Eighteen
Nathan strapped his son in his car seat and then attached the seat inside his buggy with taut bungee cords. It would be a long drive to Carol Baker’s home, but the time would be well spent. He had plenty to think about as the buggy clip-clopped down the road toward Wooster.
What would he say to the men and women of Mrs. Daly’s therapy meeting?
How would he explain why he had lashed out at another man who had been floundering in grief without his wife?
How would the Englischers receive his explanations and apologies, when most had no contact with the Amish other than passing them on the road or buying a dozen eggs at a roadside stand?
The social worker had been surprised when he had called her from a pay phone—surprised but pleased. Patricia had told him apologies weren’t necessary because the others understood his pain. But an act of humble contrition was necessary for his sake. And so he left his house by four o’clock to arrive by six-thirty, thanking God that Mrs. Baker had again invited the group to her home. He refused Patricia’s offer of a ride for the same reasons he had walked home on that fateful night. She shouldn’t leave the others to take him home. And because Abraham would be with him, he doubted he’d stay until the session ended. Although Iris had volunteered to watch him, Nathan wanted the group members to meet his son…Ruth’s son…firsthand.
After parking on the side of the driveway next to Patricia’s low-slung red car, he lifted the sleeping child from the car seat and transferred him to the carrier. Abraham barely stirred, the heat and humidity lulling him into deep slumber. Nathan strode toward the house with renewed energy. The purple pansies and red geraniums still beckoned visitors along the walkway. The giant sunflower nodded its plastic head from the garden. The tidy ranch house with lace curtains and brightly colored front door had remained exactly the same. But he had changed. He wasn’t the same man who had lashed out with bitterness.
He knocked twice and waited. “Welcome, Nathan,” said Patricia, sweeping open the door. “Come on in. Everyone’s already here. Oh, my. You brought your baby. Look at that sweet face. Don’t they resemble angels while they are asleep?” She rattled on while he stepped inside Mrs. Baker’s kitchen, smelling sweetly of vanilla and cinnamon.
Nathan smiled and relaxed. Leave it to Patricia Daly to talk her way through any uncomfortable moments. “I brought him along so you could check his bottom for diaper rash,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek.
She stared at him, wide eyed, and then she burst out laughing. “Good one. You had me going for a moment there, Nathan. Let’s join the others.”
In the front room, the people he’d met before were sitting in their same chairs, as if they had assigned seats. Their heads turned in his direction and all chatter ceased.
“Hello, everyone,” he said, while everyone simultaneously called out greetings. “I wanted to show you my son, Abraham.” He held up the plastic infant carrier for them to see as though his son were a prizewinning beefsteak tomato at the county fair.
The women jumped up and quickly surrounded him, oohhing and ahhhing as they peered at the sleeping baby.
“A fine-looking boy,” declared the woman who had lost her sister.
“How can he sleep through all this racket?” asked Bob, who had yearned to celebrate his fiftieth wedding anniversary.
“I can’t believe they make Amish clothes so small,” said the young mother with two surviving daughters.
“My aunt Iris sewed his outfit,” said Nathan.
“Oh, right.” The woman’s face blushed a bright pink. “It’s not like you folks shop at Walmart.”
“Actually, we do shop at Walmart. Just not for our clothes.”
Everyone laughed at this, and he felt the last of his nervousness drain away. He placed the baby carrier on a table by the window and sat on the same folding chair he’d occupied weeks ago. “I didn’t come here tonight solely to show off my son. I owe you all an apology for my behavior—”
His sentence was cut short as several people interrupted. They began talking at once, denying the need for apologies.
Nathan held up a hand. “Hold on there. I came here critical and judgmental of your ways. That’s inexcusable, whether this is a grief therapy session or not.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back in his chair. “Truth is, I was angry—mostly with God, because He chose to call home my wife, who hadn’t had a chance to live yet. I was also mad at myself for being so fired up about having kids. And I was mad at the world. With so many nasty people out there, many of them delivering healthy babies every day, why should my sweet Ruth be the one to die?”
He didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, but he noticed several heads nodding in agreement. “But dwelling on all that wasn’t helping me become a good father. I was raised better than to take out my anger on folks just trying to help. Lots of you are on the right track, and I’ve been giving things you said some thought. Anyway, I’m sorry to have stormed out like I had a bee up my pant leg.”
Everyone laughed again, while Bob boomed out a loud, “Apology accepted.”
Patricia stood up. “Because Nathan came in his buggy, he can’t stay for the entire session. Why don’t we go around the circle so each of us can bring him up to date on the progress we’ve made.”
“I’ll serve coffee and dessert now so Nathan doesn’t miss my new recipe for pineapple upside down cake,” said Carol, bustling into the kitchen.
Nathan relaxed, listening to his fellow mourners describe recent triumphs in their daily lives. Bob had decided to take his children and grandchildren to see the Great Wall of China.
The third male participant had made a contribution to Alcoholics Anonymous in his late brother’s name.
The abused sister took a bouquet of flowers and a lawn chair to the cemetery. She enjoyed a long chat with her sibling to clear away past anger and bitterness.
And the young mother and her husband were attending family counseling to become better parents.
Nathan offered encouragement to each one. When it was his turn to speak, he said simply, “I asked God for forgiveness, and I believe He has given it. I’m returning to church services this Sunday.”
“Churches aren’t just for the saints,” said Bob. “They’re for us sinners too or they would be mighty empty.”
Nathan had never heard it put quite like that but couldn’t disagree. He enjoyed the pineapple upside down cake along with the camaraderie of the Englischers. Mrs. Baker packed up an extra piece of cake for him to take home. When he and his son were leaving, everyone encouraged him to stay in touch and return to meetings whenever he could. He said he would try, but in his heart he knew he wouldn’t be back. Talking therapy worked fine for some people, but for others, quiet time on the back porch with the Good Book worked even better. He prayed for each of the people he’d come to know that they would fine peace and solace.
He had one more task to complete on his own road to healing. After he rubbed down and turned his horse out to pasture and put his sleeping son to bed, he turned up the kerosene lamp on the kitchen table. Taking paper and pen from the drawer, along with the address he’d received from Mrs. Daly weeks ago, he began to write one long overdue letter.
Abby sat at the kitchen table, savoring her third cup of coffee. In the several days since she’d been home, this was her first time alone. Either Jake or Laura tagged behind asking her endless questions, or Daniel hovered nearby trying to get her to eat more, or Catherine filled her in on everything that had happened on the farm or in their district while she’d been away.
Finally, their lives were returning to normal. Because the new school year had started, she had walked Laura to school that morning and then left Jake at the neighbors’ for a few hours so he could play with their boys. Daniel and Isaiah were cutting firewood in the hills to get a head start on winter. And Catherine was sewing up in her room by the window. Abby worried about her sister. Her effervescent personality had turned melancholy. If she felt reluctant to move back home, Abby intended to insist that she stay longer. She enjoyed having another woman in the house. Two pairs of hands accomplished chores such as canning, herb drying, or fall cleaning faster. And she was curious about the progress Catherine had made with Isaiah. But with everyone hovering nearby, she’d had no opportunity to ask.
Besides, lately the man in question had been scarcer than a robin in winter. He’d welcomed her home with a bouquet of flowers and then practically disappeared.
The sudden jangle of her cell phone pulled her from contemplation. “Hello,” she said.
“Abby? It’s me, Rachelle. I got a message that I should call you.” Her former cellmate sounded as though she were a thousand miles away.
“It’s so good to hear from you!” Abby was delighted. The main reason she’d kept her cell phone charged was on the other end at last. “I wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly and not saying goodbye.”
Rachelle laughed with abandon. “Not to worry. Time served is the same as a get-out-of-jail-now card. You did what anybody would do… beat feet straight for home.”
Her giggle sounded wonderful, even though her analogies were hard to decipher. “That may be, but I would have liked to give you my phone number and address for whenever you get out.”
“That’s real sweet, but you’re Amish and all. Your husband probably wouldn’t like me dropping in on you.”
