Most everyone had gone back to bed, but for sure and certain no one would get much sleep. With a small light attached to his suspenders, Aden was helping Moses cover Anna and Felty’s bedroom furniture with a tarp and some strips of plastic just in case it rained. “Is Mary Anne okay?” Aden asked when Jethro walked past him.
Jethro nodded. “She didn’t breathe in much smoke.”
“You got her out fast yet,” Aden said. “Is she going to sleep in the house with Mammi and Dawdi?”
“I don’t think so.” He couldn’t offer her the spare bedroom, and she wouldn’t agree to stay there even if he could. But she needed a place to sleep, and he wasn’t about to let her sleep under the stars. There weren’t any stars tonight anyway, and she’d get soaked for sure and certain.
He had to brace himself against a tree to keep from running to her side when she finally came out of the house. She carried a lantern and walked slowly across the lawn. If her legs felt as unsteady as his, it probably took all her concentration just to put one foot in front of the other without crumpling to the ground.
He couldn’t bear to watch her struggle. Meeting her halfway across the lawn, he took the lantern, laced his fingers with hers, and tucked her arm to his side. She hesitated. “How are your grandparents?” he said, because I’m desperately, madly, achingly in love with you probably wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
She nodded, and he recognized some sort of struggle on her face, though it was dark and hard to tell for sure.
He lifted the lantern and studied her face. She’d been crying. His heart sank even further. It was probably in Wautoma by now. Tears still glistened in her eyes, and their residue smeared over the light dusting of soot that covered her cheeks. He pressed her arm to his side. “Ach, heartzly, it’s been a rough night.”
She nodded again, as if she found it impossible to force a word past her lips.
“Do you want to try to go back to sleep? Your tent is ruined, but if you don’t mind coming to the Neuenschwander side of the camp, you can sleep in my tent. I’ll roll out a sleeping bag and watch over you while you sleep. If so much as a firefly gets within ten feet, I’ll snuff it out.”
She might have cracked a smile, even though it faded before he had a chance to enjoy it. “I can’t take your tent.”
“I want you to, Mary Anne. I won’t sleep unless I know you’re safe and dry, and the only way to be sure of that is to put you in my tent and guard it from sparks and fireflies.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “Will you . . . will you let me do this for you?” One last gift he could give her before she left him for good. Only the sheer force of his will kept his knees from buckling. How would he live without his Mary Anne?
She searched his face for an answer he couldn’t give her. “Okay. But just for tonight. You can’t camp out here without a tent. Tomorrow we will have to figure out something else.”
“For sure and certain.”
They stopped at Mary Anne’s charred tent, where Jethro retrieved her sleeping bag, pillow, and a tarp. Then they took the fifty-yard walk to Jethro’s tent. The distance between their camps had never seemed so wide.
Jethro’s tent was much smaller than Mary Anne’s, and she had to get down on her hands and knees to get inside. Jethro spread the tarp, and then Mary Anne’s sleeping bag on the ground in front of the tent door. If any creature with sharp teeth and claws wanted to get in, they’d have to go through Jethro first.
He tried to ignore the soft movements on the other side of the tent as Mary Anne got into his sleeping bag and lay her head on his pillow. His longing would drive him crazy if he let it. He slipped into his sleeping bag and rolled onto his back, propping his hands under his head and staring up at the pitch-black sky. A flash of light traveled between two clouds, and the sky rumbled like a sleeping giant. Rain was only a few minutes away. When it came, he’d wrap himself up like a sandwich with the tarp on the top and bottom. He’d be dry enough. At least there wouldn’t be any more fires tonight.
Mary Anne’s soft voice floated from behind the tent flap. “Your pillow smells like you.”
“Is that okay? Do you want to trade?”
“Nae. I . . . I like it.”
“Oh.”
She made a slight movement. Her arm, a hand, or maybe she’d rolled over. He probably should move far enough away not to hear her, or he’d never get to sleep. “Jethro?”
