by Kelly Irvin
“I know. I—”
“She spoke to me about it.” Leo kept his tone conciliatory, as much as he wanted to jump to Jennie’s defense. She did her best. And Matthew was not a bad boy, only confused, angry, and sad. As Leo had been for so many years. “Matthew is my apprentice.”
Freeman’s eyebrows disappeared behind the brim of his straw hat. He exchanged glances with Cyrus who tugged at his hat and frowned. “Your own behavior has not always been what it should be. Are you sure you are the proper one to take responsibility for Matthew?”
Leo had his own history of meetings with the deacon. Stretches of time in which he didn’t attend church. Or failed to materialize for Gmay meetings. He couldn’t, in good conscience, go when all he felt was anger—at the loss of his father, at the death of his mother, at events that others said were God’s will. God’s plan. He understood Matthew’s anger and pain. Leo’s had only just begun to subside. Healing took time and the right people. Aidan and Timothy had been his. Matthew had no older brothers. “I can help him. He needs help before his behavior goes farther and he cannot be helped.”
“Discipline is what he needs.” Freeman didn’t raise his voice, but the words were icy. “Teach him now or lose him later.”
“You have no children of your own. No suh.” Cyrus sniffed as if smelling something rotten. “You know nothing of how to reach them.”
“My daed died when I was the same age as Matthew is now. I understand what you cannot.”
“I do understand.” Freeman’s voice softened. “But you know as well as I do that Gott knew the days his life would number before he was born. Just as He knows ours. We’re only passing through this life.”
“I do know.” Leo lowered his own voice. “Kinner are not always as able to understand something so sudden.”
“It’s been explained to you and to him many times.”
Leo stared at the crowd. Hundreds of people. All had their heartaches. All had experienced pain and loss. Each dealt with it in his own way. Once he’d wanted to be like them, to be accepting, to stop hurting, to trust. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know why. Gott made him thus, hadn’t He? “Sometimes the spirit is wounded and takes longer to heal.”
“Has your spirit healed then?”
Leo glanced at Jennie. She stared at him, emotion churning in her face. She knew how he felt. She felt it too. She had loved and lost. She understood. “Today it’s better.” He cleared his throat. “Let Matthew stay with me for a while, at my house. Give me a chance to smooth his path.”
“You would do that?” Jennie plucked at her apron. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered.”
“Can you not handle your own suh?” Cyrus frowned at her. “What does that say about your other kinner? Will you handle them?”
“She’ll handle them well.” Leo smiled at her, hoping to convey the strength of his conviction. “Each one is different.”
Jennie nodded. “I’ll be vigilant.”
“We’ll help her.” Leo would do everything in his power to aid her. “That’s what we do, isn’t it?”
Freeman squinted as if trying to see a cloudy future. “I’ll want to speak with him.”
“We’ll bring him to you.”
Freeman’s eyebrows rose and fell. “I’ll see the three of you on Monday then.” He did an abrupt about-face. Cyrus lumbered after him, puffing in his effort to keep up.
“I can’t believe you did that.” Jennie’s voice held wonder and relief. “I have to go home and tell him.”
“I’ll see you there later.”
She smiled up at him. “Are you sure about this?”
“I like Matthew.” He waited a beat. “And I already told you how I feel about you.”
Her smile disappeared. She ducked her head. “I don’t know—”
“You don’t have to know anything right now.” He took a breath. Everything rode on how he made her feel safe. He didn’t know why or how, but Atlee had done something to her that caused the sweet, happy girl Leo knew growing up to disappear into a shell. He would do whatever it took to draw her out into the light once again. “Right now, we help Matthew.”
By helping Matthew, he helped her. For now, that was enough.
Besides, she’d already agreed to the buggy ride.
