Before Emma could say anything, Adam nodded. “Ya.”
“Well, here he is.” The man walked around to the back of the trailer. Adam motioned for Emma to follow. A few moments later he led a beautiful black gelding out of the trailer.
“Thanks for bringing him out,” Adam said to the man. He held on to the horse’s halter. The horse stamped and snorted a time or two, then settled down.
“Thank you for your business. You’ve picked a fine horse. He’ll be a hard worker for you.”
Adam guided the horse to the side as the man got in his truck and backed out of the driveway. Confused, Emma looked at Adam. “You got a new horse?”
“Nee.” He took Emma’s hand and put it on the lead rope. “This is your new horse.”
Emma gripped the halter and looked into the horse’s beautiful brown eyes. She could already see how gentle he was. Nearly as gentle as Dill. But young and strong enough to pull a buggy. She looked at Adam. “I can’t accept him.”
“You have to. I already have a horse.” He patted the animal’s flanks. “You need him. And from the way he’s taking to you, I think he needs you too.”
“It’s too much.” Her voice cracked. “How?” She looked beyond his shoulder to the Ottos’ driveway. The truck was gone. “You sold your truck?”
“I told you, I won’t be needing it anymore.” He grinned. “Let’s get this fella settled. What are you going to name him?”
They made their way to the barn. “Elijah. He looks like an Elijah to me.”
A short time later Elijah was settled in the stall next to Dill’s. Adam brought Dill back inside, and the two horses spent a minute or two sizing each other up. Now they were both munching their grain.
Adam and Emma sat next to each other on the hay bale. He put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him. “I don’t know how to thank you, Adam.”
He chuckled and looked at her. A teasing glint entered his eye, and she laughed. “But I’m guessing you’ll come up with something, won’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Adam said. “You know I will.”
Two weeks later, the Sunday after he’d spoken to Bishop Esh, Adam slipped on his black vest over his white, long-sleeved shirt and fastened the hooks on the vest. His church clothes fit as well now as they had two years ago. He picked up his black felt hat and brushed off a few specks of dust.
If only he could brush off his nerves so easily.
Anticipation mixed with anxiety as he made his way downstairs. Today would be the first time he’d attended church since he’d left Middlefield. And this morning he would stand in front of the entire district and confess his sins.
Two years ago he had been filled with pride, thinking only of himself and what he wanted instead of God’s will. He had to convince the congregation of his sincerity.
His hands shook as he put on his hat. His stomach growled because he’d barely been able to down more than half a cup of coffee at breakfast. Yet there was a feeling of calm inside him.
He was about to take the final step toward his new future.
Emma sat next to Leona and Clara during the service in the barn. The minister preached on faithfulness and forgiveness. In a monotonous but sincere voice he spoke in Dietsch, quoting Scripture about God’s steadfastness. “God never breaks His promises,” the minister said. “He is true to us, and requires that we be true to Him and to one another.”
The sermon ended. Adam was called to the front of the church, and Emma moved to the edge of the bench. She clasped her hands together and listened while Adam answered the bishop’s questions, confessed that he had broken his vow to God and the church, and asked everyone for forgiveness.
She blinked back tears as he spoke, his voice steady, loud, and genuine. She remembered over the years how Adam would complain about the long services, the strictness of the rules, second-guessing his decision to become baptized. They had been baptized together, and even then she had known he was hesitant.
This time it was different. There was no doubt in his eyes, no tentativeness in his voice. When he finished his confession, he went upstairs to wait for the congregation to agree to allow him back into the church.
The vote was unanimous.
The service was over. Outside, on the Yoders’ lawn, tables loaded with food and drink stood waiting for the celebration to begin.
Adam stood next to Leona’s chair, near enough to Emma that his arm touched hers. In clusters of two and three, members of the community came by to shake his hand and welcome him back to the fold. Once or twice he caught Leona’s eye and saw her smiling at him. She nodded as if to add her blessing, and he suspected that she’d had a hand—or at least a prayer—in the changes that had come to his life.
Transformation. That’s what it was about. Connecting with God and familye and community, and finding contentment and love in God’s will. Nothing else mattered. In good times and bad, in struggle and joy, the Lord was present, and that presence made all the difference.
He glanced down at Emma. She, too, had changed. She was no longer dependent upon him for her happiness and contentment, but together they could rely on God and work together to build a life.
On the other side of the lawn, his father stood talking with a small group of men. He looked up, caught Adam’s eye, and nodded.
That was all. Just a nod. But it was enough.
His mother came up and put her hand on his arm. “Today is a gut daag, mei sohn.”
Adam swallowed down the lump in his throat and smiled. For so long he’d been broken, searching for what he thought was missing in his life. And all along it had been here, in the Amish community. Quite literally in his own backyard.
He leaned close to Emma and felt the pressure of her arm against his.
“Ya,” he said. “It is a very gut daag.”
