by Amy Clipston
“I wrote to you,” Aaron said as frustration boiled again within him. “I wrote probably close to a hundred letters, telling you all about my life. I own a construction business now, called Paradise Builders. My company is finally starting to take off, and things are going well for me.”
“That’s wunderbaar.” His father smiled and brushed his hand over his eyes again.
“Even when I was working for someone else, I sent checks to pay you back for the cost of the bishop’s barn. I tried to make things right. I felt so bad that you were left with that bill, and I wanted to make it up to you and Mamm. I sent you more than enough money to cover the cost of the barn, but you never cashed the checks. I wanted to show you that I’d changed. I wasn’t the same immature and reckless boy. I know my actions brought shame on this family, and I wanted to show you how sorry I was. How sorry I still am.”
“We forgave you, Aaron.” His father’s expression was consumed with sympathy. “You should have never doubted we would.”
“So then why didn’t you answer my letters?” Aaron demanded. “Why didn’t you let me know you forgave me? I thought you had forgotten me.”
“We never got the letters,” his father said, throwing up his hands. “I don’t know why they didn’t arrive, but I’m telling you the truth when I say we didn’t get them.”
Aaron raked his hands through his curls and grimaced. “If you didn’t get the letters, then why didn’t you try to find me?”
His father looked stunned by the question. “You left us. We didn’t know how to find you. As far as I know, none of the young men who left when you did contacted their families again either. I hoped you would contact us or come back.”
“How could you not have gotten my letters? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I told you, I don’t know.” His father looked dejected. “I don’t know how to explain what happened to your letters, but I’m grateful you’re here now. You’re home, and that’s all that matters to our family.”
“Right.” Aaron’s emotions swirled, filling him with a mixture of frustration, anger, and regret. He had to bolt. He had to escape all the memories that were crashing down on him before he suffocated. “I have to go.”
“You have to leave?” His father looked bewildered. “Why? You just got here. I want to talk to you and find out more about your life. You haven’t seen Solomon and his family yet. And we want you to stay with us. We have plenty of room.”
“We’ll talk soon. I just need to go.” He started to walk toward the door. “I’ll be back. Give my love to Mamm.”
Aaron left the barn and stalked toward his truck, not caring if the Amish visitors saw him. He looked at his parents’ house and was overwrought with thoughts of all he’d lost by running away from his problems. He missed being a part of the community; he missed being part of a family. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed his family until he’d returned to the farm he’d once been so desperate to leave.
As he drove to the bed-and-breakfast, he felt himself drowning in the regret of all he’d done to hurt his parents, and he had no idea how to make it subside. He begged God to help him sort through all the emotions that plagued his heart and soul.
FIVE
Linda pulled sheets out of the dryer and began folding them in the large laundry room next to the bed-and-breakfast kitchen. She would never understand why Englishers liked to use fancy electric dryers and expensive laundry detergent when nothing could replace the natural fragrance of laundry that had dried on a line outside.
She was folding the last sheet when she heard the kitchen door slam so hard that it shook the laundry room wall. She dropped the sheet into the basket and rushed out to the kitchen to see who had come in. She found Aaron leaning against the sink and staring out the window at the field behind the house.
“Aaron?” She took a hesitant step into the kitchen.
He looked over his shoulder at her, and his normally bright eyes were dull and stormy until he connected his gaze with hers. “Did I scare you—again? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to slam the door that hard.”
“Was iss letz?” She walked over to his side.
“What’s wrong?” He turned to face her, and his eyes clouded again as he gave a sarcastic snort and leaned his tall body against the counter behind him. “I don’t even know where to begin. Everything is wrong.”
She assessed his pained expression, taking in the frustration and hurt she found there. “Did something happen at your parents’ haus?”
He nodded.
Linda pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit. You need a cup of coffee.”
Aaron draped his coat over the back of a chair and sat down.
She started the coffee machine and then brought a plate of cookies, two mugs, and cream and sugar to the table before sitting across from him.
Aaron somberly examined the cookies. “Mei mamm always said kichlin could solve any problems.”
Linda grinned when she heard the word kichlin.
When he met her gaze, he lifted an eyebrow. “Why are you smiling at me?”
“I’m sorry.” Her cheeks heated. “I think that was the first time I’ve heard you say a Dietsch word other than mamm and dat, maybe ya. I was beginning to wonder if you remembered how to speak Dietsch.”
“Of course I remember.” He sat up straighter. “I’m offended by that remark.” His lips twitched, and she knew he was teasing her. “Most of my employees are former Amish folks, so there’s a lot of Dietsch conversation at the job sites.”
“Your employees?” She took a chocolate chip cookie from the plate. “You own a business?”
“I do.” He picked up an oatmeal raisin cookie and broke it in half. “I own a construction company called Paradise Builders.”
“Paradise,” she repeated. “You named it after your hometown.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you only hire former Amish workers?” She found this point fascinating.
He shook his head. “No, but I seem to attract them. My business partner and I help former Amish adjust to the English life. Someone helped me do that, and we know how important it is.”
“Was your business partner Amish?”
