And that day, when they’d gotten home, it had been one of the worst, indeed.
“Lucy? Is that you?”
Startled from her memories, Lucy turned and blinked. And then, there he was—the man so different from her current nightmares. “Calvin,” she murmured, taking in his dark pants and cornflower blue shirt. The black suspenders and his straw hat. His smooth, tan cheeks, and the bump in the line of his nose.
And suddenly, her head cleared of old memories. “Hi. I mean, hello.”
“Hello, to you, too.” Moving closer, he looked her over. “I never expected to see you here.”
With relief, she pushed the rest of her memories away. “I’m looking for a blackberry patch. What about you?”
“Oh, my brothers and I like using this trail. We take it when we don’t feel like hitching up the buggy.” Eyes sparkling, he added, “This path links our two houses, did you know that?”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, you’ll see Graham on it more often than not. He does enjoy visiting Mattie, you know.”
“He can’t seem to stay away.” Feeling vaguely conspicuous, Lucy swung her pail. “Well. I had best go pick berries. I promised my aunt that I would.”
“A useful project.”
They were standing close now. Lucy noticed faint dark flecks in the blue of his eyes. Noticed a scar near his eyebrow. And suddenly, the last thing in the world she wanted was peace and quiet and more time to dwell on the past. “Care to walk with me?” she asked. “Or do you need to go on your way?”
“I’ll accompany you, for sure.” For a few minutes they walked along the path, the thicket of vines growing heavy on their left, tall oaks and maples reaching to the heavens on their right.
“It’s lovely here. A true blessing.”
“It is.” Looking at her sideways, he murmured, “Lucy, forgive me if I’m being too personal, but when I came upon you, you looked mighty upset. As if you had far more on your mind than mere berries.” He looked her way, his eyes calmly searching. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” But even she knew she’d blurted that too quickly.
“No. I don’t think so.” Looking at her more carefully, he said, “Though the pain I first glimpsed in your eyes has faded, you still look near tears.”
She didn’t dare tell him a lie, she was too shaken up inside to focus on one for long. “Actually, I was upset, but I’m better now. I was just spending a bit too much time worrying about things I cannot fix.”
“Like Mattie?”
His question embarrassed her. Yes, she was worried about Mattie’s health of course. But that wasn’t what had occupied her mind. “Like Mattie. And worrying about some things from my past.”
They walked for a bit while Calvin seemed to consider that. Finally, he looked her way again. “It’s been my experience that the past is easier if you come to terms with it and move on.”
“It’s not that easy,” she snapped, then instantly regretted her words.
But instead of getting mad, Calvin merely laughed. “You’re right about that. But moving on is a useful goal, I think.”
Charmed by his words as much as his laughter, Lucy nodded.
As a robin flew by, and they stood and watched her land in her nest, a new peace settled between them. Feeling as comforting as the breeze on their cheeks. After another moment, Calvin looked her over from head to toe. “This worry that seems to have gripped you . . . it isn’t about Mattie, is it?”
“No. I was just thinking about some memories that I usually try hard to ignore. Usually I only dream about my past; but today, for some reason, memories decided to spring forward while I’m awake.” Recalling how defeated she’d felt before Calvin had appeared, she added, “With a vengeance.”
They were in front of the blackberry bushes. The air surrounding them was full of the berries’ sweet, fruit-ripe scent—and it sweetened her mood as well. She felt so different with Calvin.
Almost as if she wasn’t as damaged as she imagined she was.
Without a word, he took the tin pail from her hand. Then, with great care, he pulled a berry from the branch closest and just as easily dropped the succulent-looking fruit into the pail. “One,” he said with a smile.
Next to him, she plucked another berry and deposited it in the pail as well. “Two,” she said with a smile of her own.
“Sometimes when we don’t know what to do about the past, we have to concentrate on the present,” he said quietly. “I’ve found that to be enough.”
“I, too, have found that to be enough,” she said, pulling off another pair of berries and tossing them into the pail.
