Amish Sweethearts

by Leslie Gould

  He didn’t flinch. “I’d like to marry her, sir. But I’m not sure how everything will work out.”

  Dat leaned forward again, his eyes still on Zane. “Any chance you intend to join us once you get back? It seems you were willing to join the Amish in Ontario. If an Englischman could become Amish, it would be you.”

  Zane hesitated, caught Lila’s eye, and then said, “I need to see how things go in Afghanistan first.”

  Dat nodded. “I understand. And I think you’ll understand this. Wait to write Lila until you get back to the U.S. Both of you need a few months to clear your heads after running off like this. I appreciate that you did the right thing by coming back, but your emotions are too high. You need more than feelings to fuel a good marriage. You need a love that is steadfast, faithful, and strong.”

  Lila had never heard such eloquent talk from her Dat. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was parroting Beth’s ideas, but it seemed as if he’d taken the words to heart. And it was good advice.

  “That’s fair,” Zane said, catching Lila’s eyes. She realized she’d been holding her breath, exhaled, and then nodded. Dat had been far more reasonable than she’d expected. The time of not being in touch would probably help both her and Zane figure out what they wanted, what they needed.

  As the waitress approached the table, Lila slipped her hand into her apron pocket and clasped the piece of jasper. His intention behind giving it to her was the sort of thing she loved about Zane. He made life rich and full of meaning. He also made her heart break in two. But he did make her feel, that was for certain.

  After they’d finished eating, Dat rode with Joel and Adam in Zane’s truck, while Lila and Beth rode in Shani’s van to drop Zane off at the airport. Lila managed to tell him she’d pray for him as she squeezed his hand and said good-bye. Shani had to pull away from the curb before Zane reached the door. He turned and waved, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. But then Shani moved over a lane, and a car moved in front of Zane, and when Lila caught sight of the door again he was gone.

  Lila fell asleep to the soft murmur of Shani talking to Beth about trusting God with Zane. “I don’t have any other choice. . . .”

  When Lila woke, Shani had stopped in front of the little cottage Beth rented from a family in the district. When Lila woke again, they’d reached Juneberry Lane and were turning up the driveway. Dat waited for them by the steps, and as soon as Shani stopped the van, he swung the side door open and extended his hand to Lila. She thanked Shani and followed her father into the kitchen.

  The lamp was lit and sitting in the middle of the table.

  Dat put his hand on top of the back of his chair and said, “I’m proud of you.”

  “What?” He’d never said anything like that before, not even close. And why would he now, after all she had put him through?

  “I thought I wanted conformity more than anything in my children,” he said. “All these years that seemed to be what mattered most. I wanted you to marry Reuben. To stay close. I thought that was how I would be successful as a father.”

  “I’m not leaving, Dat.”

  “That’s not what I’m getting at,” he said. “Jah, I was disappointed in your decision not to marry Reuben, but I can see now it was the right one. I know you don’t have things figured out, but I’m proud of you for not doing what so many of us wanted you to.”

  Lila didn’t know how to respond. She never would have expected such a statement from her Dat. She guessed having Simon run off to join the Army had humbled him some. Or maybe Beth had helped him see things from a different perspective. She supposed that’s what it meant to be a friend—to be willing to see things from another point of view.

  Finally she said, “I want to do what God wants me to do.”

  “He will lead you,” Dat said. “Just give him time.”

  25

  Zane flew from Philly to Dublin, on to Kazakhstan, then to Bagram, and finally to their base, arriving fifty-six hours after he’d left. As they landed, the sun set behind him over the Hindu Kush. Sarge and Casey met him at the airfield, on the runway he left from three months before on a stretcher.

  “Glad you could join us,” Sarge said.

  Zane just nodded as he slung his duffel bag over his left shoulder.

  “Are you healed?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Can you shoot?”

  “I’m guessing so.” He hadn’t actually tried, but Dad was right—if he could repair the chicken coop he was sure he could shoot a gun. Although there was the possibility his aim would be worse than ever. He sighed. Or that he would freeze.

