Some cattle lay in the field chewing their cud, and Elijah let his gaze move over the landscape. This was something that he didn’t get to do at the Englisher pace—just enjoy a beautiful scene. Life couldn’t move any faster than this for the Amish, and he and Sadie eased into the rhythm. She was too far away from him, though. He knew he was supposed to be more careful, but there was something about this evening—the urgency of the trip, the timing, all they’d been through recently—that stripped his resolve.
Elijah reached over and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cool, and when he squeezed, she squeezed his hand back. This time on her family’s farm was supposed to make a good-bye easier, but it didn’t seem to be working out that way. She was no longer the teenager he’d fallen for all those years ago. She was now a grown woman with spirit and determination, and he realized that he’d managed to fall for her all over again—a whole lot more deeply this time.
And he’d have to say good-bye this time, too.
She blinked, dark lashes touching her cheeks, and before he could think better of it, he slid his arms around her and lowered his lips onto hers. She moved closer into his arms as his lips seared over hers, and all he could think about was how right this felt—how much he longed to hold her like this every day, to come home to her at night and pull her even closer in the warmth of their own bed . . .
He pulled back and shot her a rueful smile.
“I thought you were keeping your distance from me,” Sadie said quietly.
“Yeah.” He cast her a wry smile. “I will. Later.”
Elijah kept his arm around her, and she closed the last few inches between them, her arm pressed against his side, her legs angled against his thigh. It was a relief to have her close, and he let out a breath that he hadn’t even realized he was holding. She tipped her head against his shoulder, and he rested his cheek against the warm top of her head.
“Elijah, we can’t keep doing this.” Her voice trembled, and he looked down in alarm at the tears misting her eyes. “This . . . the kissing, the cuddling up . . .”
She straightened.
“I’m sorry—” He pulled his arm back, and his chest ached at the sudden distance between them. “I just . . .” Words couldn’t encompass all that he felt. His heart was full of throbbing emotion.
“We know better,” she whispered.
“Apparently not,” he muttered. “All I want is to kiss you again, hold you closer—”
“Elijah, it isn’t right,” she burst out. “We aren’t courting—are we? This is crossing lines we were never intended to cross!”
“You know what isn’t right?” he retorted. “Pretending that there isn’t anything between us—that isn’t right. Hiding our feelings—for each other, about your brother, pretending we’re tougher than we are. None of that is right! What am I supposed to do? Pretend I’m not in love with you? Why?”
“You’re in love with me?” Her voice trembled and she stared up at him.
Elijah shut his eyes, wishing he could take the words back. But what good would it do?
“Yah,” he admitted miserably. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Sadie. You’ve got to know that.”
He turned toward her, and she searched his face with agonizing directness.
“That was a long time ago . . .” she began.
“I’m not talking about back then,” he replied. “I mean, I loved you back then, but I was seventeen. I didn’t know much about life, or about the world. I’m talking about now, Sadie. I thought if I saw you here in Morinville, I’d be able to let you go, that I’d see how the real woman didn’t match up to the girl in my fantasy, and I’d be able to get over you.”
“It didn’t work,” she said sadly.
“No. Not even a little bit. I tried to keep my head, but I fell for you all over again. This isn’t about what we used to be, this is about how I feel about you now—the woman in front of me.”
“Love isn’t about warm feelings—” she started.
“Stop that!” he barked. “Sadie, love is all about warm feelings. Duty and obligation are about doing the right thing, but love—love is this, Sadie. This! This miserable mess of longing and desire. And between us, it may very well be unrequited, but this is love! And what’s the point of all that obligation and duty if you don’t love someone so much that you can’t keep your hands off them?”
Sadie gripped the front of his shirt and pulled his mouth over hers once more. She kissed him with such bittersweet longing that Elijah felt like his heart would burst.
When she released him and their lips finally parted, he leaned his head against hers with a sigh.
