She studied him, noted the way he formed his words. “You sound different. College must’ve done that to ya.”
“You heard about that?”
“Jah. Dat and the bishop went lookin’ for ya in Philly. Mrs. Schaeffer told them you were going to a community college somewhere nearby.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t for me.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant. “Then you’re done with higher education?”
“We should talk about that.” He stepped closer. “There’s so much I want to tell you, Rosie. So very much.”
She looked away, composing herself. It was much easier talking to him when his English getup wasn’t distracting her—like all the times she’d talked to the wind and pretended he was there listening. Like the night she’d taken Pepper out for a gallop, crying her eyes out . . . missing him.
“I’ve had my fill of the world, Rosie. I want you to hear this from me, so there’s no mistaking why I’ve come home.” He paused a moment. “That is, if my parents will have me.”
My parents . . .
“Your leaving has been so hard for them, considering everything,” she cautioned.
He nodded and she saw understanding in his eyes.
“I’m deeply sorry for all the pain I caused them.” His eyes searched hers. “And you, too, Rosie.”
He motioned for them to walk and she left the clothes on the line, falling into the rhythm of his step. Like old times, they walked toward the barnyard and out to the meadow, to the treed pathway.
“I read your letter,” he said.
She stopped walking. “Which one?”
“The one you left in the tin box last December.”
She could scarcely breathe. “You took it?” Her face burned with embarrassment at the words she’d written: I love a man I can never marry. I miss you, Nick.
“Our secret mailbox . . . ain’t?” He smiled quickly.
She shook her head, refusing to look at him now. Not this handsome college upstart. Nick Franco, who had been, in many ways, with her in the stable every day since he left—every minute in the barn a reminder that they’d worked there together all those years. Then, just like that, he was gone from her. Out of reach . . . lost to the world.
And here he was, walking with her . . . back from the “edge,” as he’d called the boundary between the Plain and modern worlds.
They slowed their pace beneath the dappled sunlight in the leafy cove. “When I read what you wrote about the bishop . . . my father . . . I wanted to return immediately, like you suggested.” He shrugged. “But I just wasn’t ready.”
“What do ya mean?” she asked.
“I needed time.” He glanced at her. “Time to get my heart right with God. I realized He only seems to be silent.”
She looked up at him, surprised at his honesty, and attempted to erase the unfamiliar aspects of him—the way he expressed himself, the way he looked—and focus only on his face, his sincere eyes. “God is always there,” she said. “We learn that when we give up our will for His.”
“And that’s not easy.”
She agreed. “You throw everything on the mercy, on His purpose for your life. Trusting that He knows best is the hardest part of all.”
“I had to wrestle with so much, Rosie. . . .” He looked away, his words trailing off. “Years of self-pity . . . and living with a brother who made my life miserable at every turn.”
The allusion to Christian caused her to bow her head. Half afraid to hear what Nick might admit to next, Rose changed the subject.
“I can’t believe you read my letter.” She was still stunned at this.
“Well, you wrote it to me.” He smiled broadly. “And I must say it sounded convincing enough.”
“I wrote it during a very hard time, Nick.” She attempted to laugh it off. “Ach, I was prob’ly ab im Kopp—crazy in the head—that day.”
“Over half a year ago.” Nick glanced toward the tops of the trees. He was quiet for a moment, the call of birds the only sound. “Are you still seeing Silas Good?”
She shook her head.
The air seemed to go out of him.
“We parted ways a while back.” She sighed, not sure how much she wanted to share. “I released him from our engagement last Christmas.”
“You did?”
“He loved someone else more.” She paused to lean against a nearby tree.
Nick tilted his head and folded his hands, his fingernails trimmed and neat. “What else have I missed, Rosie?” He seemed to look right into her heart.
“So much.” She told of Hen and Brandon’s reconciliation and their purchasing a renovated farmhouse around the corner. He was also surprised at Mamm’s surgery.
