"Ach, you had a light all along!" She turned to lead the horse into the lane. "How dare you fib like that!"
"Think back, Rosie ... I didn't lie." He stepped in front of her, and the flashlight tumbled from his hand.
She felt both angry with him and strangely sad. "Why'd we have to go down that miserable old road?"
"It's like when I tumbled off the ladder, checking on the silage. I had to get back up on it eventually." He was gripping her arms now. "Sometimes ya have to travel down a road where someone you love got hurt. Sometimes you just have to."
"Nick. .."
He released her and turned his back. "I'd better get goin'," he said, his voice suddenly devoid of feeling.
"You're awful upset ... about your mother, ain't?"
"Why should I be? She was always too drunk to care about me."
"Maybe she was just too sick, jah?"
He stood there, unmoving ... and silent.
Rose had often wondered why he hadn't returned to his mother on his own when he was of age. "Did ya stay round here because she was too sick to have you live with her ... when you were old enough to decide?"
"I wanted her to search for me ... not the other way around."
Was he just that stubborn? she wondered.
He breathed slowly and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I never stopped believing she'd get sober."
Her heart broke for him. "If she'd gotten well, I'm sure she would've looked for you." She paused. "Someone from the agency could've told her where you were, I'd guess."
"But ... God let her die."
"Now, Nick, you know it wasn't like that," Rose said gently.
He reached to touch her elbow, his tone suddenly tender. "Did I hurt you before? When I squeezed your arms? I didn't mean to. I mean, I'd never.. ."
She stroked George's thick mane. "I'm fine."
He leaned forward to retrieve the flashlight at their feet. "Well, I'll be seein' ya."
"Nick - try not to be too sad."
"Tomorrow, Rose."
"Jah ... tomorrow." With that, she led George up the lane and back to the barn.
Solomon had been unable to locate his horse George either in the stable or in the pasture earlier that evening. After searching much of his own property, he went on foot to hunt in the bishop's barn, too. Seeing that Pepper was also missing, and aware that Rose and Nick were nowhere around, he presumed the two were out riding together.
Again. He groaned - he had hoped they were spending less time together aside from chores. As reliable a worker as Nick had always been, the boy was not fit for his Rose. Sol could only pray that Silas might turn things around by the next Singing. The young man had been fond of Rose for quite a while, but according to Reuben Good, his son hadn't pursued her because she'd dropped out of Singings these past months. Thank goodness Sylvia was able to stay with Emma more often again, freeing up Rose Ann. There was a real possibility that romance might be winging its way to his daughter's heart.
Now Solomon stood beside the second-story window, peering down at the front yard and Nick and Rose, who stood at the end of the lane. Nick's flashlight lay at Rose's feet.
Sol winced when Nick reached for Rose Ann's arms.
"Dear Lord in heaven." He shuddered at the possibility that his second daughter might also be lost to God due to an outsider. "Let it not be so...."
Hen felt terribly tense. Brandon had decided to wait until after Mattie Sue was asleep to discuss the little Amish dress. He closed their bedroom door quite deliberately, the latch clicking in the stillness. It was apparent by the way he sat on the chair across from the bed where she waited that he was ready to speak his mind.
"Why would you do this, Hen?" He leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him.
She stiffened. "You saw her - Mattie Sue loves wearing it."
"Are you trying to interest her in being Amish?" His words were cutting.
"Well, she is Amish ... partly."
He fixed his eyes on her. "But you're not, Hen. You never joined the church, remember?"
"Well, you know what I mean," she replied. "Besides, Mattie's just playing around. She's crazy about her dress and Kapp. Can't you let her enjoy the fun?"
"Fun?" He shook his head. "Why do you want to look back now, Hen ... why?"
She pushed several more pillows behind her back and leaned on the headboard. "I just want my child to know her roots." Her voice trembled.
"Your child?"
"C'mon, Brandon ... don't do this."
