It would be his parting gift to Trina, so she wouldn’t forget him, since she wasn’t forbidden to dwell on the memories of their time together. As for him, he had to put thoughts of her out of his mind for good.
“Can Trina eat supper with us?” Timothy asked when Seth arrived home that night carrying a big square box of pizza.
“Neh, she’s eating with Kate at her house tonight.”
“Pearl stopped by to check on Trina and Kate. Since Ethan visited today and said Trina was much better, Pearl took Kate back to her house. So I think Trina would wilkom a chance to eat with us,” Martha suggested.
“This pizza isn’t very big,” Seth argued.
“What has gotten into you, suh?” Martha asked. When he didn’t answer she said, “Alright, fine. I’ll go over to Trina’s house and make supper for her there.”
“Neh!” Seth barked the word at his grandmother. Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone? It was futile; she’d never change. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, Groossmammi. I mean neh, it’s dark. I’ll walk over and get her. I don’t want you to fall.”
Martha looked dubious but since she’d gotten her way, she said, “Kumme, buwe, help me put plates and napkins on the table.”
“Pizza sounds appenditlich,” Trina said, accepting Seth’s invitation after he knocked on her door. Her hair was neatly arranged in a bun and she was wearing the skirt she’d been sewing with Martha’s guidance.
“I see you’re wearing the skirt you made,” he said and immediately regretted it. She might think he was too preoccupied with her appearance. Which he was.
“Jah, but I had to move the button. In fact, I’ve had to move the buttons on all of my skirts,” she said. “I’ve actually gained a few pounds since I arrived here.”
“That’s gut,” he said as he hurried down the porch steps and along the walkway, not wishing to get too close to her again.
From behind, Trina called, “I’m sorry. I’m still a little weak. I can’t keep up.”
Seth slowed his pace. He couldn’t look at her for fear the hole in his heart would grow even bigger.
“Is something wrong?” she asked when she caught up. “You seem distracted.”
Seth stopped to face her. He loved how tall she was, how he could look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Trina. For yesterday. I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.”
“Shouldn’t have what?” she asked. Was she being coy? Or hadn’t she felt what he felt? No, he couldn’t believe that, even if she was going to make him say it aloud.
“I’m sorry for holding your hand like I did. I shouldn’t have done that and I promise you it won’t ever happen again.”
Trina stumbled backward as if she’d been struck and her mouth fell open. Then she turned on her heel.
“Trina, wait!”
She whirled back around and in the dimming light he noticed her cheeks suddenly glistened with tears. “I understand, Seth, why you and I can never be... I understand that you’re Amish and I’m Englisch. But I’m not sorry about the affection you’ve shown me. And I’m not sorry you know I feel the same way about you.”
Watching her dash back toward her house, Seth fought the impulse to follow her and profess his affection—his love—too. Letting her go was the most difficult thing he’d ever done and when the door closed behind her, he dropped to his knees, covered his face with his arm and groaned in a way he hadn’t since he was in mourning.
Chapter Eight
In the weeks following her illness, Trina went out of her way to avoid Seth, and it appeared he was avoiding her, too. It would have been painful enough if they’d kept their distance because they were having an argument, but this time, Trina knew it was because they weren’t having an argument. They were keeping their distance because they both knew how dear they were to each other and they couldn’t act on those feelings.
Trina tried to force herself into cheerfulness, but even her best experiences with the boys were tinged with the awareness she’d soon leave them. Of course, the change in her mood didn’t escape Martha’s notice, nor did the change in her relationship with Seth. One Friday night when Trina and Seth were alone in the kitchen after having supper—Martha had insisted Trina eat with them since Seth had returned home so late that day—he handed her a plate by the sink. He was in such a rush to get away from her he didn’t wait until her fingers had wholly grasped the dish and it slipped and shattered on the floor.
Martha flew into the kitchen, nearly toppling a chair one of the boys had pulled away from the table so he could sweep the floor beneath it. “What is going on?” she demanded.
“I’m sorry. I dropped a dish,” Seth said before Trina could take the blame for it.
“I’ll clean it up,” Trina quickly offered.
“Neh, you’ll do no such thing,” Martha scolded. She had an edge to her voice Trina hadn’t heard directed at her before. “The two of you will clean up whatever disagreement you’ve had before you’ll tend to a few bits of broken glass.”
“We haven’t had a disagreement,” Seth objected.
“Don’t give me that. You’ve both been sulking like wet katze. The tension is almost unbearable. I can’t stand it in my house a moment longer and neither can the buwe. So go outside until you can kumme back reconciled and smiling.” Martha pointed to the door. She meant business.
Trina quietly dried her hands and lifted her light sweater from the peg by the door. The mid-April evening air was just chilly enough for her to need it, although Seth didn’t bother to put on his jacket. Trina walked to the railing and burst into tears. She didn’t mean to, but Martha was right; the tension was unbearable. She couldn’t contain it any longer.
