Mending Hearts

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  His buggy swayed, seemingly in tune with his odd state of mind, a mix of relief and self-doubt. The rhythmic clop, clop, clop of the gelding’s hooves and the whir of the steel wheel rims on the pavement lulled him.

  One more step, and he’d be welcomed joyously back to the faith by the people he loved, including Miriam. He wanted that, and wished his own jubilation weren’t shadowed by things not said, and by his knowledge of how quickly he could turn Miriam’s glad welcome into shocked reproach. And, ja, with her generous heart, she would eventually forgive him, but any chance of friendship would be gone.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t have let himself hope even for that much—but what if he never made that confession?

  A particularly vivid memory struck him. He’d been fifteen or sixteen, up to something he shouldn’t have been, when that Sunday Bishop Amos chose a passage for his sermon that rang as clearly in David’s ears now as it had then.

  For there is nothing covered that will not be revealed, nor hidden that will not be known. Therefore whatever you have spoken in the dark will be heard in the light.

  His chest grew tight.

  Could he ever find peace if he didn’t confess his fear that he, not God, had chosen Levi’s time of death?

  Chapter Eight

  The shovel head ground against a rock, the resistance sharpening the ache in David’s upper arms and shoulders. Even so, he couldn’t stop. He’d gotten too far on creating his arena to decide to try to find another site now. He’d dug half the holes he needed so far—and had a sizable pile of rocks from fist size to basketball size heaped in the middle.

  He quit trying to edge the pointed head of the shovel beneath the rock when he heard an approaching horse and buggy. Surprised, he turned, immediately recognizing the Bowmans’ brown mare. That had to be Miriam or Deborah. Conflicted as he was where Miriam was concerned, his mood immediately grew lighter just because he might see her.

  Dirty, hatless, his blue shirt showing patches of sweat, he braced the shovel upright in the soil, peeled off his work gloves, and walked toward the buggy. Her bright smile answered any question of who the driver was.

  “Miriam.”

  “Mamm thinks I run a delivery service,” she told him.

  David laughed, stroked a hand down Polly’s neck, and came to Miriam’s side. “I’m starting to think your mother should have had a few more kinder to fuss over.”

  She chuckled. “Ja, I’ve thought the same.” She nodded toward the future arena. “You’re making good progress.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and said ruefully, “I’d be further along if God hadn’t planted the soil with rocks.”

  “Oh, you’re not building a tower in the middle of the arena?”

  He gave her a pained look that had her laughing. “If I ever get all the holes dug, my father will help me put the posts in. Adding the rails is the easy part.”

  “I’d offer to help, but, er . . .”

  He grinned. “I wouldn’t ask. Now, if you want to use my kitchen to bake cookies while I work . . .”

  Again she laughed. “Not today. I did want to say that I hope your talk with Amos and the ministers went well.”

  He shouldn’t be surprised she knew about it, not given the excellent Amish grapevine, but he didn’t mind. “They asked hard questions, but I think they were satisfied. I didn’t know Josiah, but he seems like a good man.”

  “Ja.” Her mouth curved up. “He has a talent for making the youngsters sit still and listen on Sundays.”

  “Scares them, does he?”

  “Possibly.”

  Any desire to laugh left him. “If he’d been one of our ministers when I was a boy, I don’t know if I’d have been in less trouble, or more.”

  Miriam’s forehead crinkled. “You said something one day. About struggling with school and disappointing your parents. Was it church, too?”

  “Ja—” Hadn’t Levi ever told her about his problems? It wasn’t as if they had been a secret within the church district, although he suspected his parents had hidden the worst of it. Miriam had just been too young to notice, he supposed. Did he want her to know him this well? The hope he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge said he did. Anyway, he already knew how easy she was to talk to. She wouldn’t judge him—not for this. Hoping his hesitation wasn’t too obvious, he asked, “Do you have time for lemonade or a cup of coffee, or are you on your way to work?”