He loved the smooth timbre of her voice, like melted butter sliding across a stack of pancakes. “Jah?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything, heartzly.”
“I’m sorry about how I’ve treated you.”
Jethro hadn’t expected that, especially because it was so unnecessary and so untrue. “You have nothing, nothing, to apologize for.”
Her voice sounded so close, as if her face was right up against the canvas. “I understand why the bishop said, ‘Is it I?’ Because it was me. It was all my fault.”
Jethro didn’t know where this had come from, but he couldn’t let her go on believing it. “You took the blame for everything, heartzly. You aren’t the one who needed the bishop’s lesson.”
“I blamed you in my heart.”
“As you should have. If I had been a better husband, you wouldn’t have moved out.” His voice faltered. If he had been a better husband, he wouldn’t be losing his best reason for living. It had been his fault, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.
“I blamed you and Gotte for the baby, and I couldn’t very well move out on Gotte. Mammi says He’s always with me no matter where I go.”
Jethro shook his head, even though she couldn’t see it. “Mary Anne, you were brave enough to do what you had to do. I was thoughtless for not even asking you how you felt about infertility treatments. I should have found a way to pay for them. I should have talked instead of shutting you out. I should have loved you better.”
“I should have put up more of a fight.”
“You thought I was disappointed in you. You wouldn’t have dared.”
She was silent for so long he thought she had fallen asleep. “That’s true.” Another long pause. “I was angry, Jethro. I confess I wanted to hurt you.”
“What did you do that I didn’t deserve? Nobody likes to hear their sins shouted from the rooftops, but sometimes it’s the only way to make a person understand. You forced me to see the kind of husband I was.”
“At least you were willing to change. Another husband would have been too stubborn to admit he was wrong,” she said.
Jethro wanted to draw hope from that small concession, but he couldn’t be so careless with his heart. “I was stubborn at first. I told you we were stuck with each other and that we might as well make the best of it.”
“I’m sorry you got stuck with me, Jethro.” There was so much sorrow in her voice.
“I was angry, Mary Anne. Don’t believe for one minute I think I’m stuck.”
“But I’m useless to you.”
“Useless?” He propped his elbow on the sleeping bag and rested his head on his hand. “Mary Anne, your most fertile part isn’t your womb. It’s your heart. That’s where you dream and plan and imagine. That’s where you nurture the seed of creation. Look what you’ve created since you’ve been in the woods.”
“A few quilts and a couple of chairs to sell.”
“It’s more than a quilt and some chairs, though those are beautiful. You underestimate the joy they bring to people. But you’ve created so much more than that. Before you moved out, you had created a home with order and beauty. A place where everyone wanted to be, where I wanted to be. The place where my heart was. Then you brought all your cousins together to camp.”
“That wasn’t my doing,” she whispered.
“It was your doing. They came together because they love you. And look what you’ve created in me. I have a new heart. For sure and certain you never thought that would happen.”
“Nae.” She must be close to sleep now. He
could barely hear her. “I never did.”
I never did. It was like the final nail in his coffin. She didn’t believe him. Did she feel anything for him at all? Friendship? Pity? Disdain? He couldn’t be sure, and he didn’t dare ask. If she told him she still despised him, he didn’t think he’d have the strength to get up in the morning. Better to imagine she didn’t hate him than to hear the sharp and devastating truth.
He couldn’t tell her he loved her, though the words were trying to pry his lips open and leap out of his mouth. If she knew how much he wanted her, ached for her, loved her, she would only feel guiltier about leaving him.
His heart broke completely, and there wasn’t even a night bird to witness it.
He rolled over on his side facing away from the tent. I love you, Mary Anne, he mouthed, though not a sound came from his lips.
His silence was the only thing he had left to give her.
Chapter Twenty
Maybe Jethro didn’t love her anymore.
If she hadn’t been so completely exhausted, that thought would have kept her awake all night. As it was, it woke her up at about four a.m. and made it impossible to go back to sleep.
