Sadie rose from her chair to serve two more heaping ladlefuls of stew into his bowl, and in so many ways he could see the youth in her still—the shape of her hands, the glitter in her eye. But he was disappointed to see that she’d never gotten past her cautious ways.
Sadie didn’t take risks; she calculated instead. And by refusing to leap, she’d stayed very firmly on the ground. And he was a man who liked a heart-soaring leap. The sky had always held more for him than the dirt ever had. Even now.
Chapter Two
After the men went back to work, Mamm took Samuel out with her to pick the green beans that were ready to be harvested from the long, straight rows of the garden. Apple and cherry trees flanked the garden, the apples not yet ripe, but hanging heavily on the limbs, promising a good harvest. They grew all their own produce—beets, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, radishes, three different types of string beans, potatoes, onions, garlic, celery, herbs.... If they didn’t grow it and can it, they didn’t eat it that year. Down in the cool basement, there were rows of labeled shelves, now nearly empty that the canning season was upon them again.
But Sadie’s attention didn’t stay fixed on the garden through the kitchen window. Farther in the distance, Daet and Elijah trudged back toward the buggy barn. Her father looked frailer than he ever had before, and Elijah was definitely a bigger man than he’d been at seventeen. He’d filled out, his shoulders had broadened, and where he’d once been lanky and thin, he was now muscled. He’d been “cute” before, and now that he’d solidified into manhood, he could draw her eye in spite of her better judgment. His eyes hadn’t changed, though. She’d noticed that from across the table. His dark gaze was just the same.... It hardly seemed fair. Nine years with the Englishers should have softened him, ruined him a little, made him easier to dismiss.
The men disappeared out of her field of view, and she turned from the window.
Elijah made Sadie uncomfortable. He took too many liberties because of a childhood friendship, and he didn’t back down and look away like he should. She didn’t like that. It was probably the result of his years spent with the Englishers, and this grated at her, too.
Absolom would be different now also, and she wondered if she would even recognize him. But more than that, he was living with a girl, like man and wife, but he hadn’t married her. That was unheard of in Amish society. A woman was worthy of marriage—commitment. Children conceived outside of wedlock were certainly born to married parents—the elders saw to that. And her brother had said that his girlfriend would never fit into Amish life, so this Sharon must be very different from the women in their community. Sadie had trouble even picturing what she might look like. Was she like the Englishers who frequented the farmer’s market?
Elijah would know. And that was even more disconcerting. She wanted to be able to dismiss Elijah completely, but he was the only one who could tell them about Absolom’s Englisher life.
Sadie pushed a plug into the sink and turned on the water to wash the dishes.
“What’s the matter?” Rosmanda asked, bringing bowls to the counter.
“Nothing.” Sadie sighed. “Thinking about Absolom. That’s all.”
Rosmanda didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. They’d said it all before, over and over again. They’d tried to imagine why he’d left and situations that might push him back to them. But all they really had was a hole where their brother used to be. Absolom had made a choice, and they couldn’t undo it.
“I wouldn’t do what Absolom did,” Rosmanda said.
“Good.” Sadie glanced over her shoulder at her sister who was clearing the table. “It wouldn’t be a happy life. I’m sure Absolom regrets it. He just can’t undo it now.”
“I don’t even want a Rumspringa,” Rosmanda went on.
“You’ll have a decent one,” Sadie replied. “Like mine. It’s possible to explore a little bit without launching yourself past the church’s boundaries.”
“No, I mean I don’t want one at all,” she replied.
Sadie wondered if Rosmanda would have said this in front of their mother. How serious was she?
“Rumspringa is important,” Sadie said. “It helps you to not regret anything, to make an informed decision.”
“My decision is informed,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I’ve watched what happened to our brother. I’ve seen other girls get into trouble. I don’t need to go to movies and stay out too late in order to know what I want. And I want to be a wife and a mother.”
“You’re too young for both,” Sadie replied with a short laugh. “You might as well enjoy a little freedom for a year.”