“No, but his mother was. She moved to Missouri and married an Englisher.” He bit into the cookie and moaned. “These are appeditlich.” He grinned as he said the word, and she enjoyed seeing his smile again. “See, I can still speak Dietsch.”
“I’m not convinced yet, but I’m getting there.” She made the joke and realized she felt comfortable with Aaron Ebersol now. He was the first man she’d ever joked with, and it felt good. Why did she feel comfortable with someone she hardly knew?
“Did you make these?” he asked.
“Ya, I did.”
“They are wunderbaar.” He finished the cookie and then took another one.
The aroma of coffee filled the kitchen, and she stood to retrieve the coffeepot from the machine.
“Well, do you still think I forgot Dietsch?” he asked.
“Ya,” she teased as she filled his mug.
“Danki,” he said, enunciating the word.
“Gern gschehne.” She filled her own mug and then returned the pot to its base. “So why were you so upset when you came in?” she asked as she sank back into the seat across from him. “What happened when you went to your mamm’s haus?”
His expression darkened again as he stirred cream into his mug. “I visited with my mamm and then saw my dat for the first time since I got back.”
“That’s gut, ya?” She wanted to encourage him.
“I had a good visit with my parents, but I still don’t understand why they didn’t receive my letters. It doesn’t make any sense.” His eyes shimmered with a mixture of pain and regret. “My dat said they hoped to hear from me, and when they didn’t, they were afraid I was dead. I asked him why he didn’t try to find me, and his answer was that I had left without leaving any word where I was going to be and all they could do was pra
y I’d come back or at least contact them. So they were hoping I’d come back while I thought they had forgotten me.”
Linda shook her head while wishing she could relieve the pain in his eyes. “I already told you your mamm never forgot you. She was heartsick that you had left. She told me she worried about you all the time. Even though she knew you had grown up, she wanted to know if you had a place to live, enough food to eat, and clothing to keep you warm. It’s only natural for parents to worry about their kinner, no matter where they are or how old they are. How could they forget their son?”
Aaron’s eyes searched hers, and she felt heat radiating up the back of her neck. No man had ever looked at her the way Aaron did. She’d always felt invisible around members of the opposite sex. His attention made her self-conscious.
“I never stopped loving my parents,” he finally said. “I never stopped missing them. In fact, I realized today how much I miss being a part of the family.”
She nodded slowly, intrigued by the honesty in his eyes. “I understand.”
“I thought I was satisfied with my life, but nothing can replace family. Going home to an empty apartment and working on paperwork until late into the night . . . well, being off on my own isn’t as fulfilling as I thought it would be when I was fifteen.”
“I can understand feeling that way.” She wanted to tell him she was lonely, too, but it was too personal. She couldn’t risk sharing her most private feelings with Aaron, who wasn’t much more than a stranger. Yet she felt a connection forming between them. Did they have more in common than she first thought?
He broke their gaze and then took another cookie from the plate. “Do you know why I left?”
“No,” she said before sipping her coffee.
“Do you remember when Elmer Smucker’s barn burned down?”
“Ya, I do.”
“It was my fault.” He fetched a napkin from the wooden holder in the middle of the table and began to fold it like an accordion.
“It was entirely your fault?” she asked with shock, and he nodded. “But I thought some other boys were involved. What happened?”
He paused and drank more of his coffee. “I’m sure you know I ran with a wild group back then.”
“I remember.” She cradled the warm mug in her hands. “I heard stories about you and your friends getting caught sneaking out at night and drinking alcohol.”
“Yeah, that happened more than once.” He grimaced, appearing embarrassed. “I’m not proud of what we did, but I’m not going to lie either. We were irresponsible and disrespectful. My dat and I argued all the time back then. I fought him on everything, and he didn’t know what to do with me. I didn’t want to work on the dairy farm, so my dat let me work at the market in Philly with my friends. Of course, I still had chores on the farm as well, but I wanted to be with my friends all the time. I caused a lot of grief for my parents, and burning down the barn was the last straw for my dat.”
Linda took in his face, astounded by the way he was pouring his most private thoughts out to her. She felt privileged that he would share his feelings with her. Did he consider her a friend?
He paused and ate another piece of cookie. “That night my friends and I met at Elmer Smucker’s farm because it was sort of in the middle of where we all lived. One of my friends brought some cigarettes and matches, along with the beer. We were goofing around, and I was playing with the matches. We’d had a bad drought that summer, so the idea of playing with matches was just completely reckless. I thought it would be funny if we made a little bonfire, and I lit it too close to a pile of dry leaves. And poof!” He held his hands up like an explosion. “The barn went up like that.” He snapped his fingers for effect.
Linda shook her head. “You must’ve been so scared.”
“Yeah, I was more stunned than scared.” Aaron sighed, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on the palm of his hand, the remains of his cookie left on the folded napkin. “My friends said we should all share the blame, but it was my fault. I was the genius who came up with the idea for the bonfire, and I lit the matches. So I did what I knew was right and took all the blame. My parents were so upset. I think what hurt the most was when my dat said he was disappointed in me. He had every right to feel that way, but I realized then that I was totally out of control. I’d brought shame on my family, and I also hurt them financially. The dairy farm was having a tough year, and it took nearly all of my parents’ savings to pay for the damage to the barn.”
