by Marta Perry
“The Lord says we have to forgive, but He doesn’t say it is easy.” Onkel Jonah looked as if he was struggling with that forgiveness as well.
“No. The most important thing now is to rescue Mattie from this threat, but I don’t know how it’s to be done.” His fists clenched again, and again he forced them to relax. Anger was a sin, just as not forgiving those who wronged you was. It would be easier, he thought, to forgive a wrong done to himself rather than one done to Mattie.
“If Mattie were married, her husband would be the one the law went after, even if he were the stepfather, ain’t so?” Onkel Jonah dropped the question and seemed to look at it, as if wondering whether he should have said it.
Adam studied his face. “Are you saying what I think you are?”
Onkel Jonah met his gaze without wavering. “We all still miss Ben, but it’s time to move on. It’s what he would want.” He was echoing Adam’s thoughts. “You’re my own brother’s boy, and you’ve grown into a gut man. You’re already attached to Mattie and her kinder, ain’t so? We’ve been thinking for some time it would be a gut match.”
Adam hesitated for a moment, but he may as well speak, since Ben’s own father had brought it up. “I have been thinking it, too. But Mattie doesn’t see it that way.” His lips quirked a little. “Still, I think she might change her mind, given some time.”
Relief washed over his uncle’s face. “I’m wonderful glad to hear you say so. I wouldn’t be matchmaking if it weren’t for the way things are right now.”
“Once Mattie gets used to the idea—” he began.
His uncle was shaking his head. “That’s the trouble. If we are to save Mattie from jail, there might not be time for waiting and thinking. They could come for her any day now, and then what will we do?”
The words sent a chill down Adam’s spine. He would go to jail every day of the week to spare Mattie, but the only way he could do that was as her husband, and he didn’t think she would agree to it, at least not yet.
• • •
All the way home from worship that Sunday morning, Judith had been pondering her conversation with Joseph. Her heart hurt when she thought of his efforts to keep from crying in front of her. Once, he’d have buried his face in her apron and wept out his sorrows, but he considered himself a man now. He’d try to keep his suffering to himself, no matter what the cost.
Like Isaac. She stole a glance across the buggy seat at her husband. His face was set in firm lines, his expression unreadable under the shadow cast by his black hat. The two brothers were more alike than they realized.
Somehow, there must be a reconciliation between Isaac and Joseph. Even if Isaac refused to change his mind about Joseph’s future, even if Joseph walked away from the dairy farm when he was old enough, surely they could find some common ground for Isaac to show the boy he still loved him. Joseph needed that reassurance. And Joseph wasn’t the only one.
She had to talk to Isaac. She was the only one who could. Even though her heart shrank from confronting him, she had to do it.
The opportunity to talk to Isaac alone didn’t arise until after she’d settled the boys for the night. She’d barely reached the bottom of the stairs before she heard Levi and Paul fussing at each other. She turned to go back up, but Isaac, just heading for his chair with the weekly newspaper, shook his head.
“I’ll do it.” He tossed the paper aside and headed up the stairs. “I don’t know what’s the matter with those two lately. All they do is snap at each other.”
She watched him, bemused. Did he realize he’d just described another pair of brothers in the family? Apparently not.
As Judith settled into her rocker and picked up the mending basket, she could hear Isaac’s voice, scolding. He sounded out of sorts. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to approach him about his relationship with Joseph.
And maybe she was being a coward. There wasn’t going to be a good time, and the thought of another evening spent mainly in silence was more than she could bear.
He came back down. “Paul was out of his room, teasing his brother about something or other. And Levi was calling him names. The two of them are going to earn spankings if they don’t settle down, and quickly.”
She would not point out the similarity to the relationship between him and his brother. If he didn’t see it, how could she make him?
Besides, she already had enough of an issue on her mind. Judith waited until he was seated with the newspaper in his hands, so that he couldn’t say he was on his way to do something else. “I want to talk to you, Isaac.”
The newspaper rustled. “Can it wait? I still haven’t had time to read the paper.”
“This is more important than the newspaper.” Judith forced as much firmness as she could muster into her voice.
The newspaper lowered, and she thought Isaac looked a little surprised. Maybe he wasn’t used to her speaking so firmly to him.
Now that she had his attention, she wasn’t sure where to start. Best just to plunge right in.
“I think you need to be talking more to Joseph.” That wasn’t quite what she wanted to say, but at least it opened the subject.
“We talk.” But there was a defensiveness in his voice that declared he knew what she meant.
“Telling him to pass the salt isn’t talking.” Judith drew in a breath, trying to approach the subject calmly. “He became very upset today after church. I think he feels that he is coming between the two of us.”
Now she’d startled him. The newspaper slid to the floor. “That’s foolishness.”
“Maybe so, but it’s what he feels.” She leaned forward, willing her husband to understand. “Isaac, Joseph is carrying a load of guilt that he shouldn’t be.” Like you, she thought, her heart aching. “He needs to talk to you about all of this and feel you’ve heard him.”
Isaac’s face tightened. “I’m not changing my mind about the farm. I have to do what I feel is best for Joseph.”
Patience, she told herself. “You can talk to him without changing your mind.”
