by B. J. Hoff
Susan stared at him in disbelief. “What do you mean, you’re leaving?”
“I can’t do this anymore, Mamm. I can’t go on pretending to be something I’m not.” His voice was strained and not all that steady, as if his words didn’t come without regret.
“Gideon—say what you mean. I don’t understand.”
The eyes, usually alight with good humor or a hint of teasing, went dark, and for a moment the tall, broad-shouldered man her son had become took on the uncertain expression of a little boy again. “I’m not Amish, Mamm,” he said. “Not in my heart, that is. And I don’t want to be Amish anymore.”
Had he struck her, he could not have hurt her more. Truth be known, Susan felt as if he had delivered a blow. She couldn’t find her breath, and the pain in her chest nearly made her double over.
For a long throbbing moment, she stared at her son. He stood there, his eyes downcast, his large hands doubled in fists at his sides. She had seen that look before, at times when he’d set his head to something he either wanted or didn’t want to do and knew he was going to meet opposition.
Susan gripped the arms of the chair, fighting for calm. “Gideon, you don’t mean that. You’re still upset—I can see that. But sit down and listen to reason—”
“No, Mamm,” he said sharply. “I’ve had enough of everyone sitting around and reasoning but not doing anything. No one around here ever does anything but talk. We talk and talk and talk and don’t accomplish a thing. Well I’m through with all the talk. I’m not going to live like this anymore.”
Susan’s hands trembled. This son of hers—he who had ever been her rebel, who had been filled with questions ever since he was a small boy, yet so often refused to accept the answers—stood there looking as if he hadn’t the faintest idea that he was ripping away the very lining from her heart.
And of course he didn’t know. What did children know, really, about the pain they could bring to a parent? They could never completely understand the love of a mother or a father until they had children of their own.
But, oh, she did love him! She loved him too much to lose him.
“Gideon, you don’t just stop being Amish—”
“There are those who do, Mamm. Some seem to have no choice but to stop. I think maybe I’m one of them.”
“You’re still young, son. Still in your running around years. Give yourself time. That’s what this period in your life is all about, finding what you believe, which road you mean to follow.”
“I’m nineteen, Mamm. I’m a man, even if you can’t see me that way. And I may not know for sure and for certain what I do believe, but I know what I don’t believe. I don’t believe it’s right to stand by and do nothing when someone beats up little girls or sets fires to other people’s property or steals things that don’t belong to them. And I don’t believe it’s right to just look away and pretend you see nothing when those you love are being hurt.”
His voice was clear and even, and Susan had the sense that he had thought about these things for a long time. It struck her that he was so like his father in this way. Amos too had been a thinker, a man who gave his questions and his ideas a great deal of thought and didn’t simply react to things. Rather, he kept his silence until he was ready to speak or act, often surprising his family with the direction his thoughts had taken—and the decisions he made as a result.
“Mamm, listen now—I’m not going to just disappear. I’m not going to stop being your son. But I’ve got to find out for myself just who I am, what I believe, how I want to live. I have to live my way. I confess that I’m not sure anymore what that way is. That’s why I have to do this. I have questions but no answers. And I’m not finding the answers here, among the People.”
“Oh, Gideon—please, don’t do this! Where will you go, what will you do—”
“Karl’s going to let me rent the vacant room above the shop for now. I make enough to pay him rent and still help you out some too, Mamm.”
So she was right—he’d been thinking about this for some time. He had it all worked out. “Surely you’ll speak to the bishop first. He won’t take this lightly, Gideon. You need to talk with him.”
“They can’t shun me, Mamm. I’ve never joined the church. There’s nothing the bishop can do.”
He sounded so sure of himself. So—decisive. “But do you really want to bring the disapproval of the community down upon you, Gideon? You have friends here too, you know, not just among the Englisch.”
“Those who are really my friends will stay my friends.”
Even as he spoke, Susan could feel him slipping away from her, as if the slender cord that bound them as mother and son was sliding, inch by inch, out of her hands. “I felt sure that sometime soon you’d be joining the church and making your vows…”
“I never gave you any reason to believe that, Mamm. Anyway I’ve known for a long time that I’m not ready to make that kind of commitment. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. There are…things…I have to do first. Before I can even think about that.”
Silence hung between them, and a terrible knowing settled over Susan. “You’re going to try to find them, aren’t you? The ones who hurt Fannie. Oh, Gideon, it’s wrong! So wrong! Revenge isn’t up to us—you know that! Revenge is for the Lord God only. Are you really going to try to accomplish God’s work for Him?”
Gideon’s chin lifted, and his gaze was unwavering. His words came quietly but with the firm assurance of one whose mind is fixed with relentless determination on one objective. “Someone out there killed Rachel’s husband—they killed Eli! Who knows what they might have done to Rachel if she hadn’t got away. And now look at what’s happened to Fannie.”
Anger again flared in his eyes. “And, yes, I’m going to find them. I don’t care how long it takes or what I have to do, I’ll find them. They’re not going to get away with what they did. I know you don’t approve, and I suppose you don’t understand. But it’s what I have to do.”