Faithful to Laura
PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH GLOSSARY
appeditlich: delicious
bann: shunned, excommunicated from the church
bu: boy
buwe: boys
daed: dad, father
danki: thank you
Dietsch: Pennsylvania Dutch, the language spoken by the Amish
dumm: dumb
Englisch: non-Amish
familye: family
fraa: wife, woman
geh: go
grossdochter: granddaughter
grosskinn: grandchild
grossmammi, grossmudder: grandmother
grosssohn: grandson
grossvadder: grandfather
gut mariye: good morning
guten nacht: good night
haus: house
kaffee: coffee
kapp: prayer cap
kinn: child
kinner: children
lieb: love, sweetheart
maedel: girl
mammi, mamm: mom, mother
mann: man
mei: my
mudder: mother
nix: nothing
onkel: uncle
Ordnung: the unwritten Amish rule of life
perfekt: perfect
rumspringa: the period between ages sixteen and twenty-four, loosely translated as “running around time.” For Amish young adults, rumspringa ends when they join the church.
schwester: sister
sohn: son
schee: pretty, beautiful
schwoger: brother-in-law
vadder: father
wie gehts: how are you?
ya: yes
yung: young
CHAPTER 1
“Laura . . . you’re so beautiful.”
Laura Stutzman held her breath, her skin tingling as Mark King touched her smooth cheek. She’d known him for such a short time; less than three months ago he had arrived in Tennessee and found his way to Etheridge, to their little community . . . and to her.
He wasn’t like the other Amish men she had known all her life. His handsome smile, the all-consuming way he looked at her, as if she were his tre
asure. He always seemed to know what to do to make her happy. What to say to make her feel cherished.
“I love you, Laura.”
Then he began to laugh. His voice seemed to come from above her, and she looked up. High in the dim recesses of the barn, he braced himself against the rafters, clutching a small steel box to his chest. A box she recognized immediately—the one that held her parents’ life savings.
“Mark?”
The image of his face blurred as a haze of smoke drifted between them. Her breath came in gasps, and the smoke stung her eyes. She turned, panicked, trying to find a way out.
But out of where? The barn was shrinking to a fraction of its size, smaller and smaller. The rafters vanished, and Mark with them.
She started to run, stumbled, and tripped. A body lay unconscious at her feet.
Adam Otto.
How did Adam get here? Where was she? She caught a glimpse of a door, ran to it, and yanked on the doorknob. Locked.
The scent of gasoline made her stomach lurch. She rushed to the window and put her hand on the latch. But before she could open it and call out for help, Mark’s face appeared at the windowpane. His lips twisted in a sneer that chilled her heart.
“You’re a fool, Laura. A stupid, gullible fool.”
He held something in his hand. Flames shot from the top of it. He took a step back, raised his arm, and threw.
“Mark!” she cried out. “Nee!”
Laura tried to shield her face, but it was too late. Shards of glass tore into her skin. Cutting. Burning. Smoke choked her throat.
When she pulled her hands away from her face, her fingers were covered with blood.
“Laura!”
Hands gripped her shoulders. The smoke cleared; the searing pain in her face subsided.
“Mark?”
“Laura, it’s Adam.”
She blinked and came to with a sharp October breeze slicing through her thin nightgown. It was nearly dawn. The pale gray light revealed a pile of ashes where Emma’s grandfather’s workshop used to be.
“Are you okay? I was in Emma’s barn feeding the horses, and I heard you scream—”
Exposed and vulnerable in her nightdress, Laura pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shivering.” Adam took off his coat and put it around her shoulders.
Embarrassment heated her face. Being caught outside in her nightgown was bad enough. Even worse was the lingering fear the nightmare left behind. The terrifying dreams were coming every night, and now she had sleepwalked to the place where the attack had happened. Memories slammed into her, taking her back to that horrible day, making it seem as if it were happening all over again.
She touched her hand to her cheek, felt the fine ridges of the now-healing scars. It was real.
“It’s not a gut idea for you to be out here.”
Laura looked at Adam Otto, the Shetlers’ next-door neighbor. Saw the understanding in his eyes. Mark had attacked him too. But he was healing. His hair was growing out, and he could hide his scar with his hat. He had the ability to move past the damage Mark King had caused him and the Shetler family.
She looked at the ash heap again.
Mark was gone, but his lies and sneers and jeering laughter remained, burrowing deep into her subconscious, coming to the surface in her dreams.
What a fool she had been!
Shame wrapped around her heart, a razor-sharp strand of barbed wire, and despite the fact that the scars were healing and the ashes had grown cold, she doubted that she’d ever be free or whole again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
Laura fought the urge to cringe as Leona Shetler’s clear, pale eyes questioned her. Leona was a kind soul who had welcomed Laura into the home she shared with her granddaughter Emma.
The old woman was wearing her Sunday clothes, complete with black bonnet, leaning on her ever-present cane. Emma was downstairs, also dressed in her best, and ready to go. But they weren’t going to church today. Instead, they were attending a wedding.
Laura’s hand went to her face. A wedding was the last place she wanted to be.
“If you’re fretting about an official invite, don’t give it a second thought. The Mullets will be happy to have you.”
