The Amish Widower

by Virginia Smith

  His smile held such compassion that my heart twisted in response. “So, you think forgiveness is a feeling?”

  I understood both the question and the point he was trying to make. At least a hundred sermons on forgiveness, delivered by the ministers and Bishop Beiler, rose in my memory. Forgiving someone required a decision, and an action as a result of that decision.

  But how could I make a decision to forgive when I felt nothing but fury toward the people who had taken my Hannah from me? I could not. I would not.

  Sam must not have expected an answer to his question. When he spoke again, his tone was lighter. “That’s a topic for a future session, I think. Come, sit back down and let’s talk about your first wife.” He glanced at the paper beside him. “Her name was Rachel, right?”

  I allowed myself to be lured back into my seat to continue the session.

  With a third session scheduled, I exited the building to find Robbie leaning against the trunk of his car, smoking a cigarette. His height and lanky frame struck me anew. Had he lost weight? He looked thinner than usual, or maybe it was because the weather had finally become warm enough that he wasn’t wearing a bulky jacket.

  As I approached, he dropped the cigarette on the pavement and crushed it beneath his tennis shoe.

  “I have never seen you smoke,” I said.

  “I don’t usually. Mom hates it.” He jingled the keys in one hand. “But every so often a cigarette tastes good.”

  I held the same opinion as Amanda. Josiah took up smoking during our rumspringas. I tried it a few times, but my lungs revolted. I refused to allow Josiah to smoke in our car. When he was ready to separate himself from the world, cigarettes were the thing he found hardest to leave behind.

  We got into the car, and though I smelled the acrid odor of smoke clinging to Robbie’s clothing, thankfully I detected none in the car. Apparently, he confined his smoking to outside, as Josiah had done.

  When he started the engine, the radio came on. Usually Robbie turned it off while he drove me, but today he left it on, the music loud enough to make talk difficult. The boy’s convulsive gulping had returned, and his clutch on the steering wheel was so firm that the car jerked when he made the turns. What had happened to the friendly manner on which we’d parted an hour before? After the session with Sam, I had too much on my mind to try to draw him out of his fit of nerves. Instead, I watched out my window as we left town, the buildings and houses becoming fewer and farther apart. In the countryside, I scanned freshly planted fields, herds of cattle, and pleasant farm houses, many with laundry hanging on lines to dry in the sunshine.

  When we turned onto Star Road, Robbie broke the silence.

  “Seth, there’s something I want to tell you.” He shook his head, the gesture jerky. “No, I really don’t want to. But I have to.”

  In the months we’d known each other, I’d never seen Robbie look so nervous. His jaw bulged repeatedly as he clenched his teeth. He sat forward, his spine rigid and not resting against the seatback. The muscles in his neck stood out like cords beneath his skin.

  Just looking at him, the knots that had appeared in my stomach during the therapy session pulled even tighter. Whatever he wanted to discuss, the topic was bound to be unpleasant. With my mind full of painful past events, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear another stressful thing.

  “If this is something you don’t want to discuss, then don’t. We’ll have many other opportunities to talk.”

  He jerked a quick look at me. “I hope so.”

  Plain Man’s Pottery came into view on the horizon, but instead of driving there, Robbie applied the brake and pulled to a stop on the side of the road, partially in the buggy lane. The radio ceased abruptly when he shut off the engine. He didn’t turn, but instead continued to face forward with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

  “This isn’t my first car, you know.”

  The comment took me by surprise. “No?”

  He gulped a few times. “No. I bought one the summer before my senior year. It was a piece of junk, really, but Mom and Dad made me save up my own money, and it was all I could afford.”

  He stopped and seemed to expect a reply. I grasped for an appropriate comment. What about buying a car would make the boy so nervous? “A good plan, forcing a young man to pay his own way. A friend and I also bought a ‘piece of junk’ when we were younger.”

  A quick nod, and then he asked, “Want to know what happened to that car?”

  I gave the response he expected. “Ya. What happened to it?”

  “I sold it. Something happened, something terrible, and I couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.”

  I didn’t know how to respond, but Robbie did not seem to expect me to. He began talking, the words pouring out in a flood, as though he could not say them fast enough.

  “My buddy and I went out partying the night before, doing some stuff we shouldn’t have been doing, you know? We drank a bunch of beer, and then we got ahold of some coke.”

  I assumed he wasn’t referring to a soft drink.

  “That stuff wires you up, you know? We didn’t sleep all night, just hung out and partied, and before we knew it, it was, like, lunchtime the next day. I knew I was gonna catch all kinds of grief when I got home, so we hopped in my rusty old car and took off, driving like a bat outta you know where, and still kind of buzzing, and all I could think about was how I was gonna get grounded for life. And my buddy Justin, he snorted more of that stuff than me, and he was acting crazy.”

  I went still. My limbs became heavy, as though paralyzed. Two wild Englisch boys driving a rusty car? Blood raced through my veins, propelled by a heart that pounded so hard I couldn’t force a breath into my lungs.

