“Then I went for my final photography lesson, and it all just kind of came together for me there.”
“Oh?”
“Ya. First, I realized I was never going to figure out the appeal that picture-taking had for my mother. It’s just not that kind of a process.”
“I could have told you that, even though I’ve never used a camera in my life.”
“I know, I know. But I had to try.”
“I understand.”
“Next, Lark helped me see something important, that every person belongs where they love and are loved.”
“You are loved here, Tyler.”
“I know. But that’s the beauty of it. Because I have love in both places, I can’t lose by living in either one.”
“Oh.” Her tone was hesitant.
I continued quickly, “Not to worry, though, because what I finally came to understand is that the person I most am on the inside—the person God intends me to be—is the Amish Tyler, not the Englisch one. Something happened that gave me a real glimpse of myself in the outside world, of me being the man I would have become had my mother not died. And I realized that I didn’t want to be that person. I want to be me. The Amish me. The me I really am.”
Rachel was quiet for a long moment. “I’m so glad to hear that,” she said finally. “You can’t imagine how glad.”
In her voice, I could hear the weeks of uncertainty begin to melt away. “So what happened to make you realize this at last?”
I blinked, speechless, amazed at how I had managed to bumble my way into this one. What could I say now? That the truth had come to me while making out with my photography tutor?
“Does it really matter? The point is, I get it now. Finally. I understand which world I belong in. I am Amish, Rachel, and I have been for years. I just need to make it official. I’m ready to join the church and be Amish for the rest of my life. I’m ready for all of it. For…us.”
I wanted her to be happy, but instead she just wouldn’t let it go.
“Ya, I understand, but I know you, Tyler. I know this voice. What is it you’re not telling me?”
I exhaled, mentally kicking myself all the while.
“Look, it was just some spur-of-the-moment thing. Stupid, really. What matters is what I realized, not what I was doing when I realized it.”
“Come on, Tyler. I want to understand.”
I blew out a long, slow breath. “Fine. Lark and I kissed, if you have to know. But as soon as we did, it struck me that this guy kissing her was the other Tyler, the one I’ve always seen in the pond—and that I don’t want to be that guy. I want to be the one who’s looking into the pond, the Amish one. The one who loves you and wants to make a life with you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Not surprisingly, she remained quiet. I knew she needed to think over not just the promise of my words but the betrayal of my actions.
“I’m so sorry, Rachel,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t have let it happen. I had no business kissing anyone but you. It was just the situation and the timing and all of my confusion and everything. Nothing like that would ever—could ever—happen again. Ever. Please forgive me.”
Still she said nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded distant. Cold.
“I forgive you, Tyler. And I’m happy you have finally decided which world you want. But…”
I waited, taking in a breath and holding it as she continued.
“But now I have some thinking to do too.”
“Thinking? About what? About us? About me?”
She sighed heavily. “Tyler, I’ve always thought it was you and me. Forever. Since we were children, you know? But I see now…”
“What? You see what?”
“That it’s different for you. Unlike me, you’ve been holding on to the possibility that there might be someone else.”
I groaned. “That’s not true, Rachel. That’s not it at all. This search hasn’t been about choosing who I want to spend my life with. It’s been about choosing a church, a home, a place to belong. A world.”
“Ya, a world that could or could not include me as the person at your side.”
I swallowed hard, unable to deny those words. “I couldn’t join the church solely out of love for you,” I whispered. “That would have been wrong.”
“Ya, I know, and I’ve always understood that. I’ve been patient, but I’ve been waiting years now, Tyler, years for you to be ready to take that next step. I never quite understood why it dragged on for so long, but I see now what at least part of this delay has been about.”
“I’ve had doubts about joining the church,” I reiterated.
“Ya, but I have to believe you have also had doubts about taking me as your wife.”
I closed my eyes, wondering how to make her understand. This had never been about her at all. If anything, it was my love for her that had kept me in Lancaster County for so long, that had kept me from asking these questions and going on this journey way before now.
“How can I convince you that my love for you is true? That I’m finally ready to take that next step?”
She didn’t answer, but I could hear the telltale sounds of her crying.
“Look, I’ll be home in less than two weeks,” I pressed. “Once I can see you in person, once I can take you in my arms and ask you to be my wife, then you will know that my doubts have never been about you. Please, Rachel. I love you. I want it to be you and me, side by side, for the rest of our lives.”
“Hold on,” she whispered, and I heard the phone clunk down onto a hard surface, heard the soft whish of tissue being taken from a box as she pulled herself together. When she returned to the phone, she was hoarse with grief.
“Look, I gave you the freedom for you to do what you needed to do. I ask you to please do the same for me. I don’t think we should talk again for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you can come back if you want, but I can’t promise I’ll still be here for you when you do.”
“Rachel, you can’t—”
“I’m hanging up now, Tyler. I have always loved you. And I wish you the best. But I have some decisions to make as well.”