Over and over, they repeated the motions. Together, as the sun fell on their shoulders and the warm fruit stained their fingers, they worked on the task. Every so often a bee would buzz by, angry at their intrusion to its private world.
Calvin would carefully wave it away with a brush of his hand and then smile at her as they both sighed in relief that yet again, they hadn’t gotten stung.
The pail got heavy enough for Calvin to set it on the ground. Eager to fill it to the brim, Lucy knelt in front of the bushes, reaching into the thorny branches for more fruit.
And then got stung. “Ow!” she yelped, jerking her hand back in surprise.
With two movements, he clasped her injured hand in between his own. “Lucy?”
“The bees finally got the best of me.” She tried to laugh off the sting, but couldn’t quite succeed.
Gently, he turned her hand in his, rubbed his thumbs over the bottom of her palm, tentatively searching for her injury. Lucy turned her hand to show him the red mark on the end of her thumb. “It is nothing.”
“It is something.” Carefully, he inspected her tiny hurt. “It doesn’t look like the stinger is there.”
She pressed her thumb against his hand, trying to see how much pressure she could place on it. “I don’t think it’s there, either.” When he still looked at her thumb with a frown, she smiled. “Calvin, don’t look so worried. It’s just a sting, jah? And it’s my own fault. The bee didn’t care for me invading his home.”
“I fear you are right about that.” Her hand still clasped between his two, she watched him raise it slightly. Almost to his lips.
Her breath hitched, startling them both.
Looking perturbed, he dropped his hands.
Lucy felt his absence immediately—even deep inside her. In the place she wished was filled with more than just bad memories and aches.
When Calvin looked her way again, his expression was bare and honest. “Lucy, what thoughts have claimed you so completely? What is it that you wish you didn’t remember?”
Her mouth went dry as she stared. A full minute passed, but Calvin didn’t push. Instead, he merely stood right next to her. Waiting.
And so she took a chance. “I wish that I could forget about my husband,” she whispered.
“Ah,” he said quietly.
Lucy noticed he didn’t seem all that surprised. “He passed away.”
If anything, Calvin looked even more worried. “Lucy . . . how did he die?”
“He fell from a ladder and broke his neck.”
He swallowed. “Was he . . . was that Paul?”
She nodded, then stared at him in confusion. “How did you know his name?”
A second passed. Two. Finally he lifted his chin. “I, um. I read about him.”
What he said made no sense. “Read? What are you talking about?”
“I . . . I saw his name in your diary, Lucy.” While her world shifted and dimmed, he continued. “On the train, I found your journal. I was going to give it right back to you—”
He’d found her journal? He’d read it?
He knew?
“B-but you didn’t,” she said—well, stuttered. Pure shame and embarrassment coursed through her as she remembered some of the things she’d written. Some of the awful, awful things she’d written. The anger and hurt and relief she’d felt
. Not a bit of it meant for another person to see.
“We argued, and I was afraid you wouldn’t understand that I had just been trying to be helpful.” The skin around his lips paled, showing how hard he was striving for control. “So I decided to give the journal to you here in Jacob’s Crossing.”
“But you haven’t.”
“Things were going better. And I was confused. The words I read in your diary, they didn’t seem to go with the woman I knew.”
Despair sank in. The words he’d read. Doing her best to reclaim her voice, Lucy said, “So you read my diary. Without asking. Calvin, when were you planning to give it back?”
He raised his hands in surrender. “I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have opened the book. Once I knew what you’d written . . . I shouldn’t have read a word.”
“But you did.” She shook her head. “Calvin, I can’t believe it. I almost trusted you. I almost thought you were different.”
“Different from Paul?” Stepping forward, he reached for her hand. She yanked her fingers away, but he tightened his grip. Forcing her to stay next to him. To listen to him. “Lucy, why did you want him dead? That’s such a sin. Your hate, your anger . . . it’s stunning. Why?”
