Elijah heaved a sigh and walked to the window, watching the cars creep along the street, stuck behind a buggy.
“And was Chicago enough?” his father demanded.
“It might be.” With more work. With some luck. If the business took off.
“Let’s start again. Stay for a little while. Help me implement your ideas.”
Elijah rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t, Daet. I’m starting a business with Absolom, and he’s counting on me. I couldn’t count on this community to come after me, but damn it, Daet, I’m better than that.” Even if his own father wasn’t. Even if the bishop wasn’t. Elijah could choose to be a bigger man. “I can’t do this—be happy here, like this.”
“And you can be happy without her?” his father asked, ignoring his language this time.
Elijah hadn’t even mentioned Sadie, but he hadn’t exactly been hiding his feelings, either. Was it common knowledge in Morinville at this point—that he was in love with a woman who knew she deserved better? “No, I can’t be happy without her, but I can’t change who I am, either.”
“I wanted to come see you, son,” his father said quietly.
“But the rules held you back,” Elijah concluded. “And the bishop. You went against any fatherly instinct you had to obey that man, and you let me go. This is the community I’m supposed to trust? The very traditions that held you and me apart?”
Tears misted his father’s eyes. “Yes.”
“How?” Elijah demanded. “Because you taught me a lesson? Because I now know you can hold out until I buckle? Is that it?”
“Because you’re one of us,” his father said quietly. “We all doubt. We all get scared. Doubt and fear don’t change who you are, son. You’ll have to make your peace with that, either here with us, or out there with the Englishers. You can’t get away from who you are.”
Who he was . . . Elijah was the kind of man who liked a risk and a jump—and cruelly enough, no matter how desperately he longed to fly, he landed in that lonesome no-man’s-land between his Amish heritage and the Englisher world. Even so, Elijah wasn’t the kind of man who turned his back on his family. He wasn’t the kind of man who chose tradition over the people he loved. Regulations didn’t rule him.
But even if Elijah made his peace with his own demons, it wouldn’t change what Sadie needed in a husband—tradition! Even if he stayed, he’d be forced to watch her move on with another man who’d never love her half well enough. Or worse . . . he’d watch her marry a man who would adore her as she deserved, and he’d have the distinct agony of witnessing it. He loved her, and if nine years hadn’t cured him of it, nothing would. He was an interloper, a man stuck between two worlds, not Amish enough for Sadie and not Englisher enough, either.
“I’ll deliver the fencing,” Elijah said, and he held out his hand for the handwritten receipt.
“Son, I do love you,” his father said gruffly. “I’m sorry—I thought I was doing what was best . . .”
“Yah, Daet, I know.”
Tradition fueled his father’s work; it drove the Amish community. They chose tradition because it held them back, it trimmed their wings, it dug in deep. Tradition told them how to live, what to choose, and what had value. Careful thought and cautious steps—that’s how the Amish moved forward.
And yet his father was right—he’d never be happy without Sadie. Forgetting her wasn’t even an option. His heart belonged to her whether she wanted it or not. He was Amish, born and raised. Elijah wasn’t like the other Amish men, but maybe Elijah offered something that tradition could not . . .
Maybe there was still a way.
Chapter Nineteen
Sadie’s heart leapt in her chest as Mamm came around the side of the house with a handful of beets in her hands. Mamm stopped, stared, and then tears welled in her eyes. She dropped the produce and ran toward her son.
“Absolom!” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek over and over before she released him and looked into the car seat.
“That’s Sarah,” Absolom said. “And this, here, is Chase.”
The little boy stared up at them, his eyes round and filled with heartbreak. Chase was here without his mother—the mother Chase assured her would come back. She always comes back. Where was she now? Dread wormed its way up Sadie’s stomach. Something was wrong—very wrong.
Daet came out and there were more introductions, but a wagon turned into the drive, the horses clopping steadily toward them. She recognized Elijah immediately, and she squeezed Samuel’s hand a little tighter.
