Suddenly she stood before him, clearing his place. “And how was your dinner, Short Stack?” she murmured, as though the Kanagy brothers and their fiancées weren’t seated on either side of him.
“Wonderful-gut,” he murmured. Without his mind’s permission, his hand closed around hers.
Her blue eyes widened, yet her smile made his heart thump like a drum. He had to say something now, or forever lose the moment—and all credibility. “What . . . what would you think about a ride this afternoon?” he asked in a voice she probably couldn’t hear. “Or—well, I suppose you have to keep track of the twins and—”
Annie Mae’s face lit up like a spring daisy. “It’s Nellie’s turn for that,” she replied pertly. “I spent most of yesterday bakin’ and helpin’ Miriam with this meal, so I’m ready to be off my feet.”
Adam’s eyes widened. “Have you had a chance to eat your dinner? I don’t mean to rush you, or—” She said yes, oh my Lord, she wants to—
Annie Mae winked at him and leaned closer. “Truth be told,” she confided, “we cooks and servers grabbed a quick bite while everybody was congratulatin’ Tom and Nazareth, before folks walked over from the house. I haven’t had my pie yet, but—”
“So what would be our chances of taking our dessert along?” Adam asked, wondering where such bravado had come from. “And if there’s any of that fabulous apple pie with the brown sugar and lemon—”
“I think I know where to find us a couple slices of that,” she teased. Annie Mae looked around the Brennemans’ crowded cabinet shop, which had been transformed by white-draped tables for the wedding feast. “Why not go hitch up your rig? I’ll be out as soon as I can snatch us some pie and tell Nellie and Rhoda I’m leavin’. I’m an extra helper, anyway—not one of the gals with an assigned job.”
In for a dime, in for a dollar, Adam realized as she bustled away with her bin of dirty dishes. He scooted his chair back, giving a little wave to Nate, Bram, and their ladies. “You folks enjoy the rest of the day—and it was really nice meeting you Coblentz girls,” he added as Mary and Martha grinned knowingly at him.
“No doubt what you’re up to, Wagler,” Bram teased.
“Jah, enjoy your pie,” Nate chimed in.
Adam made his way between the crowded tables, fighting a huge grin. When he’d arrived at the wedding this morning, he’d had no idea he would leave the celebration early—and with Annie Mae, no less! It felt good to step outside and whistle for Jerry . . . to hitch up his rig with occasional glances back toward the shop, even if he still felt a few butterflies. His best strategy would be to show his support, to focus on Annie Mae’s feelings after the way her father had barged in and tried to grab the kids. No matter how strong she’d appeared during that confrontation, she was bound to have lingering doubts about Hiram showing up again—
“Short Stack! Are ya ready?” she called out to him.
Now there was a loaded question. Adam glanced up to see Annie Mae jogging toward him with her black coat flapping open and her bonnet flying by its tie string behind the pie plate she carried. Her radiant face gave him pause. Her exuberance suggested she was really glad to be going out with him—
It’s only a ride. Doesn’t have to be a date, his thoughts reminded him.
So what if it does lead to something? his heart countered. After all, Nate Kanagy swore off women after his first fiancée stiffed him, and look how happy he is now.
When Adam opened the door to his rig, Annie Mae stepped up inside it before he could offer her a hand. But wasn’t it just like this resilient young woman to look after herself? When he got in on the other side and closed his door, he gazed at her for a moment. “Better scenery than I had driving over here this morning,” he remarked.
“Jah, this is a perty pie,” she quipped. “And I guess Matthias’ll have to find his own way home, ain’t so?”
Actually, Adam hadn’t even thought about his brother. “He’ll manage. Let’s get on down the road before the kids try to follow us. I mean—” He gripped the reins, immediately regretting that remark. “If you think the twins and the two wee ones’ll worry about you leavin’ them, we can—”
Annie Mae pressed her finger against his lips. “Nellie’s got us covered,” she whispered. “And Jerusalem’s spendin’ time with the kids—gettin’ them acquainted with Vernon Gingerich—knowing how she’ll miss them once she moves to Cedar Creek. So it’s just you and me . . . Adam.”
