Becoming New Order was, of course, out of the question. Leaving the Swartzentruber Amish for Old Order was a big enough leap for one lifetime.
In the meantime, as long as she didn’t charge any money, she could legally continue to function as a lay midwife. She could only take donations. The problem was, she was entirely on her own. There was no cozy birthing center available to her, no comfortable office for patient visits so that she didn’t have to pay an Englisch driver to take her to all these far-flung farms. Although she was grateful that she had work, the donations she received from her midwife jobs were barely enough to keep the wolf from the door. Her income depended upon how many babies she delivered in a month, and there were occasional dry spells.
She had heard that Englisch midwives sometimes charged as much as three thousand dollars to see a mother through a pregnancy, but the norm among Amish midwives was not even close to that. Her fee, as she told clients, was whatever they could afford. Most knew that the standard donation for an Amish midwife was four to eight hundred dollars, and that included monthly checkups.
Her clients also knew that if they could not pay, she would still take care of them. So far, even the Swartzentrubers, who tended to have far less income than the other Amish sects, always paid her, even if it came in at a few dollars at a time. She could not imagine refusing help to a pregnant woman who needed her.
Still, unless there was a sudden rash of babies, the need for a new horse was a great worry.
Normally, Levi would have figured out a way to help her take care of this problem, but the boy was so preoccupied figuring out how to be married to his new Englisch wife, he was letting many things slide, and she hated to nag.
Maddy peeked over her shoulder. “Money problems?”
“Not so much money problems as spending problems,” Claire said.
“The church will help,” Maddy said. “You know they will.”
“And I will ask for and accept that help with gratitude if necessary. It does help me sleep at night knowing that I have a church willing to care for my family. But as long as I am able-bodied and possessed of some skill, we will continue doing the best we can.”
“I have been thinking of working more hours at Mrs. Yoder’s.” Maddy picked up the calculator and fiddled with it. “Rose has not been able to come in much lately. They are offering to let me work more hours. That would help.”
Claire wanted to refuse, but the truth was that extra hours would be quite helpful. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”
“I know,” Maddy said. “But I enjoy it and it’s close enough that I can walk to work until winter sets in.”
It was not unusual for a sixteen-year-old girl to clerk or work part-time in a restaurant, but Maddy was not just any sixteen-year-old. She was unusually beautiful—which was never, ever a good thing, especially not when the world put such a high value on beauty—but what Maddy was suggesting was reasonable. Most families expected a child to start working for a salary at some point after they got past the eighth grade. Even more, they expected that child to hand over their salary for the good of the family until they turned twenty-one, or got married. Whichever one came first.
“If that is what you want,” Claire said. “And, Maddy?”
“Yes, Claire.”
“I do appreciate your help.”
Maddy smiled. “I know. I’m happy to help. I live here, too, you know.”
Claire returned to her book work, grateful for her good children and her good life. It struck her that even though she had to be careful, at least she didn’t have to force herself to work a job she hated—like Rose.
chapter ELEVEN
It was time.
He’d waited a lifetime.
As Tom approached his old home, his pulse began to beat faster. He passed Claire’s home, topped a small rise, and saw the house where he had been raised. An older man was plowing in a side field.
Jeremiah Troyer had aged, but Tom would have recognized him anywhere.
He drove past, but his father did not look up. Everything within him screamed to keep driving and not risk rejection, but it was as though a magnet was attached to the new Impala he’d purchased at Moomaw’s that morning.
He stopped, turned around, and drove back.
It took all the courage he had to pull into his father’s dirt driveway, get out, close the door, and walk over to the fence. After all he had done. After all he had experienced as a pilot, it struck him as strange that he was having trouble catching his breath. There was certainly no physical danger in being here, and yet he was practically trembling with nerves.
Jeremiah Troyer was in his late sixties, but his appearance was that of a much older man. While Tom had been turning the car around, his father had decided to give the plow horse a rest, and was now sitting in the shade of a maple tree, the very same tree that Tom had once fallen out of, breaking his arm.
“Good morning,” Tom said.
“Guten Morgen.” His father showed little interest in the “stranger” who stood before him. He was unscrewing a battered blue thermos that Tom recognized. Like his father, it was much older, and worse for wear, but still functioning. His father was nothing if not frugal.
“I was wondering if you could direct me to Jeremiah Yoder’s home.”
“I am Jeremiah Yoder.” Those sharp blue eyes that Tom remembered so well pinned Tom with a penetrating stare. “What do you want with me?”
No pleasantries. There never had been. Not with an Englisch stranger.
“My name is Tom,” he said. “I used to know your son, Matthew, a long time ago.”
“What business do you have with Matthew?”
“I was passing through town and thought I’d check in on some old friends.”
“You were friends with my Matthew?” Suspicion dripped from the old man’s voice.
“I knew him.” Tom was testing the waters, but if his father recognized him, he gave no sign. “There was also a brother named Tobias, if I remember right.”
