A Simple Vow

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Jah, but it’s been nearly five years. And he’s got us to look after the meals and the laundry and the household chores for him. It’s not like he has to fend for himself any more than he did when she was here.” Edith steeled herself against tears, knowing they could be contagious. “I still really miss her.”

  “Jah, nothing’ll ever be the same,” Loretta murmured with a hitch in her voice.

  Rosalyn glanced toward the house, squaring her shoulders. “Well, we can’t let ourselves get down about it, the way Dat does. Mamm would be disappointed if we went around drooping like rag dolls that’ve lost their stuffing. Let’s brew a pitcher of iced tea and make dinner. We’ll feel better after we eat—and so will Dat.”

  “And maybe we’ll figure out what to do about all these concerns,” Loretta said as she started for the house with Louisa.

  “The best thing would be to turn them over to Jesus,” Edith reminded her sisters. She bussed Leroy’s downy cheek, feeling better immediately. “But I suppose we’ll have to gnaw on them a bit more before we turn loose of them. It seems to be our way.”

  Before they reached the back door, Leroy clapped his hands against Edith’s cheeks. “Ma-ma-ma-ma ma!” he crowed.

  Edith’s heart stilled. Was he calling her Mama? Or was that wishful thinking and baby babble?

  “Woo! Hoo!” Louisa called out as she bounced in Loretta’s arms.

  “That’s the spirit! The twins have it right,” Rosalyn said as she smiled at the four of them. “How about if we go for more woo-hoo this afternoon, instead of boohoo?”

  “I’m all for that,” Edith agreed. The twins’ bright-eyed smiles were every bit as contagious as her tears would’ve been, and for that she was grateful.

  Chapter Seven

  Monday morning, Asa steered Midnight into the lane of the farmstead to which the fellow at the Roseville feed-store had directed him. He sensed a great heaviness about the place—a feeling that everyday life had ground to a halt. Weeds clogged the barnyard fencerow, and the stable door gaped open. The two horses in the pasture trotted up to watch him approach as though hoping for some attention—or were they gawking at Midnight because he stood nineteen hands high and exuded so much more vitality than they did?

  Asa frowned. He couldn’t see any water in the trough, and the hay feeder was empty. Had Gingerich left the farm and abandoned his horses?

  He hitched Midnight to the post nearest the house. It was a modest dwelling even by Amish standards, and the white paint was beginning to peel. On this sunny April day, all the windows were shut tight, and the curtains were drawn. Asa stepped up onto the small porch, opened the screen door—which made the bottom section of screen flap loosely—and knocked loudly on the wooden door. He’d planned his no-nonsense speech all the way from Willow Ridge, his vow to Edith Riehl uppermost in his mind.

  Asa placed his ear to the door. Nothing. He knocked again, louder this time. “Will Gingerich?” he called out.

  “Go away.”

  Asa scowled. Will’s voice sounded lackluster and weak, but Asa couldn’t let that stop him from getting the information he needed about who might have fathered Leroy and Louisa. A father was every child’s birthright—and as devoted as Edith was to those babies, she deserved the truth about their dat even though she might have to give them up.

  “It’s Asa Detweiler. Are you going to let me in?” he demanded. Silence stretched long enough that Asa tried the knob.

  “I’ve got nothing to say. Leave me alone.”

  By then Asa had opened the door enough to see that the front room was dim and unlit. Gingerich sat in the center of the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his head hung low. The place smelled of sickness—stuffy—so Asa left the door open to circulate some fresh air. He almost launched into his prepared speech, but when Will raised his head, Asa held his tongue.

  “What do you want?” the disheveled younger man asked in a raspy voice. “Can’t you see that I’m miserable? I can’t stop wondering why my wife had to die—and why she betrayed me. Haven’t you done enough damage without coming here to rub my nose in it?”