  “And there we were, d-driving down the-the-the road—” Choking tears stuttered his speech. “And up ahead there were all these b-b-buggies, and I started honking the horn, and Justin rolled down his w-window and—” He collapsed forward over the steering wheel and sobbed freely. “We passed them, and I took him home and then I went home. It wasn’t until the n-next day I found out about a buggy crash on that road, and I…”

  Everything went dark. Robbie’s voice sounded as though it were coming from far away. I was aware that I sat in the car, that he continued to talk, but I was no longer listening.

  Robbie Barker, the young man I’d befriended, had killed my Hannah.

  Hot rage surged through my veins. My hands clenched into fists. I had to get out of that car, to get away from him. I threw open the door and leaped out, blood roaring in my ears. The car, Robbie’s second car, had been bought because his first car was the one he used to kill Hannah. I slammed the door as hard as I could, and then, hardly aware of my actions, I struck the window with my fist. Glass cracked and spidered, and pain shot from my fist up to my hammering head.

  Robbie jumped out of the car on the other side, face blotchy and tears streaming. “Seth, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You don’t know how terrible I feel—”

  “How terrible you feel?” My shout filled the air and rose into the sky.

  He ran around the car toward me. “I didn’t mean it that way. I know my feelings don’t matter.”

  Though my hand throbbed, I couldn’t manage to unclench it. As the boy approached, all I wanted to do was smash his face with my fist.

  Gott, I need help!

  I began to walk—long, quick strides that would take me away from the one who had killed my wife and baby, who had stolen my happiness and left me crippled with rage. If I didn’t get away from him soon, I wasn’t sure I could control myself.

  He ran after me. “Seth, please. I’m sorry. Please talk to me.”

  I whirled on him, and my fury must have showed in my face because he halted.

  “So this is why you wanted to drive me. To make up for killing my wife?”

  I spat the word, and it struck him like acid. His face crumpled.

  “And this is why your mother spent so much money buying my pots and sending ot
hers. Does she think she can buy my forgiveness?” I stepped toward him, and he took a backward step. “Does she think her money can buy my Hannah back?” He shook his head, but when he would have spoken, I cut him off by a hand slashing through the air between us. “Get away from me.” I ground the words out through gritted teeth. “Never come near me again.”

  I left him standing in front of his car. My boots pounded the road so hard they might have crumbled the pavement to gravel. I could not go into the shop, not while my brain buzzed with emotions I did not know what to do with. Instead, I passed it by and kept walking.

  TWENTY

  Twilight had almost turned to night by the time I arrived at the Beachy home. I stepped into the yard and saw my buggy parked beside Elias’s. We rode to work together since I’d moved, and I usually drove, as I had that morning. He’d brought Orion and the buggy home from the shop, and I headed first toward the pasture to check on the horse. He trotted over to greet me and nuzzled my hand with his nose, blowing warm, grass-scented breath into my face.

  Sometime during my three-hour walk the fiery rage had ceased to roar, but it had become a smoldering anger deep in my soul. I was not sure I would ever be able to douse that fire completely, nor did I care to try. But at least I thought I could manage to speak politely to Elias and Lily without fear of my emotions erupting.

  When I headed for the house, I spotted Leah’s car parked on the other side. Usually she left after washing the dinner dishes, and that would have been at least an hour ago. Had they held the meal, waiting for me to come home? Guilt stabbed at me. I should have stopped somewhere and found a phone to call the shop and let them know I would be late.

  I’d no sooner stepped around the buggies when the front door opened and Lily, holding a kerosene lamp, appeared.

  “Ach, there you are finally.” She bustled outside and met me in the grass, lifting the lamp to peer into my face. “And you are well?”

  Remorse washed over me. I hadn’t thought they would be concerned for my welfare.

  “I am well,” I assured her. “I am sorry to have worried you. I…went for a walk.”

  Leah had come up behind her, and I saw Elias standing in the doorway, silhouetted by more lamps burning inside the house.

  “A walk?” The sarcasm in Leah’s tone weighed a ton. “For three hours?”

  I met her gaze. “I had a lot to think about.”

  Lily studied my face a moment longer, and then she lowered the lantern. “Well, you are home now, and I think starving. I kept your dinner warm, and we have saved our dessert so you would not have to eat alone. Come.” She headed for the house.

  Relieved that they had not delayed their own dinner, I started to follow her, but Leah stepped in front of me.

  “We’ll be there in a minute,” she told her grandmother.

  Lily hesitated, but then with a nod she went into the house. Elias closed the door behind her.

  Leah studied my face, her eyes narrowed. “Grossmammi and Daadi were really worried.”

  “I am sorry.” I hung my head.

  “We thought maybe you were in a wreck or something, so I called Robbie to find out what happened.”

  At the mention of his name, my head shot up. My anger must have been apparent, for she nodded.

  “He told me the two of you had argued, and you stormed away.”

  “Did he tell you what we argued about?” I winced at the acid in my tone, but her expression remained placid.

  “No, only that he’d done something that hurt you, and you would probably never be able to get over it.”

  “He’s right.”

  She stood still a moment, and then she folded her arms across her chest. “Well? Are you going to tell me about it?”

  “I—” My throat closed. I wasn’t at all sure I could, or should, talk about the day’s revelation. My anger smoldered, and it would not take much to fan it into a full flame.