His father poured black coffee out into the lid of the thermos and then took a sip, but said nothing. Tom decided to try again.
“I hired on one summer to help bale hay over at the Dennison’s. He was an Englisch farmer over in . . .”
“I know who Clyde Dennison was,” his father interrupted. “Matthew worked for him. Dennison was a fair man. He paid well.”
His father would know exactly what Dennison paid, because both he and Matthew had handed their father every penny the day they got it. This was not unusual, just the way things were among the Amish—no one ever questioned it. Jeremiah had fed and sheltered his sons for many years and it was considered a reasonable thing for them to pay him back. The only recompense either of them received for their labor was some pocket money his father doled out to them, with an admonition not to spend it all.
Tom had hired out that summer along with Matthew, although he was only fourteen and his muscles not yet as hardened as his older brother’s. Matthew had seen that Tobias did not have quite enough strength to do the job, but instead of gloating about his greater strength, he quietly made allowances for it, taking some of Tobias’s work on himself when he saw that his younger brother was about to falter.
That was the kind of brother Matthew was.
Jeremiah took a cookie wrapped in waxed paper out of his front pocket. Tom saw that it was oatmeal raisin, and remembered that it was his father’s favorite. Jeremiah broke the cookie in two and stared down at the pieces. “Matthew went home twenty-seven years ago.”
“Home?”
“My son passed.”
“I’m so sorry.” Even though he knew the truth of it, hearing it from his father’s lips still felt like a blow, but he felt the need to press on. He wanted to hear what his father would say. “How did he die?”
“An accident.” His father, instead of eating the cookie, crumbled it between his fingers.
Tom did not ask what sort of accident. He knew more about
it than his father did. He had entirely too much knowledge, so much knowledge that it had weighed him down for years.
Then he asked the question he had been aching to ask.
“What of the younger brother, the one named Tobias?” He held his breath. Like a child wanting his parent’s approval and love, even when he’d done something wrong, he longed to hear some hint of love for him. Some longing. Some molecule of regret in the old man’s voice.
Instead, Jeremiah’s voice hardened. “I have no son named Tobias.”
Tom tried again, a part of him desperately wanting his father to acknowledge him. “But I distinctly remember . . .”
“I have no son named Tobias,” his father repeated.
Jeremiah poured the leftover coffee back into his thermos, tucked the waxed paper back inside his front pocket, and rose. “What is your name again?”
“Miller. Tom Miller.”
He waited. Something inside of him cried out for his father to recognize him.
Jeremiah looked up at the sky, distracted. “Lots of Millers around here.”
“Yes.” Tom glanced up as well. There was nothing but cloudless blue. It was Jeremiah’s way of shutting him out.
Jeremiah’s eyes continued to peruse the sky. “You related to any of them?”
Tom considered this question. His father had just informed a complete stranger that his son Tobias did not exist. Things didn’t get much clearer than that. “No,” Tom said, with resignation. “I’m not related to any of the Millers around here.”
• • •
Claire was surprised when she saw a shiny, new black car pull into her driveway and Tom climbing out. He was so deep in thought as he approached the house, he didn’t even see her sitting there on the swing with mending in her lap until she spoke.
“Hello, are you back for some of Maddy’s fudge?” she teased. “Elizabeth tells me you forgot to buy some the other day.”
He did not seem startled by her presence, nor did he answer her question. Instead, he sat down on the top step and leaned against the porch railing.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” he said.
She bit off the thread she had used to sew a patch on one of Jesse’s shirts. “You may ask me anything you like.”
“I’ve never been a parent,” he said, “so I don’t know what it is like to raise a child. Could any of your children do anything bad enough to cause you to hate them?”
“Of course not.” She was appalled. “There is nothing my children could ever do to make me hate them. I would sorrow for them, and pray for them, but I would never stop loving them.”
“So that’s what a normal parent would do, then?”
“I can’t say. I only know what I would do.”
“I thought that is what you might say.”
“What is wrong, Tom?” She was getting concerned. This man who had endured so much physical pain seemed to be having some sort of emotional battle. Everything within her wanted to reach out to him.
“Would you forgive that child in addition to loving him?”
“How could I not? How could I expect my Father in heaven to forgive me if I could not forgive my own child?”
Tom seemed to drink in every word. “You believe in forgiveness, then.”
“Of course. Without forgiveness, love cannot exist. Not with God, not with a family, not with a church.”
“Thank you.” He stood up, ready to go.
“What is bothering you, Tom?”
It seemed as though he desperately wanted to tell her something, but what, she had no idea. His life had been so different from hers, she could not imagine what went on inside of him. There was no way she could anticipate his next question.
“What do you want out of life, Claire?”
“What do you mean?”
“Some people want to achieve great things, some want to amass great wealth, some simply want to be loved. What do you want?”
“Peace.” She did not even have to stop to think about it. “I want peace. In my home. In my life. I have had enough turmoil to last me a lifetime.”
“I imagine you have.” His voice was kind, but she could tell their conversation was over. “Thank you, Claire. I hope you find that peace, and I hope no one will ever take it away from you again.”
