Chapter 20
Two days later, Florence had booked into a bed-and-breakfast, for one week in mid-December, close to Ezekiel’s farm. She knew he’d complain and insist on her staying at the house. She intended to refuse since his mother hadn’t been well and she didn’t want to put any undue stress on the poor woman. In a letter, she sent him all the details and all the dates.
Two weeks later she had a reply. She took it into the living room to read, unable to keep the smile from her face as she ripped open the envelope, but that smile fled from her face when she read what he had written. She looked it over again, hoping she’d somehow read it wrong.
Dear Florence,
I'm sorry to say that my mother has had a small relapse. It wasn't helped by one of my brothers suddenly moving away leaving me busier than ever. I was hoping you might be able to delay your visit.
I have made some attempt over these past months to have someone look after the farm so I can come to see you. Each time, something gets in the way.
Perhaps this is God’s way of telling us something?
I still think about my visit to you and I have pleasant memories of you, your family, and your apple orchard.
Look after yourself Florence.
Yours faithfully,
Ezekiel Troyer.
It was just so short. It was a goodbye letter. There was no doubt about it.
“What's that you've got?” Wilma walked into the room with a basket of clean clothes that needed to be ironed. Florence was so upset she couldn't speak. All she could do was pick up the letter and extend it toward her stepmother.
Mamm put the basket of clothes down on the couch and took hold of the letter.
Once she was finished reading it, she looked at Florence. “Are you going to cancel your vacation?”
“I have to. I can't really go there now after that letter. Do you think he was saying goodbye?”
Wilma licked her lips and looked down at the letter. “It seems he thinks everything is against you two being together. It’s hard with you both living so far apart.”
Florence felt she would burst into tears. In faith, she’d turned her back on the Englischer from next door and put all her energies into the possibility that she might one day be Mrs. Ezekiel Troyer.
The problem was, she wasn't good enough for him to make the required effort.
She felt fat, ugly, old, tired, and used up. No wonder no one loved her.
All she wanted was to be happy and feel loved. Was that too much to ask?
Mamm handed her back the letter. Florence took it and tossed it into the fire. Her quick actions shocked even herself. She could feel that Wilma was also amazed.
Wilma then picked up the basketful of clothes and continued on her way to the kitchen, where the clothes were normally ironed.
Then Florence heard her call out, “Don't forget to cancel the booking at the bed-and-breakfast.”
“I'll remember.” Florence sniffed back her tears. She’s been so looking forward to meeting Ezekiel's family, helping his mother around her house, and looking around the pig farm. Now that door was firmly closed. No, it had been slammed in her face. Her letters had outnumbered his by three to one. There was no excuse for that because she was just as busy, or even more so. Yet, she had continued to convince herself that all was okay. He had certainly given her the impression that he was interested before he left and she had no idea why he so suddenly lost interest.
It was times like these she needed the comfort that only a mother could give. She knew she’d been loved by her birth mother. If she had something tangible, like a pillow or a blanket that used to be hers, she could put it on her bed at night, and feel her close.
She remembered the attic where her mother's and father’s things were stored. While her stepmother was busy in the kitchen, and her sisters were out with friends, she opened the small door of the attic and climbed up the stairs.
It was semi-dark and smelled so musty. The only light shone from a small window in the roof.
The place was lined with boxes, all piled one on top of the other. She and Earl were the ones who’d placed their father’s belongings up here and she remembered where those had been placed. The rest of the boxes must’ve belonged to her mother.
The first box she opened was full of letters. Curiosity got the better of her when she saw an envelope with her name on the front, and two other envelopes named for each of her brothers.
When she opened her letter, she looked at the date. It was dated a month before her mother had died. She stood up and taking the letter with her, she walked closer to the window so she could read it more easily.
My dearest Florence,
If you’re reading this letter that means I’m no longer around. I’ve asked your father to give you this letter when you’re an adult, the same as the letters I have for Mark and Earl.
Life is so uncertain.
I’ve learned nothing is forever. I want to be there always, guiding you and your brothers, whispering in your ears. If I can’t be there, pay attention to my following words and keep them in your heart.
Always be kind to others.
Try to see the other person’s point of view. It’s just as valid as your own.
You must follow your heart rather than your head sometimes.
Don’t make my mistakes.
No matter where I am, I will always love you, your father and your brothers.
Always be there for your family.
Your loving Mamm
Her mistakes. What were her mistakes?
She looked at those many letters. Perhaps in that box lay the answer?
Folding the letter carefully, she set it on the windowsill to collect later and sat down on the floor in front of the box to sort through the letters. After fifteen minutes of skimming through all the correspondence, she saw there was nothing helpful. At the bottom of the box she found a key. She held it up in the half-light—it was a small key, not big enough to open a door. Then her eyes traveled to a small wooden box wedged between the cardboard boxes. She pulled it out, admiring the beauty of woodgrain and workmanship as she turned it to find the lock, and then tried the key. It opened and there were more letters. Perhaps these were personal letters between her parents when they had been courting.
