Mammi’s eyes were still shut, and she breathed more slowly than seemed natural. Was she still holding out hope for his reunion with his wife? If only she’d give up, he wouldn’t feel quite so guilty as he did. Miriam deserved a happy life, even if that meant she would live it away from him.
“Amos...” Mammi’s voice was quieter still. “Would you read me... John 14?”
Amos released Mammi’s hand and he wiped an errant tear from his cheek. These times sitting on the edge of his grandmother’s bed, reading her Bible passages, had become so precious over the last weeks. He was sharing her hope—and oh, how he needed it tonight.
He picked up Mammi’s worn Bible, and he opened to the passage. She’d underlined the first few verses in pencil, and he started to read.
“‘Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also...’”
He read slowly, enunciating the words the way she liked him to do, and then he paused, looking down at his grandmother’s face. She still looked peaceful, and her eyes were shut, but something had changed. Her chest was still, and Amos could feel in his heart what had just happened.
Mammi was gone.
Amos stood up and went into the kitchen. Miriam was at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of her. She looked up as he came in.
“I think that...uh—” Amos looked helplessly toward Miriam. “I think that Mammi has passed away.”
Miriam straightened, the blood seeping from her face. “What? When?”
“A few minutes ago, while I was reading the Bible to her,” Amos said, and his voice broke.
Miriam went into the bedroom, and Amos stood immobile in the kitchen. She returned a couple of minutes later.
“Oh, Amos...” Miriam whispered, and she crossed the kitchen and stopped in front of him. “I’m so sorry...”
She stood there, her dark gaze meeting his with such deep sympathy that Amos felt the tears rise up in his eyes. His grandmother was gone, and his heart was full to breaking. He didn’t know what to say, but Miriam saved him from trying to find it. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, tugging him down so that she could hold him. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. He couldn’t cry, though. While his throat was tight with unshed tears, and his chest felt so full of emotion that it might crack right open, he couldn’t let it out.
Somehow, he’d been putting off feeling this impending loss—focusing on Miriam’s presence, on his work, on the silly battles he and his wife always seemed to wage against each other. And maybe it had all been a way to avoid the heartbreaking truth that his beloved mammi had been dying. But there was no way to avoid it any longer.
Miriam cried in his arms, her tears soaking into his shirt. Having Miriam here, so close, was the most comforting thing he could imagine right now. Mammi had been right. And maybe she had been meddling in his life, hoping to make a reunion happen that really had no hope, but she had been right that having his wife here with him during his grandmother’s death was exactly what he’d needed.
Even at the last, Mammi had been thinking of him...
Amos pulled back and Miriam wiped tears from her cheeks.
“We should call the doctor,” Amos said woodenly.
“Yah.” Miriam pulled a slip of paper out of her apron with the doctor’s number on it. “And we need to let people know so that the funeral arrangements can begin...”
“Miriam—” He caught her hand. “Will you stay for the funeral?”
Because he couldn’t face the thought of her leaving. Not yet.
“Of course,” she said, and her chin trembled. “I promised Mammi I’d get you through it.”
And perhaps he needed to get her through it, too. Mammi had meant so much to all of them, and Miriam had always had a special place in Mammi’s heart, even after the miserable breakup, after the community had judged her, and Amos did his best to forget her. Miriam deserved to mourn for Mammi, too.
But after the funeral, Miriam would go home. It had been the plan all along. Maybe it was best to simply be thankful for the time they’d had together, for this chance to truly connect as two human beings. Mammi had wanted them to get back together, and Amos had started to hope for the same impossible thing.
Gott, thank You that Miriam’s here today...
That was all he could think to pray.
* * *
The funeral was put together by the community. Mammi’s friends and extended family worked in unison on the preparations so that Amos and Miriam had very little to do. Amos went through some of Mammi’s things—she didn’t have much. There were some dresses, some kapps and aprons, an unfinished needlework project of a Bible verse and a box of little collectible animal figurines she’d bought over the years when she and Dawdie would travel together.
Noah and Thomas came by the house early to help Amos carry Mammi’s bed and the chest of drawers back upstairs to her bedroom. Miriam swept out the room, mopped it, wiped down the surfaces, and they moved the couch and chairs back to where they belonged. It felt suddenly very empty in that sitting room, and very, very lonely.
Mammi was buried in the community graveyard, and there were sermons, singing, a large meal put together at Amos’s house that everyone contributed to.
The songs they sang were about Heaven, and their hope of eternity with Gott. Miriam had stood on the women’s side, and Amos had stood shoulder to shoulder with Noah and Thomas on either side of him. The family from Ohio and Indiana had come, too, but when he looked up, it was Miriam’s steady gaze that gave him the most strength. Whatever happened during wedding vows, while they didn’t seem to guarantee happiness or a peaceful home, they did connect a man and a woman in an undeniable way.
Mammi’s funeral was long, as all Amish funerals were. Amish funerals gave people time to accept the loss, and to hold the sadness in their hearts together. Mourning took time, and so did comfort. That was part of the Amish way—they took their time to do things properly, to feel them deeply. They didn’t rush. Grieving was never done alone when one had a community like Redemption.