She desperately wanted to believe Jethro had bought those chairs and that quilt because he loved her, because he wanted to make her happy. But the realistic, brokenhearted part of her couldn’t let herself consider such a possibility. Jethro wanted her gone. He was just trying to help her earn the money faster, so he could move back into the house before autumn.
Who could blame him? From the first, she had wanted to hurt him, and she had done a fine job of it. How could he love her when she’d been so cruel? Still, something whispered to her heart that Jethro had spent all that money for her and only her, though she couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing when he knew she was planning on leaving. It didn’t make sense. What could Jethro possibly gain from buying her chairs?
No wonder she had woken up so early. No wonder her heart hurt like an open wound.
After two hours of trying to toss and turn quietly so she wouldn’t wake Jethro, Mary Anne gave up. It had to be almost six a.m. Surely Jethro would be awake. Maybe she could tell him how much his buying her furniture meant to her. Maybe she could confess that she loved him and that despite everything, she wanted to try their marriage again. Maybe she should just go stick her head in a bucket of cold water for all the good it would do her.
She slowly unzipped her tent. Had it rained last night? She hadn’t heard a thing. The tarp lay in front of the tent door, but the sleeping bag was gone, as was the pillow. She hadn’t heard Jethro get up, but she also hadn’t heard the rain, even though there were puddles everywhere and the fresh smell of clean earth filled the air. Maybe he’d moved into the barn to get out of the rain.
Another twinge of guilt stung her like a rubber band flipped at the back of her head. She shouldn’t have taken his tent and left him out in the rain. But he’d asked her to let him do it. Her heart galloped around her chest. Jethro had wanted her to stay dry. That sounded like love to her. Maybe there was hope.
In the half light of the coming sunrise, she crawled out of her tent, which wasn’t really her tent—just one more thing she had taken from Jethro, one more thing he’d been more than happy to give up for her. She could hardly bear the shame of her own behavior.
No one else was awake or at least out of their tents yet. Lord willing, Mammi and Dawdi would sleep until noon. They needed the rest more than anybody. At least they were in the house, warm and dry and safe.
Mary Anne tiptoed to her charred tent to inspect the damage. Her sewing machine and all her fabrics and paints hadn’t been touched. Everything was safe and dry, even the new quilt top she was working on. The actual tent was where all the damage had been done. Someone had draped a tarp over the burned side of the tent. Her cot was right where she’d left it. It smelled like smoke but had been untouched by the rainstorm. The bookshelf was a pile of ashes, though some of her dishes and pots and pans had survived, but they would need to be thoroughly scrubbed before she could use them again. All things considered, she’d come out okay. She hadn’t been planning on buying Jethro a new tent until she’d moved into a place of her own, but now she’d have to dip into her savings or she’d have nowhere to live for the rest of the summer.
Until she’d moved into a place of her own.
The thought hit her with a wave of nausea. She didn’t want a place of her own. She wanted to be with Jethro, just when he wanted to get rid of her. All this time she thought she was being strong and stubborn. Now strength felt a lot like pride. Her precious freedom seemed like nothing but loneliness. She couldn’t imagine any kind of life without Jethro. What had she done?
She sank to her cot as a quiet sob escaped her lips. Had she learned her lesson too late?
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Jethro was there, gathering her into his arms and holding her close. She melted into his embrace and let him stroke her back and whisper comforting words into her ear. “Ach, heartzly, I’m sorry. I know it looks bad now, but we’ll find you a new home. I’ll build you a new bookshelf. You can repaint the butterflies.”
It took Mary Anne a few seconds to realize he was referring to the butterflies in the tent. They had burned away. Ach, if only he knew how little she cared about those butterflies now.
Just as she was about to ask him to never let go, he drew away from her. “Mary Anne, I don’t want you to camp here anymore, even for one more night.”