Susan studied him—the strongly molded features that never failed to hold a touch of gentleness for his mother and sisters, the powerful masculine build that marked him as a man, no longer a boy, and the fire in him that burned for justice, not for himself but for his loved ones. She wanted desperately to reach out and hold onto him, so he couldn’t get away. But she knew if she tried to hold him, she would lose him for certain.
She stood and moved close to him, looking up at him to meet his eyes. “I know I can’t stop you if you’re determined to go. And you’re right that they can’t shun you since you’ve never joined the church. So you can still come home, Gideon. Whenever you want, whenever you need to, you can still come home. Promise me that you’ll never be too proud or too stubborn to come home.”
He looked at her and then bent to touch his cheek to hers. “I promise, Mamm.”
“You won’t leave until you tell Fannie goodbye, will you? And Rachel?”
He shook his head. “I’m going tonight, Mamm. I have to. I’ll come back soon and talk to Fannie and Rachel. But I’m leaving tonight.”
He was upstairs for only a few minutes. When he came down carrying his father’s old beat-up travel case, Susan was still standing in the middle of the room.
He stopped and looked at her, but she turned away. “Just get it over with, Gideon,” she choked out. “I won’t say goodbye to you. I can’t.”
He hesitated another moment and then turned to go.
The sound of the back door closing behind him sounded like a door closing on her heart.
31
CHECKERS AND
A CHALLENGE
Whatever the wealth of our treasure-trove,
The best we shall find is a friend.
JOHN J. MOMENT
The latter part of January showed no sign of release from winter’s grip. Temperatures often hovered several degrees below zero, and in some places snow had been on the ground since early December. Old-timers were fond of saying it was the worst winter they could remem
ber.
David Sebastian wasn’t so sure but what they were right, though he didn’t have access to the statistics. Whatever the records might show, all he knew was that he was tired of it and that spring couldn’t come soon enough to please him.
That was his tirade as he stamped the snow off his feet. He arrived at his house outside Riverhaven intent on inviting himself to supper with his tenant and patient. He often dropped in on Gant when he didn’t feel like slugging through the treacherous road conditions to get home to the farm. Between the two of them, they usually managed to throw together an edible meal.
Surprisingly the friendship, which had developed between him and the Irish riverboat captain since back in November, seemed destined to last. Against all odds they got along exceedingly well. He liked Gant, was comfortable with the man, and had come to look forward to their conversations and highly competitive checker games.
Gant opened the front door for him while David was still pounding the snow off his galoshes. “I heard you grousing to yourself about the weather all the way inside,” Gant said with a grin. “I suppose it’s to be expected. You Brits have never been a very hardy bunch.”
“I’d say it’s more the fact that our survival skills never evolved to the point of enjoying Arctic winters,” David shot back, following Gant into the front room.
Not for the first time, he silently admired the repair job his Irish friend had done on the massive rocking chair that sat near the fireplace. David had all but discarded it, but with the help of a hammer and a few small hand tools, Gant had salvaged it by fashioning new rockers and replacing the front and rear stretchers.
After hanging up his coat, David stood by the fire a moment to take the chill off and then eased himself into the rocking chair. Looking around the room he immediately saw that Gant had been busy over the past few days.
“You stained the table,” he said, regarding the formerly scratched pine table in front of the sofa. In fact not only had the table been restored to its former rich walnut hue, but Gant had polished it to an almost satin finish.
Perched on the leather hassock across from David, his injured leg stretched straight out in front of him, Gant nodded. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind my puttering about with your furniture. I get a little crazy here with nothing to do.”
“Mind? Why would I mind? I never seem to find time to do anything around the place—or out at the farm either for that matter. Just have at it till your heart’s content. You obviously have a way with fixing things.”
“I like wood. I like working with it, handling it. I even like the smell of it.”
“Does that come from your days of working in a shipyard?”
“Most likely. But even as a boy, I was always trying to fix this or that. Or build something. I made a lot of useless stuff.” He paused. “And that reminds me. You’ve a number of things around this place that need shoring up. I could do that, if you like.”
“Such as?” David was aware of some needed improvements, but he was coming to learn that Gant saw things he never would have noticed.
“Your back porch for starters. It needs support. And the roof over the porch ought to be replaced. And then those steps down to the cellar. Someone’s likely to break a leg on them.” Gant paused. “And there’s more.”
“If you want the job, I’ll pay you.”
“No. It’s my way of paying you. Room and board.”
David studied him. In fact he studied him for such a long time that Gant appeared to squirm under his scrutiny.
“Well?” Gant said.
“It’s just that I’m curious about you,” David confessed.
“I can’t think why. I’m an open book.”
“For one thing I know for a fact that education is hard for most of the Irish to come by—impossible for some—and yet it’s plain as can be that you’ve had more than an adequate education. And then your obvious ability with what you call ‘puttering,’yet your occupation is navigating a steamboat.”