  Josiah wouldn’t approve of the invitation, he suspected, but Miriam was a close neighbor here on an errand from her mother.

  She looked shy but said, “I am on my way to work, but I have plenty of time. If we sit on the porch.”

  He nodded his understanding, collected the basket of food, and left her to tether Polly while he went into the house.

  By the time he carried two glasses of lemonade out, Miriam was sitting on a bench he intended to sand and paint one of these days. David half perched on the railing, keeping his distance after he handed her the glass of lemonade. He should have grabbed a hat. Apparently he’d gotten too comfortable not covering his head out in the Englisch world.

  “I’m surprised you hadn’t heard how troublesome I was as a boy,” he said after a minute.

  She took a sip. “By the time you finished school, I would have only been nine, I think. I didn’t pay that much attention to boys anyway.”

  David grinned at that, although it was a mere flicker, gone when he started. “School was miserable for me. My teachers would never believe I like to read now.” He grimaced. “Worship was torment. When you said that about Josiah, you reminded me of the time I was playing with a small rubber ball during the service. Bright red. I tossed it from one hand to the other but missed the catch. It bounced a few times and rolled right under the feet of a visiting minister. I prayed that no one would know it was my ball, but I’m sure Daad did instantly.” His mouth twisted again. “Everyone did, because I could never sit still for more than a few minutes. Most people, even my parents, just thought I was disobedient.”

  Sounding puzzled, she said, “I’ve never seen anything but their love for you.”

  “Oh, they loved me, too. I knew that, but Daad assumed I’d be a farmer, like him, and the work made me crazy. Plow a furrow. Turn around and do it again. And again. He’d give me jobs, and I couldn’t concentrate long enough to finish them. Any little thing distracted me.” He felt a tweak of amusement. Maybe his harebrained young horse reminded him of himself.

  Miriam was noticeably gaping. “But . . .”

  “Ja?”

  “You were so much steadier than Levi.”

  Her previous description of him as mature and steady had stung. A mature, steady man would have taken his grief and fears to Amos, and through him to God, not run away from them.

  Still sounding puzzled, she said, “I never heard you raced buggies or got drunk or rode in fast cars with Englisch boys.”

  Remembering the resignation, frustration, and disappointment he’d seen too many times on his parents’ faces, he said, “I didn’t do any of those things. I’d made enough bother for them without doing it for fun.”

  Miriam’s blue eyes held only compassion. “You weren’t happy here.”

  “Not as a boy. I felt ashamed too much of the time. I didn’t understand myself. Levi—” David bowed his head for a moment. “I don’t know if he understood me, but he did accept me. Even if I forgot we were supposed to meet, or interrupted him instead of listening to what he was saying, he would just smile and tell me he didn’t mind.”

  He’d surprised her, he could tell, but caught in his memories, David went on. “It was by accident I found work that suited me, since I failed at any job that meant sitting still, or doing the same thing over and over. First I started helping Yonnie Rebar, when he got so he couldn’t clamber up and down trees or roll logs to the horses. I needed to be active, and the possibi
lity of danger demanded I pay attention. One minute I’d be up high, trimming off branches, the next swinging an ax or hooking up the chains so the team could pull a log out to the road. When Yonnie retired, he sold me his team. That’s when Levi and I started. The work was never boring, and I liked having to make fast decisions.”

  He wasn’t sure Miriam had even blinked in the past couple of minutes.

  “Does your daad understand that’s why you wanted to do it instead of farming with him?” she asked.

  David shook his head. “I didn’t understand until I was away and heard someone talking about having what he called ADHD. I went to the library and found a book about it. ADHD stands for attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder. The symptoms fit me. People who have ADHD have difficulty paying attention or sitting still, they get distracted easily. Some talk too much, although I didn’t do that so much.” Except he was plenty talkative when he was with Miriam. “I’d just jump up and run around when I wasn’t supposed to. Forget I was supposed to be doing a chore. Not really listen when people were talking to me. If Mamm or Daad had taken me to a doctor, I might have been put on medicine that would have helped.”