  Asa opened his mouth and then closed it. Will looked horrible—obviously he hadn’t bathed or shaved since his trip to Willow Ridge. Dishes were scattered around the front room with half-eaten food on them. Although Asa wasn’t the man Gingerich should be angry with, Asa suddenly realized that Will was going by the only information he had—not to mention mourning the loss of a wife whose cancer had eaten her away before she’d wounded him so badly with her deathbed declaration. He saw no sign that Molly’s family had brought food or come over to help, either, which ran contrary to their Plain faith.

  Will was in a very bad place, emotionally. The last thing he needed to hear was Asa’s demand for more information plus an apology for muddying his reputation. As Asa sat down in a worn platform rocker near the sofa, he searched for a way to begin a more positive conversation. The cushion wheezed, and dust flew around him, yet another sign of how long and how deeply the Gingerich household had been immersed in sadness.

  Thinking of two perky little faces, Asa smiled. “Leroy and Louisa are doing well with the Riehl girls,” he said. “What with the neighbor ladies bringing over beds and baby stuff, and the next-door neighbor donating fresh goat milk, it’s like the whole town of Willow Ridge has adopted them. You took them to the right place.”

  Will looked at him morosely. “You can see why I had to take them someplace.”

  “Jah, I can.” Asa was determined not to get sucked into Will’s downhearted mood, yet everything about this place made him wonder if Gingerich would ever rise above his depression. “I’m sorry you lost your wife. Sorry you learned things about her you didn’t want to know.”

  Will speared his long fingers through his sandy brown hair until it resembled a haystack hit by a storm. “None of this would’ve happened if Cornelius Riehl hadn’t split us up,” he murmured with a deep sigh. “Loretta was the girl I truly loved.”

  Asa didn’t really want to hear the history of Will’s love life. But if he talks about his involvement with the Riehls, he might reveal some useful information. “Loretta seems very nice,” Asa hinted. “All three of the sisters impress me as caring and compassionate.”

  “They are.” Will sat taller, as though rousing himself. “It’s the old man who’s a piece of work. Understatement of the century to call him a control freak. And no man on the face of this earth is gut enough for any of his daughters—just in case you’re interested.”

  “I gathered that, jah. Met Cornelius on Saturday, when he cornered the owner of the mill store and insisted on jacking up the pay his daughters were getting for their eggs.”

  Will let out a humorless laugh. “He’s all about the money, for sure—which was why he broke off my engagement to Loretta, after he heard my two older brothers were taking over the family farm and I would have to find a place of my own.”

  “Not what any fellow wants to find out when he’s ready to start a family,” Asa agreed. “Same sort of thing happened to my brother and me, but we’d been expecting it all along—and neither of us was engaged.”

  Will nodded. “In some ways, I was just as glad I wouldn’t have to deal with Cornelius as his son-in-law,” he said in a faraway voice. “Besides being the absolute ruler of the roost, he’s got something else going on.... Couldn’t ever put my finger on it, but he’s built a wall around himself, a barrier that keeps folks from knowing much about him. It’s gotten a lot more noticeable since his wife died.”

  Asa had other topics he wanted to touch upon, so he filed these remarks about Riehl away for later.

  “But then, who am I to talk?” Gingerich continued with a shake of his head. “I know firsthand about losing a wife now—after months of my constant care did nothing to slow down her cancer. And that’s not the end of it. If it weren’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all.”

  Asa sensed Will was inviting him to join his pity party, yet he couldn’t help saying,
“Yeah? How’s that?”

  Will’s lips twitched. “Molly’s dat informed me at the funeral that I’m to be off this farm come the end of the month. He seemed glad enough for me to be managing it when I married Molly, but now that this paternity question about the twins has come up, he wants me gone. So now I’m a husband without a wife, and a farmer without a farm.”

  Asa wondered why Molly’s family had evicted Will for a situation he seemingly had no control over—or perhaps her dat could already see that the place would only go further downhill, given Will’s lack of energy. “So what’ll you do?”

  “I don’t have the foggiest notion. Every time I try to think about it, I backslide into this cesspool of a mood, and I can’t seem to climb out.” Will’s eyes widened, and he leaned closer. “What happened to you, man?”