As he drove away, she wondered what had just happened. That was one of the strangest conversations she’d ever had. Somehow, she felt as though her words had disappointed him—but she couldn’t imagine why.
• • •
She had been so compassionate, so understanding. For a few minutes it had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her who he was, and to ask for that very forgiveness of which she spoke.
Then came the comment that all she wanted in life was peace. The information he had almost given her would not give her peace, it would bring more turmoil into her life—the last thing she needed.
He was not selfish enough to try to erase his own heartache by unloading all that pain on her. The woman had enough to deal with. He was quite certain that she did not need Matthew’s long-lost brother rising out of the ashes.
Let sleeping dogs lie. That was something his father had often said. There was another saying of his father’s that was a little more earthy. The more you stir a pile of horse manure, the worse it stinks. In other words, leave it alone. Let it lie. Keep quiet. If you’ve got a mess, don’t go stirring it all up again.
He was grateful now that he’d been gifted with the choice of anonymity. Claire didn’t need Tobias in her life, and his father didn’t want Tobias in his life. Elizabeth had been wise in cautioning him about revealing his identity too soon. Right now, he doubted that he ever would be able to reveal it.
chapter TWELVE
That afternoon, Tom and Elizabeth were having lunch when Levi astonished them by carrying in the largest flat-screen TV Tom had ever seen.
“When did you get that?” Elizabeth said. They both followed him into the living room as Levi unboxed the giant screen along with a TV mount, and promptly began attaching them to the wall.
“This morning. Walmart.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked.
“Because I am trying to make Grace happy. It is not such an easy thing, making Grace happy.”
“I thought she had agreed not to have a television in the house,” Elizabeth said.
“We did agree.” Levi searched in a bucket of tools for the correct size wrench. “But I have changed my mind. I think Grace’s moods will get better if I buy her a nice, big television. We are not Amish. We can have this in our house if we want. I have been unreasonable keeping this from her.”
“Boy, when you change your mind, you really change your mind!” Elizabeth surveyed the gargantuan object with interest. “Although it does seem to be a little overkill to put that in a house that only gets three stations.”
“I will allow Grace to get satellite or cable.”
“You will ‘allow’ me to get satellite or cable?” Their heads all swiveled to see Grace coming down the stairs. “You will ‘allow’ me to get them?”
There was a look in Grace’s eye that made Tom pity Levi. The poor man had no idea who this woman was that he had married. Tom had seen the determination that was in the hearts of the military nurses who flew into the valleys and mountains of Afghanistan. They did not back away from a fight, no matter how great the danger. They ran to the helicopters when a call came in and then flew right into the mouth of it!
Elizabeth and Tom took one look at each other and by mutual, unspoken agreement, melted into the kitchen.
“I am so sick of this.” Elizabeth went to the sink and filled the teakettle with water. “I apologize to you. Here you are, a guest trying to recuperate in our home, and there is no peace in this house. It’s about all I can stand to live here myself—and I genuinely love those two.” She sat down and sighed. “It seemed like such a good idea for me to give up the house and move into that nice, new little Daadi Haus Levi built right be
side them. I envisioned dandling babies on my knees and having cozy chats with Grace and Levi in the evenings on the porch.” She shook her head. “But it is not turning out to be anything like I’d envisioned. Instead, most of the time my Daadi Haus just feels like a place to duck and take cover.”
It pained him to see the feisty older woman looking so frail and emotionally exhausted.
“If I had not gotten sick,” Elizabeth said, “then Grace would not have come home and we wouldn’t be having all these problems. Levi would have married some nice Amish girl, Grace would be happily bandaging someone somewhere, and I would be left in peace.”
“From what I understand,” Tom said, “if you hadn’t gotten sick, then Grace wouldn’t have been here to save Claire’s life.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “That is true. And those children of hers would have been motherless and fatherless. That man would still have come into their home, whether Grace was here or not.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Tom said, as the voices in the living room rose one pitch higher. “Let’s me and you take a walk.”
Relief etched itself across Elizabeth’s face. “I would like that.”
The loud voices receded somewhat as they walked out into the overgrown yard. Getting away from all that tension was a relief.
“I guess maybe you have to be Amish for a Daadi Haus to work,” she mused, as they watched Levi storm out of the house. He slammed into his car and spun gravel as he took off toward town. “I warned her not to fall in love with him. But did she listen? No. Now Grace is having the worst pregnancy I’ve ever seen. Hormones all over the place. Trust me, you are not seeing the real Grace. I thought the girl had more to her than what I’m seeing. I thought Levi did, too. Never would I have guessed that their marriage would turn out this way. Lord help the child who comes into it if those two don’t get things sorted out in the next few weeks. I’d hate for even a newborn to have to listen to that mess.”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” he said. “But I really think it is time that I found someplace else to recuperate.” He wished he could grab his duffel and bolt right now—but he hated to abandon Elizabeth.
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