by Susan Rohrer
Ivan nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that is why I like it.” Again, silence. He turned toward Charity. “Did you enjoy the service this morning?”
“Oh, yes,” Charity replied. “Very much.”
Ivan glanced back at Daniel. “There was never a church like that where I come from. Let me tell you something. It is a very special thing to be able to share your faith with your kin. And so openly.”
“It is,” Daniel agreed. “Your family...do they believe as you do?”
“I have a few brothers in that way, but no relatives,” Ivan said. “I was an orphan. We did not have much. But there is good in everything, you see. That is where I learned English, in the orphanage. It was from a Russian-English Bible an old woman used to read to us boys when no one else was looking. They caught her one day. They threw the Bible into the fireplace and dragged her away from us. It was the last time we saw her, but we got the Bible back out before it had burned too much. We taped it inside another book’s cover and hid it. There was a place under a loose board in the floor. And we kept on reading the stories to each other in secret, whenever we could. We read it and talked about it in English, so even if they overheard, they could not understand what we were saying. No one ever adopted us, but Sergei, Anton, and I...we adopted each other.”
Charity tucked her arms around her middle. She had been so wrong to think of Ivan as she had. What must that have been like for him to grow up that way, with no blood relations at all?
She was reluctant to pry, but a story played across Ivan’s face. It was a tale of a very difficult childhood in a foreign land, a bitter place he’d struggled to survive and escape to this country. It took her back across the centuries, all the way to the persecution that made her Amish ancestors flee their homes in Europe to find refuge in America. It was so bewildering to think that their forefathers had been drowned, starved, beheaded, sometimes burned at the stake—all for nothing more than their convictions about baptism, the same baptism that she would soon freely receive.
“Charity Bright?”
Charity looked up. The wait was finally over. She rose to her feet.
A nurse approached in brightly printed attire. “Your aunt asked if you’d come sit with her.”
Charity turned back to Daniel. “Are you all right waiting here for me?”
“As long as it takes,” he promised.
Ivan sidled up to the nurse. “Is she okay?”
The nurse nodded reassuringly. “She’ll be fine.” She turned to Charity and extended a cordial arm, directing her toward the hall. “Right this way.”
The nurse’s shoes squeaked every step along the shiny hallway floor.
Charity stole a glance through each door they passed. There were so many signs of technology, advancements that were completely foreign to her way of life. She eyed the flashing lights. Intermittent beeps and clicks sounded from various devices they passed. What did all of those machines do? Charity couldn’t help wonder. Was it wrong to be curious about such things?
A priest in a black suit with a starched white collar greeted her in passing. The man addressed the nurse by name. He must be a regular visitor here, she supposed. Apparently, he was a man of faith. He seemed so comfortable in this setting. So, why couldn’t she be?
The nurse slowed at a partitioned area, then pulled back a curtain. There was Aunt Hope, sitting on something between a bed and an adjustable chair, an ear to her cell phone. It was impossible not to notice Aunt Hope’s dismay as she lowered the phone and hit a button. A sharp chirp sounded.
Aunt Hope shook her head in disbelief. “Hi.”
Charity hadn’t seen such a downcast look since she’d been there. She moved to the side of the bed. “Are you in pain?”
“Some, but it’s not my wrist. It’s... Well, I just checked my messages.” Hope pocketed the phone. “I got a call—a callback actually. This is the first one ever for a real Broadway play, and here, they’re putting me into a cast. Not the cast-cast, meaning in the play cast, no. We’re talking big honking Plaster-of-Paris up to my elbow type cast.”
Charity’s face fell. “It’s broken.”
“Fractured,” Aunt Hope replied. “Story of my life.” Something like grief weighed on her face.
Plays weren’t something Charity knew much about, but seeing how disappointed Aunt Hope was, Charity’s heart went out to her. “Maybe you could still be in the play. Maybe they wouldn’t mind.”
