by Sarah Price
Chapter Seven
Daed’s resting at home.
Hope you can call before the show.
Glad we talked yesterday.
Avoid those photographers!
<3
A.
When Elias arrived home, Amanda was stunned and saddened to realize that her father was still limited to movement via a wheelchair. She hadn’t been to the hospital for a few days and had thought that, upon his release, her daed would at least be able to walk. In addition, it further alarmed her that his speech remained so slurred and difficult to understand at times, especially when he was the slightest bit tired.
“I’ll make a ramp,” Harvey had said while they were milking the cows.
Amanda had looked up from where she sat, surprised that the usually quiet Harvey had spoken at all. “A ramp?”
“For the porch steps,” he replied, his voice somber and serious. “So he can go in and out with ease. Fresh air will do him good, I reckon.”
She wasn’t certain how to reply. She had grown accustomed to few interactions and no kindness from the people in the community. During the past two weeks, she had felt isolated and alone, limited to her daily communications with Alejandro during which she attempted to mask her true feelings of sadness at being apart from him, a sadness which had been greatly heightened by the mistreatment from neighbors and other members of the church district. It would do no good to complain and add to his stress, she reasoned to herself.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she finally said. “That’s quite kind of you, Harvey.”
He nodded his head but, as was typical for Harvey, said nothing in return.
It was two days later when Harvey brought in the mail that had just been delivered by the postal worker. In the past, Amanda would have walked out to retrieve the mail, usually in the evening. However, with the reporters camped at the mouth of their driveway, the police had decided to let the postal worker onto the property to hand-deliver the mail to whomever was in the barnyard. As chance had it that day, it was Harvey.
“Letter for you, Lizzie,” he said as he set the mail on the counter. Without another word, he turned and walked back outside to continue with the barn chores.
Lizzie glanced at Amanda, who had been sitting next to Elias, reading aloud from a three-ring binder with handwritten letters in it. She had taken to reading to him at night, a way to entertain him. “I wonder from whom that letter could be.”
Amanda shrugged. “Won’t know until you look.”
Just the day before, two of the young schoolchildren had stopped by the house with a brown paper bag in their hands. They had smiled shyly when Amanda opened the door. In the barnyard a buggy was standing, with a hitched horse stomping its hooves, eager to continue on its way home for the evening feeding.
“For Elias,” the older of the two children had whispered. She had glanced at the younger one, clearly her sister. “From the schoolchildren, to help him recover.”
Amanda had taken the brown paper bag and thanked the children, watching as they scampered back to the buggy. When it had finally disappeared around the barn in the direction of the road, Amanda had shut the door and walked back to the kitchen where she handed the package to her daed.
“Open it,” he slurred.
It was a three-ring binder with sheets of paper inside, each one with a child’s drawing and a Bible verse. It had been organized by age, Amanda had quickly realized. The younger students had their pages at the beginning of the book, easy to identify with the lack of detail in the drawings and the large, crooked writing. Toward the middle of the book, the drawings became more sophisticated and the verses written in much improved handwriting. Finally, the last several pages were clearly written by the older students, with detailed drawings and more involved Bible verses. Interspaced between the encouraging Bible verses were letters from the children that wished him a speedy recovery.
It had been, indeed, a very lovely gift.
Now, Amanda closed the binder and set it carefully on the edge of the sofa as she watched her mamm open the envelope. Lizzie slit the edge of the envelope with her pretty mother-of-pearl letter opener, a birthday gift from one of her sisters when she was a young woman. Patiently, Lizzie placed the opener on the table before she extracted the letter and unfolded it, her eyes skimming the contents quickly.
“Looks like it’s from Anna,” Lizzie said, moving toward the sitting area in order to pull up a chair and sit next to Elias so that he could better hear the contents of the letter. “See?” She pointed to the neat handwriting on the envelope and the two pieces of paper that had been folded and slipped inside.
“Read it,” he said, his words a bit clearer and a sparkle in his eyes.
Lizzie scanned the letter first, a quick preread before she read it out loud.
“Dear family,” Lizzie began reading after clearing her throat.
I hope this letter finds you in the best of health under the ever-watchful eye of the good Lord. May his blessings shine down on you, especially during this most trying time in all of our lives.
By the time you are holding this letter, I will have been married. While I am saddened by the thought of my family not being here to share in the joy of my union, I know that you will be here in spirit.
It is our intention to come to Lititz to visit for a few weeks and help Mamm care for Daed and the farm. We should be arriving the week of Thanksgiving, most likely on Tuesday by the dinner hour.
I am sure that Amanda is anxious to spend time with her husband, especially after having been so good as to help out while Daed was in the hospital. I can only imagine how torn she must have felt, but knowing how kindhearted our Amanda is, the decision must have been easy. Helping others is what she does best.
Jonas and his family have been right gut about us visiting for so long, although I know his daed will miss the extra pair of hands on the farm. At least it isn’t farming season.
I will continue to pray for all of you, praying for your physical and spiritual well-being. We both look forward to seeing you in two weeks.