He rose in a silent sulk and headed for the shower. He grabbed his bathrobe off the hook in the closet, muttering something she couldn't make out.
"Can't we talk this through?" she asked as he pushed open the bathroom door. But he said no more.
She remembered driving by her father's house after Mattie's birth. Three-week-old Mattie Sue had been sound asleep in her infant carrier as Hen parked across the road from the old farmhouse and sat there with her window open, listening to all the sounds of twilight. It had been the first time she'd missed home.
"You're playing with the fires of hell if you marry that fellow," the bishop had warned. "A friend of the world is an enemy of God!"
She'd opened the car door and gotten out, just staring at the darkened house ... waiting for Dat to bring in the gas lamps from the barn. She'd bit her lip, not wanting to spoil her glimpse of her childhood home with salty tears. No, Hen refused to cry when she had only herself to blame. She had disregarded the wisdom of her parents, as well as the ministerial brethren.
She had chosen her own way.
And now here she was all these years later, missing home more than ever. The memories and yearning had welled up and overtaken her until Hen could scarcely think of anything else.
Why can't Brandon understand?
It was impossible to brush their disagreement aside. But for tonight it appeared that Brandon had done just that. Hen rose and went into their spacious closet to find the letters she'd left out earlier. While she sorted through them, Brandon finished his shower and slipped out to the family room. She heard the TV on now and decided to steer clear of him. Let him think about what she'd said - what they'd said to each other....
The tension between them could be felt across the house, and for the first time since they'd married, Hen hoped her husband might just sleep on the sofa again.
Settling down on the floor at the foot of the bed, she sat in her long cotton nightgown and read several of Arie's letters. It was hard not to compare her past friendship with Arie - who was happily married, according to Rose Ann, with three little ones already - to Hen's present relationship with Diane, who was altogether disgruntled with marriage and vowed openly that, now that she had one child, she was done having babies. "I never want the hassles of another newborn."
There were other differences between the two women, especially the way each viewed relationships. Diane, for instance, was just as quick to discard as to collect. Hen had noticed this with some degree of trepidation a few short months into their friendship. If Diane disliked your politics or thought you were closed-minded, she immediately brushed you off. No second chances with her. Hen had seen her do that with several work friends right before Karen was born.
Arie, for her part, had never been one to collect friends. She didn't seem to need more than one or two close relationships in her life. And for all the years she and Hen were best friends, Arie said she needed only Hen to confide in - until Hen had betrayed her, as she called it.
Hen sighed and opened another letter. Truth was, she'd pushed Arie into an impossible corner, where the only thing she could do was avoid Hen.
She heard Brandon changing TV channels, making more noise than was necessary. A frightening thought crossed her mind - what if her own husband rejected her?
Unable to consider such a thing for more than a fleeting second, Hen returned to reading Arie's encouraging letters - some written the year Hen was sick with a long-lasting flu. Others we
re penned the winter Arie and her family went by train to visit her mother's cousins near Sarasota, Florida, in a tiny village called Pinecraft.
Hen leaned down to lie on the floor, propping herself up on one elbow to continue reading. She missed her Amish friend terribly. She wished she could talk to Arie tonight. She felt lost and quite alone, even here in the bedroom she and Brandon had created as a haven against the world. Why couldn't Brandon comprehend what had happened to her when Mattie Sue came into their lives ... and into her arms? Hen merely longed to impart the wisdom of the ages to her darling little girl. Why was that unacceptable?
Will I always regret my decision to marry outside the church? The awareness that she felt regret startled Hen. Yet wouldn't all this fussing and fretting come to an end if Brandon simply allowed her what she wished for - a chance to work at Rachel's Fabrics, and more contact between Mattie and her Plain relatives? If he'd just be more flexible and open to the idea that good, simple living had something to offer her and Mattie - to all three of them - they could resume their previously happy relationship.