Ach! Her chest tightened, and she couldn’t even draw a breath to beg him to take her back.
He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a paper. Pressing his lips together, he studied her face, for sure and certain looking for something, though she didn’t know what. “I should have done this weeks ago, but I just couldn’t bear to.” He took her hand. “Ron Barker is a friend of mine at work. He has a cabin near the lake that he’s willing to rent. It’s wonderful small, but he’ll let you have it for cheap if I’ll do some repairs on it. It’s not much, but at least it will get you out of the woods.”
“You want me out of the woods?” She could barely form the words.
“I want you to be safe.” He lowered his head. “You make the final decision. I won’t force you to do anything, but I just . . .” He ran the back of his hand down the beard on his chin. “I can’t stand it, Mary Anne. Last night, the terror almost buried me. Either you have to move out of the woods or I sleep at your tent door every night with my hunting rifle and a bucket of water.”
Did he want her gone because he didn’t love her anymore or because that was what he thought would make her happy? Her throat was so tight, it was like forcing air from a tiny straw. “Jethro, do you love me?”
It was almost as if he hadn’t heard her. He unfolded the paper in his hand. It was a check. A check with lots of zeros on it. “I went to my dat this morning, and he gave me the three thousand dollars he was going to offer me four years ago. I’ve saved another seven thousand. I want you to have it. I want you to have the life you’ve always dreamed of.”
With trembling hands, she took the check from him. Ten thousand dollars! She’d never seen that much money in her whole life. It made her a little dizzy and a little ill. Jethro was willing to give her everything he had. If that wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was. Her heart pounded against her ribs as if it wanted to get out of her chest. “Jethro,” she said, her voice trembling like a newly hatched chick. “Do you love me?”
He folded his arms and looked away. “Mary Anne . . . I don’t want to . . .” He took a deep breath, pain flashing like lightning in his eyes. “I don’t want to make you sad or uncomfortable, but I love you more than any man has ever loved his wife, and I want to be with you more than I want to breathe.”
He could probably hear her heart beating but was too polite to mention it. Would he catch her if she happened to faint? Of course. Jethro would always be there for her, no matter what.
“But I would feel terrible i
f you felt guilty about it,” he said. “One of us was bound to get hurt, and it’s only fitting that it should be me after all the pain I put you through. I want you to be happy. And if that means I’m not a part of your life, I’ll accept it. If you’re happy, I’ll be happy.”
She nearly tackled him with her unbridled joy. Surprise popped all over his face as she threw herself into his arms. He may have been surprised, but Jethro was always ready to catch her. He lifted her off the ground, and she smashed her lips into his—not the most graceful kiss she’d ever given him but definitely the most eager. He tightened his arms around her.
Ach. She had forgotten the heat and power of his touch—the passion that welled inside her with a mere kiss. Of course, the feeling was almost overpowering because this was no mere kiss. The memories surged through her like a flash flood, leaving her gasping for air.
She felt the tears on her cheeks before she even realized she was crying. She had never been this happy or this troubled before. She loved Jethro with all her heart, but how could they ever fix the damage they’d both done?
He must have sensed her tears. Keeping one arm around her, he set her on her feet and cupped his hand around her cheek. “I love you, heartzly, but that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to love me back.”
“But I do,” she said, unable to control the sobs that wracked her body. “I love you, Jethro.”
His face lit up like the sun before he lowered his head. She could feel his deep, quivering breaths. “I’ve waited to hear that for so long.”
She kissed his cheek and lay her head on his shoulder. He enfolded her into an embrace as if he’d never consider letting her go. “I’m afraid, Jethro. Do you think we can ever make it back to where we were?”
He shook his head. “We’ve come too far to ever go back. As gute as our first years were, the next years will only be better. We have learned so many painful lessons. With Gotte’s help, we’ll only grow more and more in love. Look at your grandparents. I want to be like them and grow old together. There will be more love and more joy than we ever could have imagined. I want to try. Will you try with me?”
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