  “Did you go on medication?”

  “I don’t need it anymore. Working with horses is like the logging—I can’t take my attention from them for a minute, or I’m sorry. Even training, teaching the same lesson over and over, the way they react is different. Every horse has a personality. Also—” He hesitated. “Once I was in my twenties, I felt more in control, less restless.”

  “When I knew you.”

  “Ja,” he said slowly. She hadn’t known him, but that’s when she’d seen him more often.

  “Have you told your parents what you learned? Surely they’d want to know.”

  “It would sound like an excuse.” He rolled his shoulders, as if trying to loosen tight muscles. “No, worse than that. If they believe me, they might feel guilty, as if they should have gotten me help instead of being mad. I don’t want that.”

  “I had no idea.” She flinched, and he remembered the last time she’d said that.

  David didn’t even remember why he’d shut down the conversation that time, undoubtedly hurting her feelings. Something he seemed to do all too often.

  But now he only shrugged. “How could you?”

  Her eyes searched his. “Why did you tell me?”

  It was all he could do not to squirm like a kind under his teacher’s assessing eye. Unable to maintain the casual pose for another second, he stood. “We’re tied together, in a way.”

  “You mean it’s always about Levi,” she said flatly.

  He didn’t want it to be. Frowning, he said, “You and your family have been good to me. I suppose I wanted you to understand.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Her continued scrutiny unnerved him, making him wonder if she could see his emotions, his guilt, his fears.

  He had to retreat, even if she’d know why. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be late to work.”

  “Oh, no!” Miriam leaped up. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. Don’t be.”

  For one instant, they stared at each other, David afraid his expression told her too much even as he wished he understood hers.

  Then he escorted her to her buggy. Her cheeks were red as she leaped in, took up the reins, and clucked to her mare.

  David wasn’t sure either of them had even said goodbye.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next day, Miriam hurried along the sidewalk from the quilt shop to Bowman & Son’s Handcrafted Furniture store, carrying the lunch she’d packed for herself at home. Daad, Luke, and Julia had probably already eaten, but she could hope the store wasn’t so busy, Julia wouldn’t have time to talk.

  Miriam had already been disturbed by how much David had stirred up in her, but yesterday had left her feeling as if she’d thoroughly cleaned a window and discovered what she saw through it was nothing like she’d always believed was on the other side. Stolid, quiet David Miller had been fighting such a battle with himself?

  If she could see herself from the other side, how would she appear?

  She hadn’t noticed the temperature on the bank at the corner, but it seemed warmer than it should be. Spring would be summer before she knew it. With the sun at its highest, even the scant passing traffic moved slowly. Parked cars and two buggies with horses lined the curb. Both of the horses seemed sunken in somnolence, heads low, only an occasional flick of a tail to discourage a fly suggesting they weren’t quite asleep. Miriam waved when she saw the proprietor of the jewelry store through the big window. Karla didn’t quilt, but she did sew, so she shopped regularly at A Stitch in Time. She was alone in her store, just as Ruth was in the quilt shop. She smiled, probably comfortable in air-conditioning not used in most Amish businesses.

  When Miriam pushed open the front door of her father’s store, the bell tinkled and cool air greeted her. Amos allowed Luke and Daad to use their diesel generator to maintain an even temperature in here to protect the furniture.

  Julia turned from where she was photographing a dresser on the showroom floor. The bishop had also given his approval for her to continue using both the digital camera and the computer for the business even after her conversion to the Amish faith, although they would have to hire an Englischer as her replacement when she was ready to stay home. Daad and Luke insisted her enthusiasm and expertise had boosted sales, particularly internet sales. They often shipped furniture as far as California and even, once, Alaska.