THIRTY-ONE
A good book always provided excellent company. Nathan stuck his bookmark into Larry McMurtry’s Dead Man’s Walk and laid it aside. He scooped up his change and the receipt, dropped a generous tip on the table, and stood. The book went into his backpack, along with his wallet. The waitress waved and wished him a good night. It wasn’t a bad night. Just not the one he imagined when he decided to stay in Jamesport. A table for one for a late supper at the Grill and Tavern. He was indeed independent. In a lonely sort of way. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
He shoved through the door and out onto the street. On a Saturday night in a small town like Jamesport, there wasn’t much to do. Folks barbecued or went fishing. They had fish fries with watermelon and homemade ice cream. He hadn’t scored an invitation to a family gathering. Working as a farmhand didn’t have the same circulation as a book salesman. People had forgotten about him already.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
The pop-pop-pop of firecrackers fractured the silence. He jumped despite himself and dropped his keys in the street next to the rental. They went on and on, put to the music of raucous laughter.
A knot of a dozen Plain teenagers, some of whom he’d seen playing pool in the tavern earlier, loitered in a semicircle in the parking lot across from the tavern. One of the boys lit another string of Black Cats and threw them on the asphalt. The sound ripped through the air.
Talk about nothing to do. The girls, their hair loose down their backs, clapped and tittered. The boys guffawed. Nathan recognized several of them. None looked his direction. They probably told themselves if they didn’t see him, he couldn’t see them. Not that it mattered. During running around, their parents made it a point not to know what their children did, trusting they would find their way back home and to their Plain ways in short order.
Mostly, they did. He picked up his keys and hoisted himself into the SUV, his mind wandering back to his teenage days and his forays into drag racing on the back roads of southwestern Kansas. A gangly, sickly kid with a terrible layup and few social skills, he’d been lonesome then too.
His cell phone chirped like a cricket.
He didn’t want to look at the text message. The only person texting him these days was Blake. Over and over again. His brother needed to go home. He had been pestering him all day to do something fun, as he put it. He figured if Nathan wouldn’t go with him to Pennsylvania, then he should consider this a vacation of sorts while he worked to convince him. Go camping at Stockton Lake. Drive to Branson for a show. Have a holiday, he said.
All by text while Nathan was talking to Freeman and putting in a shift at Darren’s farm.
A man starting a new career as a farmhand could not afford a holiday.
A man who wanted to be Plain couldn’t be answering texts all the time.
If he told Blake where he’d been, he’d have to admit to eating out for supper without inviting him. Choosing self-imposed loneliness over his brother’s company. Whose fault was it Nathan was estranged from his family?
He shoved the thought away and dug the phone from his jeans pocket. Sure enough. Blake.
Where r u?
Nathan had to retype his response twice. His fat thumbs didn’t help.
Headed back to my room.
Meet u there.
Tired. Turning in.
Need to talk. now. 911.
His brother’s idea of 911 could very well turn out to be a craving for a Dairy Queen soft-serve ice cream cone dipped in chocolate that couldn’t be assuaged in a little town like Jamesport. According to Blake a road trip was never out of the question. He was a thirty-nine-year-old teenager. Muttering under his
breath, Nathan hurled the phone from his window and took off without looking back.
Feeling a hundred pounds lighter, he drove to the motel, parked, and climbed out. Blake stood, arms crossed over his chest, as if at attention outside Nathan’s door. The parking lot lights cast shadows that hid his face. He stepped away from the door onto the sidewalk. Wetness shone on his cheeks. His eyes were red. His trademark Walker grin was nowhere in sight.
“What is it?”
“Not out here.” Blake’s voice cracked. He jerked his head toward the door. “Let me in.”
The miniscule room, crowded with a double bed, dresser, table, and chairs, mostly covered by stacks of books, had a musty smell of Nathan’s last shower and shave with a hint of Old Spice. He planned to rent a house or a duplex, at the very least. He kept putting off looking. Excuses seemed to abound. The tornado. The rental. The change in jobs. What did that say about his desire to put down roots?
Sick of his own thoughts, Nathan dropped his keys on the dresser that held the TV and sat in an overstuffed chair wedged between it and the tiny table. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dad.”
