The Bridge of Peace

by Cindy Woodsmall

  He set the radio back down on the bale of hay. “I don’t care about bikes or music or you dancing. When I lived among Englischers those few years, I could see how tough it’d be to live Amish if one hadn’t been raised that way.” He moved to her. “But the longer it takes you to accept our ways, the more likely it is that church leaders won’t think you’re ready to join the faith, and then it’ll be even longer before we can marry.” Ephraim slowly brought his face to hers, as if letting all of her—her mind, will, heart, and body—awaken to what he was trying to tell her. He kissed her long and slow. “And I want to marry you … as soon as possible.”

  When he released her, she could barely think. “I … I didn’t think Amish … had feelings like that. I thought they … you were too practical.”

  Ephraim backed away, drawing a deep breath. “What you don’t understand about people of faith is sort of baffling.” He took her hand into his. “I’ve got some bad news. Grey’s wife died this afternoon. Attacked by a bull. She had massive internal injuries.”

  “Ephraim, I’m so sorry. Do I know her?”

  He shook his head. “Elsie was a quiet woman who avoided gatherings as much as possible and kept to herself even when she attended church. But Grey is … bad right now.” Ephraim reflected a sadness that made Cara hurt for him. “The whole community is. The schoolchildren saw the incident.”

  “What? That’s horrible. I … I …” She wrapped her arms around him, aching for the children and their parents.

  “The bull belonged to Elsie’s brother Aaron. Aaron got his hunting rifle and shot the bull—again and again and again. Elsie died before the ambulance arrived, but Grey rode with her to the hospital. Friends and family hired a driver so they could meet him there. He and Elsie have one child, a five-year-old son, who doesn’t know yet. Grey will tell him when he returns to Dry Lake, but I imagine Grey has forms and reports to fill out, so that will be hours from now. It’s bad, Cara.”

  They tightened their hold on each other.

  “I know you’re not at ease in Dry Lake, running into your estranged relatives and all, but I’d like for you to come stay for a few days. You and Lori and Ada can stay at my place, and I’ll stay at the shop.”

  “Ada and Deborah have a business to run.”

  “They’ll close their doors for a few days, as will most Amish businesses in and around Dry Lake.”

  “Stop all business?” The idea sounded bizarre. People took time off from work, as little time as possible, but life never slowed. When her husband died, one of the most painful realities was that life never paused. New York didn’t care. The restaurant he’d once managed had replaced him when he could no longer work, and on the day he died, she received a two-week notice to move out of the apartment that belonged to the owners of the restaurant. “Okay, I’ll come … and try my best not to embarrass you.”

  “I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me. I will never feel that way. Not ever.” He took her by the hand, and they began walking toward the house. He hollered for Lori.

  She stuck her head out the back door. “Be there in a minute. Jonathan’s helping me make sandwiches.”

  Cara shielded her eyes from the sunlight. “Jonathan’s here?”

  “Ya.”

  They walked back into the barn. Ephraim sat on a bale of hay and picked up the radio. “He came with me to tell Deborah and Ada. The driver will take them on to Dry Lake as soon as Deborah and Ada are packed. I imagine Lena needs Deborah about now.”

  “Why’s Lena taking it so hard? Oh, you said the schoolchildren saw, and she’s their teacher.” Grief settled over Cara, and she began to understand how interwoven the Amish were.

  “When one of the schoolboys arrived at the shop to use the phone and told me what had happened, I’d hoped it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. I went to the school and learned that Elsie had died, and I felt sick for Grey and Ivan. But something else happened inside me. Something I’d never experienced before.”

  “What?”

  He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Over the years if someone died and I was seeing a girl, the news sobered my thinking. Every time. Beyond the sadness I’d think about the girl and know she wasn’t who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if that day was my last day on earth, I was ready to walk away. Something about death made it clear. I … I always felt so shallow when that happened. Those types of events cause people to want to hold on to who they have. Today when the news hit, I felt vulnerable, and I needed you, longed to hold you and talk to you.” He squeezed her hand. “I had to see you, to make sure you and Lori were safe, to reassure myself we will become a family.” He stared at the radio.

