Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  “It’s about you. Your future.”

  “My future is fine.” The boy’s voice faltered. “It’s not your worry, anyway.”

  “I don’t want you to end up like me.”

  Alone. The words, spoken and unspoken, hung in the warm, humid air between them.

  “I have no plan to be like you.”

  “You have no plan at all.” Leo grasped for words. This wasn’t his strength. God knew that. Why put him in this position of trying to reach a boy who reminded him of himself? “You need help, but this is the only way you know how to ask.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “You need somebody’s.”

  “How can you help?”

  “I know what it’s like to have my father die.”

  “I reckon your daed wasn’t nothing like mine.”

  Leo eased onto the curb and pointed to the space next to him. Matthew ignored his gesture and went instead to Star. He stroked the animal’s head, his back to Leo.

  Atlee was nothing like Daed. That a man could abuse a woman and children made Leo’s blood run hot and then cold. His heart hurt for Jennie and for Matthew. The man had surely faced his maker and paid for his sins. “You didn’t deserve to be treated badly.”

  The silence lasted so long Leo figured Matthew wouldn’t answer. Matthew picked up a few pebbles and tossed them one by one into the street. “What do you know about it?”

  “Only what your mudder told me. It’s wrong to treat anyone like that, but especially someone you’re supposed to love and protect.”

  “I didn’t do anything to stop him.”

  The crux of the matter. “You were a little boy.”

  “He hurt Mudder.”

  “But he’ll never hurt her again. And you’ll be a better man.”

  “That’s what Mudder says.” Scorn mingled with shame in Matthew’s words. “I was glad he was gone.”

  “That doesn’t make you bad. You’re human.”

  Matthew leaned his forehead against the horse’s neck. A sound like a sob seeped into the air.

  “You’re afraid you’re like him.”

  “I do stuff.” His voice cracked. “I say stuff.”

  “That doesn’t make you like him.” Leo brushed dirt from his hands and let them rest on his knees. “It makes you a boy who doesn’t have a daed to guide him.”

  “I should be the one to take care of things at home.”

  “You will.”

  “Mudder doesn’t understand.”

  “She’s afraid for you. She wants what’s best for you.” Leo gathered words that were so hard to find, his head hurt from the effort. “Your mudder is afraid for your eternal future, not just the one around the corner.”

  “I want to find out if I’m like my daed. I need to know.”

  “If you don’t want to be like him, you won’t.” Who was he to give advice about things like this? He’d waited and Jennie had ended up with Atlee. If his head had been screwed on right, he might be talking to his own son now. Leo wished Atlee stood in front of him for one minute so he could see what his actions had wrought in his son. “You’re not like him. You will choose to be different. You will choose to be a godly, kind, good Plain man.” He stood.

  Matthew pivoted and stared up at him. “How could you know?”

  “I’ll help you. Your mudder can help too. You need only follow her lead. She is the kindest woman I know.”

  Why had God let her become yoked to Atlee? Because He could see something they couldn’t. Something good that would come from it. In the seven children they would have together. Because Jennie could offer Atlee something he needed. If time had allowed, maybe she would have softened his heart and led him to the place where he needed to go.

  It wasn’t for Leo to say. Only to accept.

  Like his father’s death. And then his mother’s.

  Gott, thy will be done. For the first time those words rang true. He could accept them for himself. For his mother and father, who rested easy even when Leo did not.

  He waited, letting the indecision play out in Matthew’s features. He might have Atlee’s blue eyes and curly black hair, but he had his mother’s chin and her mouth. Gott willing, he had her heart.

  Matthew shook his head and growled, a guttural sound of an animal in pain. “I’ll try.” Tears trickled down his face. He wiped at them with his sleeve. “That’s all I can promise.”

  “It’s all any of us can promise.”

  “Are you going to tell Freeman?”

  “Not if you commit to not letting it happen again.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” Matthew brushed past Leo, headed for the buggy.

  Leo grabbed his arm. “Not so fast.”

  “What now? I said I’d try.”

  “You’re walking home.”

  “What?”

  Leo pointed at the street. “You left my house in the middle of the night. I had to come looking for you. Consequences.”

  “It’s miles to your place.”

  “I’ll keep you company.” Leo climbed into the buggy and picked up the reins. “Better get started. It’s your turn to make breakfast in the morning. I have an order to fill by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Do you want bacon?”

  “There’s no bacon. It’ll have to be sausage.”

  The conversation echoed on the empty street as they made their way out of town. Leo had a feeling God shook His head. But He might be smiling as He did it.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The phone’s ring filled the dark motel room. Nathan tossed aside the lumpy pillow that smelled like cheap detergent, rolled over, and grabbed the receiver. He hadn’t been sleeping. Apparently, he would never sleep again. Two days had passed since his discussion—okay, argument—with God at the church. He was more baffled about his future than ever. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well talk to someone—anyone on the phone. It was probably a wrong number, anyway. No one ever called his room. Anyone who knew him called his cell. The one he didn’t have anymore.