  Asa blinked, and then recalled the greenish-purple bruise on one side of his face. “I got run off the road and thrown from my horse when I started home from Willow Ridge last Thursday. Had to stay there a few days to be sure my head wasn’t messed up.”

  “Huh.” Gingerich considered this for a moment. “You sure it wasn’t Cornelius running you out of town for making eyes at Edith? Even if you didn’t, he’d make sure you weren’t getting any romantic ideas about her.”

  Too late. I’ve got more than ideas. Asa kept a straight face as he thought about Will’s accusation. It didn’t seem very considerate to mention that he intended to buy the farm across the road from the Riehls when Will was losing this place—not that Asa wanted to share his hopes and dreams concerning Edith, either. “I’m pretty sure Cornelius was across town at a wedding by then. He’s the deacon for that district.”

  “Figures,” Will said with another abrupt laugh. “He was the deacon in Roseville, too. I was surprised when he left town—guess he traded farms with his cousin, so Reuben could keep a closer eye on his mother. But it seemed awfully sudden, like Cornelius was looking for a feasible reason to leave.”

  Asa was starting to wonder if Will’s resentment about his broken engagement had colored all of his opinions about the head of the Riehl family—and no doubt his current state of mourning was souring his opinion about everything. At least Will had come out of his funk somewhat, so Asa decided to venture into the topic he’d come here to discuss. “I—I know this is a touchy subject,” he began gently, “but now that some time has gone by, do you have any idea why Molly believed I was the father of those twins?”

  “Huh! I’m not sure I know anything about anything anymore—especially when it comes to Molly.” Will shifted some food-encrusted dishes on the coffee table and then picked up a rectangular piece of paper. “When I was looking for the white apron she wore on our wedding day, so we could bury her in it, I came across this in one of her dresser drawers.”

  Asa’s heart lurched when he recognized his own business card. DETWEILER FURNITURE WORKS was printed across the top, followed by the services they offered and the phone number, along with his name and Drew’s. As Asa looked around at the careworn furnishings in Will’s front room, he knew he was grasping at straws. “Maybe she got this card when she stopped by to ask about repairing or reupholstering some furniture,” he suggested.

  “Get real,” Will murmured. “Does it look like we’ve had any of this stuff redone? It’s all been here since Molly’s folks lived on the farm years ago—and then rented it out a couple times before Molly and I moved in.”

  Asa didn’t like the way his pulse was pounding. Why was he getting agitated when he had no idea who Molly was or what she’d looked like or—?

  There’s an angle for you.

  Asa cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to turn the knife in your back,” he said softly, “but do the twins resemble Molly? Or anybody in her family? You’re probably tired of hearing me say this, but I really, honestly, never met your wife, Will.”

  Gingerich exhaled tiredly. “You know how that goes, when people look at babies. Molly’s mamm went on about how the twins were the spitting image of Molly at that age, while her dat insisted they looked like his side of the family. I was just trying to hold everything together here on the farm while Molly was so sick. Fat lot of gut that did.”

  Will looked away, blinking rapidly. “She had a form of cancer with a name so long I can’t pronounce it,” he explained in a thin voice. “It was so aggressive, and so advanced by the time we found it, her doctor didn’t even try chemo. Said it would only make her more miserable.”

  Asa closed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t pursued this heartrending path. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m—well, I don’t know what else to say.”

  Several painfully long moments of silence passed, until Asa couldn’t stand to be in the dark, sorrowful room any longer. He stood up, offering his hand to Will. “If I can do anything for you, you’ve got my number,” he murmured despite the irony of that offer. “Take care.”

  Will didn’t respond, and as Asa closed the door behind him he knew how stupid and useless a phrase like take care sounded at a time like this. As he walked toward Midnight, the two horses in the barnyard neighed, compelling him to enter the open stable. Asa quickly tossed four bales of hay into the inside feeders and then put two more bales in the feeder outdoors. When he began to pump water into the trough, Will’s horses trotted over to drink before the fresh water had a chance to accumulate.

  You didn’t accomplish what you came to do, but these horses were glad you stopped, Asa thought as he kept pumping water. And while Will didn’t have any answers, he has at least stopped accusing you of messing around with Molly.