Abby considered how best to proceed, so it wouldn’t sound as though she were telling Rachelle what to do. “That’s not true. I talked to Daniel about you and he feels the same as me. If you need a place to stay temporarily when you’re released, we want you to come here.” And not back to that boyfriend. “We don’t have cable TV—or any TV at all, for that matter—but we have plenty of good food and an extra bedroom. Plus we have horses for you to ride. You did say you loved horses. And don’t forget you wanted to learn to knit too.”
The other end was so silent Abby thought they might have been disconnected. Then Rachelle spoke in a soft voice. “Wow, I sure didn’t see this coming. Thanks, Abby, because that’s about the nicest thing anybody’s ever wanted to do for me. But don’t worry. I’m not going back to bad-news Al. I have lots of friends I can crash with.”
“All right, but please save my number and also write down my address. You never know, Rachelle. You might change your mind someday.”
“Thanks, I will keep it. Maybe someday I’ll write a letter to let you know how I’m doing if that’s okay.”
“I’d like nothing better. Do you think you’ll continue with Bible study?” Abby hoped she wasn’t stepping into none-of-your-business territory.
“Are you kidding? I went yesterday and I’ll be there each week until I get out. Mrs. Jarvis bought me my own Bible, and it’s easy to read—not with all those big, old-fashioned words. Is that what yours is like?” she asked.
Abby thought of the family’s German Bible and smiled. “My English Bible is easy to understand, yes.”
“I plan to start going to church when I get out too. I don’t know which one yet. Depends on where I live. But there’s some kind of church in every town in America. I don’t intend to be picky.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Abby breathed a sigh of relief.
“How do you like being home?”
Abby glanced around her tidy kitchen and through the window toward the rolling hills. Splashes of gold and crimson dotted the forest to herald autumn, just around the corner. “It’s better than I remember. I don’t even want to leave to go to the Dollar Store, and that’s saying a lot.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “But I do rather miss beef stew out of a can. If you don’t look in the bowl, you don’t know which vegetable you’re eating. They all taste the same.”
Rachelle snorted with laughter. “And I miss you, Abby. My new roommate wants to babble all night. A girl needs her beauty sleep. Well, I’d better hang up. There’s a line to use the pay phone. I’ll write whenever I get to where I’m going.”
“Don’t forget my offer. It’s always open.” Before they hung up, Abby recited her address and also the neighbors’ phone number, and then she whispered a silent prayer. Let Rachelle draw close to You, Lord, and find a safe place in this world.
She heard the screen door open and bang shut as she hung up the phone. Daniel marched into the kitchen, his cheeks bright pink. He tossed the Amish newspaper and a stack of mail onto the counter. “What’s this, fraa? You’re sitting around, sipping coffee while a hardworking man needs his lunch?” He buzzed a kiss across her cheek.
“You’re home early. Even when you’re working in the fields you never come to the house before noon.” She rose to her feet and headed toward the fridge.
“I missed you.” He lifted her up and swung her around the kitchen. “I don’t ever want to be separated again.” He nibbled at her neck.
“Put me down. You’re acting like a teenager,” she demanded, but only halfheartedly.
“I think they must have spoiled you in that place,” he teased while washing his hands. “Bringing you gourmet meals on a tray without your having to lift a finger. Now you are back to the grind, Mrs. Graber, if I must chain you to that stove.” He snapped the hand towel toward her skirt hem.
Abby jumped back in time, and then she carried bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and a tomato to the counter to make sandwiches. “No chain will be necessary. I’ll stay willingly.” Her gaze flickered over the sprawled pile of mail, landing on one handwritten envelope. She didn’t recognize the return address of any regular correspondent. Abby set down her paring knife, tore open the envelope, and extracted the single sheet.
She looked first at the signature. “I got a letter from Nathan Fisher,” she said with a ripple of unease.
Daniel sat down at the table with a glass of milk. “Read it aloud, Abby.”
She glanced at him and then back at the small, cramped handwriting. “Dear Mrs. Graber,” she read. “I saw in the papers that they let you out of jail. I would like to talk to you, face-to-face. If you’ll be home, I’ll stop over this Sunday after church. Expect me sometime in the late afternoon.”
Her gaze met his. “That’s it?” he asked.
“Jah, just his signature—Nathan Fisher. No ‘very truly yours’ or ‘best regards’ or anything else.” She returned to making sandwiches, cleaving the tomato into uniform slices even as apprehension took away her appetite.