“Why do women think they have to talk things to death?” Isaac muttered, but the words were said in the grudging murmur that told her he was weakening.
“Because we know it’s often the best way to make things better,” she said promptly. “Like now. Joseph needs to know that even if the two of you disagree about his future, you still love him.”
His gaze slid away from hers in typical male embarrassment. “Joseph is getting too old for that, ain’t so? Besides, he knows what I feel for him.”
“How can he know when you never say so?” Her throat clenched. It was true for her as well as for Joseph. Sometimes people needed to hear the words.
“He’s all that’s left of my family.” His voice grew tight. “He has to know what that means.”
“Isaac, you never talk about them.” She leaned toward him, reaching out helplessly. “I know it hurts, but sometimes we need to share our grief.” Suddenly, unexpectedly, her throat clogged with tears. “I’d like to talk about Deborah once in a while. Don’t you see that? She was my best friend.” The tears spilled over, and she put her hands on her face.
This wasn’t about her. She’d never intended to say such a thing. Men hated tears, and Isaac was no exception. He’d make some lame excuse to leave—
His chair creaked as he rose. Then he clasped her shoulders and drew her up out of the rocker, her mending falling to the floor. He put his arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and buried her face in his shirt.
“No.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I had forgotten. You and Deborah . . .” He held her for a long moment, motionless, his cheek against her forehead. “How could I forget?” he murmured. “The two of you running around the garden together, whispering secrets, her braids coming down and yours curling out of control.” He stroked her hair.
Judith managed a smile through her tears. “I know. I think most of the secrets were plots to spy on you.”
“Mischief makers,” he teased softly.
“Only when I was with Deborah.” Her heart swelled, remembering. “I was always shy and quiet, except with her.”
He nodded, and she felt the movement against her face. “Ja. She was so lively she could bring people out.”
They just stood there for a long moment, holding each other. Finally Isaac sighed. “Komm.” He settled her against his side. “Let’s go up to bed. Tomorrow I’ll try to do better with Joseph. All right?”
Judith’s heart lightened. “All right.”
Much later she lay awake, listening to Isaac’s steady breathing, grateful for the weight of his arm across her. Somehow, and she wasn’t sure how, she’d gotten through to Isaac. At least, he’d said he’d try. She could only pray that it would be enough—that it would be a new beginning for him and Joseph.
• • •
Isaac came out of the barn the next afternoon, pausing to adjust his hat and let his eyes become accustomed to the sunshine. He automatically searched for Judith and found her over by the old generator shed.
She was kneeling on the grass, sorting through some bulbs, her head bowed as she focused on her task. Some tendrils of brown hair had, as usual, escaped her kapp to curl around her ears. He smiled, tenderness filling him at the sight of her.
Judith tried so hard to keep everyone in the family happy. She had a heart full of love for all of them. He should have remembered that when he’d been so angry with her over keeping a secret from him. She would only do such a thing out of love, and he knew it, even if he thought she’d been mistaken in what she’d done.
Right now, she had all of the boys involved in planting bulbs. Joseph was digging the bed while Levi and Paul broke up the clots of dirt. Noah, of course, was mainly getting in the way, but he had his own little shovel, and he was trying to help.
Joseph. He studied his brother as he walked toward them. The boy was growing so much that he’d stopped thinking of him as a child who needed reassurance and encouragement. But maybe a boy his age needed it even more. When Isaac had been fourteen, he’d had Daad to talk to about the things a boy wanted to ask a man.
The trouble was, he’d never been one to talk about his feelings, and Joseph would certain-sure think it odd if he started now. Still, he’d promised Judith he would try, and so he must. He could be more responsive and patient. That wouldn’t be hard. If only Joseph could be satisfied with the life ahead of him instead of longing for something else . . .
“Daadi!” Noah spotted him and jumped up, nearly cracking his head on Joseph’s spade. “We’re planting flowers.”
Isaac reached him and scooped him out of the way, lifting him in his arms. “You are helping, ain’t so?”
Noah nodded vigorously. “Mammi says if we bury the bulbs in the ground now, we’ll have flowers in the spring.” Worry wrinkled his forehead. “But won’t the winter be too cold for them?”
“They’ll be fine, because you’re going to put a nice blanket of dirt over top of them to keep them warm.” He let Noah slide to the ground and then sat down, pulling his youngest onto his lap. He lifted an eyebrow at Judith. “You decided some flowers would hide the burned spot?”
“Ach, it will disappear by spring anyway. But this seems like a gut place for bulbs, with the lilac bushes behind them. I don’t know why I never thought of it before.”
A memory slid into his mind. His mother had had a flower bed in that spot, hadn’t she? He’d forgotten it, but surely this was where it had been. He seemed to see her bent over a colorful display, hand gently cupping a blossom.
He choked down a lump in his throat and pushed the memory out of his mind. Make an effort to talk to the kinder, especially to Joseph—that was what he had to do. That was what Judith wanted him to do, and he’d agreed he’d try.
“Should be a pretty sight in the spring.” Luckily he sounded normal. “What are those bulbs you’re planting?”