With blessings and love,
Anna Wheeler
Lizzie set the letter down on her lap and stared at the wall for a moment. Amanda studied her reaction to the letter and knew that her mamm had mixed feelings. Of course she was pleased that Anna had married, a good indication that she was healing after the loss of their brother, Aaron. Yet Mamm certainly felt sorrow at the fact that she had been unable to attend Anna’s wedding.
With a sigh, Lizzie turned to look at her husband. “Vell,” she began, a strange tone to her voice. “Both our dochders have married, Elias. Seems time’s upon us to make some hard decisions.”
Elias tried to wave his hand, but the motion was choppy, lacking the strength of his pre-stroke physical condition. “Nee!” he managed to say loudly. “I will not sell this farm.”
Amanda bit her lower lip, holding back her opinion, as she knew that this was a decision that only her parents could make. Keeping the farm was not practical; Amanda knew that, for sure and certain. Alejandro was of the world and would never farm. Jonas had family in Ohio and had no reason to move. With no one to work the farm, it was not logical to keep it. Yet Amanda knew that selling the farm was a sign of defeat to her father. After all, farming was all he knew how to do. Without farming, old age would surely set in. Without farming, what purpose did he have?
“Elias,” Lizzie began gently. “Amanda must return to Alejandro.”
To Amanda’s surprise, her father slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair. “I will get better!” He paused to catch his breath from the effort of speaking. “I will farm again!”
Amanda knew there was no point arguing with her father. He was stubborn when shoved into a corner. She turned her head away, not wanting to see the strained look on her daed’s face. Her heart ached. She knew how difficult it would be for him to sell the farm, for it had been in the family for over four generations. To leave it would b
e very hard, but the reality was that her daed truly had no options.
The sun was beginning to set in the sky when Amanda pushed her daed’s wheelchair down the ramp that Harvey had built for him. She had wanted him to get some fresh air, and when she had offered, he had been quick to agree. After having been indoors for almost three weeks, Elias would certainly benefit from overseeing the afternoon chores.
Harvey was already working on the early evening feeding. The cows had been milked and the stalls were clean. The scent of fresh hay greeted Elias and Amanda as they entered the barn through the large double doors.
“You need help there?” Harvey didn’t wait for an answer to his question as he hurried over to the chair. It was hard to roll it on the concrete flooring of the dairy, so Amanda let him take over the task of pushing it.
Elias stared at the cows, a look of longing in his eyes. It broke Amanda’s heart to know that her daed could only watch, but not help with, the completion of the evening chores. She didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking as he watched Harvey: if only . . .
But there was no if only. Harvey Alderfer was a right gut man, with a strong work ethic and kind heart. But even if she had met him before her New York City encounter with Alejandro, Amanda would not have been interested in a relationship with Harvey. God had other plans for her, and those plans were centered on Alejandro. Still, seeing her daed watch Harvey, and imagining what he thought might have been, bothered her.
“Sister Anna’s coming home to visit,” Amanda told Harvey, breaking the silence. She hoped the news about Anna would awaken her daed to the fact that he had two dochders, both of whom had married, a fact of which he needed to be reminded. “She was married just the week last.”
Harvey leaned against the pitchfork and smiled. “A happy time in a couple’s life, no?”
Amanda frowned. It should be a happy time, she thought, fighting a sense of bitterness. She missed Alejandro and wished that she could be with him. Yet she knew that her duty was to help her parents until things could be properly sorted out. She owed that much to her parents as well as to Anna.
She could tell that Harvey sensed the shift in her mood, and he quickly changed the subject. “Planning on spreading manure tomorrow, Elias,” he said. “’Less you object.”
“Nee,” her daed responded, pleased that he had been consulted.
“Right gut idea,” she added. “November spreading will bring healthy crops in spring.”
The mention of spring caused Amanda to ponder. Who would plant those crops? Would her daed still be living there on the farm in the spring? Or would they have moved to a smaller house, one that was more manageable for a man who was recovering from a stroke? Surely, Harvey could not work on their farm forever.
Chapter Eight
Went out last night.
Don’t listen to the news.
Nothing happened.
V.
The weather was cold in Boston, and Alejandro dreaded the weight of a heavier jacket on his shoulders. Born in Cuba and having lived most of his life in Florida, heat was in his bones. When winter came and he toured in the North, he hated the long coats, leather gloves, and boots that his stylist insisted he wear. Today was no different. Already, he missed Los Angeles. He missed Miami, too. But most of all, he missed Amanda.
He spent a few hours at a gym, his personal trainer eager to get Alejandro back into his training program. Despite his notoriety, the other patrons merely stared and whispered; no one approached him, for which he was grateful. He needed the time alone to work with Marco. It had been too long since he had really worked out on a regular basis, and it felt good to push his body to its limit.
He hadn’t wanted to go to the after-party the previous night, but his entourage and Mike had pressured him. “You need to get out,” Mike had said. “For the media, if not for your own good.”