She hadn’t seen Elijah since that night when they’d both said too much, and now he was here—driving a pair of draft horses that pulled a flat wagon, a load in the back that she couldn’t make out. She didn’t know why he was here, but she was grateful for his arrival all the same. There was something about Elijah that steadied her when she was off balance, and she had to curb the urge to run down the drive toward him.
They’d have to stop that—the slipping into each other’s arms so easily. They were like magnets, always seeming to clap back together again, and it wouldn’t do—her heart couldn’t take any more of this, and she had a son who needed her, too.
Samuel tugged free of Sadie’s hand and trotted toward Chase—as he would. Samuel didn’t get to see other children that often, so a little boy about his own age was a rare treat. Daet glanced up at the approaching wagon, and Sadie strode down the steps and put her hand on her father’s arm as she passed him.
“I’ll see what he wants,” she said.
As if that was her only reason to be heading toward him . . . but the family didn’t need to know about their unrequited feelings for each other. This would be her own personal grief, and she’d get over it privately, as she’d done before.
“Hi,” Elijah said as she came up beside the wagon. His gaze moved between Absolom and Sadie. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Sadie said. “My brother just arrived with the kids.”
“And Sharon?” Elijah swung down to the ground and reached for her hand—something he seemed to do without thinking. Sadie pulled her hand back. Holding hands every time she saw him wouldn’t make this any easier. Elijah’s face colored. “Sorry.”
Sadie took a step back and looked toward her family. “I have no idea where Sharon is.... You don’t think—”
“He can’t return without her,” Elijah said with a shrug. “I mean, unless she left him, but the kids . . .”
“Yah. That’s my thought. If the children are here, then this is just a visit.”
A wave of sadness washed over her, and she heaved a sigh. Just a visit meant that in a matter of days, her brother would be shunned, and this would be the last time he saw his family. This would be one last, agonizing good-bye.
“Why are you here?” Sadie asked, glancing at the back of the wagon. A tarp covered something large and round.
“I’m delivering barbed-wire fencing,” Elijah said.
“So you’re working with your daet?” She squinted up at him. “After all, I mean.”
“Yah.” He nodded quickly. “Until I go back.... Sadie, I’ve missed you.”
Sadie swallowed as her throat tightened with emotion. “We’ll get used to it. I did before.”
Anyone could endure grief. Over time it lessened, and one learned to carry around the burden of it a little more easily. She’d learned to carry that aching loneliness when Absolom and Elijah disappeared, and she’d shouldered the grief of her husband’s death. She could endure this, too . . . if she could just find her balance underneath it.
Sadie watched as Daet shook Absolom’s hand, his lined face awash in emotion. After nine years of longing to see him again, her parents were finally able to touch their son. She could only imagine what they were feeling right now.
“Come on, then,” Sadie said. “You might as well come in. You’re as much a part of this as anyone.”
It was
better to see where things stood, because she couldn’t cling to any more useless hope.
“Let’s get you all inside,” Mamm said, broadening her gaze to include Elijah this time. “Come on, now. This is something to celebrate!”
Everyone went inside, and there was a jumble of chatter and commotion while Mamm brought out shoofly pie. Rosmanda made lemonade, and Sadie stared at her brother in silence.
Was he back? Was this a homecoming? Or was it something else? There was sadness in her brother’s eyes that Sadie couldn’t dismiss. She bent over the car seat, fumbled with the clasps, then lifted tiny Sarah into her arms. The baby wriggled and snuggled into the crook of her arm, and Sadie looked down into that infant face—a little older already—and wondered if this would be the last time she’d hold her niece.
Chase edged closer to Samuel, and the boys regarded each other solemnly. They weren’t cousins in the traditional sense, but they were connected to each other.
“Where’s your TV?” Chase asked.
Samuel blinked, confused. He wouldn’t even know what a television was.