The way his name floated from Annie Mae’s lips set him adrift like a red-and-white bobber on a summertime pond. The snowy hillsides and his waiting horse and the hundreds of people finishing their dinner disappeared, and it was just him and Annie Mae, alone together with a pie that smelled of cinnamon and brown sugar and lemon. He glanced at the dessert that sat between them on the seat. “Wow, you brought us four big pieces,” he murmured. “Didn’t think there’d be so much to spare, what with all those other folks waiting for their dessert.”
Her smile tickled him deep down. “As many of these pies as I baked, I didn’t ask. I consider it a gift to a fine fella who looked after my family today,” she murmured. “Can’t thank ya enough for standin’ firm when Dat came at ya this morning. He . . . he had no call to do that.”
Annie Mae’s gratitude moved him, especially considering how she had been the strong one during Hiram’s intrusion. “While I can see where it’s a man’s right to collect his own kids,” Adam replied as he took her hand, “I couldn’t miss the way Timmy and the twins were so afraid of him. And when Jerusalem mentioned the welts on the little ones’ bottoms, that was the last straw. They belong with you, Annie Mae,” he insisted. “With folks who know what’s best for them, better than Delilah ever will.”
Her smile got stronger as she placed the pie plate on her lap. “The boys were so excited to be sittin’ with ya, Adam. And when Dat stormed in, I couldn’t miss how they stuck with ya, trustin’ ya to look after them. I . . . I hope that doesn’t scare ya off.”
Adam nipped his lip. Without apology or hesitation, Annie Mae had just nailed the issue that any man who got interested in her would face. The least he could do was give her a straight answer. “I’ve known those kids since they were born,” he pointed out. Holding the reins in one hand, he gently clapped them on Jerry’s broad back. “I’ve known you since you were born, Annie Mae. So I’m not scared . . . exactly.”
She looked suddenly vulnerable, even as she tried not to. “Like I told ya, Adam, I’ve decided to stay a maidel until the kids—”
“That’s no life for a girl like you,” Adam blurted, gripping her fingers. “I’d really hate to see you saddled with all that responsibility yourself, working in the café while you tended the kids in the evenings, but—but—”
Well, he’d stepped in it with one foot, so he might as well stand full-on in his crappy predicament. No sense in Annie Mae getting her hopes up, setting her sights on a man who wouldn’t measure up when it came to family responsibilities. “Maybe I ought to talk about that motorcycle,” he hedged. His voice remained steadier than he’d thought it would, so he went on. “That sounds like I’m leapfrogging over your situation and into mine, but you asked for that story. So maybe it’s time I told it to somebody.”
Annie Mae’s hesitant expression gave way to the curiosity he’d sensed earlier, when she’d been surprised that he would own such a mean machine. “I’m listenin’,” she said softly. She looked ready to scoot closer to him, but she seemed to sense he needed some space while he bared his soul. She was smart that way.
Adam let his Belgian set the pace as they rolled down the road past the bishop’s house. He could feel the waves of patience and understanding that radiated from the young woman beside him. Was this the same rebellious Annie Mae who rode the roads with the likes of Yonnie and Luke?
Not anymore, she doesn’t, his little voice reminded him. And he believed it. He believed her.
“I traded my best horse for that cycle, right after I turned sixteen,” he beg
an in a faraway voice. “Allen Stoltzfus—Yonnie’s cousin—needed to get married right quick, and a dependable horse suited him better than a vintage Indian Chief motorcycle.”
“How did a kid his age come to have a bike like that?” Annie Mae interrupted. “I mean—it’s not my business, but Rebecca says that cycle’s worth a lot of money.”
“Jah, I was shocked when she told me how much a similar bike had sold for,” he confirmed, keeping his eyes on the road. “Truth be told, I don’t know how Allen came by it—except it wasn’t in very gut condition then. But the moment I laid eyes on it, with that red trim and those silver studs along the edge of the seat, I had to have it.” He let out a rueful laugh. “Allen let me keep it at his place, so the folks and Matthias never saw it . . . never realized how quick I learned to handle it while I was cleaning it up, and then got my license to drive it.”
Annie Mae’s lips quirked. “Plenty of Plain boys learn to drive, ya know. No sin in that when you’re in your rumspringa.”
