by Leigh Bale
He agreed. If she had been his cousin, he would not have let her walk nine miles on such a cold winter’s day. And though he would never admit such a thing, it kind of upset him that Jakob Fisher had been so derelict in her care. Since he’d lived here for a number of years already, the man should have known better.
“I’m sorry. I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” she said suddenly.
Yes, but he didn’t say so. He would never admit that he liked her incessant chatter. It had been so long since he’d listened to a woman talk about everything and nothing and it filled up the lonely void of the ride. With Sam not speaking, Jesse’s life had become overly quiet and he realized he was hungry to talk to someone. Anyone! Even if that someone happened to be Sam’s pushy schoolteacher.
Before he knew it, they had arrived at the turnoff to the Fishers’ farm. Jesse wasn’t about to make Becca walk the muddy road leading to the house and he turned the horse down the lane. The two-story log structure looked just the same as his, except that it was in pristine repair. So was the large, red barn. The tidy property was outlined by long barbed wire fences and fallow fields waiting for spring plowing. Black-and-white milk cows stood in a corral, chewing their cud. Several draft horses stood together near a cluster of barren trees. In the summertime, he had no doubt the place would be burgeoning with green life.
One day soon, Jesse hoped his own farm looked in this good a shape but he knew it would take time and lots of hard work for it to prosper. But he intended to do just that. Bishop Yoder had offered to coordinate a work frolic to help with some of the repairs but Jesse had politely refused. He’d come here for isolation and didn’t want a lot of people around his place asking a lot of questions about Alice and their girls. For now, he wanted to be left alone.
“Danke for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow at church.” Becca hopped out after he pulled the horse to a stop in front of the house.
She reached up as Jesse handed her the bags. Their fingers brushed together for just a moment and he felt the warmth of her soft skin against his. Sam waved, but Jesse didn’t speak. He didn’t want to see Becca Graber again. And yet, he did. Not because he was interested in her as a woman. But rather, she was so different from Alice. So filled with ideas, so talkative and bright, like a shiny new button. Becca Graber was a novelty to him. A glimpse of normalcy that he hadn’t enjoyed in a long, lonely time. And no matter how hard he tried not to, he liked her.
Chapter Three
Jesse awoke slowly, pulled out of a deep sleep. Opening his eyes, he blinked into the darkness. It was way too early to get up for morning chores. Over the past year, he hadn’t been sleeping well. Tonight was no exception. He’d gone to bed late after working on another chair to go with the kitchen table. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, he’d fallen into a dreamless sleep. So, what had awakened him?
He rolled over, pulling the warm quilt with him. He gazed through the shadows at the empty pillow next to him. How he missed Alice and her warm, gentle touch. Just knowing she was there, lying beside him, had brought him joy. But now, the house felt cold and empty. He must have forgotten to stoke the fire in the stove before he went to bed. But honestly, he’d become skittish about adding kindling at night for fear it might start another house fire. Although he’d lost his previous home because Sam was playing with matches, he’d become overly cautious when it came to fire.
There! The sound came again. A low cry from the outer hallway followed by muffled crying. Sam must be having another nightmare.
Throwing back the covers, Jesse sat up and placed his bare feet against the chilly floor. Alice wasn’t here to make one of her large rag rugs to cover the bare, scarred wood. He’d resisted buying one, trying to conserve his funds until the priority expenses had been met, such as repairing the leaky roof and buying more livestock. His future livelihood depended on him making this farm prosper and he intended to do just that.
Standing, he reached for his discarded shirt and pulled it over top of his undershirt. Raking a hand through his disheveled hair, he walked out onto the landing at the top of the stairs. He paused beside the door to Sam’s bedroom and listened. Another scream and then pitiful weeping came from the room and he raced inside. Sam lay upon the mattress, his arms and legs tangled in the bedding. His eyes were closed in sleep but he thrashed around, as if he were trying to escape some unknown predator.
