by Dana Becker
How was it possible that just a few months ago she didn’t trust him? All of that distrust and misunderstanding now seemed so far in the past. It wasn’t even the past. It was another life. And now, in retrospect, it all seemed so clear. Yes, she’d been under a lot of stress, and confused, because of Rose’s disappearance. She was right to question, to suspect Joseph and pretty much everything else in her life at that point. And yet, the deeper reason she hadn’t trusted him was simpler than that. It had more to do with April herself, her past: she had never been with a man like Joseph.
She’d never had a man in her life whom she could trust completely and who went out of his way to be there for her. She hadn’t believed it was possible. Why would she? There had to be another explanation for all of Joseph’s compassionate labors. It couldn’t be what it looked like. But now, it was clear: it was what it looked like. April knew that. In growing to trust Joseph, she was really growing to trust herself, her own judgments, her own perceptions.
On the farm, day in and day out, April was feeling something in her change. She was noticing things about herself. Some hardened exterior was falling away from her. She hadn’t ever recognized it as a hardened exterior. She’d always just thought of it as a part of herself. Part of everyone. But it turned out it wasn’t. And when it fell away, leaving her exposed, soft and vulnerable, she somehow didn’t feel any less safe. On the contrary, it was an unprecedented feeling of safety that allowed her to drop the shield away. This was her truer self, and it feared nothing.
She felt a literal weight had been lifted from her. She felt lighter and freer than she’d ever felt before. She would occasionally just jump up on her toes because she felt so light. This was what joy must feel like, she thought to herself. Joy wasn’t just some idea. It was a very real physical state: it felt like gravity somehow didn’t totally apply to her. It made everything in the world feel warmer, gentler. It made her notice things more. Notice people. And be kinder. It let her sleep better, eat better. Not until she’d dropped the shield—the shield that she’d been holding her entire life—did she realize how much it hurt her body to hold it up all the time, causing tension in her arms and back and neck. But now the shield had been set aside and, with it, the pain of holding it.
But with all the small joys, of new love, and of growing family, nobody dared say the name of the man who had kidnapped and almost killed Rose. It was critical to Rose’s recovery that she not hear the name Whitey, that she not dwell on the experience she’d just endured. Not until she recovered from the ordeal, not until years of peace had passed. Maybe never.
And yet, thoughts about Whitey were not far from anyone’s minds. How could they not be? He was still out there. April thought about that. And so did Carmen. Joseph definitely thought about him. Occasionally, when Rose was elsewhere, April would whisper to Joseph about Whitey, about the fact that he was still at large. With the passing weeks and months, it seemed less and less likely that the police would bring him to justice.
And, they all knew, too, the dark reason why he was still free. He was an FBI asset, valuable as an informant to the feds. And so Whitey remained a free man, on the loose, somewhere out there, maybe not too far away.
There wasn’t much anyone could do but worry about it. And equal to this fear was their concern about shielding Rose from their fears. Though they never brought it up with her, occasionally she herself would say something. Once, in a panic, in the middle of the night, Rose had jolted from sleep and shocked April awake. “We need to do something. We need to leave!” Rose had said urgently.
She had been inconsolable that night. Even when April managed to calm Rose, to soothe her, and convince her that she was safe, Rose kept saying, “People don’t know. They don’t know. They don’t realize how dangerous he is.” April didn’t disagree. And yet, it was important that Rose herself let go of this knowledge, and work to build a new life apart from these dark, late-night fears.
* * *
Fortunately, that new life was taking form, every day, slowly. One day, Joseph announced that they would host a barn raising on their new farm. The entire community would come over and build them a barn in the span of a couple days.
This made April nervous. As Joseph had explained it to her, the raising of a barn wasn’t just about the barn, or about helping out a particular family farm, it was about coming together as a community. It was about seeing each other, gossiping, sharing food, and having fun. He called it “a frolic”—which April had thought was a joke, until Joseph explained that this was actually the word the Amish used for it. As Joseph said, “It’s about getting in a good visit, y’know?”
Barn raisings, or frolics, happened less frequently these days than in the past. Joseph couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen one.
“It’s high time,” Joseph had said. “Folks want it for the community more than for us,” he explained. “We owe it to them.”
Which was exactly why April was nervous about it. She wasn’t exactly a normal member of this community yet, and the idea of the frolic stressed her out. Though people had been enormously kind to her, she couldn’t help but feel that these acts of kindness always highlighted the basic fact that she was an outsider in a vulnerable position. Wouldn’t this event put the spotlight on April even more? It was one thing to manage the stares when she showed up at the Amish general store, or when she and Joseph rode by folks in their horse and buggy. But to have the entire community all together staring at her? It was just too daunting for April to consider. And she was also worried about Rose, who was still in a delicate stage of her recovery. Rose didn’t need the stress.
“A frolic?” Rose said, when April told her about it. “That sounds so fun!”
And, just like that, April no longer had Rose’s reaction as an excuse. Quite the opposite. Rose had clearly brightened up at the idea. The barn raising would be good for her, and so now April had no choice but to agree to it.