As his words hit her hard, an almost eerie feeling of calm filled her soul. All of a sudden, telling him the truth didn’t seem so hard. “Because he beat me, Calvin. Because every single day that I lived with him, I lived in fear.” She shook her head. “Because in so many ways, he took everything I had to give, and twisted it. Made me feel unworthy. Dirty.”
Tears entered his eyes as his grip relaxed. Dropped her hand. “Lucy, I don’t know what to say. I’m so—”
“Don’t say it, Calvin. Whatever you do . . . don’t say another word to me ever again.”
And then, like a child, she ran.
Ran back the way she came, along the windy, uneven trail. Alone, toward Mattie, and to her past.
And realized too late that she’d left her aunt’s pail on the ground at Calvin’s feet. Filled to the brim with ripe blackberries, warm from the sun.
Chapter 18
Calvin let her go. Of course, he didn’t think he would’ve been able to follow Lucy even if he’d been of the mind to. His feet felt planted to the ground, stunned by what had just happened.
She now knew he’d kept her diary.
No, it was more than that, he pushed himself to admit. She now knew he’d read her diary—because he’d told her in the clumsiest way imaginable.
Mind spinning, Calvin watched her pale gray dress fade into the distance as she scrambled through the path. Within seconds, she disappeared behind the Scotch pine that had sprung up years ago.
Then, she was gone, leaving only her pail of berries, the faint fragrance of her soap, and the startling words they exchanged hanging steadfastly to his consciousness. Lucy had been married, and Paul had been her husband.
Little by little, confusion of what was right and wrong spun together in his mind. Calvin forced himself to come to terms with what he now knew. Her husband had hurt her. Hurt her a lot.
Oh, he should just call it what it was, he chided himself. Lucy’s husband had abused her. That was why she’d been so angry in her diary. That was why she’d been relieved at his death.
Taking a seat on the hard ground, he leaned back against an old wooden post. Then he tried to remember what, exactly, she’d written in her journal. But for the life of him, none of it was terribly clear. Perhaps he’d been too stunned by her sentiment to recall it all.
Or perhaps he’d felt too guilty—both by what he was doing and by his feelings for Lucy.
In his world, wedding vows were sacred. People didn’t divorce, and they accepted the good with the bad in the marriage. As another bee hovered nearby, Calvin wondered just how bad Lucy’s marriage had been.
And he wondered how scarred she was from such a life. Would she ever be able to love again? To marry again?
Just as soon as they came, Calvin tried to shake off such musings. His thoughts were shameful, that’s what they were. It would be far better to concentrate on his own feelings instead of Lucy’s. As he looked at the pail she’d abandoned, filled to the brim with berries, Calvin stretched out his legs, uneager to return home until he had a handle on his emotions.
Until he had a plan of what to do next. Of course, what could he do besides apologize to Lucy again for not immediately returning her book? But what then? Would there ever be anything more after that?
The afternoon sun beat down on his shoulders and face. He closed his eyes and let the sun warm his skin. And let himself think about her some more. Lucy was such a tiny thing. All golden hair, pale, creamy cheeks, and light brown eyes. So watchful, so full of secrets. Hesitant.
But also strong, too. In many ways, she was the exact opposite of Gwen, who’d gotten bored with their relationship and had moved on, her chin held high. She’d had no regrets about how she’d embarrassed him, or how she’d changed her mind so suddenly.
Yes, Lucy was strong. Strong enough for him to ask her more questions. And perhaps ask if she feared him.
Suddenly, he knew that he wanted to be there for her, at least as a friend, as someone she could trust. But perhaps as something more, too.
Slowly, Calvin got to his feet and grasped the pail. Later he would carry it to the Lapps’. Perhaps tomorrow, or even the next day. But until then, he knew they both needed time. He needed to process her revelation and she needed time to deal with his confession and her own emotions.
And if they had that time, perhaps when he asked her if she feared him, Lucy would be able to tell the truth.
And he would be able to accept it.