Definitely another nightmare. The boy had been having such bad dreams ever since the fire, though their occurrence had diminished once they’d arrived in Riverton. Over time, Jesse had hoped the bad dreams would disappear entirely.
He pulled the covers away and rearranged them before lying on the mattress with his son. Blanketing them both against the frigid night air, he pulled Sam into his arms, aware that the boy had awakened and was silently weeping. His slim body trembled, his shoulders quaking. Holding the child against his chest, Jesse rubbed his back the way Alice used to do whenever one of their children was sick or upset about something.
“Shh, Daed is here now. You’re safe. It’s going to be all right,” Jesse soothed, copying her words.
Alice had always known what to do, what to say. Her kind, quiet nature had brought him comfort whenever he was worried about something too. She was the most caring, prim and proper woman he’d ever known. So different from Becca Graber’s outgoing nature. And yet, Becca seemed no less kind and giving. She just went about it in different ways.
Sam’s back and shoulders trembled, his tears wetting Jesse’s neck. The boy curled his tiny hands into the folds of Jesse’s shirt, as if he were clinging to a lifeline. Jesse continued to reassure the boy, speaking sentiments of comfort.
How he wished he could believe what he said. That everything would be all right. That the painful ache lodged inside their hearts would somehow ease and go away. But it hadn’t. Not one bit. Because Alice, Mary and Susanna were all gone. And Jesse couldn’t bring them back. He thought that relocating his son to Colorado would diminish the tender memories they each suffered from. That somehow, they could forget. But it was still there, raw and painful. Haunting them every day.
Jesse had been taught all his life to accept Gott’s will. That he should be accepting of where divine Providence had placed him. It wasn’t right for him to question Gott’s motives in anything. But he did. He couldn’t help asking why Alice and his little girls had to die. Why?
Now, Jesse had only his faith to rely on. The belief that Gott had taken his familye into His hands and would love and care for them until they could all be reunited once more.
“Gott verlosst die Seine nicht.” Jesse spoke the phrase softly, trying to believe that God would never abandon them.
Sam didn’t respond. Didn’t move a muscle or say a single word. But Jesse knew he heard and understood. Now, if only they could both believe his words, they might have some hope of healing.
An hour later, Jesse still lay there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if it had been a good choice for him to bring Sam to Colorado. It was what he and Alice had talked about. What they had planned for some time. Their home and familye in Pennsylvania was gone and he’d thought to give them a fresh start somewhere that didn’t remind him and Sam of all they’d lost. But even here, in a house that Alice and his girls had never lived in, Jesse still saw them every day in his mind and in his heart. The memories haunted him. And he realized then that they were such a part of him and Sam that neither of them could ever forget. Jesse couldn’t seem to let them go. He could run and hide but they’d still be with him. He longed to run away, but he couldn’t run from himself. So, how could he overcome the pain and regret and live again? He must have faith! He knew that without a doubt. Yet, it was so hard to put his beliefs into action.
Sam gave a little shudder, his breath coming slow and even. They lay there together, both suffering in their own different ways. But Jesse was Sam’s father. He must set a good ex
ample for his son. To show him that he truly believed Gott rules over all. That no matter what trials came their way, they could overcome anything through faith and obedience to Gott’s will. Surely the Lord hadn’t abandoned them.
Or had He?
In the wee hours of the night, Sam finally slept. Jesse felt the boy’s body soften, his little chest rising slowly with each breath. But there was no peace of mind for Jesse.
Ever so gently, he eased away from his son and stood looking down at the boy. Dried tears streaked Sam’s pale cheeks. He looked so innocent. So pure and defenseless. And an overwhelming urge to protect him flooded Jesse with deep and abiding love. He was Sam’s father and owed it to the boy to care for him. To help him any way he possibly could.
Sam shivered and Jesse reached to tug the covers higher over his child’s slender shoulders. Turning, Jesse walked out of the room. The stairs creaked beneath his weight as he went to stoke the stove and warm up the house. Morning would be here soon. They’d get busy with their activities and it would ease the tension for a time...until nighttime fell and they once again were tortured by their painful memories.