“If you had any idea how I feel about you, how much self-control it takes to rein me in when I’m with you, you wouldn’t go kissing me like that.”
He wasn’t thinking about her virtue, or her reputation right now. He was focused on closing that distance between them, because pretending they felt anything other than desperate longing seemed like a worse sin.
“Elijah, stay in Morinville. Don’t go back,” Sadie said, and there was no flirtation or teasing in her voice, just that agonizing directness he’d learned to associate with her.
He realized in a rush that he wished he could—that this could be enough for him, that he could be released from his sense of obligation to her brother in Chicago. But nothing had changed. He couldn’t erase the last nine years, forget everything he’d worked for with Absolom. He couldn’t pretend that an Amish life could be enough, that he could trust this community again. He’d seen too much to be able to settle back into Morinville again.
“Sadie, if it were just a matter of sacrifice, I’d do it,” he said bitterly. “I’d live in poverty for you. I’d cross oceans for you. But if I stayed here, I’d get hardened over time, and more and more angry at the rules that held me back. Staying in Morinville wouldn’t change who I am at heart. You never did want what I could offer you, and you wouldn’t like me quite so much if I stayed. I can guarantee that.”
“I’m being selfish right now,” she admitted, then swallowed hard. “I’m not thinking about what Samuel needs in a daet, or what I need for a husband who will grow old with me . . . I’m just not ready to give you up. That’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“Not unless you came with me to Chicago—”
“Are you really asking that of me?” she asked dully.
“No.” He shut his eyes and let out a wavering sigh. “I just wish there were a middle ground, but there isn’t when it comes to the Amish life. I’m not ready to give you up, either, but I’m not sure we have much choice.”
The narrow path. The Amish life took sacrifice, but so did being true to himself. Sadie was the one he’d missed when he lay in his bed at night in Chicago, listening to traffic and longing for home. Hers was the face that rose in his mind when Englisher girls would try to flirt with him, and when he came back to Morinville, she was the first one he asked his parents about.
She’d been his first love, all those years ago, and while he’d never been mature enough to do much of anything about it, she’d stuck in his heart somewhere that couldn’t be erased. She’d somehow seeped into his bones, and just having her close enough to feel the warmth of her arm against his was soothing to him on a heartbeat level.
If it really were possible to carve that pound of flesh from his own body in order to fit back into the Amish life, he would do it. But even as a teen, he hadn’t belonged—not fully. His heart belonged to Sadie, but he couldn’t promise her his future. No matter how deeply he longed to do so . . .
“I love you, but it’s not enough, is it?” he asked dismally.
“No.” Her voice caught. “It never was. We shouldn’t have let ourselves do this—”
“No, I’m not going to live with regrets,” he said fiercely. “I wish I could be more to you, I wish my heart was enough, but I won’t pretend my life would have been better without you in it. You’ve been my lifeline, Sadie, the heroine in my hopes and
dreams. You’ll always have a piece of me. That’s not going to change.”
Sadie didn’t answer, but he could feel her tremble next to him, and he slid his arm around her once more as her tears bled into his shirt sleeve. They were both giving up more than they’d ever imagined possible. But it had never been theirs to begin with. Whatever kept developing between them every time they came together—it was impossible to maintain. But not a sin. He’d never concede to that.
Elijah had read somewhere that a man only ever loved once, and the rest of his life was spent trying to find another love just like it. He suddenly understood what that meant. He couldn’t have Sadie—it was an impossibility. But no woman would measure up to her, either.
He’d found his one love, and the rest of his life would be in its shadow. Maybe he just had to accept that fact.
* * *
Morinville Hospital was located at the far west end of town, and Elijah guided the horses through the streets, ignoring the curious Englisher stares of the people walking the sidewalk in shorts and T-shirts. He looked foreign to them—utterly different—but a few weeks ago, he’d have been able to blend in with them easily enough. Anger surged up inside of him tonight as he flicked the reins, urging the horses to pick up their pace. He was a man. Wasn’t that what he’d been trying to convince Sadie of since he’d arrived back in Morinville? And now all he wanted to do was smash those stupid cell phone cameras that were pointed at his buggy as if he were a zoo animal performing for their entertainment. He was a man, and his heart felt like it was shredded within his chest.