The concert had been energizing, and Alejandro finally relented, knowing that his only other option was to go back to the hotel alone and sleep. With his blood pumping from the show, spending a few hours at a club with his friends began to sound like a good idea. Besides, he knew how important it was to be seen in public while on tour, especially in major cities.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on the crush of paparazzi that followed them, eager for a photo of Viper out on the town in Boston with his posse. When one photographer came too close, Alejandro had held up his hand to the lens of the camera as he slipped through the throngs of people waiting to enter the club. He headed toward the VIP level to escape the probing eyes and overeager fans.
Just as unfortunate was the fact that the photo of him pushing away the photographer was now the talk of social media. He hadn’t been in the mood for dealing with an in-his-face photographer, and when the man had invaded his personal space, Alejandro had reacted without thinking. Someone else had caught the grimace on his face as he shoved the photographer, and as was to be expected, the photo was plastered on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and websites around the world.
Carlos had notified him in the morning, a stressed look on his face as he did so.
“What do you mean?” Alejandro had demanded, his temper beginning to flare. “They said what?”
Instead of replying, Carlos had handed him a piece of white paper. Screenshots of different social media outlets were on the paper. As Alejandro scanned the images, he clenched his jaw and shut his eyes.
“Another ten pounds?” Marco asked, interrupting Alejandro’s thoughts.
Dropping the weights to the ground, he looked up and stared at Marco, a shorter version of himself, who was well built, with brown hair and a fast smile. The one main difference was that his accent was not Cuban but pure American. They had met as teenagers in Miami and had often worked out together before the Viper years. He was a good man and often accompanied Alejandro on tours in the States as both his personal trainer and a bodyguard.
“I’m done, man. That’s enough for one day,” Alejandro said and took the clean white towel that Marco handed him. He wiped at his neck and stood up. “Gracias.”
“Just dancing won’t keep you in shape, V,” Marco said as he took back the damp towel. “Been too long.”
Ignoring his friend, Alejandro slipped away and headed toward the private room that the facility provided to him in order to shower and change. He let the hot water pour over his head, one hand against the tiled wall, as he tried to make sense of what the media was saying.
Cheating on Amanda? Dancing with other women? Threatening the paparazzi? Each accusation was stated as a fact, despite being a complete falsehood. Yet there was nothing that he could do about it. Not without taking severe and costly legal action, and ultimately, for what purpose? Either Amanda would believe him or not.
A car was waiting for him outside the front door. Both Alejandro and Marco slipped inside before anyone recognized him. In silence, they rode in the back of the car as the driver headed toward Marco’s hotel before taking Alejandro to his first official appointment of the day: a photo shoot for a magazine. Immediately after, his publicist had arranged for an interview with a Latino reporter. Finally, he would head back to the hotel for a short nap before returning to the arena for his second concert in Boston.
He took out his phone and fiddled with it. He wanted to call Amanda but didn’t want to have that dialogue in front of Marco. He’d have to wait until later that afternoon when he was back at the hotel. Still, he glanced down at his thirty text messages, hoping to see one from his wife.
Nothing.
“Ay, Dios,” he mumbled.
“What’s up?” Marco asked.
Alejandro shook his head and, out of habit, began to scroll through his messages. Most of them were from Mike, two were from his publicist confirming times and locations, and the rest were from random friends who had his number. Nothing of any major importance. No, he corrected himself. Nothing from Amanda.
When they arrived at Alejandro’s next stop, an old historical buil
ding in downtown Boston, a crew was waiting for him. He had barely been escorted into the building before he saw Mike standing in the back of the main room, talking with two women and a man. Dismissing the other people who were crowded around him, one with a clipboard, trying to go over the schedule for the shooting, Alejandro headed toward his manager.
“You’re here!” Mike smiled and greeted Alejandro with a quick handshake and shoulder-to-shoulder hug. “Early, too! That’s great. Busy day today, Alex.” It often caused him a moment of pause when Mike called him Alex around other people. Most people in his traveling circuit called him Viper or V.
Glancing around the room, Alejandro saw the large white backdrop in one area, bright lights on stands surrounding it. There was also a section of another room through two double doors where people were scurrying around, setting up for more photos.
“What’s the plan?” he asked, turning his attention back to Mike.
One of the women responded instead. “We have the building for another hour or so. Photos in the library, back there,” she said, gesturing to the double doors. “Then a few stand-alone shots against the backdrop.”
He looked at the woman, surprised that she sounded so authoritative. With her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, he had mistaken her for a lowly assistant, not someone who was in charge. Indeed, her attire did not bespeak power or authority. She wore a simple white shirt and skinny jeans, not the wardrobe of a person in charge of a photo shoot for a megastar.
She must have seen him appraising her for she shifted the papers in her hand and stuck it out to shake his. “Marybeth Cook,” she said and smiled. “Producer.”
He nodded and shook her hand, taking in her bright blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones. A pretty woman, he admitted to himself. But young for such a job. He was used to working with older men . . . Latino men . . . for most of the photo shoots. “Mucho gusto,” he replied with a slight bow. “Point me in the direction of the stylist, and I’ll get ready,” he added, knowing that time was of the essence.