  As Asa rode south to Clifford, he pondered what he’d just seen and heard. No two ways about it: Will had taken some nasty hits that made Asa’s own accident in Willow Ridge seem minor in comparison. Asa hadn’t expected the dismal atmosphere at the Gingerich place, nor had he anticipated feeling sorry for the guy who’d left that inflammatory message on his phone machine last week.

  Asa was also aware, as he headed down the single main street of Clifford, that it wasn’t much of a town. Spending a few days in Willow Ridge had given him a whole new perspective concerning the future of Detweiler Furniture Works. He wanted not just a change in his livelihood but in his life, as well. He envisioned green wheat and cornstalks growing tall around the house across from the Riehl place, as well as a neat metal building housing his much more profitable furniture business.

  And he saw Edith standing beside him, smiling up at him with her sparkling brown eyes.

  Asa was suddenly willing to raise Leroy and Louisa, no matter whose they were, because he knew how perfectly suited Edith was to be their mother. It was way too soon to be having such thoughts, yet this picture of his future felt so right. Maybe Edith was the reason he’d never taken serious interest in any of the girls he’d grown up with . . . and maybe God had been leading him to Willow Ridge all along, using Will’s unfortunate situation to show Asa what his future might hold if he chose to go with it.

  Asa swallowed hard. The changes he had in mind had occurred to him so suddenly—literally by accident—that he needed to step back. He needed to analyze what he’d set in motion by discussing the purchase of that farm with Luke Hooley, who’d already begun making plans for the cropland there.

  Asa led Midnight into the stable, and tended him. Drew’s horse and rig were gone, so Asa went into the shop to assess the work his brother had done and the new jobs that might have come in while he’d been away. The two of them had set up shop in a building that had once been a restaurant, working on the ground floor and living upstairs. They hadn’t invested a lot of time or effort in décor; it was very apparent that two bachelors lived and worked here.

  Edith—and Nora—would be appalled at this place, Asa thought as he looked around the ground floor. Why would we want to stay here when we could do a lot more business in Willow Ridge?

  As Asa began sanding Hal Gillespie’s antique dresser, he toyed with ideas about moving to a new location—what kind of effort and money it
would require. He was so engrossed in his work and thoughts that he didn’t hear the back door open.

  “So! The lost boy returns.”

  Asa jumped and turned toward his brother. “Jah, and have I got a lot to tell you about my time in Willow Ridge!” he replied excitedly. “Before you think the bump I took on the head has made me crazy, you should know that the nurse there has pronounced me almost as gut as new. Says I’m a fast healer.”

  Drew’s eyebrows rose. “You look real gut, considering that spill from your horse. But you’ve gotten friendly with a nurse?” he challenged. “I’m already doubting your judgment, chumming up with an English gal who—”

  “Nope, Andy Leitner’s Amish now, a guy who—like a few other folks there—wouldn’t be accepted in some Amish settlements. Yet Willow Ridge welcomes them,” Asa said in a rush. “And I’ve found the ideal place for us to set up shop, too. It’s down the road from a busy café and a mill and a fabulous consignment shop where Nora sells Amish—”

  “Whoa. Hold it.” Drew held up his hand, shaking his head at Asa. “What’s all this got to do with that Gingerich guy’s message about your fathering his wife’s babies? The way you tore out of here to confront him, I thought you were going to bite off his head.”

  His brother’s question made Asa realize just how much his worldview had changed since he’d heard Will’s original accusation. “Okay, I’ll start at the beginning,” Asa said with a chuckle. “You might as well pull whatever piece you’re working on over here, because this story’ll take a while. And I’m sure you’ll have questions.”

  With an expression of mild surprise, Drew took several packages of upholstery tacks from the bag he’d brought in. After he and Asa had carried a fainting couch from the back room and positioned it near the dresser, Drew studied Asa intently. “I can already tell you I’m not wild about yanking up roots to start over someplace else, just on your whim,” he said as he laid a new fabric covering over the fainting couch. “But tell me your story. And you’d better make it really, really convincing.”