Hope sighed. “No, it’s...you know what? Maybe it’s for the best. Goldie would say I was just compensating, but...truth is, if I had to choose between doing that play and having the time with you, Charity...” A fond look brightened her. “Well, that’s what we here in the city call a no-brainer.”
Charity gently brushed Aunt Hope’s shoulder. “Still hurts, though. Doesn’t it?”
“Some, but...nothing like all these years without you, without my family.”
Privately, Charity thanked Gott. A door had opened. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like all these years, to be shunned.”
Soberly, Aunt Hope shook her head. “Afraid not. Not till it’s you.”
Charity pulled up a chair and sat. “I couldn’t do it. Already, I miss everyone so much. I don’t know how you do it.”
A bittersweet smile crossed Hope’s face. “You know, when I was getting my X-ray—you know what an X-ray is, right?”
Charity nodded. “My friend, Bethany had one in town when she got bronchitis. Ivan was just asking if I wanted one.”
Aunt Hope shifted her lips to the side. “He’s still here, huh?”
“So he is.”
“Well, anyway, while I was in there having my X-ray, I was thinking about your mamm.”
The thought warmed Charity. “You were?”
Regret glimmered in Aunt Hope’s eyes. “I’m telling you, Charity. If she could have had just a spoonful of the medical attention I’ve had today... I guess it’s hard to know for sure. But I’m thinking she’d probably still be with us.”
Charity’s breath caught in her throat. Her mind whirled. “Wait.” Maybe it would discourage Aunt Hope from returning with her. Even so, Charity had to pursue it. “You don’t think Mamm had to die?”
“I really don’t.” Hope cradled her injured arm.
It was hard to know what to say after that, but it seemed like she should at least try. “We’re making progress, you know.” Charity held Aunt Hope’s dubious gaze. “Not so much our family, but a few of the others are. Since Bethany’s Uncle Caleb became one of the ministers, there have been a few changes. Most still have their babies at home, but a lot of people to go to English doctors in town for other things, especially when it’s serious.”
Aunt Hope nodded. “That’s good.”
Charity smiled. “Of course, the old wood stove keeps the kitchen plenty warm, but we heat the rest of the house with propane.”
Wryly, Aunt Hope straightened. “Now, there’s a quantum leap.”
“I know that’s not so very much, but there are bigger things. Like there’s power equipment for farming. More and more community phones in little shanties here and there. Some people have cell phones for business.”
“Anything your Dat lets you use?”
“Dat let me come here.”
Aunt Hope eyes tightened. Clearly, her wheels were turning. “He wants me to come home, doesn’t he?”
Caught. Charity could only admit the truth. “Ja, well... We all do.” When Aunt Hope averted her eyes, Charity took hold of her good hand. “Think of it, Aunt Hope. We could cook and exchange gifts and sing carols this Christmas. We could all be a family again. Can you imagine how happy Opa would be?”
Aunt Hope wistfully raised her brows. “I have imagined it. I imagine it all season, leading up to every single Christmas. Even dream of it sometimes. I go back and forth, convincing myself, then talking myself out of it. It’s why I broke it off with Ivan. It’s why I never married. How can I commit to life here when my heart is still so torn?”
Charity ached.
What must it have been like for Aunt Hope, all these years alone, caught between the English and Amish worlds? Everything that Dat had said about the purpose of shunning came flooding back. Indeed, it was plain to see that Aunt Hope missed her family, maybe enough to draw her home.
Charity gazed at Daniel as they perused the city produce market’s bountiful array of fresh fruit and vegetables. Even everyday tasks were a delight with him at her side. Daniel dutifully carried a shopping basket as she selected green beans. An onion to sauté, a couple of tomatoes, and some toasted almond slivers would complete Oma’s family recipe. “You know, I really think there’s a chance Aunt Hope will come.”
Daniel turned, pleased. “Did she say so?”
Charity tied off the top of the bag of beans. In a way, she hesitated to divulge too much. Aunt Hope had entrusted her with what had surely been guarded truths. She had best respect her privacy. “She said she’s torn.”
Daniel held out the basket for Charity. “Perhaps the aroma of Amish-made supper will help.”