He stared out the dark windows, seeing the faint golden light of sunrise. The mountains were beautiful here, reminding Jesse just how small and insignificant he really was. And yet, he knew Gott loved him. Surely He would care for him and Sam.
It was Church Sunday and he must soon awaken his son for morning chores. They would drive seven miles to Bishop Yoder’s farm where they would listen to the Lord’s word and worship Gott. That must never change. Jesse’s beliefs had become his anchor in life. He could never abandon his faith. If he did, he knew Alice wouldn’t approve. She was counting on him to teach Sam. To show their son how to be a good man of faith.
Becca Graber would undoubtedly be at church too. Maybe Jesse should speak with her about Sam. Perhaps he should swallow his pride and ask the pretty schoolteacher for advice. Maybe she had some good ideas that might help Sam.
In the kitchen, Jesse sat on one of the hard, wooden chairs he’d made with his own two hands. Hours of working late into the night as he strived to create a warm and welcoming place for him and Sam to live. In the past, he had enjoyed such work. Especially when he showed his new creations to Alice. She would smile with approval and reward him with a gentle hug and kiss. Now, she wasn’t here and he wondered why he even tried. What did he have to live for anymore?
Sam!
The boy’s name came to his mind as if in a shout. He must forgive and forget and keep striving to better serve others. As a father, he owed that to his little boy. He owed it to Alice and to his Gott too. He must not quit. Not now, not ever. The Savior would want him to forgive and keep going. Surely Sam would start to talk again on his own. If they just left him alone, the boy would figure it out and speak again. Wouldn’t he?
Feeling overwhelmed by his convictions, Jesse leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He stared at the growing light of day until the sun became a golden ring of light and his eyes burned and his vision blurred. And then, as the grief washed over him in a fresh wave of pain, he bowed his head, cupped his face in his hands, and wept.
* * *
He was watching her again. Becca felt Jesse King’s eyes on her even before she turned and looked at him. Sitting on the hard, backless bench, she tried to concentrate on what the minister was saying. It was Sunday morning, a bright, crisp day that was perfect for worship services. For several minutes, she focused on the preaching. Quoting Psalms 127, Jeremiah Beiler’s voice was filled with emotion as he described children as a heritage from God who should be loved and cherished.
Looking up, Becca saw Jesse gazing intently at the minister. Jesse’s forehead was furrowed in a slight frown, his eyes crinkled in thought. Hmm. Maybe he should remember that Sam should be valued instead of being brushed off as a bother.
At that moment, Jesse tilted his head and his eyes clashed, then locked with hers. She looked away, her face heating up with embarrassment. She’d encouraged him to let her help with Sam’s speech problem and he’d refused. She’d do what she could for the boy during school hours but she couldn’t force Jesse to listen to her. He had to take the next step. She just hoped that was soon before Sam was too old and set in his ways to start talking again.
“What’s going on between you and Jesse King?” Naomi Fisher asked Becca later as they cleaned up after the noon meal.
Naomi was Becca’s aunt and had helped her get this teaching position in Riverton. Knowing how Becca’s heart had been broken by Vernon, Naomi had written her in January to ask if she might like to stay with her and work as the teacher until the school year ended in May. Longing for a chance to escape Vernon and Ruth’s happy preparations for their marriage, Becca had jumped at the chance.
“What do you mean?” Becca asked.
Standing in the kitchen at the bishop’s home, she washed another plate and set it in the dish drain. Aunt Naomi promptly picked it up to dry with a long, white cloth.
“I saw you two looking at each other during the meetings. You are lovely and he is a handsome widower. I’m not surprised he might be interested in you,” Naomi said.
Becca snorted. “Believe me, Jesse King is far from interested. I’ve simply offered to assist Sam with his speaking problem and the man refuses to be helped.”