The day of the barn raising was even more stressful than April had imagined. She had woken up early to bake all the bread, and to prepare massive pots of stew to feed the hungry workers. April was so harried, running around checking on boiling pots and hot ovens, that she barely noticed when Rose emerged from the staircase in Amish “Plain” dress, complete with bonnet.
“What do you think?” Rose said, finally.
“I didn’t even see it was you,” April said.
“Figured I’d give it a whirl,” Rose said. “See how it feels. I kind of like the bonnet thing . . . it makes it easier to hide if you wanna roll your eyes at someone.”
“I’m not sure you’re really catching on to this Amish thing,” April said.
“But seriously,” Rose said, “what do you think?”
“Seriously?” April said. “You really shouldn’t, Rosie. Not now. It’s a big deal to wear that. We’re still guests here.”
“Ugh, fine,” Rose said, as she retreated back up the stairs to change.
“Just gimme a day or two with it,” Rose replied. “I’ll get it.”
“Oh, I know you will.”
They both laughed, because they both knew it was true. Rose was famous in their family for being a chameleon.
As soon as the frolic began, Rose immediately made friends with some of the Amish girls, who marveled at her tenacity while playing badminton.
“I play to win! ” Rose exclaimed, raising a fist after scoring a point, and then realized that maybe she should tone it down just a bit. But the girls giggled and loved her enthusiasm.
And not just the girls. Rose was getting all kinds of looks from the gentlemen, all of whom were supposed to be working hard on raising the barn. But between their labors, hauling wood and nailing boards together, they shot her looks and whispered amongst themselves.
A certain young man, Samuel Jenner, seemed particularly attentive, never failing to make a wide looping detour to the picnic tables where Rose sat with April and the other women. By the third time he made one of these nea
r visits, trying hard to look at Rose without being seen to look—and all the while supposedly gathering more nails for the barn—the women were laughing at him.
“How many nails does he need?” someone said, and everyone laughed.
Later, this same Samuel finally approached Rose directly. Boldly he asked her if she wanted to be on his badminton team, and she got a close look at his dimples and his cute little smile and his curls peeking out of his jaunty cap. And, in between points in the badminton game, she and April, who was sitting nearby watching, exchanged meaningful looks.
And even as April gave her sister sly looks, and barely suppressed her giggles, she, in her heart, was giving thanks to God—yes, God, a new interest of hers—that her sister had been saved and that she could still smile at life and be herself. After everything that had happened, Rose could still be playful and hopeful about the future. How could April not give thanks for that? And as Rose laughed at Samuel’s bad jokes and blushed at his long glances, there was ample reason, too, to be hopeful about Rose’s future.
* * *
As Rose healed and grew stronger, April could turn more of her attention to Joseph. He was very happy to have it. They would go on long walks. At the end of each morning, after the chores were done, April would roll up her apron and go outside, where she’d find Joseph leaning his strong body against the stone well, drying his hands on his pants, smiling at her. Darlene, whose small puppy body hadn’t quite caught up with her long legs and paws, would immediately run out with her tail wagging madly, knowing what was about to happen. And April knew she’d never been happier in her life.
They’d walk through the fields while Joseph listened carefully to everything April said—and looked at her even more carefully, to read those things she wasn’t saying. He’d also keep one eye on the crops as they passed by. Often, they would stop while Joseph made an adjustment to some of the wiring on the tomato plants, or to give April a quick agricultural tutorial on something that was happening with a plant. On the farm, the work never ended. But it didn’t feel endless; the work was folded into life, folded into their day-to-day, minute-to-minute existence without much thought, like breathing. Once they reached the end of the field, they would continue on into the woods, onto the little path that Joseph had blazed just for April.
These little walks brought Joseph and April back to their earliest days together, even before they were together. Like those walks a year earlier, they spoke openly with each other, in a spirit of trust and curiosity. The more they got reacquainted and the more they got to know each other, the more they realized that there was so much more to learn and know.
But unlike those early walks around Philly, back when April was working at the Metropolitan Bakery and Joseph at the Amish diner, they weren’t being watched or rushed. Out here, on the farm, they could do as they pleased, without prying eyes, and they needn’t rush back to their jobs—though, of course, the needs of farmwork were never too far from their minds.
In Philly, their time together was always cursed by the awareness that what they were doing was a bit wrong, impossible. That there was no future for them. All of that had changed. Now, on the farm, they spoke about the future; they dreamed together.
One afternoon, they made their way through the cornfields, shielded by the high stalks of the late harvest. As they walked by the stalks, Joseph was peeling off top layers of the corn husks, and braiding them together into a kind of rope. After a few moments, April posed the obvious question, which neither had yet asked.
“What changed?” April said.
“What do you mean?” asked Joseph, peeling off more husks, and expertly tying them together. “‘Changed’—with what?”
He knows exactly what I mean, April thought.
“With us,” she said.
“Everything,” Joseph said. “Everything changed. But I always wanted to be together.”