  “Then you arrived, and I’m … sneaking around and hanging on to some of my former ways.”

  “You’re you, Cara. I don’t want you to be anyone else, and we can be imperfect together, but it seems as if you own more of me than I do, and … yet other things possess your heart. I understand it, but it scares me. I need you, but what do you need?”

  Wishing she could snap her fingers and change for him, she tugged on his hand, leading him out of the barn. “I’ll adjust to living the Old Ways … I will.”

  Seventeen

  Lena woke, startled from her nightmare. More exhausted than when she went to bed, she longed for her thoughts to settle. All she could do was doze and jerk awake after another dreadful dream. She kept reliving the trauma she’d witnessed less than sixteen hours ago.

  What must the children be going through?

  She pushed off the covers and sat upright. Grief weighed heavy, making her head spin.

  And what about Grey?

  He’d begun yesterday with a wife, his family intact, and a good road ahead of him. Today he was missing half of himself.

  All night she’d dreamed of Elsie teetering on the edge of a rocky cliff and of Grey running to grab her. Instead they both plummeted. Elsie died instantly. Grey lay at the bottom of the gorge—broken, bloody, but unable to pass from this life to the next.

  Nausea returned. She went to the window and opened it. Cold air rushed in. Nicky stretched and moaned, wagging her tail a few times before going back to sleep. Lena glanced through the open doorway, seeing Deborah in the adjoining bedroom, motionless under the quilts. A hired driver had brought two Amish families here from Ohio late last night, families Lena had never met before. They were friends of Elsie’s family from Ohio, but Elsie’s parents’ home couldn’t house any more people.

  Lena breathed deeply, trying to rid herself of queasiness. It didn’t matter how poorly she felt. There was much that needed doing. Foods of all sorts had to be prepared for Elsie’s visiting relatives as well as for the day of the funeral. She closed the window, gathered clean clothes, and went into her bathroom. Maybe a warm shower would make her feel better. It usually helped, but after drying off and slipping into her dress, she still felt nauseated and weak. She pinned up her wet hair and secured her prayer Kapp in place.

  It was just as well school was closed for the next few days. She knew nothing to say or do that would ease the shock and pain her pupils were going through. Urie and Tobias, the boys who’d snuck into the pasture, the ones who’d caused Elsie to become the bull’s target so they could escape—how would they survive their guilt? And what about Peter? Would this cause him to completely give up?

  When school was in session again, her scholars would need more help than she knew how to give. A tremor ran through her. The weeks ahead felt darker and colder than a winter’s night.

  And Grey.… Would he ever feel warmth within his soul again?

  Oh how she wished she could undo yesterday.

  Before leaving the bedroom, she checked herself in the mirror, making sure she’d pinned everything correctly in place. She was descending the stairs when someone knocked on the back door. Nicky barked, running ahead of her. Lena told her to hush, and she obeyed. Since they’d had guests staying with them last night, Lena had lit a few kerosene night-l
ights, which illuminated the entryway. She told Nicky to stay. When she opened the door, Aaron Blank had his hand ready to knock again.

  They both seemed too caught by surprise to speak.

  Nicky barked.

  “Hush,” Lena scolded.

  A faint aroma of alcohol surrounded him. He didn’t have a jacket, and his short-sleeve shirt and pants flapped in the brisk winds. She hadn’t even begun to consider his guilt.

  “Kumm out of the cold.”

  But he didn’t budge. Even in the dim glow of kerosene night-lights, his dark, bloodshot eyes held such remorse that Lena couldn’t hold his gaze.

  He removed his straw hat. “I … I … only did a half job fixing the fence … and now …”

  Lena’s heart twisted, and she tugged on his arm. “You made a mistake. Kumm. Get warm.”

  Aaron pulled her in a hug, and she felt him trembling. “My sister. I killed my own sister.”