“Men aren’t very good with letter-writing. You can give him some pointers when you see him.”
“True, but I wonder what Mr. Fisher wants with me.” She placed Daniel’s first sandwich in front of him.
“I guess you’ll find out Sunday.” He took a large bite, ending up with mustard on his lips.
“You sound very casual about this, while I’m…a little nervous.” Which is a bit of an understatement.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about, Abigail. Come and sit down. Tell me what you have planned for the afternoon. I thought maybe we could—”
“How do you know that, Daniel?”
“What could you possibly be afraid of?”
Abby crossed her arms. “Well, let’s see…it was in the papers that I administered a ‘dangerous’ drug to his wife and that I’m out after only a few months’ jail time. Oh, and that I’m allowed to resume delivering babies. In fact, I’m expected to midwife or I must pay five thousand dollars.”
He sat quietly looking at her while holding his sandwich in midair.
“He’s had plenty of time to think…and miss his wife. Maybe he’s changed his mind about not holding me responsible. Maybe Nathan wishes the judge would have thrown the book at me.” Even as she said that she realized she’d picked up more than one English expression from Rachelle.
“And maybe you’re making a mountain out of one little letter.” Daniel got up and walked to the counter where she stood and wrapped his arms around her. “Maybe you should let God be in charge of this one. Put it out of your mind.”
She nodded, inhaling a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll not think about Mr. Fisher until he drives into our yard this weekend.” She picked up her lunch and carried it to the table.
But following through with actions proved to be a whole lot harder than saying the words.
Catherine rocked in the porch swing, staring at a yellow moon breaking the horizon in the east—a harvest moon, because at no other time of the year did the moon look so large or glow so brightly. Supper was finished, the dishes dried and put away, and yet Isaiah’s meal still remained on the picnic table. Probably the moment she went inside for a bath, the plate would mysteriously disappear. She hadn’t seen him since the volleyball party. The man avoided crossing paths with her better than the slyest coyote.
During the ride home from the Millers’, he’d focused on the road ahead, ignoring any effort at conversation or her attempts to apologize. She understood he’d been embarrassed and uncomfortable when so many had crowded around, all talking at once. But was that my doing? Who could have known people would be so friendly and eager to make up for lost years? It’s not my fault. I meant well.
Yet the truth remained no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. She had forced Isaiah into a situation he neither wanted nor was prepared for, and in so doing had resurrected old pain from the past. Abby’s delicious pot roast churned in her stomach. She was to blame… not Sam Miller this time.
If she had some socks to darn, bread to bake, or a story to read to the kinner, it wouldn’t be so bad. But with her schwester back in her role as wife and mother, Catherine found less and less to occupy her time.
Suddenly a shout rang out in the yard. “Abigail!” called Daniel. “Come quick.”
Although the kitchen had been empty a minute ago, Abby emerged from the house by the time Daniel reached the porch. “What is it, ehemann? Is someone hurt?” Her thin face paled with fear.
“Not someone,” he said breathlessly. “It’s Boots. That fool pup stuck her head down a hole in the ground to figure out what was making all the noise. Turned out to be a nest of ground hornets, and she got stung at least a dozen times on her face and paws, everywhere the fur was sparse.”
Catherine jumped to her feet. Abby’s hand grasped her throat. “How is she? Will the dog be all right?”
“I don’t know. Call Doc Longo on your cell phone. His home number is in the book. Tell him we’re on our way to his place in the buggy. Ask him if he could meet us on the road with whatever he gives for allergic reactions. Boots is unconscious and not breathing right.”
Catherine’s eyes filled with tears while Abby flew into the house to find her phone. When Daniel turned to leave, Catherine followed him down the steps. “Please wait a moment, Daniel. I’m awfully fond of that dog too. May I ride with you to the vet’s?” She felt her heart thumping against her ribcage.
He leveled her a patient gaze. “No, Catherine. We’re taking the dog in the back of the two-seater so it’ll be faster.” He hurried down the walkway toward the barn.