“Who says I’m too young?” Rosmanda shot back. “Mamm got married at sixteen.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Sadie asked. “That you skip your Rumspringa and join the church now?”
“Yes.”
It was ridiculous. Sadie turned off the water and reached for the first stack of dishes. Rosmanda was still a kid in so many ways. Yes, she’d seen the worst that could happen with their brother, but that didn’t mean she had the maturity to face starting a family.
“Marriage isn’t as easy as you think,” Sadie said.
“I can keep house. I can cook, clean, keep a garden. I can sew better than you can!”
“It isn’t only about the work, Rosie,” Sadie sighed. “It’s the marriage part.”
“I know about that.”
“You know how babies are made,” Sadie shot back. “And that is a very small part of marriage, might I add. I’m talking about caring for a man, getting along with him, anticipating him. It’s not easy, and while you might imagine a husband being tender and intuitive to your feelings, they, quite frankly, aren’t.”
“Because you married an old man!” Rosmanda retorted.
“He’d been married before,” Sadie replied. “He had four sons and five daughters. He knew about women already. He was better than most in that respect.”
“Maybe you weren’t very nice to him,” her sister retorted, and Sadie felt anger simmer. She knew her sister had no idea what she was talking about, but it still stung.
Nice. She’d been sweet and attentive. She’d been up fifteen minutes earlier than necessary to start breakfast. She’d smiled and nodded and kept her mouth firmly shut when she disagreed with him.
“That’s the thing,” Sadie said. “It isn’t about being nice and cooking well. It’s about connecting with him in a way that satisfies your heart. And his. If you have that connection, it doesn’t matter if you burn a pie, because he’d still rather eat the middle of the pie with you than have a perfect pie with someone else. Finding that place with a husband . . . that’s the tricky part. And without it—”
She didn’t finish that thought, because there were things she wouldn’t speak out loud. Like her loneliness in her marriage, and how working her heart out in that kitchen, cooking the best meals and scrubbing every inch of it to a shine, hadn’t made any difference, because there was still that gulf between them that made Sadie’s heart ache. It wasn’t supposed to be that way.
“Other women have done it,” Rosmanda said. “I can, too.”
“You could,” Sadie said quietly. “But being a little older might make it easier.”
Rosmanda shot Sadie an irritated look and picked up the first plate to dry. “I’m not immature.”
Her sister wouldn’t hear her. Rosmanda hadn’t been married before, and the example of marriage she’d grown up with was their parents. Mamm and Daet were a happy couple who had lived contentedly together for more than forty years. But they’d also found their rhythm already, and they had shorthand in communicating with each other in front of the children. Rosmanda wasn’t seeing a marriage forged in their own kitchen; she was seeing one polished. Those were two very different stages in a marriage.
“Mamm will tell you the same thing,” Sadie said. “You might not need your Rumspringa to know what you want, but it will certainly give you time to g
row into it. Is there a boy you’ve got your eye on, or something?”
“No. I just don’t want to be left over.”
A lie? Sadie wasn’t sure. But to be one of the girls who didn’t find a husband—that was a valid fear. It was better to be widowed than never married, and Sadie had made a choice in husband for similar reasons. She’d wanted to start her life, and Mervin had qualities she wanted in a husband—he was God fearing, serious, and kind. He would have made an excellent father for Samuel, too—given firm guidance to keep him from making Absolom’s mistakes.
“You’re too pretty for that,” Sadie said, nudging her sister with her elbow. “I hardly think you need to worry.”
Outside the kitchen window, Mamm slowly rose to her feet and shaded her eyes with one dirt-darkened hand. Sadie slowed in her washing, and suddenly Mamm dropped her hand, hitched up her skirt, and jumped over the row of bean plants at a run.
“Benjamin!”
Sadie leaned forward. She couldn’t see her father, but she’d seen her mother’s face, and her stomach dropped. Something was very wrong!
