Saving Gideon

by Amy Lillard

  He wanted . . . Annie.

  But that would never be.

  Pain, like a knife to the heart, twisted in his chest. His breath caught and he had to force the air from his lungs. “I’ll call on her.” Gideon’s voice was just above a whisper.

  “What?” Esh hollered.

  Zook looked at Esh. “He said he’d call on her.”

  Esh nodded, his voice louder than ever. “Gut, gut.”

  Daniel Glick nodded. He was a quiet man, especially for a preacher, and he only spoke when absolutely necessary.

  On any other day, Gideon would have laughed at the comedy of it all. But laughter was far from him today because the one he loved the most would never be his.

  The men shook hands all around.

  Gideon would make a kneeling apology in front of the congregation. He’d confess his ways, promise to repent, and take up with Rachael Miller. For the first time in almost a year he would move forward. He should have been happy, even excited at what was to come.

  Instead he felt like something inside him had died.

  He watered the bishop’s horses. Then he watched the men climb into the buggy and head off back down the road, his stomach a knot of dread.

  In Amish cemeteries, there were no flowers, no fancy headstones, just simple wooden crosses to mark the journey of souls from this world to the next. Gideon walked down the rows, passing markers of those who had lived long before him, and those who had recently gone. Two rows down and third from the path were Miriam and Jamie’s.

  The crosses were painted white, most likely by Miriam’s mother. Gideon hadn’t been able to come out here since the day they laid them to rest. The markers were identical to those around them except for a piece of blue ribbon tied at the base and nearly buried in the ground to hide it from the eyes of mourners. Blue, Miriam’s favorite. The color of her eyes. The color of the dress they’d buried her in. Nearly hidden by the grass, a small wooden pony rested next to the cross under which they had buried his son.

  Gideon sat on the ground beside the patch of new grass that covered their graves. Moisture from last night’s rain soaked into the rear of his britches, but he didn’t care. He’d come out here to say his piece, and that’s what he’d do.

  Birds flitted from one tree to the next, their feathers ruffling as they matched the rustling of the leaves. Far away and near they called to each other, but Gideon couldn’t find the words.

  He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, the wind brushing against him, the world going on while he just sat. That’s how it had been for months now, everything going on around him while he stagnated like poison water.

  No more.

  “Miriam.” His voice came out rusty with emotion. This talk was long overdue. “I’ve really missed you this past year.”

  Only the wind answered him.

  He reached out a hand toward Jamie’s cross, but couldn’t find any words to address his son. To say that he had simply missed him was not enough. Words barely covered his grief.

  He focused on Miriam’s marker. “It’s been a long year.” A year of sadness, regret, and winter. “But it’s over now. And, well, the elders think I should get married again.” He picked at the grass closest to the toe of his boot. “I think they’re right. You’ve gone on. I’ve got to move on too.”

  He took a deep breath and said the words he’d never thought he’d say again. “I’m goin’ to start courtin’. And I’ll probably be married this time next year, but I wanted you to hear it from me. You were a good woman. A fine wife to me. A man couldn’t ask for better, and I’m not. I’m just goin’ on, because that’s what we do—those who are left behind—we go on.”

  From somewhere, he heard a cow moo and the clank of her bell. But there was no answer from above. Not that he really thought there would be. He knew what he had to do, and he knew it was for the best—for everyone involved. Now he just had to have the heart to carry it out.

  He took a deep breath, trying to find the words in his heart. “Jamie.” His voice cracked on the single word. He ran the back of his hand under his nose, needing a moment to pull himself together before he continued. “The woman I’m to start courtin’. . . well, she’s got two little girls. And she needs help with these girls. The bishop thinks I’d do right by them, and I will. But me raising them won’t take away from my love for you.” He stopped unable to continue. A lump of emotion clogged his throat and made it impossible for any more words to get past. If they had, he’d have told Jamie he would always love him, that he was sorry about that day, and all the other regrets he had. But even holding onto those regrets was a cancer in itself.

  And like everything else, he had to let them go, turn them over to God, and pray for the best.

  Avery spent a frustrating morning duck-walking through the bushes looking for wild strawberries. On any other day, she would have loved being out in the fresh air with the sun on her face. Today wasn’t any other day. The deacon was coming to talk to Gideon. She knew more than anything else—even more than the subject of his beard—that they would talk about her.