When she picked up the first envelope she turned it over and saw the last name of Braithwaite. She was sure her eyes were playing tricks on her, so she took it over to the light. Sure enough, the last name was Braithwaite and the first name was Gerald.
With her heart pounding in her head, she took out the single-page yellowed letter. Scanning the words, she saw it was a heartfelt plea. The man was pleading with her to come away with him and to leave the community. Florence dropped the letter and her hands covered her mouth. Her own mother must’ve been in love with someone before she married Dat.
She clutched her throat. Braithwaite. That was Carter’s last name and it wasn’t a common one, as far as she knew.
Then she recalled that Carter had once specifically asked her about her mother. What did it all mean?
She peered out the small attic window. On her tiptoes, she could just make out the roof of Carter’s house peeping above the trees. Could she, or should she ask him questions?
Follow your heart. Don’t make the same mistake as me. The words rang in Florence’s head and that was all she needed. Despite the other voices in her head that told her not to do anything in haste, she put everything back where it had been, and climbed down the stairs She found Wilma in the kitchen.
“I’m going for a walk.” Before Wilma could respond, Florence had grabbed her shawl and was out the door heading to Carter’s house as she swirled it around her shoulders.
She had been so horrible to him last time and he had done nothing to deserve it.
Was it possible for people from two different worlds to come together and find some common ground? She couldn’t see herself in his world, and she knew he wouldn’t fit into hers, but her mot
her’s letter must’ve meant something. Didn’t it?
She knew there was a scripture in the Bible that said anything was possible with God. Joy would know the exact words and exactly where in the Bible it was.
This morning she’d felt sadness, but now all she had in her heart was the happiness of many possibilities. Perhaps it was possible, while putting God first, to follow your heart and find your dreams.
She slid between the wires of the fence, ever mindful of the barbs, and then walked quickly to Carter’s door before she changed her mind. She knocked on the door and was pleased that he answered it when he did, before her courage left her.
“Florence.” He looked her up and down as though he was taking it all in. “You came back.”
“I never left.”
“I haven't seen you for several months.”
“That’s an exaggeration.” She inhaled quickly, then said, “I’ve come to say I'm sorry. I think we parted on bad terms. I'm here to say that I'm sorry for how I acted and the things I said.”
“I don't remember who said what. I only know that after it was said, you hurried away and wouldn't stop when I called you back. I waited and then went through the orchard looking for you, but couldn’t find you.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. After I got over the shock of being spoken to like that.” He grinned.
“So, do you forgive me?”
“There's nothing to forgive. I'm pleased you’re here now.”
“I want to ask you a question.”
“Fire away.”
“You've asked me about my mother a couple of times.”
“Yes, and you asked me about my family. What of it?”
This wasn't going to be easy. “This may sound totally crazy and maybe it is, but did you or anyone in your family know my birth mother?”
He stared at her blankly. “I'm not sure what you're asking.”
There was no way around it—she had to tell him. “I was going through my mother’s things today, something that I've never done before. Well, I made an attempt years ago, but it was a bit more upsetting than I could handle then, so I stopped. Anyway, I found some interesting things. There were letters from someone with the last name of Braithwaite. Those letters were addressed to my mother.”
“Ah, now the penny drops. Is that the only reason you're here?”
She suddenly felt giddy and light-headed, but she couldn’t stop asking or she might never again have the courage to ask. “No, I am here to apologize, but also to find out if there's any connection between someone with the last name of Braithwaite and my mother.”
“There obviously was since you said they wrote her a letter. Are you asking me if there’s anyone I know of in my family who wrote to your mother?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m asking. His name was Gerald Braithwaite.”
He blinked slowly, a few times, showing no recognition of that name. “What kind of letters were they?”
“I didn't read all of them but they appear to be love letters.” When he smirked, she quickly added, “From before my mother married my father.”
“That's interesting. Braithwaite is not an Amish name.”
“That's right, I don't recall any Amish person having that name. Or anyone marrying into the Amish, but it's not impossible.” Then it hit her like a bolt of lightning on a summer’s day. Her mother had been in love with a non-Amish man. She turned her back on him and all that he represented to stay within the community and ended up marrying her father. That had to be the mistake her mother referred to since it followed the advice to follow her heart.
Joining the dots, that meant her mother regretted marrying her father. She’d always imagined her parents had an idyllic marriage and the perfect life. It wasn’t so. The real love story never happened because her mother’s heart belonged to Gerald Braithwaite.
Everything around her faded, and she collapsed into Carter’s arms.