  “Get some sleep,” Sarge said. “We’re leaving in the morning.” He took off toward the mess hall.

  “You’re in with Grant,” Casey said.

  Zane suppressed a groan.

  “Fair warning, he’s worse than ever. Wade won’t even room with him anymore.” Casey reached for his duffel bag. “Let me help.”

  “Are you kidding?” Zane pulled away from her. “You’re not carrying my gear.” He stopped. “Listen,” he said. “I want to tell you something before we’re around the others. Thank you for having my back all this time. And for being good to my mom too.” His mother had been a saint through his shenanigans. He couldn’t imagine why he’d been so annoyed with her before.

  Casey looked up at him. In the dim light she smiled just a little. “You’re welcome.” Then she shook her head. “So why did you take so long to e-mail us back?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I do, honestly.”

  “I took a little trip to Canada.”

  “By yourself?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I won’t tell anyone else,” she said. “Not even Sarge.”

  “I know.” Next to Lila and his parents, he trusted Casey more than anyone. “I was with Lila.”

  “Zane . . . What were you thinking?”

  “That we’d make a life together up there.”

  “What happened?”

  “She changed her mind. And then she told me to keep my commitment and come back here.”

  “Really?” Casey asked. “Why’d she do that?”

  Zane sighed. “She said I’d regret it.”

  “And you agreed?”

  Zane frowned. “Time will tell.”

  Casey smiled, her dimples flashing. “Happy to be back, then?”

  “Well, happier than I expected. It’s good to see you, and I’m looking forward to seeing Jaalal.”

  “Yeah, about that, you’ll have to convince Sarge. Grant’s been feeding him a boatload of you know what. We haven’t seen Jaalal in weeks.”

  “What have you been doing since the last translator left?”

  “Sticking around here, except for a few day-trips to nearby villages.” She leaned forward a little. “Which is exactly what Grant wants. He’s full of it—as long as we’re on base. If you think getting shot shook you up, you should see what getting shot at did to him.” She grimaced.

  “Is that what everyone thinks? That getting shot shook me up?”

  She nodded.

  He shook his head, weighing his emotions again. “It wasn’t getting shot that sent me to Canada.”

  “What was it then?”

  “Having to shoot back.” He hesitated. “And killing Benham.”

  “He was a bad guy.”

  “I know. But he was a human being. Doing something he thought he needed to do too.”

  Casey kicked at the dirt. “I can see that would bother you.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “And getting shot.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s probably better if that’s what everyone thinks.”

  Casey’s face grew serious again. “So what’s the status as far as you and Lila now? Broken up for good?”

  Zane shook his head. “We’re taking a break. Again. We’re not going to make any decisions yet.”

  “So she might leave the Amish?”

  “We’ll see,” Zane
said. He trusted Casey with his life—but not enough to tell her he was considering becoming Plain.

  Grant grunted when Zane stepped into the room and said, “I was hoping you’d gone AWOL.” Then he returned to the movie playing on his laptop.

  Swinging his duffel bag onto his bunk, Zane decided to ignore him. But after a few minutes he asked Grant what he was watching.

  “The Longest Day.”

  “That’s a World War II movie, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  With John Wayne. Big, strong, and brave. Zane pulled his extra uniforms out of his duffel bag. The good soldiers in the movies were always tall and handsome, while the cowards were scrawny and homely. The heroes never questioned anyone’s authority, but the cowards whined and sniveled.

  In the real Army some of the best soldiers were short. Some were downright small. Some were as homely as could be. In the real Army, the handsome ones were sometimes the ones that whined and dodged their duty. And the ones who seemed fearless were really afraid, although Zane doubted he appeared fearless to anyone.

  “How’s your baby doing?” Zane asked, turning toward Grant.

  “Shhh,” he said. “I’m at the good part. They’re about ready to cross the bridge.”