  No words came to her. Only pain at what Aaron would carry for the rest of his life. She embraced him warmly. “Kumm.” She took him by the arm, and he eased inside.

  Nicky growled, and Lena snapped her fingers. “Go lay down.”

  With her tail tucked, Nicky went to her bed in the kitchen. Lena followed her, guiding Aaron as he staggered. She helped him to a chair. Dirt and stains covered his clothes, and she wondered where he’d left his coat.

  “I … I need a bathroom.”

  “Sure.” She pointed to the closest one. He’d been in it a few times in the past when church was held here, but she didn’t imagine he could think clearly enough to remember.

  He stood and stumbled his way into the half bath.

  She added wood to the potbelly stove and set a pot of coffee on to brew. Kneeling in front of Nicky, she gave her a few doggy treats and then patted her head. “You do your job and get fussed at about it.” Lena cuddled her nose in the palms of her hands. “Welcome to the real world, I suppose.”

  Nicky laid her head on the raised edge of her doggy bed, satisfied that Lena had doted on her. Aaron walked back into the room, looking a little better. He seemed to have washed his face and somehow scrubbed a bit of his drunkenness away.

  “I … I shouldn’t have come like this, Lena. You … you deserve better.”

  She ached for him. He wanted to be a good guy; she’d never doubted that. But so far he didn’t have it in him to follow through. “So do you, Aaron. Kumm, sit. Coffee will be ready in a few minutes. Then we can talk.”

  He did as she’d requested. He took her hand in his and several times started to say something. But instead they sat in silence.

  Days had passed. Grey knew they had, but he hardly remembered any conversations he’d had with people. Tuning out the murmuring of the many voices within his home, he moved from one room to another. He couldn’t hear when someone spoke to him, even when he tried, and he couldn’t find the strength to try.

  Everyone thought him to be a good husband who’d lost his wife. They didn’t know the truth. No one but Ephraim knew the strain inside Grey’s marriage, and Grey would never tell. He shouldn’t have talked to Ephraim either. Elsie had a right to privacy. She had a right to a lot of things he hadn’t given her.

  He pulled a chair from the kitchen table, walked into the living room, and sat in front of his wife’s open casket. Wearing the customary white apron and prayer Kapp that she’d worn on their wedding, she looked so much like she had six years ago.

  What happened to us, Elsie?

  That tormenting question never ceased pounding inside his heart. He blamed himself. Each tick of the clock had felt suffocating since the moment she’d died. He hadn’t realized that even when he and Elsie were the most miserable, hope—constant, threadbare hope—kept him. Tomorrow a service would be held in his home and another one at the grave site. Then it’d be time to close the casket, lower her into the ground, and cover his future with dirt.

  “I’m sorry, Elsie.”

  His Mamm placed her hand on his shoulder. “You need to come eat.”

  Even with the cooler temperatures of October, his house radiated with heat from all the baking the women had done. Someone with good sense had opened a few windows a couple of inches. But he didn’t want food, or fresh air, or conversation. He wanted time alone. “Can you do me a favor, Mamm? After everyone’s eaten, can you get them to go home? Take Ivan with you.”

  “You don’t need to be alone, Son.”

  “Ya, I do. Can you do that for me?”

  People had been here day and night. They’d filled his home even before he arrived from the hospital. He understood the Amish tradition, but he needed tonight by himself.

  “Please, Mamm.”

  She nodded. “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  “Will you come say good-bye?”

  “No,” he whispered. “I’ll see them all tomorrow before and after … the services, and I’ll do as I need to then.” He choked back his tears. His Mamm patted his shoulder.

  After the meal and cleanup, his house grew quieter and quieter as people left. The sun slid behind the horizon. As darkness grew, Grey rose and lit the kerosene lamp. Elsie liked for him to go through their home each evening and light the gas pole lamps and kerosene lanterns.

  Through all their silences had he noticed or appreciated the rhythm to their marriage? He returned to his chair. His guilt grew worse with each passing day, and he knew it’d just begun.

  His only chance to make it right had ended, taking most of him with it.

  Sing for me, Grey.