“She’s still immobile from the waist down, but she has no pain and is able to take part in life again. She especially enjoys the gatherings with the womenfolk she missed out on for so long.”
His eyes softened. “Are you still working for Gilbert Browning?”
She said she was and mentioned that three generations of Brownings were now living under one roof, counting Beth’s grandmother. “In fact, my father—and yours—built on a large room where Grandma Browning can live out her sunset years.”
“Wish I’d known,” Nick said. “I would’ve offered to help.”
Rose smiled.
“Also, the bishop over in Bart has been overseeing our church district for months—appointed by Old Ezekiel.”
Nick cringed at the name of the highly revered bishop; the man’s reputation wasn’t easily forgotten. “What can be done?”
“That lies in your hands, Nick.”
He nodded thoughtfully and glanced skyward. His gaze returned to rest on her, his eyes warm with affection.
Instinctively, Rose stepped back, wrapping her arms around her middle. “There’s something else you should know.” She sat on a rock nearby. “I’m nearly engaged to someone new. I . . . I think ya’d like him.”
“Engaged?”
“Nearly.”
“But in your letter . . .”
She shrugged. “I never meant for you to see it. Honestly.”
“Well, you know what I think?” He perched himself on the old tree stump and leaned forward, his clasped hands almost touching hers. “I think you secretly hoped I would.”
She shook her head modestly. “I know it had your name on it, but truly it was meant only for God’s eyes.” Suddenly Rose felt drained of energy.
She looked back toward the house and her family’s clothes waving on the line. “I should get back to work,” she said softly. “It’s really a shock seein’ you again.”
“I haven’t forgotten the last time we were together . . . in Philly.” His voice was almost reverent. “It was hard to let you go.”
She remembered how tenderly he’d held her, and how guilty she’d felt because she belonged to Silas . . . or so she’d thought. But now, regarding him there in front of her, she was reminded that she’d prayed he might return—especially for Aaron’s sake. She offered a smile and added quickly, “Maybe now the bishop’s unjust silencing can be lifted at last.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” he assured her.
“So you came back for that—to help reinstate his ministerial duties?”
“Among other things.” His eyes held hers.
Her heart fluttered, which seemed inappropriate, given that Isaac was courting her. And in fine fashion, too, with more dances and Singings and buggy rides in the moonlight. He wasn’t one bit shy about telling her how much he cared for her, both in person and in the letters that were quickly piling up in her dresser drawer.
Nick’s voice brought her back. “I’ll be helping my father with fieldwork. Hope to see you again, Rosie.”
She turned to leave but looked back at him.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
For a split second, she almost wished he’d come home months ago, before she met Isaac. But, shaking her head, Rose said no more and hur
ried back up the path, leaving Nick sitting there on the old stump in his too-fancy clothes.
After the encounter with Nick, Rose returned to fold more clothes from the line, relishing the scent of sun and air on the dry clothing. Once that pleasant chore was accomplished, she spent a half hour picking strawberries, her bare feet pressing into the mulched soil as she went.
Later, Rose was delighted when Barbara Petersheim dropped by to thank her for the cinnamon rolls. Mamm suggested Rose offer their neighbor some fresh strawberries and cream and also some toast with butter and a mixture of brown sugar and cinnamon, as well as tea served in Mamm’s pretty rose teacups. A real treat for Rose, Mamm, and Barbara so late in the afternoon.
All the while they listened as Barbara told of Nick’s return. The sunlight poured into the kitchen, and for this moment it almost seemed like nothing dreadful had ever happened to the Petersheim family.
Barbara spoke kindheartedly of her foster son, exhibiting loving acceptance in word and deed. “I’m anxious to sew for him. He needs some Plain work clothes right quick,” she said, her fleshy cheeks quite pink.
“He’ll need church clothes, too, since Preaching’s comin’ up again here before long,” Rose observed with a glance at Mamm.
Mamm, however, looked ferhoodled, like she scarcely knew what to say. That Barbara had never ceased caring about her foster child was unmistakable, and truth be known, those two words were merely legal jargon. Anyone listening now would say Barbara had never thought of Nick Franco as anything but her very own.