A dirge began to play somewhere in the vicinity of Nathan’s heart. Drums began to beat, a mournful sound that pounded so loud in his brain, he couldn’t think. His lips didn’t want to form the question, didn’t want to know what came next. He swallowed. Man up. Get it over. “What happened?”
“He died.”
Blake hung his head and sobbed, the big, hacking sobs of a brokenhearted man who had no experience with crying. Like Nathan, he likely hadn’t cried since childhood. Women cried. Children cried. Babies cried. When someone like Blake cried, the bottom of the world fell out. Nathan heaved a breath, then another. His throat ached from his lips to his stomach. His eyes burned. He lifted his hands to his face. It was wet. “He had cancer. They just found it. It didn’t kill him that fast.”
It couldn’t be allowed. Nathan wasn’t done being mad at his dad. He hadn’t offered forgiveness yet.
“He’s dead.” Blake wiped tears and snot on the sleeve of his polo shirt. “Don’t you get it, you idiot? He’s gone. We’ll never see him again. Ever.”
His brother’s hoarse anger propelled Nathan from the chair. He stumbled the few feet to where his brother sat on the edge of the unmade bed and folded him into a fierce hug. Blake’s head dropped to his shoulder. His ragged breathing filled Nathan’s ears. He gripped his composure with both hands. “I heard you. It’s hard to get it through my thick head. He was indestructible.” Indestructible. Bigger than life. Noah and Moses and Elijah rolled into one. “How can it be? What happened?”
“Mom called Aaron who called me so I didn’t get much. Aaron was too broken up to talk.” Blake cleared his throat and straightened, wiping at his face again. “He just said it looked like a heart attack. His heart got him first.”
“His heart was bigger than two men’s.”
“He was twenty-five pounds overweight, and he worked all hours day and night like a thirty-year-old. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t exercise. He loved his red meat.”
Nathan let his hands drop to his lap. He didn’t know what to do with them. They should be doing something, going somewhere, fixing something. “How did Mom take it?”
“She said he’s the blessed one. He got to go first. He went on ahead of the rest of us. He’s with his King and Savior.” The racking sobs returned. Blake put his hand to his mouth and took a shuddering breath. “She is faithful. I’m so ashamed.”
“Ashamed?” Nathan man-patted his shoulder. “You loved your father. You were a good son.”
“I can’t find it in me to see it as Mom does. I’m selfish. I wanted a few more years with him here. I wanted him to be grandpa to my kids. My hypothetical kids. I waited too long. I took it for granted he would always be here.”
“You’re human. You’re allowed that grief.”
“I believe he made it. I believe he is standing before the throne receiving the ‘good and faithful servant’ speech.” Blake’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I should be happy for him.”
“You’re right, but you’re his son.”
“Why do I feel so rotten?” His voice rose. “I should be filled with joy for him.”
“You loved your father.”
“So did you.”
Not in a way that showed. Nathan had run away. He’d kept him at arm’s length. He’d punished him for having a life dedicated to his passionate belief. “I never told him that.”
“He knew.” Blake shrugged. “Fathers know.”
“I wish I believed that.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the hiss of the air conditioner unit. Nathan sniffed and looked around the room for a box of tissues. No woman’s touch. Toilet paper would have to do. He went to the bathroom and returned, a piece for himself and another for Blake. Nose blowing filled the air. Blake sighed and produced a watery smile. “Sorry about that.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
Nathan was the one who had something to be sorry about. He would never have the opportunity to resolve his issues face-to-face with his dad. Never stretched to eternity and beyond.
“Don’t tell anyone I lost it.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks. We’re blessed, I guess.” Blake went to the window, his frame silhouetted by the neon sign that flashed in the parking lot. VACANCY. “Imagine what it would be like to be a nonbeliever who watches a loved one be put in a hole in the ground and thinks that’s it. Worms and dust. Nothing more. Nada. Kaput.”