Ah, she had to mention sin. Adam smiled wistfully as he thought back over that time of his life. “I spent every possible moment joyriding on that bike,” he continued, “to the point that I neglected my chores. Wasn’t always home when I was supposed to be, either. I . . . I had promised Mamm I’d pick up Ruth from her house cleaning job one afternoon, because the two of them and Etta were going to a quilting frolic. We were having an early supper so they could leave on time.”
Adam allowed the steady clip-clop of Jerry’s hooves to settle his accelerating heartbeat. He wanted to loosen his shirt collar but he didn’t dare release Annie Mae’s hand. Her steady grasp might be the only thing that kept him connected to present-day reality, rather than getting swallowed up by a past that had haunted him for so long. She waited patiently for him to continue, looking wise beyond her seventeen years.
“Suffice it to say I forgot all about fetching Ruth,” he said with a sigh. “And since Dat and Matthias weren’t yet home from their field work, Mamm hitched up a rig and went to pick up my sister. She had no idea where I was or what I was doing . . . even when I roared past her on the motorcycle. I was wearing a helmet and jeans, so I could’ve been any English kid out tearing up the back roads on a summer afternoon. And a thousand times I’ve wished I was somebody else’s kid that day, believe me.”
Adam waited for Annie Mae to show some sign of disapproval, because he certainly deserved it. Instead, she nodded, probably thinking back to what she recalled about his mother’s death while also jumping ahead to the conclusion . . . the damning details that nobody else had ever heard. Adam closed his eyes, trying to clear the lump that was thickening in his throat.
“Next thing I knew, her horse was screaming behind me, spooked by my motorcycle. And . . . and when I turned my head, I saw it racing into the intersection, out of control.” Adam paused, recalling the fatal accident so clearly that he still shook all over. “Tires squealed on the highway, but the truck driver didn’t have any chance of stopping in time—”
“Oh, Adam. Oh, dear God, I had no idea,” Annie Mae whimpered. She scooted next to him, set the pie on the other side of the seat, and slung her arm around his slumped shoulders.
“Ah, but see, that’s not the worst of it,” he confessed wretchedly. “Stupid and scared as I was, I didn’t dare see to Mamm or ride the cycle home to tell Dat what had happened. I—I went back to Allen’s to park it, and then waited for the sirens to clear out before I started back.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Truth was, I was too shook up to pedal my bicycle, and I couldn’t have seen the road for crying my eyes out. Gave some thought to not going home ever again.”
Annie Mae let out a shuddery breath and swiped at her eyes. “Jah, I can understand why you’d feel that way. That was a horrible-bad thing to watch.”
Adam’s eyes widened. “You don’t get it, Annie Mae. I killed my mamm, and then I was too much the coward to admit it,” he rasped. “Didn’t show my face at home until I figured the sheriff had been by to let the rest of the family know about her. And I never once let on to them about why Mamm’s horse had spooked, or what I’d been doing when I was supposed to be fetching Ruth.”
Annie Mae’s mouth opened and then closed as tears streamed down her face. She held his gaze, sorting out the details of his story, yet not once did he see signs of disgust or hatred or blame. “Adam, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” she whispered. “Brings to mind the day my mamm passed . . . she was feelin’ poorly, about ready to have a baby, so Dat and little Nellie went on to church that morning while I stayed home with her. The baby was . . . stillborn,” she recalled in a forlorn voice. “And then when Mamm kept bleedin’ and bleedin’, I wanted to run and get the midwife but . . . but she begged me not to leave her. I was only eleven. Didn’t know what else to do.”
Adam pulled over to the side of the road and halted the horse. He leaned into Annie Mae’s misery, wrapping his arms around her as she tightened her hold on him . . . as they both sighed and shuddered together. “Jah,” he whispered when he could speak again. “But you did what your mamm told you to. I did not.”
“Same difference,” she blurted. “She was gone and there was nothin’ I could do to save her or bring her back.” Annie Mae sniffled loudly and then sat up straighter. “Of course, when Dat got home and found me bawlin’ and holdin’ her hand, with her blood all over the place, he railed at me—even though the doctor had warned mamm that another baby might well do her in. I was too young to understand all the details about baby-makin’, so . . . so I believed Dat when he said her passin’ was my fault.”