She ran after him, grabbing a hold of his shirt. “Please, Daniel. Truth be told, I’m fond of Isaiah too. I’d like to lend moral support, to be there for him in case Boots…”
The word hung unspoken in the air while Daniel’s expression turned pitiful. “I’m aware of that. And I suggested that you ride along after he carried the dog up to the buggy. But he said no and was quite adamant about it.” He made a sideways chopping motion with his hand. “I’m sorry.” He sprinted toward the buggy shed, leaving her rigid on the path.
She knew the meaning of Isaiah’s gesture. He hates me. He despises me for the trouble I have caused. She covered her face with her hands in an attempt to hold back her emotions. Once she regained her composure, she walked inside the house.
Abby was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in hand. “Dr. Longo was home. He’ll meet Daniel and Isaiah with an anaphylactic injection along Route 514. I explained the way they would take.” It was then that Abby noticed Catherine’s face. “What’s wrong? You look as though you are on the verge of tears. Did Boots die before they had a chance hitch up the team?”
Abby’s question tipped Catherine over the edge. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Not as far as I know. I heard the buggy leave just before I came inside.”
“Whew,” breathed Abby with palpable relief. “Then what’s wrong? Dr. Longo is the best vet around. If they can reach him in time, he’ll save the dog.”
Catherine slumped into a chair, awash with despair. “I hope that’s true, but my tears aren’t for Boots. I’m afraid they’re purely selfish.” Shame rose up her throat like acid indigestion. She stared at the wall, sniveling like a child.
“Tell me what’s wrong. It must have something to do with Isaiah. You’ve been moping around the house since I got home, yet I know you’re happy to see me.” She winked at Catherine. “And if I had a dollar for each time you checked the back porch or scanned the cornfield looking for him, I’d have the five thousand dollars to pay Judge O’Neil and never have to midwife again.”
Catherine laughed, despite herself. “Apparently, I’m as subtle as a herd of elephants marching to town.”
Abby set a cold glass of water in front of her. “You have stewed enough. It’s time to tell me what’s happened. You never know, Catherine. I might be able to help.”
And so Catherine began more or less at the beginning and told the story of her short-lived romance with Isaiah. Abby’s eyes grew wide hearing that her sister had entered his remote cabin alone, she blinked several times upon learning about the bountiful berry patch, and she shook her head with disbelief when again Catherine described how she had mounted a horse to ride the pasture on a moonlit night. During the narration, Abby remained quiet until Catherine reached the part at the snack table after the volleyball game. Then she clucked her tongue with disapproval. “Oh, no. Poor Isaiah. He hates not being able to communicate with other people.”
“I know. That’s why I tried to help. But instead I only made things worse.” Catherine took a long drink, feeling the water ease her parched mouth.
“Not on purpose. Your intentions were noble.” Abby patted her arm.
“A candle left to light the way can burn down a house, same as an arsonist.”
Abby shook her head to remove the mental picture. “Let’s not speak of such things. Besides, this conclusion is nowhere near as foregone. Isaiah might simply need time to collect himself.”
“That’s what I hoped, but he refused to let me to ride with them to the vet’s.”
Abby’s expression revealed more than her words. “He might not want you to see Boots die.”
“Please, sister. This isn’t helping. You weren’t there when we came home from the party. I grabbed his hand and tried to talk to him. He yanked it away like I was a rattlesnake. He motioned for me to go the house and glared with his arms crossed until I did. Then he took the horse to the barn and I haven’t seen him since.” Catherine’s eyes smarted with unshed tears. “He hates me.”
“I doubt that. Hate is not an emotion Isaiah knows.”
“Well, he sure doesn’t want me near him.” Her voice cracked.
“Not right now. His ego has been bruised. He is a man, after all.” Abby attempted half a smile.
“I want to make it easier for him to come get his meals. I’ll return home as soon as Daniel can take me or I can get word to our bruder.”
“Oh, Catherine. Let’s not be hasty. Why don’t you—”
“It’s been well over a week. That’s hardly being hasty. Besides, you’re home. This is your family. Your kinner don’t need a nanny anymore.”
“Maybe not, but I still need my schwester.”
“Please, Abby, let me go home,” she pleaded. “I can’t stay here any longer, torturing myself because…I love him. And each day would only remind me of what I cannot have.”