“My mamm shared them with me. She was dividing some of her clumps of flowers. The tiny ones are snowdrops.” She touched them lightly with her fingers. “They bloom first, and they’re small, so we’ll put them in front, with daffodils interspersed and the tulips behind them. That way we’ll have something blooming all spring.”
Isaac nodded, trying to think of something he could say to Joseph and wondering why it should be difficult. “Joseph is doing a gut job of digging the bed for you, ain’t so?” He smiled at his brother and got a startled look in reply.
“He is, for sure.”
Joseph looked a little embarrassed at the attention, but he grinned. “It’s easy enough digging. Almost like someone had dug it up before.”
Isaac didn’t respond. There was no reason why any of them needed to know that Mammi had once tended her flowers in this same spot.
“Hey! There’s something here.” Levi dropped to his knees and burrowed into the dirt like a puppy uncovering a bone.
“Careful.” Joseph knelt next to him, using the hand spade to help him unearth it, whatever it was.
“Probably just a rock—” Isaac began, leaning forward to look, but the words died when Levi pulled out a small wooden object and held it up triumphantly.
“Look, it’s a dog. A little wooden dog.”
Isaac was looking, and his heart seemed to stop as he recognized the small toy. He looked away, afraid to let Levi see his expression.
“See, Daadi?” Levi scrambled over to shove it into his hands, and Isaac had no choice but to take it.
“Ja, I see.” He turned it over, handling it gently, running his fingers along the rough knife cuts. He hadn’t been very good at woodcarving then. And he’d never attempted it again after the fire, he realized. He’d shut it out of his life, most likely afraid it would make him remember being with Daad in the workshop, listening to Daad’s patient voice encouraging him. He’d always encouraged, Isaac realized, whatever his kinder wanted to do.
“Isaac?” Judith’s voice was questioning. She knew something was wrong, whether anyone else noticed it or not.
“I . . . it belonged to my little sister. To Jessie.” He fought his treacherous voice, which nearly broke on the name. “I made it for her birthday when she was five.”
He saw them, suddenly. All of them around the pine table in the kitchen, lamplight glowing on smiling faces and Jessie’s smile even brighter than the lamp as her big brother handed her a birthday gift. The image was so clear in his mind that he could almost reach out and touch them. He could almost feel Jessie’s small hand in his.
“You made it?” Luckily, Levi focused on the fact that his father had produced such a thing, saving Isaac the embarrassment of revealing his feelings to his son.
“Ja.” He cleared his throat. “We tried to make the presents we gave each other for birthdays, just like you do.”
“Why don’t you make anything like that now? Why, Daadi?” Levi put his hand on Isaac’s knee, persistent.
“I wasn’t very gut at it,” he said. He managed to glance at Joseph, and his brother’s expression hit him in the heart. Joseph stared at the battered little dog as if it were the most amazing treasure he’d ever seen.
“Was Jessie five when . . .” Joseph stopped, as if he couldn’t manage the rest of the question.
He nodded. Short. Curt. Let this be an end to it. Please.
Joseph held out his hand without speaking. Isaac had to fight his reluctance. Then he put the toy dog into Joseph’s hand. Amazing, that the boys weren’t clamoring to hold it. Maybe they sensed without understanding that this was something too serious for fussing over.
He didn’t really want to watch, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Joseph turned the toy dog over in his hands much as Isaac had done, touching it carefully. With
respect.
It hit him then. Joseph had never so much as seen anything that had belonged to his family. Everything had been lost in the fire. Nothing remained to remind them of the five who died. Mamm. Daad. Deborah, nine. Mary, seven. And Jessie, just five.
The boy looked up suddenly, his face open, a startling difference from the sullen look that had been habitual recently. “What was she like?”
Isaac felt as if a vise had closed around his heart. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to remember, and he certain-sure didn’t want to feel the pain again. But Joseph was looking at him with such hope, and he could sense Judith willing him to answer.
For an instant resentment flared in him that she would pressure him to do something so painful, but it died instantly, and it shamed him. He’d promised to try to talk to Joseph. He hadn’t expected it to be about sweet, lost little Jessie, but so it was.
“She was happy,” he said, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. “I never knew such a happy little girl. Every time I looked at her, she was smiling.” He glanced at Judith, pleading silently for help. “Wasn’t she?”
“Jessie was like sunshine,” she said, lips curving a little with the memory. “Her hair was so light a yellow that it was almost white, and she had the biggest blue eyes. She had a dimple in her cheek that showed when she smiled. Right here, just like Noah does.” She touched Noah’s dimple, and he giggled, not quite sure what was going on.
“She always wanted to do what the older ones did,” she went on. “And when I came to see Deborah, she followed us around. I remember when we taught her and Mary to jump rope. No matter how many times Jessie tripped, she’d laugh and try again.”
Just when he’d thought he’d gotten his emotions under control, Isaac’s eyes filled with tears. Jessie was suddenly so alive in his thoughts, her eyes dancing, squealing with joy when he gave her the little dog he’d made, throwing her arms around him in a huge hug.
Levi patted his knee as if to comfort him. “Daadi? You look like you want to cry. Does it make you feel sad to think about your little sister?”