“There is no TV here, Chase,” Sadie said, crouching down next to him with Sarah tipped up onto her shoulder. “Here we have cows and horses, and barns and fields . . . but no TV.”
“Oh . . .” Chase looked around. “Where’s the cows?”
“Outside.”
“I’ve never seen a cow.”
That statement might have shocked Sadie before she’d seen her brother’s life in the city, but it didn’t surprise her now. Chase likely had never left the city.
“Then you’re in for a treat. We’ll show you some while you’re here,” Sadie said with a reassuring smile. “Where’s your mamm?”
“Mommy,” he corrected her, and then Chase’s lower lip quivered, and his face crumpled into tears. Sadie stood up, and since Elijah was the closest one to her, she passed the infant into his strong arms, then gathered Chase into hers. Chase pulled his knees up to fit all of himself onto her lap, closing himself into a ball as he sobbed into her shoulder, his entire body shaking with the force of his grief.
“Chase?” she whispered. “Chase, what’s happened?”
But he was too young to explain, if he even knew. She’d cared for nieces and nephews for years before she had Samuel, so she knew a child’s cry, and she’d never heard a sob so deep and guttural as this one. Sadie stayed crouched on the ground with the boy in her arms, and she stared at her brother in horror. “Absolom . . .”
Her brother looked toward her at the sound of Chase’s crying. “You okay, buddy?” her brother asked, then he shrugged helplessly. “Maybe it’s been a long day.”
This had nothing to do with a child’s exhaustion. This was deeper . . .
“I asked him where his mother is,” Sadie said. “And his heart broke. Absolom, where is Sharon?”
Silence settled over the kitchen, and Absolom shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Elijah rocked back and forth in an instinctual rhythm with the infant in his arms, but the rest of the family was as still as ice. All eyes were on Absolom.
“She—uh—went out with some friends.... At least I thought that was where she was going. Later, I found a note she’d left.” Absolom’s chin trembled, and he swallowed hard. “The note said that it was too much. She couldn’t take it anymore. She said she hated the kind of mother she was, and she just wanted—”
Her brother didn’t finish, and he looked toward his mother pleadingly. He’d come back for help—Sadie could see it in his eyes.
“When we were there?” Sadie asked.
“No, she came back that time.” Absolom’s agonized gaze flickered toward her. “It was a few days later. In the note, she asked if I’d take the kids. I kept it, in case there was any legal trouble.”
“She left her children?” Sadie said, switching to German to spare Chase, but her eyes welled with tears. “She left them behind?”
“Yah.” Absolom sucked in a shaky breath. “She left us all. That’s why I’m here. I need help.”
* * *
Elijah felt pinned to the spot by the slight weight of the baby girl in his arms, and his heart slammed in his chest. Sharon had left her children? It was too horrible to wrap his head around in just a moment, and he absently patted the baby’s diapered rump as the reality of the situation sank in. Sharon—his friend who had watched hours of television with him, clued him in on how things worked in the Englisher world . . . Sharon, the one who had loved Elijah in spite of all their differences, who’d sat up with them both late into the night listening to them talk about their families, their heartbreak, their anger . . .
She’d just left?
“Doesn’t this . . . Sharon . . . have family?” Bishop Graber asked.
“No.” Elijah answered for Absolom this time. “She was raised in what’s called the foster system. She had no parents, and once she turned eighteen, she was on her own.”
She understood loneliness as well as they did—she’d just had a lifetime to get used to it.
“No family . . .” Sarah shook her head slowly. “So you’ve come home, then?” She turned to Absolom with a faint smile. “You’ll raise your children here—as Amish.”
“No.” Absolom cleared his throat. “I can’t, Mamm. I’m sorry. I want the kids to have a safe and happy childhood— I want them to swim in the creek and climb trees. I want Chase to see cows, finally! But I can’t stay here—”
“Why not?” the bishop boomed, rising to his feet. “What holds you back from coming home now?”