Sadie and Rosmanda both ran to the side door in time to see Elijah half carrying Daet away from the buggy barn and toward the house. Daet leaned heavily on the younger man’s shoulder, and his flesh looked gray, his hat askew. Mamm dashed across the grass to help support him on the other side as they brought him to the house.
“Get some wet cloths,” Sadie ordered, and Rosmanda did as she was told, rushing to the cupboard for dish towels.
Sadie held the screen door open as Mamm and Elijah helped her father through. They squeezed past her, and she flattened herself against the door to make more room.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” her father was muttering, but Mamm flatly ignored him.
“What happened?” Sadie asked, as Elijah let Mamm take over. She looked toward her parents who were moving into the kitchen, then up into Elijah’s dust-streaked face. Elijah licked his lips. He looked a little shaken.
“He passed out,” Elijah said. “I don’t know.”
Mamm got Daet to a kitchen chair, and Rosmanda brought a cold cloth to put on his head. Daet took the cloth out of his daughter’s hands to mop his brow himself.
“I got a little dizzy, that’s all,” Daet said. “I’m fine.”
“The doctor said you should be taking it easy,” Mamm said. “So maybe it’s time you took his advice, don’t you think?”
Daet smiled ruefully. “For a couple of hours, maybe. But there’s cattle to check and a goat that gave birth, and—”
“I can take care of it,” Elijah said. “I’ll come ask you if I have any problems.”
Elijah caught Sadie’s eye and moved back toward the door. He wanted to speak to her, she could tell, and she followed him, stepping outside into the bright sunlight of the step. She blinked, then shaded her eyes to look up at him. Elijah stood closer than was entirely proper, and he kept his voice low.
“He’s really not well, is he?” he asked quietly.
This was not something she wanted to talk about in Daet’s hearing right now. She let the screen door swing shut behind her, and it closed with a clatter.
“No,” she admitted. “The doctor said he has a problem with his heart, and he’d better take a break so that he doesn’t have a heart attack. But Daet hasn’t liked the idea of not working—”
“It’s not our way,” Elijah finished for her. “I get that.”
Our way. She wasn’t sure that Elijah had a right to that phrase now.
“He says he’d rather die on his feet,” Sadie said bitterly. “We’d rather he not die at all.”
“I thought he had,” Elijah said with a shake of his head. “He turned this awful color, and he just dropped.”
Elijah lifted his straw hat, scrubbed a hand through his hair—still awkwardly short in the Englisher style—then replaced it.
“We’ll do our best to keep him resting,” Sadie said, “but if he comes back out, try to keep him from overexerting himself.”
“That’s on me?” he asked bitterly.
“Yes, it’s on you. We do the job we must,” she shot back. Was he going to quibble now over what should rightfully be asked of him? Her father was ill, and he didn’t know how to rest, just like every other Amish man. They might aim to humbly accept their lot in life, but hard work was the key in that—the great equalizer.
“He was mucking out a stall,” Elijah said, adjusting his tone. “It was work, but hardly exertion.”
No, Sadie could see that, and the realization wasn’t comforting. Daet wasn’t just working too hard—he was sick. His heart wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do. Emotion closed off her throat.
“Look, I’ll try,” Elijah said. “I just can’t promise I’ll be successful. The bishop is not a flexible man.”
She caught something in his tone there, but she didn’t have the will to dig into it. Her father was not a flexible man—what Amish man was? They were determined to stay separate from the world, to be distinct, to be removed. Flexibility wasn’t a lauded trait in the men of leadership.
“No, he isn’t,” she agreed curtly. “So be diplomatic.”
Elijah shot her a flat stare that reminded her of years past. She and Elijah had always butted heads. The boys wanted fun, and she insisted on propriety. Her father was the bishop, after all. And somehow, against all her better instincts, she’d find herself alone with him again, his fingers twining with hers.... She pushed back the memories.
“If you want your father to rest, then maybe you should come and see the new kid your goat just gave birth to. I think your goat must have gotten out of your regular barn, because I found them both in a horse stall. The goat seems to have rejected the baby.”