  Zane turned back to his unpacking. Three months and they’d be back in the States. That’s all he had to get through.

  Zane’s unit stuck around base for a week, day-tripping to local villages, finishing up business that had been left undone once the translator fell ill. The nightmares continued, and a couple of times Zane woke up to the screech of his own voice, surprised he hadn’t woken Grant too. But it seemed the man could sleep through anything.

  The next week they headed up the windy road safely strapped in an MRAP and finally into the mountains, where some new intelligence was waiting at the farthest village, or so the speculation was. No one talked much until they reached the first village. Casey and her crew gathered a few of the women around and showed them one of the new stoves. Zane translated how it worked while Casey demonstrated. The plan was to keep children, especially toddlers, from falling in the cooking fires and burning themselves.

  If people in the states believed the Amish lived primitively, Zane thought they’d be flabbergasted by an Afghan village. But even in the midst of war, the people were relatively happy, as long as their children had enough to eat. The smaller ones played with sticks and rocks, while the mothers cooked in a group. The fathers were off in their fields and the older kids were herding the goats and sheep.

  Zane stumbled a few times over words, but overall he was grateful for how the language came back to him. That evening after supper, he sat around with some of the Afghan men and visited and drank tea. The air was cool and crisp, and the temperature would likely drop below freezing that night. Hopefully the colder weather would mean less fighting.

  One of the men asked if he’d seen Jaalal yet.

  Zane shook his head.

  “Go see him,” the man said. “He’d like that.”

  “I hope I can,” Zane answered.

  The next day he asked Sarge about detouring to Jaalal’s village, but he refused. “I’m not going there,” he said. “That’s why we brought you back.”

  “I can’t do what Jaalal can. He’s an elder. He can rally the people, not to mention uncover intelligence I never could. Can’t you give him a chance?”

  Sarge shook his head.

  They moved on to the next village that morning and went through the same lesson with the stoves, but this time only two Afghan women joined in, and all the men in the village stood around in a semicircle, observing.

  Zane spoke loudly so they could hear, and when they’d finished asked if they could give the children a treat. The men shook their heads. They’d hoped to stay at that village for a night, but instead traveled on, skipping Jaalal’s village and going toward the fourth, where the man with new intelligence was rumored to be, nearing it late in the day.

  A pickup blocked the road before they arrived. It seemed to be empty, but there were no guarantees that someone might not be hiding in the brush. It had started to rain, and dusk was falling, adding to the poor visibility.

  “Taliban,” Grant said.

  “Maybe,” Sarge answered. He unbuckled his seat belt and began moving up toward their driver, Private Anderson, saying, “We should turn around.”

  Wade paled.

  “Where to now?” Zane asked Casey.

  “Probably back to base. That’s been our MO lately. That’s why we’ve hardly gotten anything done.”

  Zane leaned back against his seat. He was supposed to be the coward, but they were all as punchy as could be. He’d come back reluctantly, at Lila’s urging, but now that he was here he wanted to be able to complete their work. And the only way they could get it done was to bring Jaalal back on board.

  The rain grew heavier and Private Anderson slowed as he turned the wheel.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Grant said.

  “Give it up,” Casey hissed.

  “It’s Taliban. I can feel it.”

  “You’re like a broken record,” Casey said to him.

  Zane couldn’t help but sympathize with Grant, thinking of the last patrol the two of them had been on to gather intelligence.

  Grant crossed his arms and scowled at Casey, but then the MRAP jumped, followed by the sound of an explosion. Then a scream. Zane was pretty sure it wasn’t his, but he couldn’t be certain. Smoke began to flow into the front of the vehicle’s interior.

  “Everyone okay?” Zane asked, feeling oddly calm.

  “Yeah,” Casey responded.

  “We’d better get out.” Zane unbuckled.

  “It’s not safe,” Grant answered. “It’s a trap.”