  The last thing she wanted was to be a problem for Gideon. That wasn’t entirely true. The last thing she wanted was to leave him, to leave Amish country. Maybe she could move into town, or buy a house on the edge of the community. One thing she knew for certain—she never wanted to go. She had thought of little else since their kiss.

  “Annie, wait up,” Lizzie called as she tromped through the woods behind her.

  “Hurry,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ve been gone for hours. I want to get back and check on Gideon.”

  “We haven’t been gone that long.” Mary Elizabeth’s face was bright red from exertion.

  “It seems like we have. Now come on.” It was oh-so hard, but she slowed her footsteps and allowed the young girl to catch up.

  The air felt of impending doom. When she said as much, Lizzie pointed to the dark clouds in the distance. A storm brewed. For sure and for certain, Gideon would say, but Avery was unsure how much of it originated from the weather.

  Finally, they burst through the edge of the trees and headed across the field toward the house. Gideon stood at the edge of the yard. He threw a stick, and the beagle went after it while Louie braced himself up on Gideon’s leg and begged for attention.

  He waved when he saw them, took the stick from the dog, and flung it again.

  Avery wanted to lift up the hem of her skirts and run as fast as she could to Gideon’s side, but Lizzie came up next to her and linked their arms together. Side by side they made their way back to the house.

  “Glad you finally came home. It’s about to start rainin’.”

  “Told you,” Mary Elizabeth said with a friendly smirk.

  Avery just smiled. “How did it go?”

  “Gut, gut.” He nodded, and Lizzie seemed satisfied.

  Yet Avery knew there was a lot more he wasn’t saying. He wouldn’t look either of them in the eye as he threw the stick again.

  The dog trotted after it as Gideon motioned for them both. “Come on, niece. I’ll carry you home in the buggy ’fore you get caught in the rain.”

  The trip to Gabriel’s house was quiet, except for Mary Elizabeth. She chatted away the entire time about one thing or another. The constant prattle made Avery anxious. She wanted so badly to talk to Gideon about what the deacon had said, but she knew better than to ask him in front of his niece.

  They dropped her off, refused offers to stay for pie, begging off with the excuse of the approaching storm.

  Once Gideon started the buggy back toward home, Avery turned to him. “So what did they say?”

  He shrugged, but didn’t take his gaze from the road. “Not much.”

  “That’s not an answer. Are they going to accept your confession?”

  “How d
id you know about that?”

  “Lizzie told me.”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Are they?”

  “Jah.”

  “And that will be the end of it?”

  “Jah.” He answered her the same, but this time the word came out a little softer than before.

  “That’s good. Gut.” She corrected herself with a smile.

  “Gut. Annie.” He straightened. “What do you say we pack up in the mornin’ and head into town?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  A day in town sounded like fun. “I have been wanting to go to the library and check out more books. And Katie Rose helped me pick out some fabric for a new dress. Frack,” she corrected. “I’m hoping that it’s in.”

  “Jah.” He offered his usual reply, but his shoulders were taut, his jaw clenched.

  “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

  “Right as rain.”

  Gideon never went into town for no reason at all. Still, she had no cause to doubt him. Maybe he had some private errands to run that dealt with his church issues—issues that he didn’t want to discuss with her.

  But he would. He had talked with her about things he had never told another living soul, and that had to mean something. So she wouldn’t mention it again, because in due time, she would know the reason for the impromptu trip to town. For now she would be happy to be by his side.

  They made it home before the first fat drops fell from the sky.

  Gideon shifted on the bed of hay he had constructed for himself and listened to the rain patter against the roof of the barn. He should be sleeping. He should have been asleep a long time ago. But dreams eluded him.

  Tomorrow would be the last day he would see Annie. He had no choice but to make her go. He’d have to go back on his word, but he should have never made that promise to her, the oath that she could stay as long as she wanted. He wasn’t able to make a decision like that. Amish were about community and what was best for the whole. And what was best for them didn’t include her.

  He shifted again and tucked his hands behind his head. He’d found her phone while she was out in the woods hunting berries. He might not be a man of the world, but he was smart enough to figure out how to work the new-fangled contraption. In no time at all, he had her father on the other end. Gideon stated his name and his intentions and arranged for them to meet in Clover Ridge the following day.