Though she spoke low so the numerous other women working around them wouldn’t hear her words, Becca couldn’t prevent a note of irritation from entering her voice.
“I’m sure he’s still hurting,” Naomi said. “You know he lost his wife and two young daughters in a house fire a year ago.”
“Ja, I know all about it. But it’s no excuse to ignore Sam’s needs,” Becca said.
“Ach, did you also know it was Sam who started the fire?”
Becca gasped and turned to stare at her aunt. “Ne, I didn’t know that. Are you sure?”
Naomi shrugged and set the clean plate aside before picking up another one to dry. “Since I wasn’t there, I’m not sure of anything. But that’s what Sarah Yoder said.”
Sarah was the bishop’s wife and would be privy to such private information like that.
“I’m surprised Sarah would tell you something so personal. It sounds like gossip to me,” Becca whispered low.
Naomi drew her shoulders back, her expression filled with dignity. “She wasn’t gossiping at all, I can assure you. I accidentally overheard her talking to Bishop Yoder about it right after Jesse and his son moved here to Riverton. She didn’t know I was there listening and I haven’t spoken about it since. I have only told you because you’re my niece and I think the information might help you to resolve Sam’s problem. The poor child. Losing his mamm and sisters so young. No wonder the little lamb doesn’t speak. And no wonder Jesse is so sullen all the time. I feel bad for him, having to carry such a horrible burden on his shoulders.”
Yes, no wonder. But knowing that Sam had started the house fire changed everything and nothing. He still needed help. And soon. Was it possible that Jesse was angry with his son for starting the fire? Did Jesse hold a grudge against his own son? Oh, it was too cruel. No wonder Sam didn’t speak. Knowing what he’d done, he must be wracked by guilt. And living with a father who blamed him for what happened must be more than Sam could bear. No doubt Jesse fought against his own guilt as well.
“Ahem, excuse me, ladies. I’m sorry to interrupt your work.”
Becca looked up, surprised to see Jesse King standing in the open doorway to the kitchen. And for the umpteenth time that day, her face flamed hotter than a bonfire. Had he overheard her and Aunt Naomi talking about him? Did he know how curious she was?
The room went deathly quiet. Sarah Yoder stepped away from the gas-powered oven and nodded pleasantly. Since this was her home, she was their hostess and responsible to see that everyone was comfortable.
“Hallo, Jesse. What can we
help you with?” she asked.
His gaze drifted past the sea of smiling faces until it landed on Becca.
“I was hoping to speak with Miss Graber for a moment,” he said.
Someone gave a breathless laugh and Becca wished the floor would just open up and swallow her whole.
“It’s about Sam,” Jesse continued, as if sensing the other women’s interest.
A pulse of energy shot up from Becca’s toes. He wanted to talk to her about Sam. Maybe he was finally ready to make a plan with her to help the boy. Everyone knew she was the schoolteacher and that Sam didn’t talk. Not even to his school friends. She was duty bound to help the child in any way possible. What could be more natural than for Jesse to want to confer with his son’s teacher about the boy’s problem? But Jesse’s timing couldn’t be worse. Becca hated the thought that everyone in her Gmay might think there was something romantic going on between them. Because there wasn’t. No, not at all.
“Of course! I’d be happy to discuss Sam with you.” Giving an efficient nod, she quickly dried her hands and set the towel aside.
As Becca made her way over to the door, Lizzie Stoltzfus and Abby Fisher, her cousin’s wife, ducked their heads together to share a whispered comment. Even Julia Hostetler, who had been Englisch before her recent conversion and marriage into their faith, was grinning like a fool. Only old Marva Geingerich, who was almost ninety years old, was frowning with disapproval.
Had they all lost their minds? Becca had no romantic interest in Jesse King. None whatsoever. She hated the indifferent way he treated Sam. Even if he was handsome and tall as a church steeple, his brusque manner made it difficult for Becca to like him.