  “It’s not safe to stay in a burning vehicle either.” It could have been that the IED was freshly set, or perhaps it was an old one. But considering the pickup blocking the road, it had likely been a trap. They’d probably been lured to the village by the promise of information, but they’d arrived sooner than anticipated. Maybe that had saved them—no one seemed to be in the immediate area, but they wouldn’t know for sure until they exited the MRAP.

  Zane turned toward the front and called out, “Sarge!”

  When he didn’t answer, Zane started crawling forward on his hands and knees, yelling back to Casey and Wade, “Go out the back door—but watch for any insurgents. Let me know if you see anything.”

  He felt Sarge before seeing him. His helmet was off and he was unconscious, but he had a pulse. Zane crawled over Sarge to Anderson, who was slumped over the steering wheel. He appeared dazed but hadn’t lost consciousness.

  Smoke was now pouring into the cab from the engine.

  He crawled back over Sarge and now saw that there was significant blood coming from a head wound. He pulled out his first-aid kit, pressed the quick clot packet over the wound, and strapped his helmet back on. He then grabbed Sarge by the feet and pulled him toward the back. Grant still sat in his seat.

  “Come on,” Zane ordered. “We’ve got to get Sarge to safety.” Maybe it was the appeal to help someone else, maybe it was the smoke, but something finally compelled Grant to move. “Call for help,” Zane ordered him.

  Grant just stared at him.

  Wade said, “I’ll do it.” As Grant and Zane stumbled out the door with Sarge, who had regained consciousness, Wade spoke into his radio.

  Casey stood sentry with her gun pointed toward the brush. “I haven’t seen a thing.”

  “Head to the stand of trees off to the right,” Zane ordered and then followed with Sarge between him and Grant. Wade fell in behind.

  They lowered Sarge to the ground, and Zane went back to the MRAP for Private Anderson. He pulled his T-shirt up over his mouth as he entered. Anderson was fairly alert and appeared to be shutting down the MRAP systems. By the time they were out of the rig and in the stand of trees, both Zane and the driver were coughing.

  After examinin
g Sarge, who was unconscious again, Zane knew he’d hit his head pretty hard. His left arm and leg were both bleeding and his uniform was torn up. Zane packed those wounds and then checked his pulse again. It was steady. He revived and after a few more minutes seemed to be doing better.

  “What now?” Casey asked.

  “We should go back to Jaalal’s village for help,” Zane replied, saying a silent prayer that it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t certain it was—but he couldn’t come up with a better plan.

  He turned toward Grant. “Go back and destroy any sensitive items we can’t carry.” The last thing they wanted was for radios and electronic equipment to get in the wrong hands.

  Grant frowned but followed Zane’s instructions.

  Anderson had dropped to the ground once they reached cover, and now he groaned.

  Zane knelt beside him. “We’re going to walk to Jaalal’s village. Do you think you can make it?”

  The driver nodded. Zane helped him to his feet as he motioned to Casey to come support him.

  Then he instructed Wade to make a “chair” with Zane, linking their hands together to carry Sarge. It would be slow going, and they’d need to trade off with Grant, but hopefully it would work.

  “We’ll lead the way,” Zane said. He called out to Grant, as he came back across the road, “You take up the rear.”

  “Great,” Grant said. “I’ll be the target.”

  “Would you rather be in front?”

  “Yeah. Actually, I would.”

  “Go for it.” Zane and Wade fell back.

  As darkness descended, they stopped and put on their night-vision goggles. Sounds startled them now and then, and Zane kept expecting whoever owned the pickup to follow, but after thirty minutes of walking, he started to feel more confident.

  They had to stop over and over to rest, and an hour later they were taking a break in the middle of the road when Grant bellowed, “Truck!”

  Sure enough headlights were coming their way.

  “Hide,” Zane commanded. He and Wade lifted Sarge, who continued to move in and out of consciousness, again.

  Grant reached the trees first, followed by Casey and Anderson, and then Wade, Zane, and Sarge. They’d just made it into the trees when the truck drove by. It was an old Toyota, white and beat up. It looked a lot like Jaalal’s.