by B. J. Hoff
“Well as I understand it, shunning isn’t related to punishment of any kind. It’s meant to be redemptive. It’s a practice meant to bring the one shunned back into the fold. It’s a terribly difficult thing for an Amish individual—and his family—to experience.”
“Does it do that—bring the one shunned back to the community?” “Actually, sometimes it does.”
“So…Gideon won’t go through that, but someone such as Mrs. Kanagy—Susan—or Rachel would? ”
“Oh, yes. They’ve made their lifelong vows. They’d be liable to shunning if the offense were serious enough.”
David noticed that Gant’s mind seemed to wander for a few minutes after that. Clearly, for him the game had lost its allure.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t without his own understanding of why the subject of shunning might be of special concern to his friend. “You…think highly of Rachel, don’t you?” he said carefully.
Gant looked up, and for once the mention of Rachel didn’t cloud his features to the point of a blank stare. “My folly, I know.” He looked and sounded utterly miserable.
David leaned against the back of his chair. “We can talk about it if you like.”
“There’s no sense to it. None at all,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Oh, I might understand better than you think.”
Gant’s eyes burned through any facade David might have previously tried to set in place.
“Rachel’s mother. Of course. I think I suspected as much,” Gant said quietly.
“As you said—‘my folly’,” David replied.
Gant let out a long breath. “Does she know?”
“That I’m a total fool about her? I hope not. Though since I revert to an addlepated schoolboy every time I’m with her, I fear she may have her suspicions.” He stopped. “What about Rachel?”
Gant gave a small, dry laugh that held not a trace of humor. “Oh, she knows.”
“And?”
“In truth, I think she feels the same. But no doubt she regards it as hopeless entirely. Perhaps even wicked, my being…an outsider.” He cast an inquisitive look at David. “In your case, though, I don’t see why it couldn’t work between you and Rachel’s mother. The people here seem to treat you as one of their own, not as if you’re any different from them. They obviously have a great liking and respect for you. Why wouldn’t they accept you into the community?”
David gave a vigorous shake of his head. “They accept me as their physician, even their friend. But if I were to admit to any sort of romantic interest in Susan, I’d immediately be as much of an outsider to them as you are. No man but an Amish man can ever be an acceptable suitor for one of their women.”
Gant thought a moment about that. “But you’re not all that different from the Amish, are you?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“All you need is one of their hats and a beard, Doc, and you could pass, it seems to me.”
“If that’s supposed to be funny—”
“It’s not. What I mean is that I see in you most of the same things I see in these people. You’re a quiet, peaceful man. If I’m not mistaken, you crave peace. You live simply. You seem to need little in the way of material things. And it’s been my observation that you’re happiest when you’re helping others. To my way of thinking, that definitely makes you a candidate for the Amish life.”
David made a lame attempt at a laugh. “If nothing else, it makes me sound like a dreadful bore.”
“You know better than that,” Gant said, holding his gaze. “Haven’t you at least considered the idea?”
Oh, yes, he’d considered it…but what did that say about his faith, if he were to change to a different religion, an entirely different way of life, so he could marry the woman he loved? And yet could Gant possibly be right? Would the Amish way of life really be all that different for him?
“What I consider is that this probably isn’t the most sensible topic of conversation for either of us,” he said, trying for a casual tone. “Make your move.”
Gant shot him a knowing grin. “As it happens, Doc, I think it’d be a sight more interesting to see you make a move of your own.”
32
A MORNING SURPRISE
Our feet on the torrent’s brink,
Our eyes on the cloud afar,
We fear the things we think,
Instead of the things that are.
JOHN BOYLE O’REILLY
David didn’t sleep more than an hour that night in part because his mind kept sorting through some of the things he and Gant had talked about. But more to the point, he lay awake wrestling with a jumble of ideas and questions he’d been asking himself for weeks… for months now.
At the forefront of every thought was the same question: How could he continue to live out his lifetime with any reasonable degree of sanity or contentment if that life were to be lived without Susan? If his love for her was to be forever unrequited and unfulfilled, he could only envision himself as a dry and empty husk of a man.
He loved medicine. He had been a physician in his heart ever since his boyhood. After Lydia’s death, caring for his patients and raising his son were many times his only incentives for putting one foot in front of the other and trudging through the days. And after Aaron was grown and had left home for university and then marriage, his responsibility to his patients, his love of medicine in general, and his faith had been motivation enough to survive.
But then with Susan, there had come a gradual, subtle turning. It wasn’t that he cared less for his practice or his patients, and it wasn’t that his faith became less important or more tenuous. It was more that Susan opened places in him he hadn’t known existed. Little by little the chamber of loneliness inside him seemed to expand and beg to be filled. The face of the future loomed closer, and he could almost imagine himself as an aging widower limping along without direction, without purpose, without companionship, without any real warmth or comfort, but simply marking time.