Sadie sighed. “I’ll come.”
Her father was ill, and nothing would be the same again. She’d already lost a husband. Please God, let her father be with them for a long time yet.
Side by side, Sadie and Elijah headed out toward the buggy barn. They all had to do their part to keep Daet resting, and her part, it seemed, was to deal with Elijah Fisher.
* * *
Elijah jogged down the steps and strode toward the buggy barn with Sadie a step behind him. The sun felt warm on his shoulders, sweat inching down his back. Sadie ran a few steps to catch up, and he slowed slightly to match her pace. This was the first chance he’d had to be alone with her since his return, and he could feel her reluctance.
Did she really resent him so much?
“You wouldn’t talk to me after Sunday service,” Elijah said, glancing over at Sadie.
He wasn’t sure what he expected from her. But she wasn’t just an Amish woman. Not to him, at least. She’d been a friend once upon a time, more than friends, if he was utterly honest. He’d been head over heels in love with a girl whom he’d never be good enough to court, and as stupid as it was, he missed what he’d had with her. His time away from the community had put a mark on him, though. While his neighbors might forgive, they wouldn’t forget, and he found himself missing the old days, before he was tainted.
That was the thing with Amish life—a man couldn’t escape being known. All his mistakes, unless he hid them well enough, were up for public view. With the Englishers, they shrugged it off. Nobody’s perfect. Could be worse. The Amish had a different perspective: if he’d abandoned the community once, he was a walking risk.
“You should be talking to the young men at service,” Sadie said.
“I’m the only man my age who isn’t married, and the younger men keep their distance,” he replied.
“I don’t know what to say. Maybe you scare them.”
“Are you scared, too?” He heard the annoyance in his tone.
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m angry.”
That was direct—he hadn’t really expected that. They reached the barn. He pushed the door open for her, then stepped back to allow her to enter first. She paused and looked up at him, meeting his eyes squarely.
&nb
sp; “I know I should forgive you, Elijah, and I pray daily for the strength to do it, but I haven’t yet.”
He was surprised both by her words, and that direct stare. Amish women looked down, looked away, bit their tongues. Sadie wasn’t acting the part of a single woman with a single man. There was no deference to his masculinity, no acknowledgment of how things might look. He’d tried explaining this before to an Englisher friend—how appearances mattered—but Sadie wasn’t giving appearances a second thought.
“You’re more like the Englishers than you think,” he said after a moment.
Sadie moved past him into the barn and he followed.
“Don’t be cruel,” she said curtly.
“Look at you!” he retorted. “Staring me in the eye like any Englisher girl would do . . . telling me straight that you don’t like me. That’s not Amish.”
Sadie whirled around to face him. “Not Amish?” Fury snapped in her blue eyes. “I’m not the one who left! Don’t you judge me on my Amish demeanor. I’m no girl anymore. I’ve been married, and I’m now a mother. Time has marched on, Elijah Fisher, and I’m not your playmate.” She scanned the stalls, squinting in the dim light. “Where is the goat?”
She didn’t wait for him to point it out, and she scanned the barn, stopping at the white and brown goat in a far stall, beside the stall the bishop had been shoveling out when he’d collapsed. She headed toward the goat and squatted down to inspect the situation. Elijah stood back. She obviously didn’t require his input. She was right—she wasn’t a girl waiting to be chosen by a man who fancied her any longer. She’d been chosen, and that lent her a certain sense of accomplishment. She was a mamm, too, and perhaps that had changed her most of all.
The baby goat had been cleaned off by the mother, and it bleated weakly. It needed milk. He’d have carried it to the house if he hadn’t been carrying Sadie’s daet.
“Come on . . .” Sadie murmured, and Elijah stepped closer to see her nudging the baby toward the mother’s teat. The goat side-stepped away.
Elijah sighed and slipped into the stall with Sadie, taking hold of the goat between his legs to hold it still while Sadie brought the baby back to the mother’s milk. The goat jerked forward, but Elijah held it firm.
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