She glanced at the lamp table and saw her Bible tucked beneath the second shelf. How long had it been since she'd read it? She remembered years of reading aloud to her mother, confined in her wheelchair.... Oh, the joy the Scriptures brought to Mom, easing her pain in a way that Hen could not fathom. Whenever her mother couldn't sleep, she prayed. No doubt her mother was praying even now.
Hen took comfort in the thought and returned Arie's letters to the box.
Suddenly she got the idea to write to Arie. The desire had crossed her mind numerous times in the past five years, but never had she been as anxious to act on it as tonight.
She rose and found her stationery and best pen, then went to the small oak desk in the corner and began to write.
Dear Arie,
Please don't dismiss me before you read this letter. After seeing you last Sunday at my parents' house, I've been thinking about our friendship. I know I hurt you with my choices. I hurt myself, too.
You were such a big part of my life, Arie. I realize this more each day. And I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me someday.
There are parts of my former life I still miss. I long to be around Plain folk again, and I've taken a job at Rachel's Fabrics. I'm really hoping you might stop by the shop sometime to see me. I'd love that!
I miss you, dearest friend.
With love, Hen
Rereading her letter, Hen realized anew how impulsive she'd been to marry. How ironic that impulsive was just what Brandon had called her. And now she must do her best to keep her yearnings for the Old Ways at bay, or she'd spoil their marriage. There was disgust in Brandon's eyes whenever she argued for a renewed connection to her Plain life. Amish culture - and faith - had never held any appeal for him.
The fact that he still hadn't mentioned her new job surprised her. Was he a pressure cooker, ready to explode in frustration? Until recently, he'd never said a harsh word to her, but then, she hadn't provoked such a disruption in their lives till now, either. Though none of this is on purpose. Hen was torn right down the middle of her soul.
She folded the note to Arie and addressed the envelope. Then, going to the kitchen, she located a stamp in a small drawer, as well as a return address sticker. She stared at it as she pressed the words onto the envelope: Mr. & Mrs. Brandon Orringer.
Hen belonged with her husband. No longer was she Sol Kauffman's little Amish girl. It was essential that Hen make a greater attempt to please Brandon - to try to make her unfulfilling English life a happier one for them both.
Somehow, I must.
Rose was startled to hear the click of a stone against her bedroom window Sunday evening. Fully dressed for the Singing, she had been walking back and forth in her room, thinking of Silas. Would he ask her to ride afterward?
Going to the window, she raised it and looked down to see Nick standing there with his flashlight shining on his face. "What're you doin'?" she asked.
"Christian's takin' his buggy over to the deacon's," he said. "You can ride with him, if ya want. Unless you have another way."
Typically, brothers took their sisters to Singings so the girls were free to ride home with a beau. Always before, Rose had ridden with one of her married brothers, if they were going that way. Never once had she ridden with Christian Petersheim. "Are you goin'?"
"No."
She wished he would, but she wasn't surprised at the answer. "You never know who you might meet there," she urged. "It could be fun."
"Well, I'm sure not ridin' with Christian."
"Borrow the bishop's buggy, then - I'll ride along with ya."
Nick shook his head.
"Have it your way, then. Tell Christian I'll be right down." Rose felt bad for Nick as she closed the window. Heaven knew that if she couldn't persuade him to go, no one could. In all truth, he was as unpredictable and stormy as their autumn weather.
By the time Rose ran outdoors to catch up with Christian, she was surprised to see Nick still walking slowly up the road. "You should be getting your own courting buggy sometime soon, right?" she said.
"Puh! What for?"
"Well, so you can spend time with a girl you like. You'll never find one till you look."
He gave her a scrutinizing stare. "What are you so happy about?"
"Oh, I just haven't been to Singings in a while, is all." She folded her hands, glad she'd worn her mittens on this chilly night. Since Nick didn't have a sweetheart-girl, Rose didn't want to mention Silas Good. Didn't want to be rude ... or sound all puffed up because she had a date and he had no one.
He walked with her to the turnoff to the bishop's lane. "Well, so long," he said and kept going.