Adam bit back a retort. He recalled how the gossip had flown about the bishop’s disregarding the doctor’s orders and how his second wife, Linda—mother of the four little ones—had passed in the same way. Hiram Knepp was hard on his women.
Yet through the years, Annie Mae had risen to the challenges of her difficult youth. Maybe some of her wilder nighttime adventures with guys had been her way of compensating for having to grow up too soon.
Or maybe she’d figured out something he’d missed.
Adam raised his head from her shoulder to engage her gaze again. “So how did you get past losing your mamm and then having Linda die the same way?” he asked quietly.
Annie Mae thought for a moment. “Back when I first started seein’ Yonnie, I went to one of his Mennonite church services—partly to impress him but mostly because it would irritate Dat,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “The preacher spoke about how God’s love is bigger than all our sins put together—and how, if ya ask His forgiveness, He’ll give it to ya. No matter who still condemns ya for what you’ve done.”
Adam considered this. “I can’t think your dat, or Gabe—or even Tom—would say such a thing on a Sunday morning,” he murmured. “The Ordnung says you have to go on your knees before the bishop and the preachers and the members. To be forgiven for my mamm’s death, I have to confess. And then accept my punishment.”
“I think ya just did that, Adam.”
Adam frowned. Was he missing something? Or losing his concentration because he and Annie Mae still sat in each other’s arms?
“I heard every word ya confessed,” she clarified. “And if ya tell Bishop Tom about this, that doesn’t mean he’ll order ya to do a kneelin’ confession like Dat would have. Besides, you’re still punishin’ yourself for the mistakes ya made all those years ago,” she insisted as she held his gaze. “Ya think God didn’t hear ya? Ya think He doesn’t know how you’ve suffered?”
Adam blinked. Annie Mae made it sound so simple—but then, she was young and hadn’t yet joined the church. “But, see, my whole point of telling you this story was so you’d know why I can’t be trusted—can’t risk taking on a wife or having a family, because I know that when push comes to shove, I’ll let them down.”
As comprehension dawned on her face, Adam braced himself. Surely Annie Mae would scoot away from him now, so as not to be contaminated by his guilt . . . his weakn
ess. His cowardice. Yet she brought her hand to his face and stroked his hair back from his temple with a tenderness he hadn’t known since—well, since he’d been a child, sitting in Mamm’s lap. He saw himself mirrored in Annie Mae’s unblinking blue eyes, and he felt his fear drifting away. . . .
“Comin’ from me, this is gonna sound a little odd, maybe,” Annie Mae murmured. “But I think we should pray on this and see what comes of it.”
She bowed her head before he could reply, so Adam did the same. It wasn’t how he’d seen their spur-of-the-moment date unfolding, yet Annie Mae seemed to know what she was talking about. Listening to her, he could grasp the possibility of releasing his unshakable beliefs about his mother’s death—
“God, Ya just heard Adam lay out the guilt and the burdens he’s been carryin’ for so many years,” she said in a reverent voice. “I hope You’ll forgive him when he asks Ya to—especially on account of how young he was when he made these mistakes. And then I hope You’ll show him how to forgive himself, too.”
Adam sat motionless, his eyes still closed. He and Annie Mae had addressed God with their arms still around each other—not the most churchlike position for petitioning the Lord. Her prayer had touched him deeply, however. The sweetness of her voice and the simple sincerity of her words made him see what he’d been blind to for so many years: he’d believed his burden was his alone, too onerous to reveal even to God.
And how foolish was that? Adam mused. You saw Mamm’s wreck, and knew what I was thinking all along, God, for all these years . . . yet I never once figured You’d believe I was sorry enough unless I followed all the Old Order rules. Will . . . will You forgive me?
Adam slowly let out the breath he’d been holding. He opened his eyes. Annie Mae had laid her head on his shoulder . . . no lightning bolts had cut through the roof of the rig to show God’s anger with him. Matter of fact, he felt relaxed and comfortable—with Annie Mae, and with letting go of his deepest secret. “You know,” he murmured, “my real reason for joining the church so soon after Mamm passed was to keep myself from finding any more trouble. It wasn’t because I had any strong religious convictions.”
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