“Trina, please don’t cry,” Seth said, but he didn’t draw near. His tone was so kind it made her cry even harder. “I wish I could make this better, but I don’t know what to do,” he said, walking to the railing but staying at least four feet away from Trina. What was he afraid of? It was insulting that he didn’t even trust her enough to stand by her side. Or maybe it was himself he didn’t trust. Maybe, instead of bridging the distance between them, they needed to increase it even more—for his good, as well as hers. Clearly he was hurting, too.
“I do,” she sighed, drying her eyes on the edge of her apron. “It’s only a couple more weeks until my time here is up. I’d considered staying until the house is sold and watching the buwe until school lets out at the end of May, but I think I should leave on May first, instead.”
Seth ran his hand through his hair and tipped his head toward the sky. Was that a tear he wiped from his face when he brought his hand down to his side again? “Jah, that’s probably for the best,” he admitted. In a lower voice he said, as if speaking to himself, “Even though it feels like it’s for the worst.”
Just hearing him acknowledge how difficult it was to separate moved Trina deeply. He was obviously upset and she wished she could allay his suffering. They were both silent, observing the dusky spring sky. It would have seemed romantic under any other circumstances but this evening Trina had to concentrate on practical matters. “Until I leave, we’ve got to convince Martha there’s nothing wrong between us.”
Seth shrugged. “I don’t know if we can. Nothing gets by her.”
“Nonsense!” Trina declared, sounding just like Martha herself. “If your buwe can pretend they’re wolves, then you and I can pretend nothing’s wrong.”
“It would be easier to pretend I’m a wolf,” Seth muttered, and then he quietly howled toward the rising moon, causing them both to laugh.
“Kumme,” Trina said, motioning toward the door. “We can do it. For the buwe’s sake. I don’t want them to remember our time together as being tense.”
Seth agreed and when they opened the kitchen door, Martha was standing there with a broom. “All better?” she demanded.
“All better,” t
hey both claimed at the same time.
“Gut. Then Seth can sweep up the glass and Trina, you serve dessert. The buwe want to play Noah’s Ark again. I think it’s time for you to teach them a new game, Trina. I’m getting tired of guessing they’re bears, wolves or tigers.”
So when they finished eating dessert, Trina told Timothy and Tanner that Martha would be Noah and the boys had to be Noah’s sons, while Seth and Trina acted out the animals. Their imitations were humorously awful and everyone laughed so hard Trina’s smile came naturally again.
The next day was Saturday, and after Seth returned from work, Trina went home to call the realtor from church Sherman and Mabel had recommended. She forgot she’d put the phone back in Abe’s old bedroom and she was glad to discover it was set on vibrate. She would have regretted if it had rung while Kate was sleeping there. Exiting the room, Trina noticed a Bible on the nightstand. Was that Abe’s or did Kate forget hers there? She picked it up to see whose name was inscribed in it; it was her grandfather’s. As she was putting the Bible back on the nightstand, an envelope fell from its pages. TRINA it said in big letters. It must have been from Kate; perhaps she’d written down more memories of Patience she wanted to share with Trina.
Deciding she’d be too emotional to make her phone call if she read the letter first, Trina set the envelope on the end table in the parlor and then turned her attention to her cell phone. It logged thirteen unanswered calls. Thirteen! All from Kurt, the realtor. Suddenly, she was infuriated. Seth was right, Englischers were pushy. Kurt just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Trina pressed his number in her call history setting and paced while she was waiting for him to pick up. When he did, she didn’t give him any time to work his sales pitch on her.
“This is Trina Smith and I want you to stop calling me,” she spouted. “I will never, ever sell my house to a land developer. If I have to, I’ll make it a stipulation of sale that any new owner can only resell to an Amish resident for the next one hundred years!” She was about to disconnect but she wanted to wait until Kurt confirmed he’d heard her loud and clear.
“You’re saying you wouldn’t sell to anyone who isn’t Amish?” he asked.
Trina didn’t know if such a stipulation was even legally allowed, but she confirmed, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Not even if the buyer is your father, Richard Smith?”
Trina staggered backward and dropped onto the sofa. “My father? Is this some kind of joke?”
“It’s not a joke at all, Trina. How do you think I knew you had a house for sale? Your father contacted me and told me all about it.”
“How did he know?” Trina asked suspiciously.
“He tried to track you down after your mother died and eventually his inquiries led him to Willow Creek, where rumors spread like wildfire.”
Trina couldn’t deny how quickly gossip traveled through the tiny community. “Why would my father want to buy a house—my mother’s house—here?”
“He wants to reconnect with you, Trina. He wants to be part of your life again. Taking the house off your hands would be a way for him to help you out.”
That didn’t sound like her father. He had never tried to help her when she was a child and at her most vulnerable. Why would he help her now? “What’s in it for him?” she asked.
Kurt coughed. “Well, he’s sort of taken a hit recently, with the economy and the stock market... He sees this as an opportunity to get back on his feet. He’s afraid he’s going to lose his own house and wind up on the street.”
Trina hadn’t known that, but hearing it now filled her with conflicting emotions. Her first thought was of her mother. It didn’t seem fair that her father was griping about losing his house when Trina’s mother had never owned a house herself. Half the time, she’d struggled just to pay rent.