“Are ya sure he’s staying long enough for you to bother sewin’?” Rose asked.
“Oh, I’m mighty sure.”
Yet how can she possibly know?
“I’m rejoicing at this lost one come home,” Barbara said.
“Will he want dreary-colored shirts again?” Rose asked, remembering the dark colors Nick had always favored.
“Hasn’t said.”
Rose wondered if the light colors of his modern clothes meant Nick had changed in that regard. For sure and for certain, he’d seemed altogether different earlier today—except in the way he had looked at her.
“More than anything, I hope he can help the bishop keep his ordination,” Mamm interjected, and Rose was glad for the distraction.
Barbara’s smile was sweet as she pulled a hankie from her sleeve and dabbed at her neck. “Seems the Lord sent him back just in time. We’ll have to wait and see what Bishop Simon and Old Ezekiel decide.”
Rose listened as Barbara explained that the powers that be would be most interested in Nick’s willingness to prove himself and eventually join church. “Awwer Gott is immer gedreilich—But God is ever faithful.” Barbara’s blue eyes shone with such trust.
“Nick wants to become a church member?” Mamm asked, eyes wide.
“He certainly does,” Barbara said. “I have no doubt whatsoever he’ll soon be an upstanding Amishman, just as Aaron and I have always prayed.”
“Bless your heart, Barbara. If anyone will follow the Lord in this, it’s you.” Mamm lowered her head in gratitude to God.
Rose walked with Barbara to the back door when Barbara was ready to leave. She thanked them for the treat.
“I hope all goes well for Nick . . . and Aaron,” Rose said softly. “It’d be so wonderful if our bishop is reinstated.”
Barbara nodded, her eyes shining with tears. “Wouldn’t it, though?”
Rose watched her go, her heart buoyed by Barbara’s faith.
Returning to the kitchen, Rose felt her mother needed to be assured that Nick’s proving was a good idea. “I truly believe God means for him to do this.”
Mamm raised her eyes to meet Rose’s. “You seem mighty sure of yourself.”
Their eyes locked and it was Rose who looked away first. She could’ve said right then that Mamm needn’t worry, that Isaac Ebersol was her beau, but she honored the Old Ways and kept that to herself.
“What if Nick came back for you, Rose Ann? What then?” Mamm studied her hard. “He was awful fond of you. Barbara herself told me so some time back.”
Rose wouldn’t admit to any of that. It would only add fuel to the fire, and there was no need. “I’m not interested in Nick Franco,” she stated outright. Not anymore.
Mamm sighed and laced her fingers on her lap. “Well, I’m relieved to hear that.”
Now it was Rose’s turn to ask questions. “You must not believe he’s back to stay, then?”
“I won’t judge, but it’s hard not to think otherwise.” Mamm glanced out the window toward the bishop’s place. “Time is a truth teller.”
Rose nodded and began to set out the supper fixings.
“I hope and pray you have a real nice fella,” Mamm said suddenly. “One who loves you dearly.”
To this, Rose pressed her lips together so she would not smile and give herself away.
At supper that evening, Dat looked peaked and said very little. Rose assumed by that he knew Nick was back. He did look quite relieved when Mose and Josh wandered into the kitchen a few minutes after the table blessing, mentioning he’d gone over to Josh’s earlier, “on a lark.” The boys planted themselves in their former spots, bowed their heads on their own, and joined in eating and talking. As time went by, it was apparent they didn’t know of Nick’s return, which surprised Rose. Why hadn’t Dat told them, when they had been so outspoken about the death of the bishop’s only biological son? “A needless loss of one of our own,” Josh had boldly declared last November, the day after the burial service.
Barbara Petersheim’s tender words of forgiveness came to mind then and stayed with Rose through the meal. Rose was willing to forgive but hesitant to fully embrace Nick’s return. After all, hadn’t her heart changed its loyalty from Nick to Isaac?