  He peered at the red neon numbers on the clock radio next to the bed. One a.m. Who sold stuff at one a.m. aside from the shopping channels on cable? “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Nate.”

  The voice on the line was sweet with a hint of Kansas in it. “Mom?”

  “Did I wake you?”

  He sat up and swung his bare feet over the side of the bed. “Are you all right? Where are you?” Stupid questions. She was alone in a foreign country. Her husband had died. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been trying to call you on your cell, but you never answered.” She whispered the words so softly, Nathan strained to hear. “Blake says you got rid of it. Something about turning old-order Amish. Is that right?”

  He didn’t want to talk about it with her in the middle of the night, far, far away. “It’s been so long since we talked.” Whose fault was that? No one’s. His. He’d shrugged off the opportunities, nurturing his grudge against both his parents like a hothouse plant. “I’m sorry about that. I should’ve called.”

  “I don’t blame you for holding a grudge.”

  “Dad did.”

  “You learned how to do it from him.” She sighed. “He was a good Christian man who loved his children. He wanted you to come running to him like the prodigal son. He thought you would, eventually. He thought it would be a lesson you would pass on to your sons. He never thought . . .” Her voice broke. Her ragged breathing filled the space.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

  “For what? You didn’t do anything.”

  For not doing anything. “I’m sorry he’s dead. I’m sorry you’re there, dealing with this all alone.”

  “Honey, I’m not alone.” Her voice strengthened. “God is with me. And the folks in our community are with me. They loved your father. They love me. They’re helping me.”

  Of course, they were. His parents were the epitome of community everywhere they went. They made f
amily from strangers. Something he had never done. His relationships with his customers were light and air, short on substance. “Hello, how are you,” and move on. “When will you be able to bring him home?”

  “It takes time. And money.” The pause was laden with thoughts Nathan strained to hear. “Did you know when someone dies at home and the cause is unclear, there has to be an autopsy to confirm the cause of death?”

  “Even in a foreign country like El Salvador?”

  “Even here. The embassy in San Salvador is helping us. A funeral home has to handle everything once we . . . once he . . .” Her voice broke. A small, half-stifled sob, like a tiny hiccup, came and went. “Once they have him, they’ll do what’s necessary to help him get ready to come home.”

  She made it sound as if they were helping Dad get dressed for a special occasion. “How long?”

  “It could be a few weeks. There’s so much red tape—paperwork—involved in repatriation of remains. That’s what they call it. Bringing your daddy home.” A bigger sniffle followed. Then a sigh. “You even have to have an export permit from the Ministry of Health.”

  An export permit as if Dad were fruit or furniture. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Nathan stood, picked up the phone, and tugged on the cord so he could shuffle closer to the window. The lights in the parking lot glowed through the thin curtains. “What can I do to help?”

  “You can forgive me.”

  “Forgive you? I never blamed you for anything.”

  “No, you blamed your dad when I convinced him to leave you with Millie and Rex. I left you with them so we could do God’s work. You thought it was him, but it was me.”

  “You don’t have to take the blame for him.” Nathan sank into the single chair in the room and dug his bare toes into the soft carpet. He counted them silently, one by one. No way it was her. It was him. All Dad all the time. “I know he was the one who had the calling.”

  “Yes, he had a calling, but so did I. Think about the women in the Bible who gave up so much because they believed. Hannah gave up Samuel in service to God. What do you think Isaac’s mother, Sarah, was doing when Abraham took him up to the mountain to be sacrificed? He was her only son. I knew what I had to do and I knew it was best for both of us.”

  She ran down, finally. It was as if she’d been storing up her defense, her arguments, for years.

  Nathan let the pause drag for a beat, then another, trying to swallow his anger. “How? How was it best?”

  “I was afraid for your health. I didn’t want to drag you around the country and overseas. Your dad didn’t want to leave you. He said a family should stay together no matter what. He said you would toughen up. That it would be good for you. I insisted.”

  The band around Nathan’s throat tightened, making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone speak. He closed his eyes, seeing the bedroom with the posters of basketball players on the walls. The smell of Aunt Millie’s chili, the whining of her Pekingese dog Clover at the door. They did what they could. They were good people. His body rocked. God. God. God. The band eased.

  “Nate? Are you still there?”

  “I was a kid. I didn’t understand.” He transferred the receiver to his other ear. “How could you expect me to understand?”

  “I tried to explain—”

  “You didn’t want to feel guilty.”

  “I wanted to have both worlds.”

  “You shouldn’t have had kids.”

  “Don’t be mean. Don’t say things you’ll regret.”

  “It’s true. For years I blamed Dad, and all along you decided to leave me behind like an old discarded piece of furniture.”

  “No, I prayed and prayed for you and me and your dad. I prayed to discern what was best.”

  “Leaving me was best?”

  “I felt it in my bones. We are the sum of our experiences. What happened to you shaped who you are, just as it did me.”

  “I had to go through all that for some reason that will be revealed to me some day?”

  “Or sooner.” Her sigh filled the phone line. “I don’t have all the answers. I can only beg your forgiveness and ask you not to let bitterness stand in the way of fulfilling God’s plan for you.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  “It broke my heart. I missed you every single day. I still do. Sometimes we’re called to do hard, hard things.”