“I’m so sorry,” Linda said, her heart shattering for his suffering.
“Thanks, but I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said simply. “I couldn’t face my dat after that. He’s a gut, hardworking man. I knew I’d really messed things up for him. I realized that I’d done everything wrong. I wasn’t the son Dat deserved, and I certainly wasn’t like Solomon.”
He seemed to analyze the coffee in his mug while gathering his thoughts. “My bruder was the opposite of me. He joined the church when he was eighteen, married his girlfriend a couple of years later, and started a family right away. He built a haus on my parents’ property, and he was going to take over the dairy farm. He was the perfect son, and I was the one who messed up. My parents deserved a son who was better than I ever was. They didn’t deserve all the stress I brought to their home.”
“Everyone follows a different path,” Linda insisted. “You made mistakes, and you learned from them. Even then, you saw what you’d done wrong. You and your bruder are different people, but that doesn’t make you wrong and your bruder right. Your bruder matured sooner than you did. He’s older.”
“It’s more than that, though. My dat couldn’t even look at me when he found out I had been the one who caused the fire, and I couldn’t blame him. It’s a miracle no one died in that blaze. Even the animals were spared. It could’ve been so much worse. But still, I brought shame and financial problems on my family.”
She couldn’t stand the pain in his eyes, and she was determined to ease some of it. “But you were forgiven, Aaron. You didn’t need to leave.”
He stared at her for a moment. “My dat said the same thing today, but I didn’t forgive myself.”
“You need to forgive yourself. God has forgiven you, and your parents have too. That’s our way.”
He looked unconvinced as he took up the rest of his cookie.
“Did you ever apologize to the bishop?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m embarrassed to admit I never faced him. I was too afraid to say anything to him.”
“Why don’t you go visit him and tell him you’re sorry?” she suggested. “That seems to be the most logical way for you to let go of the guilt. If you talk to him, then you’ll feel better.”
He smiled, and her stomach fluttered. “You are one schmaert kichli.”
He held up a piece of cookie and waved it toward her. His smile was adorable and the gesture was so goofy that she began to laugh. Soon they were laughing together.
One question still remained in her mind.
“So what made you decide leaving was your only option?” she asked. “You were only fifteen.”
“It wasn’t my idea exactly.” He ran his fingers over the top of his mug while he spoke. “One of my friends suggested it. They were all tired of the restrictions, and they’d heard there was a former Amish community in Missouri where we could go. It wasn’t a good decision, but I was trying to run away from my problems, which, of course, never works. A group of us went, and a couple of the guys were over eighteen. They acted as our guardians.” He met her gaze, and she was stunned by the humility in his eyes. “Thank you for listening to me. Now it’s time for me to be quiet. Tell me about your life.”
Linda was speechless for a moment. She’d never expected him to want her to talk about herself. No man had ever asked her about her life. “There isn’t much to tell. I live with my onkel Reuben, and I work part-time here and at the Lancaster Grand Hotel.”
His eyes probed hers, a
nd she felt self-conscious again. What was he thinking about her?
“You were always shy and quiet, weren’t you?” he asked.
“Ya.” He hadn’t just finally remembered her, but had noticed her all those years ago?
“Why?” he asked.
She looked down at her half-full mug to avoid his intense gaze. “I guess I was never comfortable in groups.” She ran her finger over her placemat. “Losing my parents was difficult. It’s not my place to question God’s plan, but it hasn’t been an easy road for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked up and found sympathy in his warm eyes, and she could only nod in response as her next words were stuck in her throat. She’d never expected someone like him to care about her. His concern was overwhelming, and also confusing.
“I told my mamm that you sent your regards to her, and she looked happy,” he said. “She didn’t say, but I could tell she thinks a lot of you.”
Linda smiled. “Danki. That’s very nice. Your mamm and I worked together at the hotel. She’s one of my dear friends. I think a lot of her too. She’s like a mamm to me.”
“I’m sure it was hard on you when you lost your parents. Do you remember them?”
“Ya, I remember little things, here and there,” she said as the memories flickered through her mind. “I remember sitting on the porch and watching my mamm hang out laundry. She was smiling and humming and the sun was warm on my face. And I remember holding my dat’s hand as we walked together toward the pasture. He was like a giant next to me. He was tall and strong. I felt so safe with him. But that all changed in an instant.”
“Do you remember the accident?” he asked gently.
“Ya, I remember some of it.” She took a deep breath as the memories swept over her. “We were on our way home from Sunday service. It was sleeting and the roads were treacherous. I was playing in the back of the buggy. I had a book and a doll with me. A semi carrying new cars lost control on the ice and slammed into the buggy. I remember the squeal of brakes and the smell of rubber. The buggy jolted and then rolled, and I was thrown. Someone was screaming, but I don’t know if it was my mamm or maybe it was even me.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I woke up in the hospital, and Aenti Verna was at my side. She told me my parents were gone, and I was going to live with her and Onkel Reuben.”