“But why do you think things will work out for us now, when before you didn’t?”
Joseph thought about it for a moment.
“Is it because I’m getting into the Amish thing?” April said.
“That helps,” Joseph replied. “But it’s more than that.... We’ve been through so much together now.”
They walked for a bit, without a word.
“You know this isn’t going to be easy,” Joseph said. “I’ve been speaking to my family, and we’ve come to some understandings. But some of my family may never accept you, no matter what you do. My community has been welcoming so far because our situation now is so unusual. And because we know, better than anyone, what it means to be a victim of Whitey. But, in the long run, they might not accept us. We might have to move out of Pennsylvania, to a community that will be more open to us. This could be a long road. And it won’t be easy.”
April nodded.
“Nothing I’ve ever done has been easy,” April said. “But I want to try it. And you know . . . if your community doesn’t accept me, well, mine will accept you. How would you feel about that?”
Joseph didn’t reply right away.
“If it comes to that . . . I want to be with you,” he said, finally. “You are my community.”
They walked together silently for a moment. All the while, Joseph peeled more husks, and expertly braided them into his little sculpture.
“Joseph?”
“Yes?”
“Are you asking me—”
But before she could finish the thought, Joseph had stopped and gotten down on both knees. He took her hand and tugged her down, too, so that she also was on both knees. He now presented his corn husk creation, which turned out to be an intricately braided little crown. He placed it on her head.
“It fits perfectly,” she said. “How did you do that? That’s just creepy. . . .”
“Shhhh,” he said. “April, will you marry me?”
The moment she said yes, his lips were already on hers, warm and strong. After a long, head-swimming kiss he leaned in and whispered something in her ear, something that was only for her to hear, and which she would never, as long as she lived, forget.
* * *
The next week, on a Friday, April could tell that something was up. Joseph had said that he needed some extra help damming part of a creek and enlisted April’s help. After a few hours of work, chopping wood, and rearranging stones, it started to get dark and Joseph announced that it was time to return home. April was exhausted from the work, and from waking up that morning before dawn. Sitting on Joseph’s horse, clutching on to Joseph as the horse walked carefully along the forest path, April fell asleep and stayed that way despite the bumps and lurches.
When they arrived back at the house, April, slightly refreshed from her nap, walked toward the house first, eager for dinner. Especially when the aromas of what smelled like a feast reached her on the steps up to the porch. The moment the door opened, everything became clear at once.
Surprrrrrise!
She saw Carmen first, and their eyes met. Then she saw Joseph’s family, his brothers and sister, daed and mamm, uncles and aunts. Then she saw her own sister, Rose, beaming, and looking healthy and very much like her old self. And then April turned and saw Joseph.
“So that’s why you dragged me out to ‘build a dam’ !” she said.
“We needed you out of the house,” Rose said, “while we prepared everything.”
And then Joseph leaned closer to April. “Can I tell them?” he whispered, pointing to his ring finger. April smiled and nodded. Joseph took April’s hand in his, and said, “Hey, everyone! Can I get your attention please? We have some news to share. It’s good news! I promise. . . .”
Please read on for a preview
of the sequel to
SEARCHING FOR ROSE,
coming soon!
Rose lay in bed, perfectly still, eyes wide open. Sometimes, at night, at the end of a long, exhausting day on the farm, her body would sink into a grateful sleep, but her eyes remained wide open. At least, that was how it fel
t to her. There would be images and voices so vivid, they could only be real. Images whose undeniable realness, however, evaporated the moment she found herself waking up in the morning, and realized it was all a dream.
But this time, it wasn’t. She lay in bed, truly awake, her eyes wide open. These sounds were real. They had to be. They were coming from outside her window. The dog was barking. This wasn’t a dream.
She rolled out of bed, crouched by the window, and peered out the bottom corner of it, careful to keep her head outside the frame. Across the way, she saw the two small windows of the barn squinting back at her like dark, empty eyes. The buggy stood next to the barn door in its usual spot. The barn door was half-open, which was not usual. In front of the barn, the lawn was empty. But it was a shimmering, charged emptiness, a vibrating darkness.
Something ran by. Rose heard the rapid footsteps. She saw a blur. Now the dog was barking even louder. She raised her head a bit. She needed both eyes. She was barely breathing or blinking. She didn’t want to miss it, whatever it was. Something was out there. Someone. There were nights, and even sometimes during the day, when she was certain he was near. Sometimes, in the fields, she was certain that she was being watched. She could feel it in her body. In her joints. In the little hairs on the back of her neck.
She’d moved out to this farm, with her sister and her soon-to-be brother-in-law, in the middle of the country, to heal. And, slowly, it was working. But there were moments of backsliding, of relapse. Of utter fear. The healing was slow, but the backsliding. . . that would happen rapidly, and without warning, like an ambush. One moment the slow comforts of health buoyed her, and the next, she was suddenly thrown into the middle of a foaming, frigid sea, thrashing about, choking on saltwater, drowning.
At other times, the experience was something else altogether, something beyond even fear.