The parking lot had buggy parking, as did most buildings in these parts. And after Elijah had tied up the horses with a feed bag each, he helped Sadie down from the buggy.
“Your father wouldn’t approve of us, either,” he said, attempting to sound lighter than he felt. It didn’t work.
“And with his heart problems right now, my daet needs me, too,” Sadie said, pulling her hand out of his grip. “I don’t get to follow my feelings, Elijah. I have to make the right choice and trust that my feelings will follow me. It’s all I’ve got left.”
Maybe she was right. As they headed to the hospital’s front doors, a warm breeze swept around Elijah like an embrace. He’d spent so many years loving a girl he knew he couldn’t have—maybe it was time to put his feelings aside for duty and obligation. That was what she’d be doing, after all . . .
As they walked into the hospital, they saw several signs pointing to the emergency room in one direction, radiology in another. There was a desk to the left, and Elijah led the way.
“Can I help you?” a bespectacled nurse asked.
“My father came here in an ambulance.” Sadie looked around as if hoping to spot him.
“His name is Benjamin Graber,” Elijah provided. “He came in with chest pain.”
The nurse clacked on her keyboard for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, here we are. He’s upstairs on the third floor in cardiology. Room 1005. The elevator is just over there—” The nurse pointed with her pen, and Elijah caught Sadie’s hand, dragging her along with him. It might be the last chance he’d have to hold her hand, and he wasn’t going to waste it.
Elijah punched the elevator button, and he kept her hand tight in his. Sadie’s cool touch was holding him up, too.
The elevator door opened and they stepped inside. Elijah punched the number three, and they waited while several other people crowded inside before the door shut and it started to move. When they reached the third floor, Elijah put a hand in the small of Sadie’s back and nudged her forward as they squeezed past the other passengers and out into a fluorescent-lit hallway. Everything smelled of antiseptic, as sterile and bland as his life was to become without Sadie in it. Her hand brushed against his, and he fanned out his fingers, catching hers, and he knew that he’d have to quit the job on her father’s farm. Now that they’d admitted to their feelings, said it out loud, he could feel the end. There’d be no more pretending.
Elijah spotted some rooms with prominent numbers that were moving in the right direction.
999, 1001, 1003 . . .
“One thousand and five,” Elijah said. “Just over there.”
And Sadie pulled her hand from his. She looked up at him, sadness welling in her eyes, then the door to room 1005 opened, and Sarah Graber appeared in the doorway. She spotted them immediately and walked briskly in their direction. When she reached them, she clasped Sadie in a hug.
“How is Daet?” Sadie asked, turning away from him.
“It was a heart attack,” Sarah said. “Not a bad one, though, thank God. It could have been worse.”
“Can we see him?” Sadie looked toward the room.
“Of course,” Sarah said. “He’ll be glad to see you. He keeps asking to go home, but they say he has to stay for a few days to rest. Maybe you can help talk him into it.”
For the first time, Sarah included Elijah in her glance, and Elijah dropped his gaze. He’d have to deal with his own heartbreak later—away from the prying eyes of Sadie’s family. Right now, he didn’t want any of them to guess at what he really felt. It would only add insult to injury.
The hospital room was dim, the blinds shut against the lowering light outside. The bishop looked gray still, his eyes closed and his beard scraggly against the white hospital gown. He looked older and embarrassingly exposed without his straw hat on his head and his black suspenders. The bishop opened his eyes as they ventured farther into the room.
“Sadie . . .” he said with a wan smile. “Tell your mother I’m better off resting at home.”
“I’m going to side with whatever the doctors say,” Sadie replied, moving forward and taking her father’s hand. “We need you better, Daet.”