“Me!” Absolom raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m not the same, Daet! I can’t settle back into this life! The world is so much bigger than this . . . and I can’t just leave Sharon behind. She’s going to hate herself for having done this—I know her. I’ve got to find her.”
Absolom’s voice trailed off, and they were left in silence. Absolom was in love with Sharon, and he couldn’t just turn that off, either. Elijah understood his friend’s heartbreak better than anyone. Sometimes a woman could lodge so deeply into a man’s heart that he simply couldn’t move on without her.
“Then how do you suggest we help you?” Sarah asked desperately, and Absolom understood her panic. They lived a simple life right here in Morinville. They never traveled more than ten miles in either direction. What could they even offer him?
“Take care of my kids, Mamm,” Absolom said quietly. “Until I can find their mother again. Elijah and I will start up our business, and that will give us more financial stability. Then I can take them back again and provide for them properly. But that building isn’t a safe place for little kids. And the daycares I could afford—I don’t think they’re safe, either. I can’t do it alone. I need someone to help me out, Mamm. Please.”
“No . . .” she whispered. “Son, you have to come back—” Her voice shook. “In two days, the community votes on your shunning. . . . If you leave these children here, and you come back shunned—what would they see?”
“Shunning!” Absolom’s voice rose in desperation.
“You’ve refused our counsel, chosen life outside of God’s will,” the bishop said woodenly. “If I don’t offer you up to community justice in the same way any other son would be, then I am worse than a hypocrite.”
“You won’t help me . . .” Absolom breathed. “Even now.”
But a thought had started to turn in Elijah’s mind. Tradition was powerful and demanding, but perhaps Elijah could offer something that tradition could not—a way out.
“Bishop Graber,” Elijah said and adjusted the baby in his arms. “If Absolom were shunned and had no food, we would be permitted to feed him.”
“Yah.” The bishop frowned. “But you could not sit with him while he ate.”
“And if Absolom were shunned and we came across him wounded in the road, we could bring him back to our own land and nurse him back to health.”
“Yah.” The bishop’s frown deepened. “But once he was well, you’d be required to tu
rn your back once more.”
“Even if Absolom is shunned, he could visit his children—have some time alone with them. The children wouldn’t be Amish—not in the strictest sense—and not until they were adults and could choose through baptism.”
“We could . . .” Sarah’s breath grew shallow and hopeful.
“No!” the bishop roared.
Little Sarah started to cry. Elijah adjusted the baby up against his shoulder, leaning his cheek next to her downy head.
“You are my son, Absolom—” Tears welled in the bishop’s eyes. “But I cannot bend for you anymore. If you don’t come back home, confess your sin, and rejoin our community—” A tear slipped down the weathered face of the old bishop. “If you don’t come home properly, then I cannot make the consequences of your bad choices any easier for you to bear. You chose the Englisher life, and you discovered just how much you gave up when you made that choice. You either come home fully and completely, or nothing. These children will not be raised in this house without you.”
The baby’s cries subsided with Elijah’s rocking, and he looked down at Chase sitting on Sadie’s lap. His large eyes were fixed on Elijah in heartbroken confusion. This conversation was in German, a language he didn’t know, but Chase seemed to sense the import of the words, if not the meaning.
Elijah had known Chase since he was a toddler, and this boy’s little heart couldn’t take any more rejection . . . and neither could Elijah’s. He knew what it was like to be cast aside, to feel like an outsider no matter where he went. He knew what it felt like to have his community turn their back on him, to have his own father choose a church over him. He’d never outrun that aching part of his heart, and it was very possible that he’d never fully heal from that betrayal with the English, either. He’d have to find his peace with it all, and maybe he could find some meaning by making a difference in the lives of two children—giving them the acceptance he’d missed.
“The children won’t be raised in this house,” Elijah said slowly. “We must respect that. But they could be raised in mine—”
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