“I thought that very thing.” She picked up a curious looking piece of fruit. Never had she seen anything like it before, even during day-trips to the market in town. It was yellow and oblong, with funny little reddish spikes all around. Intrigued, she sniffed its rind. “Have you ever seen so many kinds of fruit? I don’t even know what this is. And the size of the apples. Here it is December and—”
“You make a fine apple butter with what we grow, Charity.”
It was hard not to blush. “Well, thank you, Daniel. I like that you noticed. Dat eats it, but he never says a word.”
Daniel turned his gaze casually. “He has to me.”
Charity dropped her chin. “About my apple butter?”
“Among other things.”
“Is it entirely immodest of me to ask what?” Charity bagged a large onion.
Daniel made room in the basket to accommodate her find. “He tells me that you sew and cook and clean. All quite well. That you raised your brothers as if they were your own.” A sly expression curved on Daniel’s lips. “One would think he was trying to make a match of us.”
Oh, my.
Masking her delight, Charity considered Daniel’s words. “And would such a match please you?”
“Very much,” Daniel confessed. “If it would please you.”
His eyes were searching hers.
She knew it.
Though she feigned to mull the idea over, she allowed a demure smile to wander across her lips. “Well, then. Perhaps we should consider it.”
Hope struggled to find the keys to her building. A pristine white cast encased her left arm, from the base of her fingers, nearly to her elbow. Rooting around in her purse wasn’t easy, using only her right hand.
Ivan jockeyed for position. “Would you please let me help you with that?”
What was she supposed to say? The truth was, she didn’t want to need help. At least, not from Ivan. “I’ve got six weeks with this thing,” she reminded. “Might as well figure out how to work with my right hand.” She continued to fumble. “You know, my family tried to break me of being a lefty. Thought it was somehow bad or... Okay, if you can just find the keys in there, maybe I can—”
Gently, Ivan took the purse from her. “There. I have it.” He set the bag on the capstone of the stair rail. Systematically, he began to remove its contents.
Hope fidgeted. How could any woman be comfortable with her ex going through her purse? Not that there was anything in there a grown man hadn’t seen before. But still.
“Is it so hard for you to need someone?”
Hope exhaled. This was frustrating. He was not going to make this easy. “I never said I didn’t need anyone.”
Ivan pulled out her wallet and set it down. “Not in so many words. But you are pushing me away.”
“No, Ivan. You were pushing me. It was all too fast. There’s a difference.”
Ivan raised his hands. “So, I stop pushing. I am just here.”
Hope drew her open coat around her middle. “For the next month or so. Shouldn’t you be out speed dating or something?”
Ivan shook his head as he fished her keys from her bag. No doubt, he had caught her drift. He dangled her keys before her, holding her gaze. “If a month is all the time I have left, I choose to spend that month with you.”
ten
It was ironic, really. At least Charity thought so. There they were in Aunt Hope’s New York City apartment—right in the middle of the English world—but you would never have known it based on what the four of them were doing that evening. There was no television set on, no clacking of a computer keyboard, not even a cell phone in use. Oddly, it was as if they were back home, enjoying the homespun activities of Amish Country.
As she let down the hem of the waitress uniform Frank had said she’d have to wear, Daniel fine-tuned the carving on his horse and buggy toy for his brother. Leanne sat nearby, doing a very nice job of painting holly on Aunt Hope’s new white cast. Hope curled up under one of her quilts, sipping a cup of hot cider.
Leanne dipped her brush into scarlet paint, then dotted it to add berries between the prickly green leaves. The plaster of the cast drank in the vibrant paint colors readily. Leanne glanced sidelong at Charity. “I don’t see why you’re lettin’ that hem down. If you ask me, you’d get a lot better tips leavin’ it shorter.”
And suddenly, they were back in Manhattan.
Charity continued to whipstitch the lengthened hem. “Maybe, but...well, I guess I’m just more comfortable with it this way.”