Leona smiled, and the lines deepened at the corners of her eyes. Lines earned through seventy-five years of living.
The scarred lines on Laura’s face were Mark King’s parting gift.
“Maybe next time.”
Laura faced the bedroom window and looked outside. Adam was hitching his horse to a fine-looking buggy. Like Emma and Leona, he was also well dressed, with a black felt hat, slim black pants, black vest, and a crisp, white long-sleeved shirt.
Leona put her hand on Laura’s shoulder. “You can join us for this Sunday’s service, then.”
Her encouraging smile didn’t alter Laura’s mood. She wouldn’t be any more willing to attend church on Sunday than the wedding today. “Ya,” she replied, “Sunday service.”
“Ready to geh?” Emma called from downstairs.
“Ya.” Despite her years, Leona’s voice rang strong. She peered over Laura’s shoulder and looked out the window as Adam climbed into the buggy. “I see Emma’s yung mann is ready too.”
Laura tried to summon a smile at Leona’s pleased tone. Although she hadn’t known the Shetlers long, they had instantly treated her like family. Emma and Adam were in love. Anyone could tell.
At least they’re happy.
“I’d better hurry. Don’t want to keep them waiting.” Leona’s version of hurrying amounted to shuffling her feet across the wide plank floor while she balanced with her cane. Laura started to ask if she needed help, but she knew Leona would refuse. Laura understood about the need for independence.
She remained at the window after Leona left, watching as the two women walked to Adam’s buggy. He helped Leona into the backseat. Once they were all settled inside, they drove off, leaving Laura to wrestle with her thoughts.
She sat on the bed and looked around the room. It was a little larger, but quite similar to her simple, sparse bedroom at home in Tennessee.
Home, she thought. Family. A job. A life. All she’d left behind. But she couldn’t go back to any of that. Not when she’d failed those who trusted her most.
Her nerves were taut as a bowstring. She got up and paced across the room, then back again.
Maybe a bath would help settle her down. In the bathroom she leaned over and drew the water, watching it fill the tub as she tried to push ugly thoughts away. She undressed, turned off the tap, then halted when she caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror over the sink.
Spidery red scars crisscrossed her cheeks and forehead. A thicker one slashed across her chin. Her eyes weren’t damaged. The doctors called that lucky.
But she wasn’t lucky. Or blessed, as Leona and Emma would say. They insisted that the daily applications of vitamin E oil were helping the scars fade. But there were deeper scars, invisible ones.
No cosmetic treatments could heal a soul.
Laura slid into the warm water, letting it rise up to her chin, then pulled her head underneath. She could stay under. Breathe in the water, let it fill her lungs and drain her life. Then there would be no more scars. No more pain. No more hate growing like a thorny vine around her heart.
Her head pounded as she held her breath. Her lungs felt on fire. The instinct for survival thrummed its message in her pulse. Breathe in! Breathe in!
Close to bursting, she sprang from the water, gasping for air. She put her hand on her chest and felt her heart racing beneath the wet skin. Salty tears mingled with the tepid bathwater.
She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take her own life.
There would be no escape for her. No freedom, no sweet oblivion. The past would hold her in its clutches—and never let her go.
CHAPTER 2
“I’ll admit I thought you and Mary Beth might end up tog
ether.”
Sawyer Thompson looked at Johnny Mullet in surprise. The wedding had ended a couple hours ago, and after helping with the outside cleanup, the two friends had remained in the backyard. “Why would you think that?”
Johnny shrugged and looked out onto the pasture in front of them. The Mullets’ three cows munched on the last remnants of fall grass. Soon it would all be brown stubble. “Just thought it would be nice to have you as a brother-in-law.”
Sawyer clapped Johnny on the shoulder. “In my mind, we’re already brothers.” He nodded toward the house, where Mary Beth and Christopher Shetler were still inside, along with other family members and friends from the community. “Besides, even if I thought of Mary Beth as more than a sister, I don’t think I would be much competition.”
“Ya. She’s been writing about Christopher in her diary for years.”
Sawyer’s brow lifted. “You knew that?”
Johnny faced him, grinning. “You didn’t think you were the only one who read her diary?” He laughed and faced the field again. “Although I just did it to get under her skin. Worked too. She didn’t talk to me for days. It was great. Finally, a break from all that chattering.”
Sawyer chuckled. For all his teasing, Johnny couldn’t fool him. He knew that Johnny loved his twin sister; the three of them had been inseparable since the first day they met five years ago.
At fourteen, Sawyer had run away from foster care and hidden out in an old run-down barn near the Mullets’ property. A lifetime ago, it seemed. He had found Mary Beth’s diary, and ultimately the friendship of the Mullet family.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Johnny said. “I like Christopher. He’s a gut mann.” He tilted his black hat a few inches off his forehead, revealing a shock of dark brown hair. “But it would have been great to have you as an official part of the familye.”
Sawyer gripped the fence and leaned back, smiling. It was nice to be wanted. To be a part of something. After his parents had died, he hadn’t thought that would ever happen again.
The Middlefield Family Collection Page 23