house his parents lived in. He wanted a wife to love. A family to care for. A safe place of his own.
It was milking time. Lila was probably helping her Dat.
After he parked his truck, he sat in it for a long while and then headed toward the field, stopping when he reached the halfway point. He stared at the gate. The first time he saw Lila he’d been standing at that gate.
He thought of the gate a lot. Of him on one side and her on the other. He imagined her there again. He continued on but stopped when he heard a voice.
“Go set the table.” It was Lila.
Zane stepped toward the edge of the poplars, hiding in the shadows, as Trudy skipped from the barn. He stayed put, afraid Lila might follow. Just as he’d decided to turn around and go back home, he saw her walking toward the house. And then she stopped and looked toward the weathered boards of the fence, her gaze soft. Her expression had a sweetness to it that he remembered from when they were young.