  And yet, my insides still felt as if a fuse had been lit, and if I did nothing, I would eventually explode.

  “Robbie Barker killed my wife.”

  The words felt like bombs as they left my mouth. Clearly, Leah had not expected them, because she gasped, her hands flying to her face.

  I began to talk, to tell her everything. For the second time that day, I described the day Hannah died, my devastation at losing a second wife, and my helplessness against the rage that at times overtook me. I touched on my own guilt as well. She shook her head and would have interrupted, but I did not allow her the opportunity.

  Sometime during my tirade, we gravitated toward the porch and perched on the edge while I paced in the grass before her, my words continuing to flow as if a tidal wave had been let loose in my soul and I would drown if it did not wash itself out. Once the door cracked open, and I was aware that Leah waved a hand behind her back, telling whoever would have interrupted to leave. The door closed again.

  The torrent finally ended. Exhausted, I collapsed onto the porch beside her, my eyes burning as if with tears, though I had none left to shed. We sat quietly for a long time, while stars winked into view in the night sky above us.

  When she spoke, her words were not at all what I expected.

  “Well, clearly, that therapist is not acting in your best interests.”

  I looked at her. “Sam?”

  She nodded. “He obviously knew about Robbie’s involvement in the accident that killed your wife. If he had an ounce of ethical reasoning in his brain, he would have referred you to someone else the minute he found out who you were.”

  Though her words made sense, I found myself wanting to defend Sam. He had promised to keep my confidence and Robbie’s as well. So far I had no reason to believe he had broken his promise.

  But had he known that Robbie would confess to me today? Was that why, during our session, he had urged me to consider forgiveness? His relationship with Robbie was a long-standing one, whereas I had known him only a week. Would he push me—however gently—in a direction that served Robbie’s interests over my own?

  It occurred to me that I didn’t care if that were true or not.

  “I will not go back to him,” I told Leah. “How can I, since he is the one who urged Robbie to befriend me, to offer to drive me, knowing all the while that Robbie is the reason for my pain?”

  Her lips twisted, the scar standing out starkly in the white moonlight. “I’ve seen my share of therapists. There are good ones out there, but you have to wade through a lot of muck to find them.”

  I almost laughed at her descriptive phrasing. Wading through muck was an apt picture of my emotional state.

  She shifted sideways on the porch and faced me. “Seth, I’m really sorry for all you’ve suffered today. Believe me when I say I really do know something about what you’re going through.”

  Though the light was dim, something shone from deep in her eyes, something painful and full of anguish. I believed her. She had experienced trauma, just as I had. She didn’t need an external scar to stand as proof of that.

  When I made no reply, she said in a quiet voice, “You can talk to me anytime. I don’t have a single answer for you, but I have a friendly ear.”

  She reached forward then and covered my hand with hers. The gesture was probably meant to be comforting, if a bit forward, but the intent was spoiled when I hissed in pain.

  Her touch became light, her expression concerned. She gently took my wrist and pulled my hand toward her, into a ray of light shining from the window in the house. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

  I heaved a silent laugh. “An un-Amish display of temper. I broke Robbie’s car window with my fist.”

  Satisfaction settled on her features. “Good. He deserves it, and more.” She looked up at me. “But if this is not better by tomorrow, I am driving you to the emergency room to have it x-rayed. You might have broken something.”

  The door behind us opened for a second time, and Leah snatched her hands away from mine.

  Lily stood in
the doorway, looking at us sternly. “Seth must come and eat now. Else he will faint from hunger, and such a big man he is, the three of us together will not be able to drag him inside.”

  With relief, I realized my laugh was not forced. I climbed to my feet and helped Leah stand—with my good hand—with a warm feeling flooding through me at the smile shining on her face. I’d been betrayed by one friend that day, but another friendship had deepened.

  The curtain surrounding the hospital bed on which I sat opened with the metallic sound of rings sliding across a rod. The emergency room doctor, a likable young man with a ready smile, entered carrying an X-ray.

  I’d awoken in the morning with my hand swollen and my fingers bruised purple. Leah took one look at it and insisted on driving me to the hospital. Elias agreed. I’d been to Lancaster General Hospital more often in the last two weeks than in the previous ten years, not a trend I wished to continue.

  “I have good news and bad news.” The doctor placed the X-ray on a white panel hanging on the wall behind me and flipped a switch. The panel lit, showing a picture of the bones in my hand. “The bad news is that you have a fracture. The good news is that it’s just a hairline fracture in the fifth metacarpal.”

  “That is good news?” A break of any kind spelled disaster for a potter.

  The doctor gave me a sympathetic look. “If it were worse, you’d need surgery to repair it. This is actually a fairly common break. It’s called a boxer’s fracture.” His expression became stern. “I hope you didn’t punch a person.”

  “No. I punched a car.”

  A grin appeared. “I think the car won.”

  I could not muster an answering smile. “How long before I can use my hand?”

  “Around six weeks before the bone is fully healed.” He switched off the light and removed the X-ray from the panel. “I don’t think we need to cast it, but I am going to splint your hand and forearm. It’s important to keep your pinkie finger immobilized.”