And he knew that kind of life would never be enough. He had reached the point of needing her as much as he needed to breathe.
Somewhere near the hour of dawn, he made his final attempt to court sleep. Flinging the bedclothes aside, he hit the floor on his knees and poured out his heart with an abandon he wouldn’t have thought he was capable of.
“I cannot imagine living life this way forever, my Lord. I simply can’t. Perhaps that makes me a weak, pathetic man…but I am a man. The woman I love is forbidden to love me in return, and yet my need for her, my wanting her, my loving her, is driving me to desperation. I believe I must do something—make a decision, take a step—something. If this is the way I’m to spend the rest of my life…If this is indeed what you truly want for me…then give me the strength to endure it…or else show me a way to change it.”
He continued to pray until daybreak spilled its first light through the window. By the time he got to his feet and began to dress, the way of change for which he had prayed began to form a web stretching outward from the chambers of his heart.
Susan Kanagy usually spent her mornings baking and setting bread to rise, doing laundry or cleaning, and sometimes, on a not so busy morning, tending to small tasks such as tidying drawers and cupboards. Staying busy was never a problem, and she had her days ordered as strictly and precisely as the spices and other staples in her pantry.
That’s how well-managed her life had once been. Late on this Tuesday morning, however, she sat at her kitchen table, looking around the room at the chores awaiting her attention but not getting done.
Ever since the attack on Fannie Christmas Day, Susan’s routine seemed to fall apart. She would start one task and then move on to another before finishing the first. Sometimes she even forgot which day of the week it was, and when she remembered, she would realize she had worked at Wednesday’s chores on Tuesday and Thursday’s chores on Wednesday.
What was happening to her mind?
&nb
sp; She would like to have blamed her preoccupation and distraction on the nursing needs and, later, the continuing concern for Fannie, not to mention the apprehension about what might happen next to someone in their community. But she knew there was more to it than that.
She was also worried for Rachel, who had been different…and distant…ever since that day. It was no surprise that what had happened to Fannie seemed to have brought back the worst of her older daughter’s memories. Truth be known, how could it not affect her?
But there was something else working on Rachel, and Susan feared that she knew what it was. Captain Gant. She had seen the looks that passed between them on the few occasions when Rachel had been here and Gant stopped by to visit. He was welcome here, of course, after all the time he had spent among them and especially after saving Fannie’s life. But the obvious attraction between him and Rachel never failed to make Susan’s heart clench with dread, for she knew the pain a romantic involvement with an outsider would surely bring.
After all, hadn’t she felt at least the tip of that same knife of pain herself because of David Sebastian?
Gant looked at Rachel the way David sometimes looked at her. And perhaps the look in Rachel’s eyes when she glanced at Captain Gant resembled the look in her own eyes when her gaze rested on David.
Verboten. The very word gnawed away at her conscience.
Yet she had to trust Rachel’s good sense. She was no child, but a woman—a woman who knew well the rules by which they lived. She knew the anguish that would accompany any entanglement with an auslander. Surely she would avoid anything of the kind. Rachel loved her family, her community. She had never rebelled against the Plain life as some young people did, had never seemed much interested in the Englisch ways, even during her running around years. In fact Rachel hadn’t taken full advantage of that period of her youth but, instead, had wasted little time in making her vows and joining the church.
Surely now she wouldn’t risk a faith that she had followed since childhood, an entire way of life, for a forbidden romance.
Oh, that Gideon possessed even half the good judgment of his sister…
Susan shook off the thought. Of all the things that distracted her from her work and any semblance of peace, the worry over her rebellious son nagged at her the most viciously. She would not allow her mind to wander there today. Too much waited to be done, and she was alone to do it. Fannie had spent the night at Rachel’s and would no doubt stay most of the day with her. She could ask them both to come and help, of course, but she almost welcomed the list of tasks that awaited her. More than anything else, keeping busy helped her not to think too much.
Today she would use the good judgment with which she credited her daughter. Today she would keep herself so busy nothing would distract her from her work.
She was still dwelling on that promise to herself when she got up from the table and glanced out the kitchen window only to see David Sebastian driving up the lane to the house.
Now that he was actually here, David suddenly was gripped by an almost numbing attack of cold feet. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been so close to simply turning and running away. His every instinct told him he shouldn’t be here.
But he was here and with a goal in mind. And just in case Susan had already seen him approaching, he could hardly do anything other than get out of the buggy and go to the door.
If his legs would support him.
He clenched his fist to knock but hesitated for one last moment.
What in the world was he thinking, coming here like this? She’d probably suspect he’d lost his senses and ask him to leave.
And she’d be perfectly within her rights to do just that.
He reminded himself that only hours ago he’d been convinced that God was giving him clear direction to bolster himself and take the initiative to do something. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that.
But there was always the very real possibility that if he shocked her too much, it would be the end of their friendship—a friendship he had come to deeply cherish and depend on.