At meal’s end, Dat solemnly announced that Nick had come back to make amends and help reinstate Aaron’s position as bishop.
Mose exhaled audibly and Josh’s eyes widened.
“Being’s we’re neighbors and church members, I want us to support Petersheims in whatever they choose to do,” Dat continued. “Nick has much to make up for, we all know that.”
The flat tone in his voice gave him away, but Rose knew he was trying to do the right thing, under God, in giving Nick the benefit of the doubt. Naturally she and her brothers would comply with their father’s request, as was their way.
’Tis best . . . following God’s commands.
Rose saw nothing of Nick all that week until Friday morning, when she happened to spot him walking through Aaron’s barnyard. She noticed his Plain attire and knew Barbara must have sewn for him. Rose wondered how he felt now, after a few days back home. Did he still believe he was cut out to be Amish?
She forced her eyes away when she heard Barbara’s voice yoo-hooing as she came up the back walkway for the green bean frolic. Going to the back door, Rose held it open for Barbara and two of her married daughters, Verna and Anna, and Anna’s cute baby girl. “Willkumm, Freind!” she greeted them.
The Petersheim women had brought several large pails of string beans. Combined with those Rose had gathered from the family garden, they had quite the pile. Hen and Arie Zook came to help, as well, bringing their children. Hen was the only one without beans in hand, but Rose intended to share plenty with her, since Hen was offering her help.
The talk quickly turned to Nick, although Rose tried to steer the conversation to other things. Barbara beamed as she worked. “Our son’s ever so changed,” she said, which made Hen glance at Rose.
Mamm sat with a bowl of fresh beans on her lap, her fingers stringing away. Mattie Sue and Becky Zook chattered near Arie’s sleeping baby boy, both of them busily talking, too. The day was hot and muggy, as were most July days, and the pungent smells of the season filled the room, wafting in from the fields. Rose had several large pitchers of homemade lemonade placed on the table, hoping to keep the womenfolk refreshed and happy.
Rose was glad when Hen said she’d like to have a b
arbeque over at their new house the last Saturday in July. “And all of you are invited . . . and your families.”
Mamm’s eyes sparkled. “We’ll bring the potato salad,” she said. “I just love a good picnic with barbecued chicken.”
Arie agreed, her pretty brown eyes shining as she looked over at Hen, who was snapping beans as fast as ever. Arie’s freckled face bunched up in a grin as she turned to peek at Mattie Sue and Becky playing with several of Rose’s faceless dolls and jabbering in Dutchified English.
“I wanted you to know that I quit my job at the fabric shop recently,” Hen told Arie quietly, but Rose heard all the same.
“Goodness, that’s surprising,” Arie replied.
“Brandon thought so, too.”
Rose observed her sister with her best friend and wondered what Arie might say to that. But Arie remained still.
“Honestly, I’m just so busy making curtains and the crib skirt for the nursery, and I’ll have more to do come November,” Hen told her. “But I’ll miss working around the Amish ladies—I know I will.”
“You’ll have plenty to do with two little ones, believe me.” Arie smiled, looking at her own children, over near Mattie Sue.
“Well, I’m ready to be a stay-at-home mom again,” Hen said. Her glossy hair was pulled back in a low ponytail to keep her cool. “Spending time around your adorable little Levi and some of the other babies in the community really stirred up a longing in me. I can’t wait to have another child.”
Rose knew exactly what Hen meant: She, too, had felt besotted with mother-love after holding Anna’s infant daughter, Barbianne. She could hardly wait to hold her own wee one some precious day. Of course this wasn’t anything she and Isaac had ever dared to discuss; it was too soon. But she did know of one courting couple who liked to talk about how many children the Good Lord might give them once married: Leah Miller and Jake Ebersol, who were already engaged, or so Leah had confided in Rose after the last Preaching. Rose had to smile at the thought she and her dear friend, Christian’s former sweetheart, might very well be sisters-in-law one day. Leah had endured so much pain and grief, Rose couldn’t be happier for her.
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