  He breathed and swallowed, unable to speak for fear of sobbing.

  “We could work together now. We could do God’s work together.” Her voice filled with a certainty he didn’t feel. “It wouldn’t make up for lost time, but it could be a new beginning. Think about that. He’s waiting for you to step up.”

  How did she know? How could she know of the calling that came to him in the middle of the night or during breakfast or while reading a book? “I’m not made for it.”

  “You’re a salesman. I think it’s a similar skill set.”

  After a few seconds her words sank in. He laughed, a hoarse disbelieving sound in his own ears. “I have other plans.”

  “Do you know what God does when He hears our plans? He laughs. He loves us so, but He also knows what’s best for us. I have to go now. We’ll talk about it when we get your daddy there.”

  Leo had said the same thing. God found humor in His children’s feeble attempts to mold their own lives.

  “How do you know He’s waiting for me?”

  “Read Isaiah 6:8.”

  “Just tell me what it says.”

  Silence greeted his demand. She was already gone.

  He stood. Then sat. Then stood again. There would be no sleeping now.

  His Bible lay on the end table. He flipped through the pages to Isaiah 6:8. “Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I. Send me!’”

  One of the basic tenets of the Amish faith was obedience. The irony was not lost on Nathan.

  He didn’t have his mother and father’s calling. Or their wanderlust. He had plans. He would show his faith the way his Amish friends did. By example. He would woo Jennie, marry her, and settle down as a Plain man who put faith, family, and community ahead of all else.

  I have plans, God. Do you hear me?

  The response resonated in the darkness. Son, do you hear Me? You’re meant to woo many for Me, not just the one for you.

  Son? His father or the Father?

  His mother’s words rang in his ears. “God laughs at our plans.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  A bountiful crop of sweet corn meant plenty for canning after the first load went to the produce auction. A blessing. Sweat dripped down Jennie’s back and ran between her shoulder blades, tickling her as she sliced the kernels from the cob onto a thick cutting board at her kitchen counter. Considering Leo’s visit a few nights earlier, a day off from the store was a blessing too. She needed time to gather her thoughts and understand why she’d let him think Nathan might have a chance with her. He didn’t. Not anymore. Not with the feelings that swept over her when she got close to Leo.

  Feelings stronger than any that had ever assailed her before. Even with Atlee. So why did she tell him she might have feelings for Nathan?

  Fear. Pure and simple.

  The scent of spicy pickles bubbling in a huge pot on the stove tickled her nose, mixing with the corn’s sweet aroma. She scooped up the piles of kernels and dumped them into hot jars, leaving a one-inch space at the top. She’d done this a thousand times, yet today she had to stop and think about how to do it. The other women’s chatter soothed her. Laura and Bess had arrived bright and early for the canning frolic. Others were on the way. Her friends had no idea that the red on her cheeks had nothing to do with the hot July air. Every time she thought of Leo’s visit—or more specifically his kiss and his touch and his words—heat billowed through her. She couldn’t tell them any more than she’d told them about Atlee all those years ago.

  But she wanted to. The words ached to be o
ut.

  “What are you thinking about? The store?”

  She started at Laura’s question. The ear of corn slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. “Nothing. Jah, the store.”

  Laura snatched the corn up before Jennie could grab it. Their heads came precariously close to banging. She laughed and Laura joined her. “Aren’t we a pair?”

  “Freeman, Cyrus, and Solomon have met. They’ve decided.”

  Laura patted Jennie’s shoulder. “It’s for the best.”

  The elders had decided they didn’t want a legal battle with Lazarus Dudley. They felt it was best to let the store go. For the community. It wasn’t their way to fight battles in public. If Lazarus so badly needed the space, he should have it. They would start again elsewhere or make do.

  Jennie was used to making do, but it still hurt. She’d just begun walking this path and now the gate had closed. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “Nee, you’re only human.” Laura chuckled. “We all are.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  Jennie glanced back. Olive stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, as if waiting for permission to enter. Jennie offered her mother-in-law a smile. “I’m glad you could come.”

  “Me too. Where shall I start?”

  Laura handed Jennie the ear of corn. “I’ll go see what’s taking Bess so long to bring up that box of jars from the basement.”

  She trotted past Olive, who moved aside, her smile uncertain.

  “There’s lots to do.” Jennie motioned toward the table. “You can husk corn if you want, or if you’d rather—”

  “Husking is fine.” Olive sank into a chair and picked up an ear of corn. “I saw the girls in the garden, picking tomatoes.”

  “We’re lucky to have any, the way that tornado ripped through here.”

  “It wasn’t you.”

  Jennie stopped slicing corn from the ear in her hand. She swallowed, laid the knife on the table, and sat across from Olive. “Then what was it?”

  “The grapevine is working overtime. Something about you and Leo Graber.” Her smile was tentative. She shrugged. “You have a right to know so you won’t be afraid to move on or afraid of making the wrong choice. You could still have a mann. The kinner could have a daed.”