With that, she ended the connection between us, leaving me with a dead phone and two searing dilemmas.
I had hurt the person I most loved in the world.
And I didn’t know how to make it right.
When I went inside, my expression must have shown everything. Liz did a discreet double take as I made a beeline for the stairs.
“Everything okay between you and Rachel?” she asked.
I paused, half of me wanting to be alone and half of me relieved to have someone to talk things over with. “No. Not really.”
“I’m sorry, Tyler.”
“I am too. I might…I might need to head back a little earlier than planned.”
Brady looked up at me. “I can take care of my mom. You don’t have to stay another day if you don’t want to.”
“Brady.” Liz frowned at him.
“What? He doesn’t. He can leave now if he wants.”
“That’s not what I want,” I said. “I’m just saying I might head back before the end of the month since Dad’s coming back early.”
“And I’m just saying you don’t have to wait for him. If you want to go back, go back. Now.”
“Brady!” Liz exclaimed.
But my brother just stared at me, as though he had drawn a line in the dirt and dared me to step across.
The stress of the day overcame me. I could not stand another minute of the tension, especially as I had tried every angle I could think of to appease him.
“I’m really sorry I am such a dunce that I can’t figure out what I did to make you mad at me, Brady. I’ve tried to understand your behavior toward me, I really have, but I just can’t. You’re going to have to tell me.”
With a grunt, he turned his attention back to the TV. But I wasn’t going to be put off that e
asily.
“I’ve only ever wanted to be a good brother to you.”
“That is such a lie.”
I could barely believe I heard him right. “I beg your pardon?”
“Brady, Tyler, I want you both to stop for a minute—” Liz pushed herself up on the couch, but Brady and I ignored her.
“You heard what I said. That’s a lie.” Brady turned toward me, his gaze steel on mine.
No one had ever called me a liar before. Ever. The accusation cut like a knife. Especially coming from my own brother.
“When have I ever lied to you? About anything?” I demanded.
He shook his head, a wounded half smile on his face, as if everything that came out of my mouth was a laughable but painful joke. “Go home, Tyler. Really. Just go home. It’s obvious you want to. Just go.” He stood and brushed past me to leave the room.
“Brady!”
He spun around, eyes blazing. “What?”
“Talk to me!”
“Fine.” He stepped forward, his neck suddenly bulging and red with rage. “You want to know the truth? You want to know what I’m so mad about?”
“Yes. Please.”
His eyes narrowed, and as I peered into them I realized that there was something else behind the anger. Pain. Hurt.
“All these years,” he said in a voice low but strained, “my whole life, I thought Dad abandoned you in Pennsylvania, that he just went off and left you with your grandparents. For years I’ve blamed him that I never had a brother growing up because I thought it was his fault.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, hoping the calm in my voice would calm him down as well. I bore my father no ill will for what had happened. I wanted him to sense that.
“Don’t you get it, man? I’ve been blaming Dad. For years. Until I learned the truth.”
“The truth?”
“That you were the one, not him. You decided to stay. He asked you to come with him and Mom, but you said no. It’s your fault I grew up without a big brother around, your fault I’m practically an only child.”
With that, he turned and left the room. I just stood there, the full force of his words falling onto me like a crushing weight.
I had done to my dad—and by default to my brother—what my dad had done to me. I had relinquished him. Walked away from him.
I wanted to call after Brady now, to say something, but no words would come.
Clarity pummeled me. It all made sense. All of it.
In all of these years, I’d never once considered how the choice I’d made at the age of eleven affected my family—my father and my brother and even my stepmother. But I realized now that the hurt had gone both ways.
They hadn’t just abandoned me. I had rejected them.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Oh, Tyler, I’m so sorry,” Liz whispered from the couch.
I turned to her, still stunned and nearly speechless
My mind raced as I tried to decide what to do next. Go after my brother? Give him a chance to cool off first?
“Why don’t you just sit down here for a minute,” she said, as if reading my mind. I met her eyes and saw that they were shimmering with tears for her son and maybe for me too.
After a moment’s hesitation, I did as she asked, taking a seat beside her on the couch.
“I’m sure Brady hasn’t stopped to realize you were just a child back then.”
I shook my head. “No, Liz, in a way he’s right. I did make a choice. And that choice affected him. I just never realized it until now.”
Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she dug a tissue from her pocket, dabbed at her cheeks, and blew her nose. We were both quiet for a moment.
“I think I know where all of this is coming from,” she said finally, her expression growing distant. “A few weeks ago, the day after your dad called you and asked you to come, he and Brady had a big fight. Brady accused Duke of having abandoned you with your grandparents all those years and robbing him of having a brother to grow up with. And your dad, he lost his temper and…” Liz stopped as another tear slid down her cheek. She dabbed at her face. “He told Brady it was you who decided to stay. When you were eleven and we finally came for you, you didn’t want to come with us.”
I pictured the impact his words must have had. The moment Dad told him I’d chosen not to come, Brady’s hurt and anger must have jumped from our father to me.