But what if he was right about what he thought he’d seen in her eyes on the rare occasion she met his gaze straight on? What if he hadn’t imagined it?
What if she cared for him too?
But there was still the unavoidable reality that she was Amish…and he wasn’t.
He would never know if he didn’t confront her. And if he didn’t confront her now, he probably never would.
So he forced himself to knock. He knocked so loudly he startled himself.
She was wearing what he seemed to remember her calling a “choring dress.” As she stood looking at him, she struggled with a strand of dark blonde hair, trying to tuck it under her kapp from which it had fallen free.
She appeared flustered and flushed. And she looked absolutely lovely.
“David?”
His gaze traced every angle, every soft line of her face, and he had all he could do not to scoop her into his arms.
That’s it, go ahead and frighten her to death…At the least that will put a quick end to this madness…
“I…ah…Is this a bad time, Susan?”
She gave him a blank look. “A bad time for what?”
“For us to talk.”
“Talk?”
“Yes, but if you’re busy, I can come back…”
Coward. If you leave now, you’ll likely never come back.
“No. I suppose—no, this is fine.”
She glanced around their surroundings as if to see if they were being watched.
“Are you sure, Susan?”
She seemed to recover then. The familiar welcoming smile slid into place, and the warmth that usually filled her eyes at the sight of him reappeared. “Of course. Though if you’ve come to see Fannie, I’m afraid she’s not here. She spent the night at Rachel’s.”
Even as she spoke, she stepped aside for him to enter and stood waiting to take his coat and hat.
He’d entirely forgotten about Fannie! He couldn’t have possibly carried on the conversation he intended had the child been here. What was he thinking?
Well that was clear enough. He wasn’t thinking. Indeed it was all he could do to string a few words together. He was very nearly incoherent. No, he was most definitely not thinking.
“Actually I came to see you about something else,” he said. His unsteady voice belied his attempt at a casual tone.
“Oh.” Her expression took on that questioning, uncomfortable look again, but Susan being Susan, she was as gracious as ever. “All right then. Come in, and I’ll get us some coffee.”
Yes, a cup of coffee would be good. He needed something to hold onto…
The intimacy of the two of them alone in the kitchen at this time of the morning unsettled David more than he would have thought possible. At any ordinary time, he would have relished the experience of sitting here at the table across from her, drinking her coffee, and being able to study her face. But now, nervous and uncertain as he was about what he wanted—needed—to say, he couldn’t even enjoy being with her. The only thing that seemed to matter at the moment was getting the words out, getting this over.
Susan caught him off guard by speaking first. “I’m glad you stopped, David.”
“Are you?”
Good grief. Was he going to be this inane throughout the entire conversation?
She nodded. “There’s something I’m concerned about. I think, if you’re willing, you might be able to help.”
He hadn’t expected this, but if something was bothering her, naturally he’d do whatever he could. “Of course. Are you still worried about Fannie?”
“No, not Fannie so much, although sometimes I still sense a kind of…sadness in her. Maybe even fear. But, no, it’s Rachel I’m worried about.” She looked at him as if she wasn’t certain of her next words. “You and Captain Gant—you’ve become friends.”
“Yes, though I suspect it’s been a surprise to bot
h of us, we have.”
“I wonder, if you don’t mind telling me, has he ever said anything that might indicate he has an…interest… in Rachel? A romantic interest?”
Whatever David might have expected to hear, this wasn’t it. And after the conversation he’d had with Gant only last night, he wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. He wanted to be truthful with Susan, but he didn’t want to break a confidence with Gant.
“Do you think he does?” he said, deliberately delaying any real answer until he could decide just how to reply.
She nodded. “I do. The way he looks at her—and the way Rachel looks when she’s with him—I think maybe they care for each other. I thought you might be able to talk with him, explain how it is with us.” She stopped. “This isn’t good, David.”
“No?”
“Well you understand why, don’t you? Nothing can ever come of it, with Rachel being Amish and Gant being an auslander. It can only bring her pain and, if I’m right, pain for him as well. I don’t want that for either of them, though of course Rachel is my first concern. She’s been through enough as it is. Any thought of a relationship between them needs to be quenched. It can never be.”
A sinking heaviness settled over David’s heart. The words that only an hour ago he’d felt compelled to speak now turned to dust and died in his throat.
33
THROUGH EYES OF LOVE
My heart is like a trembling leaf
carried by the wind.
ANONYMOUS
He tried not to show the cavity that had opened up inside him at the significance of her words.
He made a desperate attempt to find his backbone and feign a steadiness he didn’t feel. After all it wasn’t as if she’d said anything he wasn’t already aware of. It was just that hearing the words from her lips, the finality ringing through them, jarred him into a realization that the idea he’d been so intent on broaching with her was now little more than a flight of fancy. This wasn’t anything new. It was nothing he hadn’t known all along.