“She was the only grandmother I knew,” Noah told Amos sadly, his infant son in his arms. “And she was so full of wisdom and hope.”
“Yah...” Amos nodded. “She was very loved.”
His mind kept going back to her final day—the one spent outdoors where she insisted that she was feeling better, and she kept telling stories. He knew that Mammi’s life hadn’t been perfect. She’d buried her only adult son after that one terrible winter, but it could be argued that she’d lost him years before to addiction. She’d lost babies and had never had the house full of children she’d prayed for. Mammi had spent a lifetime praying, and not always seeing the results. Her life wasn’t perfect, but somehow, when Mammi was looking back on her lifetime, she saw sweetness and beauty because she’d had her dear husband at her side.
The funeral passed by in a blur, and when the funeral day was done, and all the baking and casseroles had been left in his kitchen by kind neighbors, Amos knew that life would start to return to normal in degrees.
And he felt that his goodbye to his grandmother had been complete.
* * *
The next morning, Miriam stood in the kitchen dishing up bowls of oatmeal. After Amos had gone out to do his chores, Miriam had stripped the guest room bed, remade it with fresh sheets and swept the floor so that the room was as neat as she’d found it.
This house, so familiar, was not hers. This wasn’t her home, even if she was starting to feel like she might have some claim to it after all they’d been through these last two weeks. It was almost like the honeymoon period after their wedding, when sh
e felt that powerful tie to the man she’d vowed to love. And here she was, feeling that too-strong claim on Amos and this home, all over again.
Miriam was the one who kept feeling too much, needing too much. If she were just like the other women, she could quietly find contentment in keeping her home and supporting her husband. But Miriam wasn’t like the others, and she’d grown to accept that. She wasn’t the wife Amos needed. And this life in his home as his wife, as beautiful as it could be, wouldn’t be enough for her. It was better to leave now, and deal with the heartbreak all at once. Because if she stayed longer, when she left they’d both be bitter and angry, and that would be worse.
Amos’s boots resounded on the steps outside, and the door opened. She listened as his boots thunked to the floor and the water turned on for him to wash his hands.
“Good morning,” he said, appearing in the mudroom doorway.
“Good morning,” she replied, but the words felt tight in her throat.
“It felt good to get outside,” Amos said. “It seems to help.”
Miriam nodded. It likely did help, but she’d be outside soon enough when they were on their way to the bus depot. And then there would be a two-hour bus ride where she’d be holding back tears, and when she finally did get back outside again in Edson, she would find somewhere private, and those tears would fall.
But not until then... Amos might be looking for relief right here and right now, but her relief would have to wait.
“Breakfast smells good,” Amos said, but as the words came out, his gaze landed on her travel bag, and he froze. He looked up at her, his eyebrows climbing. “You’re leaving today?”
She hadn’t meant to ask for the ride quite like this, although how she saw that going, she wasn’t sure.
“If you’ll drop me off at the bus station on your way into work,” she said. “I’ve made us breakfast, and you have enough baking and extra food here to last you a month—” She forced a smile. “I think you’ll be in good hands.”
Just not hers. And that tugged at her heart. There had been other hands to show him compassion and care for the last ten years. Why should this hurt more now? He glanced over at the food on the counter—bags of muffins, loaves of bread, piles of produce.
“I thought you might stay a few days longer,” he said, turning back to her.
“I’d only sit in this house alone,” Miriam said, and she shook her head. “I don’t think I could handle that.”
“I like having you here,” he whispered. “I like coming home to your cooking, and hearing your voice around the house.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Amos,” Miriam said. “But we have to be realistic now.”
“Realistic,” he said hollowly.
“Yah!” Was he going to force her to do this? “Amos, the longer I stay, the harder it is for me to go—”
Amos crossed the kitchen and he tugged her solidly into his arms. His lips came down over hers, and for what felt like a blessed eternity, he kissed her.
Amos pulled back, and Miriam sucked in a wavering breath. She wanted him to kiss her again, to let her forget that her bag was waiting...
“Don’t go yet,” Amos whispered.
Her heart squeezed in response. “Amos, don’t do this to me...”
“Do what?” he asked, shaking his head. “I’m just asking you to stay a little longer.”
“Why?” she asked helplessly. “What is there to be gained?”
“Maybe we could have some time to figure this out,” he said hopefully.
“We went through all of this ten years ago!” she said, her voice starting to rise. “We figured it out then, Amos!”
Amos’s dark gaze met hers solemnly. He’d always been so noble, so calm... “We could change our minds, you know. You could stay here. We could make a life together—try again.”
“You don’t really want that,” she said.
Because she hadn’t changed—she was the same woman who drove him crazy.
“Maybe I do,” he replied.
“You say you do,” she countered. “But what you want is to come home to me. You want me here, keeping your home, cooking your food, spending the evening together reading The Budget. You don’t want the reality of what having me here would actually be!”