“Duke wasn’t trying to throw you under the bus, Tyler, please don’t think that,” Liz said. “He didn’t mean to deflect the blame or to drive a wedge between you and your brother. He was just trying to get Brady to understand that the situation back then hadn’t been so cut and dried. It was more…complicated than that. For all of us.”
I swallowed hard, feeling in the midst of my dismay a strong sense of relief as well. At least I knew now what was wrong, what had happened to make Brady’s behavior toward me change so drastically.
Which meant I could set things to right at last.
“Should I go up there and apologize?” I asked. “That’s what I’d like to do, but I’m not sure if this is the best time.”
She shook her head. “Give him some space. Now that he’s gotten that off his chest, I think he might need to settle down. Catch his breath. Maybe understand that what he’s feeling isn’t so much anger as it is hurt.”
I nodded. “I can’t believe I never thought about this before. Of course he’s hurt. I would be too if I were him.”
Then I realized that at the very least I could apologize to her. After all, I had unknowingly rejected her as my stepmother as well. I had not meant to communicate rejection—the Lord knows I was only eleven years old—but I had. I was too young to see it then and apparently had been blinded to it as I grew. I might have picked up on it later, except Dad never mentioned that day again. And neither had Liz. I grew up thinking I was the only one who had something to gain or lose that day.
“I’m sorry, Liz, if my decision hurt you too.”
She held up a hand, palm out, as if to deflect my words. “Like I said, you were just a child. I would never hold you accountable for that choice. No way. I’ll try talking to him first.” Liz dug in her pocket for another tissue.
“Thanks,” I said. Then I told her I’d be back later, that I needed to clear my head as well.
Still in a daze, I went to the garage, took the bike and helmet from the rack, and headed off into the hazy afternoon sunshine for a long ride, hoping it might help me to sort things out.
It didn’t. By the time I returned, Brady was gone, off to spend the night at a friend’s house. Liz told me she’d tried talking to him a bit, tried to explain more about the situation and why he shouldn’t blame me for all that had happened back then.
“But to be honest,” she added, “I don’t think I got through to him. Maybe he’ll think on it some more while he’s gone. You never know.”
I thanked her and headed upstairs. In my room, I took out pen and paper and wrote a long letter to Rachel, finally shedding a few tears of my own. It seemed that in a single day I had managed to alienate two of the most important people in my life. For now, all that was left to do was attempt to mend these fences and to pray.
And so pray I did, on my knees at the side of the bed, for more than an hour. During that time, I slowly came to understand something important, that the Lord was not nearly as concerned with where I lived my life, but how I lived it. I had chosen once before, as a child. And I was choosing again now, as an adult. I told God I wanted to spend my life in Lancaster County as a member of the Amish church, married to Rachel, and living in simplicity, surrender, and service to my community and Him. This was my decision to make, but I also felt strongly that it was God’s will for my life.
When my prayer time was done, I grabbed pen and paper, climbed onto the bed, and wrote out three very important letters.
The first one was for the bishop, telling him I had heard my answer from God and that I was ready for the membership class and to
take my vows.
The second was for Daadi and Mammi, telling them the same thing but in more detail, explaining the highlights of the spiritual journey I had been on. At the end, I also thanked them for raising me, and for being so wonderful and loving and wise.
The third was for Rachel, and it was by far the hardest one to write. After several false starts and crumpled pages, I finally ended up penning just a few quick sentences, telling her I would be getting home a little earlier than expected and would like the opportunity to see her and talk with her as soon as possible after that. I didn’t know if she would even give me the time of day once I showed up at her door, but my hope was that if I asked her via letter, in advance, she might at least be willing to consider it.
After that, I felt much more at peace. In fact, despite the tension I was now experiencing in virtually all my human relationships, I had never been so connected to God. It was as if I’d been in a darkened room, trying to find my way, and with this decision finally made, a door had been thrown open, spilling light into every corner at last.
Brady didn’t come back from his friend’s house until late Sunday night, acting distant and aloof. Before he disappeared into his room for the night, I asked if we could talk.
“I have homework,” he replied, and then he closed the door in my face.
The next few days were the most difficult I had ever known. I busied myself with little details on my dad’s car, buffing out rust on the chrome, finishing the repairs to the upholstery inside, and cleaning out the trunk. But not since I was six, alone in an unfamiliar place and missing my mother so bad I could barely breathe, had I felt so disconnected from the people I loved. Rachel, Jake, and my grandparents seemed a million miles away; Dad was still in the Middle East; and Brady outdistanced them all. Liz, the one person who had always kept me at arm’s length, was now my closest human connection. She offered me sympathetic nods and a kind word here and there, but she and I were both painfully aware that the long-buried emotions from the day they asked if I wanted to come live with them, and I’d said no, were out in the open.
MEN OF LANCASTER COUNTY 01: The Amish Groom Page 26