  Her voice ran through him as clearly as the day they married. She’d asked that of him every day until Ivan was born. Tears filled his eyes. If he’d knelt before her and sung to her, without being asked, would she have told him sooner what separated them?

  Sing for me, Grey.

  He swallowed and straightened the collar of her dress. “Amazing Grace.…” He began the song softly and sang louder with each verse, trying to drown out the condemnation in his own heart. Wind whipped through the room, billowing the curtains and threatening to damage the nearby houseplants. He shut the windows. Clouds moved quickly across the dark skies, bringing a sense that only darkness lurked beyond the gray.

  Eighteen

  Samantha drew a huge circle on the chalkboard. She pointed inside the circle. “This is where everything and everyone you love belongs. Can you begin telling me things to write inside this circle? Don’t raise your hand. Just say it aloud.”

  Children began volunteering answers, slowly at first, but then the responses grew faster and louder, as did their laughter.

  Nine days had passed since the incident, and Lena’s heart pounded as she watched Samantha interact with her class. Her friend had read about Elsie’s death in the local newspaper and stopped by Lena’s place to check on her. After Samantha talked to her about posttraumatic stress disorder and other related issues, Lena asked if she’d come talk to her class.

  Lena’s own feelings were so jumbled she didn’t know where to begin trying to sort them out. Hearing Grey sing to Elsie the night before he buried her made Lena teary-eyed every time she thought about it. She’d been in her brother’s yard and as Grey’s voice carried on the wind, she grew still and listened. She couldn’t help Grey with his grief, but with Samantha’s knowledge, Lena could make a difference for her scholars. Even Peter was responding well to Samantha.

  The school days were long and filled with tears and confusion, but now Lena felt as if they’d do more than mark time off the calendar. She desperately wanted healing to take place.

  Wrapped inside a winter coat and a woolen scarf, Deborah stayed warm. The stars shone brightly across the November sky as she slid another mini–pumpkin pie onto a customer’s paper plate. The bite-sized pies were rather time-consuming to make but well worth the effort. Customers could purchase five different kinds and sample each flavor. Or they could buy a regular-sized pie to take home with them. After eating the mini-pies, guests often bought whole
pies. The success of the last four weeks might not show up in an abundance of money. That remained to be seen. But she and Ada had learned so much about running this type of home business. If they could do this kind of production with so little time to prepare for it, she felt fairly confident they could run an even better pumpkin patch next year.

  People armed with high-powered flashlights called to each other from inside the corn maze, and their laughter flowed. Cara stood in the tower, keeping watch and giving humor-filled verbal directions to those inside the maze as they moved from one stamp station to another. She honestly didn’t know who had the most fun—Cara or the ones inside the cornfield.

  A few feet away Ephraim ran the cash register. Lena came around the side of the house, bringing Deborah a stack of boxed pies. All the baked goodies were ones customers had ordered and paid for in Ada’s kitchen. They’d pick them up at this cubicle since it was the last stop at the pumpkin patch before the guests headed home. People could also order and pay for baked goods from this station.

  Lena grabbed an order off the counter and began to fill it.

  Jonathan’s voice carried softly through the air as he sang while driving the hay wagon toward its stop. His breath turned to vapor as it left his mouth. The riders were giggling and singing the little German ditty he taught each time. He brought the rig to a stop, hopped off, and chatted comfortably with kids and adults alike as he helped them down and pointed them in her direction. This was his last ride for the night. This group had been through the maze, gone on a hayride, and spent time with Ada in her kitchen, eating roasted pumpkin seeds and decorating cookies before eating them. In October the children decorated cookies to look like pumpkins and jack-o’-lanterns. Since November had begun, Ada had the customers decorate what she called turkey cookies, which sounded rather distasteful to Deborah, but the kids loved making a cookie look like a turkey.

  When she and Ada had enough apples, they ran an apple press, where the children could squeeze out a tiny cup of their own cider. Ada used the pulp to make four-ounce jars of apple butter, which sold much better than they’d expected.