Chapter 21
When Florence opened her eyes, she was lying on Carter's couch, in his living room, and he was kneeling beside her.
She tried to sit up.
“Stay there.” He held up his hand. “You fainted. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
Her heavy eyelids closed, and then he was back. He helped her sit up and plumped up some cushions behind her back. She brought the glass up to her lips and took a couple of sips.
“I’ll take you to the hospital to get checked out.”
“No. I’m fine.” She wasn’t really. She felt weird and drained of energy. Her fingers wrapped around the cool glass.
“People don’t faint unless there’s a problem. Has it happened before?”
“Only once. When I heard my father had died.” She took a deep breath.
“What brought it on?”
She looked up at him standing there with his hands on his hips. “It was the shock of going through my mother’s things. I’m sure of it. It brought a lot of things up from the past.”
“Bad things?”
“Not really. It’s hard to explain. I should go home.” Leaning forward, she put the glass on the coffee table.
If she got away by herself, she could think things through. She stood up, took a step and then her foot caught on the edge of the rug and she fell toward him. His arms encircled her as she leaned into the hardness of his chest.
She looked up into his unusual colored eyes. They weren't brown or even a typical hazel; there were flecks of green and gold, and gray—light gray and charcoal, and ...
“You’re beautiful, Florence.”
She wanted to believe his words. She wanted him to kiss her, and just like that, his gaze traveled from her eyes to her mouth.
Florence’s mother had given her the permission to follow her heart and, in that micro-second in time, that was what she wanted. She clung to him wanting him to kiss her and just before it happened, she moved her head. He pulled her into him instead, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
Suddenly, she couldn’t let this madness continue. “I’m sorry. I tripped.” She put her hands on his chest, pushing as she stepped back.
His hands moved to her shoulders and lingered as though he didn’t want to let her go. “That’s the stupid rug. I only just bought it yesterday. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I have to go.”
“Stay awhile.”
“No. They’ll come looking.” It was a lie. There was no one who’d be looking for her, and the only place she wanted to be was here with him.
“Let me walk you home.”
She shook her head, knowing there’d be too many questions from her family if they saw her with an Englischer.
“Partway, at least. I insist.”
“Okay, if you insist.”
“I do. I just said so.” With a hand lightly on her arm, he guided her out of the house. “Are you warm enough?”
“Plenty.” She glanced at his smiling face and adjusted her shawl. “I’m sorry about fainting.”
He laughed. “You were determined to be in my arms one way or another today.”
“I didn’t do it deliberately. And your rug … I tripped on it.”
“I’m not complaining, believe me.”
While she was with him, she never wanted to leave. She never felt anything like this with Ezekiel. They reached the border of their two properties far too soon. “I’ll be alright from here.”
“No. I’ll take you further.”
“I’ll be okay.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Well, don’t leave it so long next time. Will you come and see me tomorrow? Tomorrow morning? I’ll be home all day.”
“Those chess games on your computer sure must be interesting. Do you still do that all day?”
“Not all day. I do other things. I might even tell you one day, but you’ll never know if you don’t come back.”
“I will.”
Then there was a silent moment as their eyes said goodbye.
Then he took a step closer, causing her heart to flutter like a butterfly just emerged from her chrysalis and finding her wings for the very first time. With his hand on the small of her back, he pulled her into him. Their bodies nearly touched as he lowered his head to hers. This time she stayed still. As soon as their lips touched, she pulled away.
“I have to go.”
He released her. When she reached for one of the wires, he separated them so she could slip more easily through the fence. Once she was on the other side, she thanked him and bid him goodbye.
“Bye, Florence,” he called after her as she hurried away into her orchard.
Florence made it to the first line of trees and looked back. He was out of sight, so she stopped and leaned on a tree. She felt different—everything did. As she looked above, she saw the sky was bluer, the white clouds fluffier, and she could even smell the crisp air.
Happiness flooded through her, her heart took wing, and she became fully alive.
A light had been shone into the darkness of her life.
Is this what it feels like to be loved and wanted?
Florence gulped and lowered herself to the cold ground beneath her and leaned back onto the friendly trunk of the apple tree.
The last thing she wanted to do was ruin this delightful giddy moment by being practical, but Carter wasn’t from her world.
As much as she wanted to be close to him and learn everything about him, it was verboten.
She sighed loudly.
If only they’d had just one last kiss.
Just one.
That kiss would’ve lasted her a lifetime.
“Florence!”
She looked over at the sound of Carter’s deep voice and saw him running toward her.
“Are you okay?”
“I am.”
He crouched down beside her. “What are you doing on the ground like this?”
Here was her chance for just one kiss—a proper kiss.
The memory of which would last a lifetime.
A Simple Kiss (The Amish Bonnet Sisters Book 3) Page 11