Hope observed Leanne’s artistry on her cast. “You watch. I’ll fill that tip jar in no time with this baby. Serving up the tea, raking in the sympathy.”
Leanne blew the paint dry. “How you gonna write your orders?”
“Not sure. Right-handed scrawl, I guess,” Hope countered.
Leanne scooted closer. “I knew a guy once who could write with his toes.”
“Quite a talent, but....” Hope admired her cast. “See, now, I think you’ve been holding out on me.”
Strange. If Charity hadn’t been looking right at Leanne, she might well have missed it. But an almost guilty look flickered across Leanne’s face.
“What do you mean?” Leanne scowled.
Hope smiled broadly. “Look how you can paint. And completely freehand. You’re really good.”
Leanne dipped her brush back into the paint. She seemed to relax again. “Last spring, me and Reggie painted the backdrop for our school play. Did the whole thing by our lonesomes, up real late and all. It’s kinda how I got this whole beached whale look goin’.”
English girls sure didn’t hold back. Charity exchanged a glance with Daniel. Conversation was quite a bit more frank in the city, she supposed. From the expression on Daniel’s face, she could tell that he agreed.
It wasn’t so much that situations like this didn’t occur among the Amish. Charity had known more than one girl who had taken the license of Rumspringa and found herself in Leanne’s condition. Like Daniel’s cousin, Lydia. Pregnancy just wasn’t something they really talked about, at least not so openly. Never in mixed company.
Hope scratched under the end of her cast. “This Reggie...he’s the guy?”
Leanne shrugged. “Yeah, but...he don’t know it. Never paid no mind to me after that night anyways. Daddy didn’t like the looks of him from the start. So, he was just as glad we quit hangin’ out. My parents are way old-school that way, you know? They don’t get it that nobody waits anymore.”
Hope cut a glance at Charity and Daniel. “Some people still wait.”
Leanne rolled her eyes. “I mean normal people. No offense, but can we just put it on the table here that the whole Amish dealio is a little behind the beat? Kind of out there?”
Hope shot Leanne a reproving look. “Leanne...”
“Well, it is,” Leanne blurted. “I betcha good money right here and now that the two o
f you, you probably haven’t even kissed.”
Charity felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She ventured a look at Daniel. How would he respond?
Hope leaned toward Leanne. “That’s kind of not our business.”
Daniel took Leanne’s comment in stride. “There’s nothing that says that Amish couples can’t kiss during Rumspringa.”
Leanne’s eyes narrowed. “Rum what?”
“Rumspringa. That’s what we’re on, now,” Daniel explained. “Before we commit to being Amish, we’re allowed to experience the world.”
Leanne took it in, a smirk forming. “So, are you saying that you two have experienced the world of kissing?”
Daniel glanced Charity’s way. A shy twinkle lit in his eyes. “I’m saying that what does or doesn’t happen between Charity and me...it’s up to Charity and me to decide when we’d like to share it.”
Charity breathed a contented sigh. Daniel was so discreet. It also hadn’t escaped her notice that he’d referred to them as a couple. Indirectly, at least. Myrna had called them a couple in front of the whole congregation that morning, but now Daniel had. She turned the idea over in her mind as she unwound a new length of thread, her heart warming with a memory. “You make me think of Dat, Leanne. That’s what I call my father. When I was little, Dat taught me how to make this pie. It’s so sweet and smells so good that they call it Shoo-fly Pie.”
Leanne scrunched her brow. “And this applies to my smoochin’ question exactly how?”
Charity snipped her thread from the spool. “When it comes to private subjects, Dat has this way of talking about one thing when he really means something else.”
Aunt Hope snickered. “You noticed that, too?”
Nimbly, Charity threaded her needle, knotting the end with one hand. “First pie I made, Dat had me serve, piping hot, right alongside the cabbage and smoked turkey we were having. You know how cabbage smells, and I could hardly even get a whiff of the turkey. But that pie...it has all this gooey dark molasses and brown sugar. And the aroma of that pie, it wafted right over everything else on the table.”