Perhaps it was the excess of emotion in her voice, but the bishop shook his head slowly, then his gaze slipped past his daughter to Elijah. He met Elijah’s gaze for a moment, then pursed his lips. “Did you bring me my Bible?”
“Yes.” Elijah held a cloth bag at his side. “Along with the other things you asked for. Right here.”
“They say the food here is terrible,” the bishop said, turning back to his daughter. “I’ll need some good cooking when I get home.”
“You’ll need some heart-healthy cooking,” Sarah countered.
“Bah!” The bishop made a face. “What use is food if it doesn’t have some lard or butter in it?”
Elijah smiled faintly. The bishop was teasing the women, distracting them with cooking plans so they couldn’t focus on the severity of his condition. They talked for a few more minutes, and the bag of personal items was shown to the bishop. He solemnly approved, and requested that his Bible be left out beside him.
“Even if I dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea . . .” the bishop murmured. “Even there His hand will guide me.”
Elijah could sympathize with the bishop’s frightening experience, but the Englisher world wasn’t akin to the “uttermost parts of the sea.” Elijah was one of them now—even though he looked mostly Amish in his suspenders and straw hat. They weren’t any different from each other, the Englishers and the Amish. They were all just doing their best to live a good life, to find meaning.
“Our patient needs sleep,” a nurse said, coming into the room with a brisk smile. “So, I’ll have to ask you to say your good-byes until morning.”
“I’m much better off at home,” the bishop said hopefully.
“You are much better off with medical supervision,” the nurse quipped back. “Don’t worry, Mr. Graber. We’ll take good care of you.”
When was the last time that the bishop had been called Mister? He didn’t seem inclined to correct her, and the older man heaved a sigh. “How did you get here, Sadie?”
“Elijah drove us in his buggy,” Sadie said, glancing back at Elijah for the first time, and she met his gaze sadly. The bishop’s gaze flickered between Sadie and Elijah.
“I’ll stay here with you, Benjamin,” Sarah said, sinking into the chai
r next to his bed.
“No.” The bishop sighed and shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Go back home with Sadie and the Fisher boy.”
The Fisher boy. That was certainly a change in how the bishop spoke about him. Or perhaps that was how the older man referred to him when he wasn’t around. Whatever the case, something silent passed between the bishop and his wife, and she nodded curtly.
“Come, Sadie, Elijah. We’d best get home before it’s too late.”
Sadie and her mother took turns bending to hug the older man, and when they all turned toward the door, his weak voice rose a little louder.
“Elijah Fisher, if you would stay just a moment.” There it was—the authority of the churchman. Elijah let the women leave ahead of him, and he moved back to the side of the bed.
“Yes, Bishop?” he said.
“I think it would be best if you found other employment,” he said gruffly, and Elijah looked down at the bishop in surprise.
“Have I done something to upset you?” he asked uneasily.
“I just think it would be best,” the bishop replied evenly. “For everyone.”
For Sadie. He’d sensed something. Elijah sighed. He’d been meaning to do this anyway, but the bishop wasn’t going to let him waffle about it.
“Alright,” Elijah said. “I understand.”
Elijah walked numbly toward the door, and when he stepped out into the hallway, the nurse pulled the door shut with a solid thunk.
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” the nurse said cheerily. “Good night.”
Sadie and Sarah were eyeing Elijah questioningly, but it was Sadie who asked, “What did Daet want?”
“I’m fired,” Elijah said, meeting her gaze.
“You’re what?” Sadie’s face blanched. They weren’t ready to let go of each other, but it was time. The bishop was right.
“It’s fine,” Elijah replied.
With her mother next to him, he didn’t dare touch Sadie, and they walked together as a group to the elevator. The bishop could see how Elijah felt about his daughter. It might be impossible for them to give in to the longing they shared, but Elijah’s heart wasn’t going to recover so smoothly. Perhaps the bishop was a little wiser than Elijah liked to think.
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