Yet Trina was also choked up to learn her father might be on the brink of homelessness. She didn’t want to turn her back on him, even though he had neglected to help Trina and her mother for years. Regardless, Patience had frequently urged Trina not to bear a grudge against him. “God is forgiving and he wants us to be forgiving, too,” she’d say. “For our sake as well as for the other person’s sake. Remember, bitterness harms us more than it harms anyone else.”
“My father wants to move here?” Trina asked Kurt. It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t imagine her father living next door to Seth. More importantly, she couldn’t imagine her father living in her mother’s childhood home. It wasn’t right; somehow, it seemed like a betrayal.
“Not exactly.” From the length of his pause Trina knew Kurt was going to tell her something she didn’t want to hear. “Uh, remember the developer I told you about? Well, the developer is actually your father. And he’s, um, partnering with a business associate who can front the cost of buying your house...”
Trina felt as if she’d been knocked flat to be told her father was the one behind the proposal to use the property for a liquor store. She didn’t even have to think about her response. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Don’t you care if your father ends up bankrupt and homeless?”
“Of course I care,” Trina said. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll sell him the house and land. Please don’t call me again. This matter is closed.”
Her emotions roiling, Trina’s hands trembled as she disconnected the call. She knew her refusal to sell to her father might mean he’d suffer financial hardship. No matter what he’d done—or what he hadn’t done—in the past, Trina still regretted letting him down now. As her mother had always reminded her, for better or worse, he was the only father she had.
But she couldn’t in good conscience allow the property to be used for a liquor store. To do so would add insult to injury in regard to her mother’s past. Not to mention, the presence of a wine and spirits store in a residential location would be a violation of the values of Willow Creek’s Amish community, especially the Helmuths. Suspecting Kurt would continue to hound her despite her refusal, Trina figured the only way to get him to back off would be to sell to someone else as soon as possible. Picking up the phone, she called the realtor from her church as quickly as her fingers could tap the numbers.
* * *
Seeing Emma Lamp at church always made Seth feel that much worse about his future. He knew he couldn’t court Trina, for obvious reasons. But each time he saw Emma he realized he couldn’t court her or Fannie or anyone else for a reason that had now become crystal clear: he couldn’t imagine himself growing to love another woman. Rather, he knew he’d never be in love with anyone the way he was in love with Trina. Knowing her had changed what was acceptable to him for a marriage relationship. Loving her had been effortless; it was not loving her that was going to be a struggle. From now on, he’d stay single and pay a nanny to mind the boys and help Martha rather than marry someone he didn’t love.
“Can we ask Trina to walk to the creek with us?” Tanner asked when they arrived home after church and Martha had turned in for a nap.
“Jah, she hasn’t caught a frog yet,” Timothy pleaded. “She hasn’t even seen any tadpoles.”
“Okay,” Seth agreed. It was exactly two weeks before May first, the day Trina would move, and he realized the boys wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. “You go knock on her door and invite her and I’ll wait here beneath the willow.”
The yard had come alive; green buds decorated the willow, yellow daffodils shone like sunshine along the lane and Martha’s tulips had overtaken the garden in a variety of purples, pinks and reds. But Seth’s appreciation of spring dimmed in comparison with how he felt when he glimpsed Trina walking toward him, her long hair loose and glinting in the sun, the boys frolicking at her side. But when she came close, Seth saw her nostrils were pink and she was wearing the mirrored glasses she’d loaned Martha so long ago.
“Buwe, you run to that big rock over there and climb up on it
to make sure you don’t see any birds of prey around, okay? I need to talk to your daed.”
Seth held his breath. If Trina cried in front of him one more time, he might break down and take her into his arms.
“I have to tell you something about my daed,” she began, and he released his breath. So it wasn’t about him—about them—after all. Yet, as she told him about her father contacting the realtor and how he was the developer who wanted to build a liquor store, Seth had to fight twice as hard not to embrace her. He could hear how distressed she was that her father might be facing financial ruin. How could a father manipulate his daughter’s emotions for financial gain?
“My daed never honored a single commitment to help provide for me when I was a kin,” Trina confided. “My mamm had to scrimp and save and work two or three menial jobs at a time. As I’ve mentioned, we were often very poor. I didn’t care about that as much as I cared about my daed never following through with his promises. He’d say he’d kumme visit me and I’d get my hopes up, but then he wouldn’t show...and other things like that. After a while, I lost faith in him altogether. But mamm was never bitter. Before she died, she told me if my daed ever tried to reconcile with me, she hoped I’d give him another chance. She said she didn’t want my relationship with him to be estranged like hers was with her own daed.”
Seth’s fingers were curled into fists. “But your father hasn’t actually asked for your forgiveness, has he?”
“Neh, not exactly. But the realtor said he wanted to reconnect with me. I don’t know if he’s sincere or if he’s just after my inheritance. But that’s not the point. The point is it was important to my mamm that I allow him back into my life if he wants to reconcile. And the Lord desires us to be forgiving, too.”
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