  He prayed for the good Lord to help him, because he couldn’t look her in the eyes. His sweet Annie, who had brought him back from the edge of grief and taught him how to love again—now he had to let her go.

  He had wanted to stay in the house tonight, just to be near her, but he couldn’t. Even though she was worldly and going home, he couldn’t damage their standing in the community that way. Couldn’t have others think poorly of her even if she slept in the bed alone and he on the couch.

  He groaned. It wasn’t gut to tempt his resolve. Every fiber of his faith told him to steer clear of her, but his heart wanted nothing more than to hold her close. And if he did something like that?

  He would not be able to let her go tomorrow.

  He flopped over again. From one of the stalls, Honey lowed her protest at his restlessness.

  Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow Annie would go back to her world and everything in his would return to normal. Or at least as normal as it could be. Tomorrow . . .

  “Why are we taking Louie again?” Avery struggled to hold onto the tiny bundle of dog. The day had dawned with bright skies and no sign of the evening rain, except the dew sparkling on the green grass.

  Having been inside most of the evening and all of the night, the Yorkie wanted nothing more than to run from side to side in the buggy, barking at everything he could see. The horses seemed not to care, but it bothered Avery. Or maybe it was Gideon who had her in restless knots.

  She chanced a sidelong look at him, but he stared at the road, the reins held loosely in his strong, capable hands. She had expected him to open up to her, to tell her in depth about the visit from the elders. He had told her some of the morning’s events, yet she believed there was more to the story. Maybe because he avoided meeting her gaze all through supper, and that he went out to the barn much quicker than usual. She still had trouble believing they all came—that seemed pretty serious to her. But Gideon just shrugged it off. He told her they expected him to repent at the next church service and “that would be that.”

  Avery thought the punishment harsh. After all, everything he had gone through was due to grief and guilt. He brushed her concerns aside as well, reminding her he wasn’t being shunned, and that was most important.

  “We’re takin’ him because he needs to get out of the house too. You brought his bag, right?”

  “Yes.” She felt strange carrying the designer purse with her Plain clothes. The price of the bag alone could feed a family for a month.

  Yet she should be grateful. Jack never wanted Louie anywhere around, and Gideon liked to haul him all over the place. It was a good trait in a man, this love of animals.

  Gideon pulled back and the horses slowed as they neared the town. Traffic got a little heavier, though nothing like Dallas. He pulled the buggy into a large parking lot that had once belonged to a movie theater. Now it was used as an Amish market. Many families had already set up their tables and covered them with goods to sell that day.

  Avery tilted her head. “What are we doing here?”

  He pulled the horses to a stop and turned to face her. “Annie.”

  Whatever he was going to say next was lost.

  “Avery. Thank God.”

  No one in the district called her that.

  She whipped around and saw her father striding across the parking lot, Maris at his side.

  She whirled back to face him. “Gideon?”

  He just shook his head, his face void of all expression. “It’s time for you to go home, Annie.”

  Her stomach fell, his words so final. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “It’s best for everyone.”

  She grabbed his sleeve, daring him to face her. “How can this be best? Would you look at me!”

  He turned his gaze to her, but staring into those green depths did nothing to allay her fears. “I’m goin’ to start courtin’ Rachael Miller.”

  His pronouncement landed like a punch to the stomach. “Why?” The word came out in a strained whisper.

  “It wouldn’t be right to do that with you livin’ under my roof.”

  “I don’t understand.” Tears ran down her face, and Avery let them flow. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay.”

  He turned away from her. “It’s time for you to go home.”

  “Gideon, no. Please. I love you.”

  He didn’t respond. Instead he sat there, eyes straight ahead, jaw clenched, and reins still firmly in his grasp.

  “Come on, Avery.” Her father stood next to the buggy now. “Let’s get you home and out of those clothes.” He hesitated before saying the last word, telling her exactly what he thought about her Amish garb.

  “Gideon?”

  “Go on now.” Still he wouldn’t look at her.

  How could she make him understand how much he meant to her if he wouldn’t even look at her?

  Her father touched her arm, urging her down from the buggy.

  Once again she had done it. She had fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her back. A man who didn’t care about her family’s money, but couldn’t get past their differences to see what they could have together.

  Avery brushed back her tears and let her father pull her from the buggy.

  Gideon didn’t say anything else, and Avery didn’t look back as her father led her
toward his car. