by Ruth Reid
“Don’t worry about the kinner and me, we’ll manage.” Truthfully, she wasn’t hungry. She’d made the children a late lunch and put them down for a nap a little over an hour ago, and as tired as they were from the long bus ride to St. Joseph County, she wouldn’t be surprised if they slept through the night.
Once Verna left on her house calls, Mattie sat at the table with a pad of paper. She’d promised Grace she would write and let her know they’d arrived safely. Mattie started the letter by saying how much she missed her friend already. She hadn’t written more than a paragraph before someone knocked on the door. Another anxious father, she thought as she set the pen down and rose from her chair.
The Amish man shuffled his feet on the stoop, but when he turned to face Mattie, she realized that he wasn’t here to beckon the midwife.
“Hello, Mattie,” Bo said.
“What are you doing here?” Dressed in Amish clothes?
He removed the straw hat. “Could I come in?”
She hesitated a moment. His drawn—no, betrayed—facial expression would haunt her if she sent him away. Mattie sighed and opened the door wider. “You can’t stay long.”
He stared at her hard as he entered, the screen door closing behind him.
“Well,” she said with a wobbly voice. “What brings—” She swallowed hard when he moved closer. His determined, road-weary expression sent a shudder down her spine. “What brings you to St. Joseph County?”
“I just drove over eight hours—after sitting through a four-hour church service that you didn’t even attend. Did you really think you could just walk away?”
“Bo, I, ah . . . You’ve been very kind to me, but I, ah . . .” Can’t have these feelings for you.
“What?”
“We’re from different . . .” Worlds.
“This isn’t a social call,” he said.
“Oh.” Of course it wasn’t. How foolish of her to think otherwise. She turned, but his hand caught her arm and bought her back to face him.
“You’re not allowed to leave the county. You’re on probation.”
“You’re hurting mei arm,” she lied.
He loosened his grip. “Where are the children?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she insisted.
“I know you didn’t.” Bo’s gaze penetrated hers. “If you recall, I’ve been on your side since the start.”
She steeled her resolve. “Then don’t take them.”
His expression softened. “Mattie, you know—”
Someone tapped on the door. Pleased for an interruption, Mattie scurried around Bo to answer the door. “May I help you?” she asked the younger woman on the opposite side of the screen.
“Hiya. I’m Verna’s neighbor—”
Mattie thrust the door open. “Won’t you kumm inside?”
The woman paused briefly to glance over her shoulder at someone else waiting in the buggy, then stepped inside. “Verna stopped by our farm and asked if I would invite your family for supper. By the way, I’m Malinda Lambright.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mattie, and this is—” Bo’s back was to them. “Bo, we have a visitor.”
Bo pivoted around slowly. “Hello.” He spoke to the floor.
Mattie had never seen him act shy. Lambright. “Do you two know each other?”
Malinda shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She continued, “Verna mentioned she would be tied up this evening and our farm is just on the top of the hill on the right.” Her gaze steadied on Bo. “You do look familiar.”
Amanda wandered into the sitting room rubbing her eyes. “I’m dorstig.”
“I’ll get you something to drink, pumpkin.” Bo swooped Amanda into his arms and disappeared into the kitchen.
Bo’s pulse raced. Malinda was seven years old the last time he’d seen her. She’d grown into a beautiful young woman. Holding Amanda in one arm, he turned on the tap and filled a glass of water with the other, then handed it to her.
He listened for Malinda to leave and blew out a breath when the screen door snapped closed.
Mattie entered the kitchen. “Her last name is Lambright.”
Please don’t ask. Bo forced a smile. “How long will it take to get your things together? I’d like to get on the road. We have an eight-hour drive ahead of us.”
Mattie shifted her gaze from him to Amanda in his arms, then back to him, alarm growing in her expression. She reached for her daughter. “Kumm to me, Amanda.”
The child handed Mattie the empty glass, then buried her face in the crook of Bo’s neck.
“I think she’s still tired,” he said, patting her back.
Another knock sounded at the door, and Mattie groaned. “Mei cousin’s place is as busy as a free bakery.”
Amanda picked up her head when Mattie left the room but didn’t cry. Instead, she touched Bo’s whiskery jaw and giggled.
“You think I’m funny looking?” he said in Pennsylvania Deitsch.
The child giggled harder and tried to tickle him again.
“Bo?” Mattie said.
Turning, his mouth fell open.
“Boaz! Mei prayers have been answered. They’ve all been answered,” his mamm repeated, half crying, half laughing.
“How are you . . . Mamm?” He glanced at Mattie, whose mouth hung agape.
“I always knew you would return.” Her eyes seem to drink him and Amanda in. “Nau look at you, all grown. And a family man.” She tilted her face upward. “Danki, God, for answering mei prayers.”
Family man. Bo swallowed hard.
His mother beamed when Nathan padded into the room. “A sohn and dochder.”
Had she lost her mind? Bo hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, but he didn’t have a beard long enough to represent having two children.
“Please,” his mamm said, turning to Mattie. “Please, kumm for supper tonight. Mei husband will be thrilled to see Boaz again.”
Bo snorted.
“We would be honored, Mrs. Lambright.” Mattie smiled at him. “Wouldn’t we, Boaz?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
I’m not going there for supper,” Bo said. “You don’t understand. They think I’m Amish.”
Mattie eyed him head to toe and crossed her arms. “You do make a handsome Amish man,” she teased.
Appreciating her attempt to lighten his mood, he played along. “Jah, I seem to recall you and Grace talking about that.” He scratched his whiskered jaw.
Mattie’s face turned a blistering shade of red. “Daagdich.”
“I’ve been called worse.” Truth was, he liked her teasing him. Referring to him as a scamp was a compliment.
She filled a glass with water and took a drink. “Your sister must have been young when you left home,” she said, forcing the subject.
“Seven. My brother, Thomas, was twelve.”
“That must have been hard leaving them.”
His jaw twitched. “It was.”
“Don’t you think they would want to know where you’ve been?”
“They don’t remember me.” He laughed halfheartedly. “Other than maybe by ‘the one who got away.’ ”
“Your mother remembers you. You heard her,” Mattie scolded.
“Why are you taking her side?”
“Because I can’t imagine what it would be like to nett know where one of mei children was. Besides,” she said softly, “I think you’re still . . . unsettled.”
“Unsettled?”
“Someone doesn’t jump the fence and nett wonder if they’d made the right decision.”
“Mattie, stay out of this.”
“Bo, your mother said she hasn’t seen you in sixteen years. You can pretend to be Amish through one meal.”
He scratched the prickly growth on his jaw. “My family thinks we’re married.” In one fluid move, he crossed the kitchen and backed Mattie up against the sink. “You’re going to pretend to be mei fraa?”
She leaned back. “I can . . . do that
.”
He slid his hand behind her back and brought her closer, then slanting his head slightly, he leaned forward.
She licked her lips.
“Are you sure you want to? I’m a fence-jumper,” he whispered.
She nodded.
He pulled back. “I’m still not going there for supper.”
Mattie righted herself and, with a little shake of her shoulders and arms, straightened to her full height. “I am.” She marched into the sitting room where she’d sent Nathan and Amanda to play with a sack of clothespins.
Bo shoved his hand through his hair. He’d seen his mother, his sister; the only other person he would like to see is Thomas. But that wouldn’t be worth sitting at the same table with his father. Bo recalled the angry—almost wild—look in his father’s eyes as he whirled the leather strap Bo’s direction. Bo hadn’t had time to turn around and take the lashing across his backside like the other times his father wanted to beat sense into him.
He stood at the sink, the white-knuckled grip absorbing the memory of his father’s wrath. Until recently, he’d kept his past buried. It would have been easier if he’d never regained his memories after the accident. Mattie’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Only she wasn’t talking to him.
“Gather your things, Nathan,” she whispered.
“Are we leaving again?”
“Shh,” she said, then whispered something Bo couldn’t decipher.
Why was she whispering? It registered like a slap in the face.
She was skipping out . . . for Ohio.
Mattie had a hard time keeping pace with Bo and all she had to carry was the lantern. As adamant as Bo was about not eating supper with his family, he certainly seemed eager to go now. He’d hurried them out of the house like he had to get a dentist appointment over with. Bo carried Nathan on his shoulders and Amanda in his arms.
“We can cut through the pasture. Should be a shorter route. I think,” he said.
“You think?” She remembered every inch of the farm where she’d grown up.
“It’s been a long time.”
“Sixteen years, according to your mother. That would make you a teen when you left home. It’d be hard to erase childhood memories even if you did jump the fence.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Shouldn’t I know these things? After all, I’m your fraa for the evening.” The sound of being someone’s wife again felt strangely comfortable. Bo’s fraa. She let the thought simmer on a back burner in her mind. “Well?”
“The only thing you need to know is my father isn’t meek or humble. He usually isn’t kind. He has a short fuse.”
“I find that hard to believe. His sohn is the kindest man I’ve ever known.”
He smiled, but steeled himself immediately. “I worked hard not to become like him.”
“He was that hard of a man—of a father?”
Bo’s brows furrowed. “It isn’t a topic that should be discussed in front of the kinner.”
As they climbed the grassy slope in silence, Mattie couldn’t help but wonder about Bo’s past. What made him jump the fence and move so far away from home? He had introduced the Englischer who had brought the paperwork to the hospital as his mother—had said she was a judge. That didn’t make any sense either.
At the top of the hill sat an unpainted, rough-cut timber barn. The farmhouse had a large wraparound porch that Mattie found welcoming. She stole a glance at Bo. His eyes seemed to dance from one outbuilding to the next. He studied the fat calico cat that followed them meowing, the large maple trees that shaded the house, and a few younger saplings near the clothesline.
Bo set Amanda on the grass next to the porch steps and lowered Nathan from his shoulders. Bo’s chest expanded with a breath. “Are you ready for this, fraa?”
She took hold of Amanda’s and Nathan’s hands. “Lead the way.”
He climbed the stairs and paused on the landing. “This feels strange.”
The door opened and his sister greeted them with a warm smile. “I knew you would kumm.” She glanced at the children. “I’m Aenti Malinda.”
Bo exchanged a nervous glance with Mattie. His face paled. Mattie mouthed, It’s okay, but that didn’t seem to settle his nerves. He wiped his hands on the sides of his pants.
The sitting room was scantly furnished. Two sets of matching wooden chairs faced each other with a small wooden table and lamp between each set. A wiry man with disheveled auburn hair stood next to the woodstove shuffling his feet and rocking back and forth. He lifted his hand in a short wave. “I’m Thomas,” he said. “I keep the woodstove.”
Mattie peered at Bo, wondering if he was thinking the same thing. This was July and too hot for a fire.
Bo strode farther into the room. “How you doing, Thomas?”
“Gut.” He swayed and avoided eye contact. “I gut,” he repeated. “I keep the fire.”
“That’s an important job,” Bo said.
“Jah, important.”
Malinda leaned closer to Mattie. “Thomas has a steel plate in his head.”
“Do you remember me?” Bo’s voice strained.
Mattie’s throat tightened.
Thomas shook his head while at the same time said, “Jah, you’re mei bruder.”
“That’s right.”
“Malinda, I found Boaz. I found mei bruder.” Thomas caught Bo’s mother’s hand as she entered the sitting room. “Mamm, I found him.” Thomas’s excitement carried throughout the house.
Until a gray-haired man, an older version of Bo, ambled through the front door. “What’s the commotion about? I can hear you all the way outside.”
“Bo’s back. I found him,” Thomas said.
“Did you nau?” He looked at Bo, but not like a man who hadn’t seen his son in sixteen years. He made a curt nod and turned to look at Mattie, the children, then his wife. “You suppose we can eat nau, Doreen?” Without waiting for his wife to reply, he headed toward the sweet aroma of sourdough bread.
“Bo, it’s so gut to have you home,” his mother said, patting his arm. “You’re much taller than I remember.”
Bo stiffened. “Am I?”
For the first time since Mattie had known him, he looked sad. He was obviously guarding his heart, but his façade didn’t fool Mattie. His pain was deeply rooted.
Bo placed his hand on Mattie’s lower back. She wasn’t sure if he needed her support or if he thought she was frightened by his father’s gruffness.
“Something smells gut,” Mattie said as she and Bo entered the kitchen. She sat next to Malinda and held Amanda on her lap. Nathan sat on the men’s side of the table next to Bo.
“We would have slaughtered a fattened calf had we known you were coming today,” Mr. Lambright said.
Bo harrumphed.
“I guess your mother’s chicken will have to do on such short notice.” Mr. Lambright bowed his head and everyone except Bo did the same.
Mattie eyed him hard, then lowered her head. If anyone needed to pray, it was him. The chip on his shoulder was the size of a block of ice freshly cut from the lake. Lord, please show Bo the freedom in forgiveness. Mend his broken heart. Mend this family. Silverware began to clatter and Mattie opened her eyes.
A bowl of mashed potatoes came to her from one side and a basket of rolls from the other. For a few minutes, the only words spoken related to the meal. “Please pass the salt, the butter, the corn.” Mattie glanced across the table at Bo. Head down, he was eating like he was in a contest to finish first.
“Two kinner,” Mr. Lambright said, sending a scrutinizing gaze from one side of the table to the other. “I don’t see much beard growth, Boaz. How long have you two been together?”
Mrs. Lambright gasped. “Titus.”
Mattie dabbed the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “The kinner’s father, mei first husband, passed away.”
Mr. Lambright’s dark eyes traveled from her to Bo. “Where have you been living all these years?�
�
“Northern Michigan.”
“The growing season is short in the Upper Peninsula. How’s the farming?”
“Tree farms do well,” Bo said.
Mrs. Lambright passed Mattie the bowl of coleslaw. “I can’t imagine a shorter growing season. Are you able to put in a garden?”
“I start mei plants earlier in the greenhaus and transplant them after the last frost.”
“I like to grow,” Thomas said.
Keeping the conversation going, Mattie asked, “Anything in particular?”
“Pumpkins.” Thomas smiled.
“Pumpkins,” Amanda echoed.
Bo chuckled. Mattie had heard him call her pumpkin more than once.
The meal ended with hot apple pie. Mattie observed that the largest piece Mrs. Lambright served went to Bo, who didn’t hesitate to dive in.
Mattie offered to help with the dishes, and Bo followed Thomas and his father into the sitting room.
Once the men left the room, his mother and sister swarmed her with questions for which she had no answers. From what Mattie gathered, his family hadn’t seen nor heard from him since the day he walked out of their lives.
Bo glanced around the sitting room. The plank floor could use a fresh coat of wax, but other than that, it looked exactly like he remembered.
His father sat on the chair next to the window, Thomas on the one beside him, and Bo took a seat opposite. Mattie, don’t dillydally in the kitchen.
“Looks like you have your life together finally,” Bo’s father said.
Bo swallowed. Maybe he should offer to help with the dishes.
“You could have written your mamm a letter to fill her in on the happenings. At least about the wedding. She’s your mamm. A mother wants to know those things about their kinner.”
“I came back home once. Don’t you remember? You looked me in the eye and said you didn’t have a sohn.”
“Jah, well, that was when you were in the world. It’s different nau,” his father said. “You’ve turned from your wayward ways.”
Bo clenched his jaw. Growing up, every time his father wheeled the leather strap, he declared he would turn Bo from his wayward—or wicked—ways. Bo shook his head. His father had accused Bo of having lustful thoughts that delayed him from finishing his barn chores. Another time Bo was accused of stealing and whipped for losing a few coins on his way home from the store. His father was excessive, hard to please, and downright mean in many cases. And Bo’s mother always looked the other way.