"Good-bye." She glanced back - his shoulders were slumped and his head hung down. She chided herself for not being more gentle. Surely he was still brooding over his mother's passing. Oh, if only he could find it in himself to go along tonight! He shouldn't be alone when he felt so low.
Nevertheless, Rose hurried to hop into Christian's open buggy. "Denki for the lift," she said as she climbed in to sit at his left.
"Nick thought you needed a ride."
"Jah, my brothers have pretty much given up on me goin' to Singings anymore."
"You can always get a lift with me," Christian said.
She looked over her shoulder. "Why do ya think Nick doesn't care to go?"
"Have you ever known him to care about anything?" Christian held the reins and clicked his tongue to get the horse moving.
"Jah, he cares 'bout a lot of things. Don't you realize that?"
This brought a guffaw from Christian. "Aren't you spunky!"
"Ain't something I try to be."
"You mean it just comes natural?" Christian chuckled. "Prob'ly it's the reason you and Nick get along," he said. "Two of a kind?" He eyed her. "Except Roses are s'posed to be sweet, ain't?"
She shrugged off his comment and turned her thoughts to Silas, recalling his thoughtful letter and their date last Saturday. She was fairly sure he was serious about courting her, since they'd gone to spend the evening at his married brother's. Most fellows didn't want family to know who they were courting till closer to being published in church, two weeks before the wedding.
Christian interrupted her thoughts. "Nick seems more out of sorts than usual."
"Well, his mother just died."
Christian snorted. "No, it's more than that."
"Maybe he's missing his family ... his kin."
"He's a burr in the flesh," Christian muttered. "That's what."
What a thing for a brother to say! Rose stared at him. "It can't be easy, losin' someone you loved." She refused to reveal more about what Nick had said concerning his mother.
"Seems he'll use any excuse to fall into a slump." Christian shook his head. "Nick's mighty stubborn, too. All these years, he's never tried to fit into the family." He huffed loudly.
Rose bristled. "Nick might be happier in the English worl
d. Ever think that?" She didn't add, "away from you," but she thought it.
Christian leaned back, the reins loose in his hands. "Believe me, I think on it plenty. And I wouldn't be surprised if my father suspects the same."
Rose suddenly felt disloyal, discussing Nick this way. Still, he'd taken no steps to build a life of his own among the People. "Maybe it's time he had his own buggy."
"Daed's offered a few times to purchase one, and a nice, fast trotter, too. But Nick keeps turnin' him down."
Falling into silence, Rose listened to the steady clip-clopping of the horse. She considered several of the girls at church, wondering which ones Nick might find appealing enough to court and marry, keeping him in the community. Any number of pretty girls could make him a good wife. She could think of at least two who were her own first cousins, which would be right nice, making Nick her relative, too, if he married one of them. She was still kicking herself for not convincing him to go to Singing tonight.
Just then, she heard the sound of galloping behind them. She turned to look just as the horse and rider sped by.
Christian's young driving horse started and jumped, pulling jerkily to the left.
"Oh goodness!" Without thinking, Rose grabbed Christian's arm. Are we going to tip over?
She clung to Christian, not realizing for a moment that she might have caused even more chaos. Every nightmare Rose had ever had since her mother's accident careened across her mind, and by the time Christian managed to restrain the horse, she could scarcely breathe.
She gave a sigh of relief and wondered, as she moved back to her side of the seat, if Christian would chide her.
Instead, he touched her arm. "You all right?"
She nodded, keeping her emotions in check. "I thought ... I wondered if what happened to Mamm might happen to us."
"Nick's foolish - he should've known better than to pass so close."
"That was Nick?" In her fright, she hadn't recognized him.
"Who else is so reckless?" Christian reined the horse over onto the side of the road and brought the buggy to a halt. He drew in a long, deliberate breath. "Jah, that was Nick for certain." He rubbed his hands on his face, covering his features, clearly upset.
The Thorn (The Rose Trilogy) Page 12