Nathan gripped his hands together in his lap. His knuckles hurt. He forced himself to flex his fingers. He cracked his knuckles, one by one. Finally, the question found its way out. “Have you prayed?”
Blake turned. He looked as surprised as Nathan felt at the question. “All I could think was to find you, to tell you. Some big brother I am.”
“You can be my big brother now.” Nathan lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Pray for Mom. Pray for us. Pray for me.”
The mattress sank when Blake returned to the bed. The springs creaked. Blake’s arm came around Nathan’s shoulder in a tight, warm half circle. His deep voice filled the cramped room, illuminating the darkness and making space for their grief under an endless, healing sky. The words surrounded Nathan. He wanted to grab them and cloak himself in them. He needed protection from the frigid cold that invaded his body when he imagined his father’s still, lifeless body.
Tattered pieces weren’t enough anymore. He longed for the whole blanket of his Father’s love. He would give anything for it. Whatever was required. He needed it all.
THIRTY-TWO
Jennie let her breath out. It felt as if she’d held it for the entire meeting with Freeman. Matthew’s red face suggested he had done the same. Only Leo seemed unfazed by the bishop’s ponderous speech. Matthew would return home and immediately pack his scant belongings and go with Leo to his house. There, he would work as a carpenter apprentice until Freeman found him fit to return home. He would eat supper with his family on Saturday and Sunday nights. He would attend services without fail. He would not leave Leo’s house at night. If he did otherwise, he would find himself before the Gmay and the entire community would decide his fate.
He was only fourteen years old. Too young for rumspringa but old enough to know better. Jennie swallowed tears of shame and relief. The wobble in his walk toward the door told her he, too, felt relief to have survived Freeman’s scathing treatise on proper behavior. No excuses allowed.
She followed Leo through the screen door and out onto the porch. Freeman didn’t join them. Probably resting his vocal cords after such a lengthy discourse.
“Hey.”
Jennie looked up at the single syllable. Nathan walked around his car and started up the steps. His red-rimmed eyes were clothed in dark circles. He had a five o’clock shadow on his chin and cheeks that she had never seen before. His clothes were rumpled as
if he’d slept in them.
“What’s wrong?” The question was involuntary. She had no right to know how Nathan was or wasn’t. “You don’t look well.”
His gaze went to Leo, then lingered on Matthew, who brushed past him and headed to the buggy. “I’m fine. How are you?”
“We had to visit with Freeman.” She didn’t owe him an explanation, but he looked so heartsick she couldn’t bear it. “Matthew’s been having some problems.”
“I heard. Delbert Wilkins’s farm. Drinking beer and rabble-rousing.” Nathan rubbed his eyes with both hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so crude. I haven’t slept in a while.”
“What is it?” The strange urge to comfort him overwhelmed her. As a friend, as someone who recognized another soul in pain. “Can we help?”
We. As if she and Leo were a we. Or did she mean a community we? The Plain community helped friends in need.
Leo clomped down the steps until he stood face-to-face with Nathan. “Sit down on the porch before you fall down. You’ve suffered a loss, haven’t you?”
He looked so concerned and sounded so kind. That kind of we. Leo, who had helped her with Matthew, would help Nathan. He was that kind of man. She took a quick breath and stood back. Nathan staggered up the steps and sank into the chair.
He gave a harsh sound, like a stifled sob. His chest heaved. “My father died.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Leo nodded toward the other rocker. Jennie took it. He leaned against the porch railing, his arms folded over his chest, his face full of caring. “I also am sorry. Do you want to tell us what happened?”
Nathan related his story in quick, breathless fits and starts. Afterward, he stared at his hands in his lap. “I feel so guilty.”
“Guilty?” Leo straightened. “He died thousands of miles away.”
“Exactly. Because I am a stubborn, stiff-necked jerk, I hadn’t seen him in years.” He sniffed and wiped at his nose. “Now I never will.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered.”