“Are you picking berries in your spare time now, Calvin?” Loyal asked when Calvin entered the kitchen.
Ignoring his brother’s sarcasm, Calvin shook his head. “The berries are Lucy’s. She forgot them at the patch. I’ll give them to her later.”
Loyal grinned. “Ah.”
Calvin glared. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I knew you fancied her. You carrying her pail of berries proves that.”
Honestly. How come younger brothers could still be irritating, even at twenty-four? “I don’t see how this pail proves anything.”
“It proves that for some reason the two of you ended up picking fruit together this fine afternoon . . . and then got so distracted that somehow Lucy managed to forget her fruit.”
They certainly had gotten distracted. But that wasn’t something Loyal needed to know. “I think your mind’s gone missing. Maybe you’ve been out in the sun too long.”
Loyal grinned wider. “Care to tell me how you just ‘happened’ to meet Lucy on your walk?”
Oh, this was too much. He did not care to say another word about his walk, or his conversation with Lucy. Actually, he didn’t seem to be able to think about anything other than what she’d told him. “No.”
Loyal’s playful attitude stilled. “Calvin? Are you all right? Did something happen?”
For a moment, Calvin ached to tell his brother about what he’d discovered about Lucy. And about what he’d done. But it was too embarrassing to have to admit that he’d done something as juvenile as reading a woman’s private diary. Something so wrong.
And, well, Lucy’s past was hers to tell, not his.
“Something happened, but it’s a long story.”
“I have time.” He pointed to one of the kitchen chairs. “Why don’t we talk?”
“Thank you for the offer, but I can’t talk about her. Our conversation was private, anyway. I can’t betray a confidence.”
Whether it was his words, or the serious way he said them, Loyal backed down. “All right, then. I understand.”
Now that his brother wasn’t ribbing him so much, Calvin finally took the time to truly look at what his brother was doing—reading the Budget, the Amish newspaper. Beside the newspaper were a bankbook and several legal-looking documents. “What are yo
u doing?”
Now it was Loyal’s turn to be secretive. “Oh, nothing much. Just doing some research.”
“Research for what?” Taking a seat beside him, Calvin edged the paper closer. Scanning the open page, he saw nothing of interest . . . besides an ad for a land auction. Slowly, Calvin met his brother’s gaze.
After a pause, Loyal cleared his throat. “I’ve heard some rumors about the Hostetler land going up for auction. This ad proves the rumors are true.”
Calvin knew the family his brother spoke of. “Did Ella’s mother finally pass?”
Loyal nodded. “She did, soon after you and Katie left. Then I heard rumors that she’s not going to wait long to put her land up for sale. I suppose she’s ready to move on.”
Calvin felt sorry for Ella. He wasn’t particularly close to either Ella Hostetler or her mother, but he’d known Mrs. Hostetler had been suffering from some kind of kidney disease for some time. “I’m sorry I missed the service.”
“It was a quiet funeral, as you might expect.”
“I imagine Ella would have preferred it that way, her being an only child and all.”
A line formed between Loyal’s brows. “I think she did. Both she and her mother have already suffered so much, you know.”
“I heard she’s been bedridden for the last six months, with only Ella to care for her.”
“That’s a heavy burden. A terribly heavy burden.” Loyal frowned. “From the looks of things, her mother’s illness took its toll on Ella—and on their finances.”
Directing his attention back to the paper, Calvin pointed. “She’s already putting the farm up for sale?”
“Uh-huh. Word is that Ella is suffering both from her mother’s loss . . . and from financial worries. He heard that Ella was interviewing for a job at the library. And that she was looking at apartments in town.”
Calvin whistled low. “That’s a shame for her. Their land is wonderful-gut. It has both woods and a creek.”
“It does, indeed.” His brother cleared his throat. “Though I feel sorry for Ella, I am enough of a realist to know that someone is going to get that land.” He paused, looking squarely at Calvin, his jaw set. “I want it.”
The Caregiver Page 13