  Julia beamed. “Miriam! Oh, good. Business has been slow this afternoon.”

  She had become accustomed to wearing Amish dress, today an apron over a dress made from a plain, deep violet fabric, and the white organdy kapp that didn’t hide the rich auburn of her long, thick hair. She had a redhead’s creamy complexion, too, and a tendency to sunburn. Her nose was red and peeling today from her work on her vegetable garden.

  “You forgot to put on suntan lotion.”

  Julia grimaced. “You don’t have to lecture me. Luke already did. He said I’ll get skin cancer if I’m not careful.”

  “He loves you.”

  Her face softened. “I know.”

  Miriam reached for her hand. “I’m so glad you came looking for a job.”

  “Me, too.” Squeezing Miriam’s hand, Julia grinned at her. “I’m also glad you and Ruth didn’t offer me a job at the quilt shop.” That had been her first stop, the day she started to job hunt. “And that you sent me here.”

  Julia had immediately started learning their language, and now sounded as if she’d grown up speaking it. She stuck English words into her sentences if she didn’t know the Deitsh word, but the very old Germanic dialect didn’t have words for many modern objects or concepts, so the Amish did the same.

  “Now,” Julia said, “start talking. You haven’t been yourself lately.”

  Was she that obvious? Miriam hoped her mother hadn’t noticed. It seemed that every time she saw David, her emotions became even more confused. Instead of understanding them, all she’d done was spin herself in circles. Until yesterday . . . except everything he’d told her—and the very fact that he had told her so much about himself—left her even more ferhoodled.

  “I’ve been . . . unsettled,” she admitted. Wasn’t this why she’d wanted to have time with the formerly Englisch woman who had become her best friend, even if she wasn’t ready to talk about all the feelings David had awakened in her?

  “Unsettled.”

  “Ja.” That was the best word she could come up with. “It started, I think, when David Miller came home.” Think? She knew.

  Julia’s warm brown eyes stayed steady on Miriam’s face. “Because he was Levi’s close friend,” she guessed.

  “Ja, and I suppose because he’d been gone all those years. If he’d stayed around, I’d be
used to seeing him. But in his absence, it was easier . . .”

  When she broke off, Julia proved how well she knew her by finishing her sentence. “To forget Levi. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

  Miriam sighed. “Not forget—I didn’t do that—but . . . accept that he was gone. With David back, it’s as if part of the hole in all our lives has been filled, you see.”

  “But not all of it.”

  “No. Never all of it.” Except . . . David was far more now than just Levi’s friend.

  “It has been six years.”

  “I know.” Miriam smiled with difficulty. “In my mind, I see Levi more often as a boy than I do as a man. Don’t tell anyone, but I wish I had a picture of him.”

  Julia’s eyes darkened for a moment. “I can imagine. If something happened to Luke—”

  “At least furniture making isn’t a dangerous job.”

  She made a face. “No, but I can’t forget the accident that killed the Graber boy, and injured Sol and his younger son, too. The dead boy was a David, too, you know.”

  Miriam nodded, understanding that Julia had lived with fear since she was attacked when she was nineteen.

  “I’m . . . fine in a buggy during the day, but it scares me when we’re out at night. Maybe my faith still isn’t as solid as I’d like it to be.” Julia wrapped her arms around herself.

  Miriam smiled gently. “No, it’s only because you haven’t been riding in buggies for very long. They must seem frail to you compared to a car.”

  “That’s true, but—” Her friend’s eyes narrowed. “Why are we talking about me? I want to know what’s bothering you.”

  “I told you,” Miriam countered.

  “I think there’s more to it. David doesn’t only bring back the pain of losing Levi.”

  Miriam opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again . . . and didn’t know what to say. She wanted to talk to Julia, who was likeliest of anyone she knew to understand this bewildering swirl of emotions, and yet she’d kept so much to herself for so long, her instinct was still to hug the most hurtful—and hopeful—emotions close.