At the other’s shrug, David added, “Oh, yes, I’ve noticed the books lying about—the ones you’ve been pulling from my shelves. Not exactly primers. And then there’s the fact that you don’t seem to be in the least concerned about money, yet it’s been nearly two months since you’ve been able to work.” He stopped. “At the risk of meddling, I have to ask just who, exactly, are you, ‘Captain Gant’?”
The other lifted an eyebrow and cracked that somewhat cocky grin of his. “I expect I’m just a self-educated tinkerer who loves the river but always fancied himself a carpenter of sorts. As for the money part—I own part of a shipyard in Brooklyn, thanks to my former employer.”
David stared at him. “You own part of a shipyard?”
Still grinning, Gant gave a quick nod. “Did I mention that it’s been a very successful shipyard? Of course when I took Will Tracey up on his offer to invest some of my hard-earned money in the business, I had no way of knowing just how successful it would be. I was a bit of a gambler in those days—that was before Asa converted me—and it seemed a worthwhile venture.”
Abruptly he thumped both hands on his knees and hauled himself up from the hassock. “Oh—and I also own another riverboat that mostly deals in ferrying some fairly expensive cargo back and forth from Cincinnati and Kentucky to the South. So, no, I don’t worry much about money. Besides I don’t need much. There’s no family, no one depending on me, and my needs are simple.”
David couldn’t have been more surprised. “Well,” he said, “I believe I’m impressed. To answer your question—I’d be perfectly delighted if you’d like to relieve your boredom by fixing the place up. But, one condition…no, make that two.”
Gant looked at him.
“You simply can not be on that leg an excessive amount of time yet. You’ve done remarkably well—”
“Thanks to your good doctoring,” Gant said with a friendly sneer.
“Yes, well, that goes without saying. In any case I’ll not have my fine workmanship undone by your impatience. Do as much as you like but pace yourself. Don’t do any damage to that leg. And no ladders. Absolutely no ladders. You do only what you can manage at ground level.” He paused. “I take it this means that you’ll be staying around here for a time.”
“Aye. I’m hopeful Asa is all right, but whatever has happened, I’ll not leave here without him. You remember the wire I sent a few weeks ago to one of the station masters on our route, asking him to try to get word to me about Asa?”
David nodded. By now Gant had filled him in on the “Underground Railroad” system and his part in it. Strange business. Foolhardy to a fault too, though apparently well-organized. All the same, those involved in it placed themselves at considerable risk, including the possibility of jail sentences and extravagant fines. He had to admire them for what they were doing in spite of what they stood to lose.
“I haven’t heard anything yet, but I’m hoping that’s good, that it simply means there’s been a change of plans and Asa had to take his passengers farther north than we’d planned. I’ve no way of knowing how long it might be before he either shows up here or I at least get word of when he’ll be back. So puttering with things around here will give me something to do while I wait.”
“Well, let me know what you might want in the way of materials. I’ll be glad to get whatever you need.”
David thought for a moment. “A bit of a gambler, eh? Now that piece of information doesn’t surprise me.”
After supper they sat midway into their second game of checkers. “So Susan tells me you’ve stopped by their place,” David said.
Gant nodded. “Fannie seems well now. Though I can tell she misses her big brother. Have you heard anything about Gideon?”
“Not a word. His employer is one of my patients, though, and he says the boy is well and works hard.” David waited until Gant made another jump. “Are you this ruthless at everything you do? You seem to take great pleasure in humiliating me.”
Gant cracked a s
elf-satisfied grin. “When else does an Irishman get a chance to condescend to a Brit?”
David pulled a face. “You were singing a different tune last week, as I recall, when I won three games straight.”
“The Irish have always appreciated a worthy opponent,” Gant said with a smug smile.
They stared at the board for another moment. “So you visit Susan and Fannie often it seems.”
Gant shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Do you realize how unusual that is? If the entire community didn’t credit you with saving Fannie’s life, Susan would have been taken to task long before now for ‘socializing’ with you.”
“I figured as much. And if it ever appears that I’m causing her any trouble, I’ll stay away. But I do enjoy their company. Mrs. Kanagy is a fine lady.”
“Yes, she certainly is. And so is Rachel.” David waited a beat. “Do you see much of her as well?”
Gant took on the shuttered expression he almost always wore when Rachel’s name was mentioned. That it was a defensive measure, David understood all too well.
When Gant made no reply but pretended to be studying his next move, David said, “Not seeing her as often as you’d like, eh?”
Gant’s heavy-lidded stare remained completely impassive. “I see Rachel from time to time. When she happens to be at her mother’s.” He waited and then added, “They were both awfully hurt when Gideon took off as he did.”
“To the Amish, one of their children refusing to join the church and leaving the community is almost as bad as a death in the family.”
“I’ve heard about this shunning business. Will that eventually happen to Gideon?”
David made his move and then sat back to see what Gant would do to counter. “Gideon hasn’t been baptized, hasn’t joined the church. He’ll still be able to see his family and friends, although some likely won’t have much contact with him.”
Gant shook his head. “What do they hope to accomplish by casting out one of their own? Seems to me that would only drive the one being shunned farther away.”