“It could be just like you described,” he said. “We could vow to stop arguing.”
“It didn’t work,” she said. “Not even for Mammi. This doesn’t come naturally to either of us. Why can’t you see me for who I am, Amos? I wouldn’t be a patient and meek wife, waiting for you to figure out the radio ads. I’d go find out how to do them myself! And put together some ideas, and even make a budget for it,” she said. “I’d want a hand in your business. I’d want to run it together.”
He pressed his lips together in a look she recognized.
“I can see the look on your face,” Miriam went on. “You don’t want that life, but that’s who I am. I’ve got a strip mall that will provide some income, and I’ve got ideas for that other shop, too. It’s not like other women don’t run businesses!”
“Other women do it with less ferocity,” he said with a small smile.
“I’m not like them!” Miriam rubbed her hands over her face. Talking about this more wasn’t going to change anything. Letting her emotions out wasn’t going to help.
“Why can’t you just stay a little while?” Amos asked quietly. “I’m not asking for forever yet. I’m just asking you to stay with me...see if you might like it—”
“No!” The tears Miriam had been working so hard to hold back started to flow.
“Why?” he demanded, his own agonized gaze locked on to hers. “Give me a good reason why not, Miriam! You’re my wife!”
“Because we’ve done this before!” she sobbed. “We’ve done it, and it tore me into pieces when I had to leave! And it’ll only be worse this time!”
“Worse?” He threw his hands in the air. “How on earth could it be worse?”
“Because I love you!” The words came out before she could think better of them, and Amos suddenly stilled, his expression shocked. But she did...she was only really realizing it now. That’s why her heart kept pulling toward him. It was why she kept falling into his arms, and why he could hurt her like no other. She loved him. She’d fallen in love with her husband, and it wouldn’t help them one bit. Loving a man didn’t make a relationship work! Loving him only made it more painful when they hurt each other.
“Yah...” she breathed. “I love you. And I shouldn’t... I’m not what you need, and I can’t change who I am. If I don’t go home now, I’m not sure I’ll survive this. You have to let me go!”
Chapter Twelve
Amos stared at Miriam, his heart lodged in his throat. She loved him? After all these years of wondering if she ever had, now she loved him? Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and a tendril of hair had fallen loose from her kapp. She was petite next to him, and all of that pent-up energy inside of her usually made her seem taller than she really was. She used to intimidate him, if he had to be brutally honest. But right now, looking into her eyes, looking for answers to that way his heart was yearning toward her, she didn’t look any bigger than life anymore. She looked fragile.
“Miriam—” His voice caught.
Miriam shook her head. “Don’t make it harder, Amos.”
“What do you think I’ll say?” he asked.
“You’ll tell me that I’m being foolish. That what I’m feeling is connected to a death of someone we both cared about. That given some time, I’ll get my footing back, and—”
“Seriously?” Amos asked. “You think that’s what I’d say when you tell me that you love me?”
“It’s what you should say.” She swallowed.
And maybe it was. Maybe that would help them both get past this, but it wasn’t what he felt. He’d been
running from this for ten years, but he’d never said the words to her before.
“I love you, too,” he said, and he caught her slim hand in his calloused grip, looking down into her tearstained face.
“You don’t have to say that—” she started.
“Miriam, stop it!” he said, and he shook his head. “I love you! Okay? I’m not saying what I think is appropriate. I’m telling you how I feel. I think about you constantly. I have for the entire time you were gone. It would be easier not to love you! Much easier. Because you’re leaving again, and I’m going to be left alone in this house trying to hold on to some little detail—like the way you smell so soft and sweet, or the sound of your laugh. But I’ll forget—ever so slowly, it will slip away, and that feeling of forgetting will be worse than torturing myself with memories. So this isn’t convenient for me, either.”
Amos tugged her close, his gaze locked on to hers. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do, but then he slid his arms around her waist and lowered his lips over hers. Miriam rose up onto the tips of her toes to meet his kiss. She wasn’t what he needed, and he wasn’t the kind of man who completed her, either. But his heart didn’t want to listen to reason. He wanted to hold her close and kiss her senseless, and never think ahead to the future when they’d inevitably break each other’s hearts all over again.
If Amos couldn’t love his own wife, then who could he love? There was no moving on for an Amish couple. They were married until death parted them, and he couldn’t look for another woman who might be a better fit. When he’d promised to be hers ten years ago, he had signed his entire future into her hands.
Miriam pulled back first, and Amos looked down at her plump lips. She was so beautiful...but she wasn’t truly his.
“I’m not what you need,” she repeated. “And that matters. If Mammi showed me anything, it was that you’re a good man with a tender heart. There is nothing wrong with you wanting a wife at home who will trust the business to your capable hands. Nothing! But I’m not that woman. You don’t want all of this energy focused on you and your business,” Miriam said. “Just accept that. And we can go about our separate ways. And if we’re ever in trouble—if one of us is sick or hurt, or in need of help—”
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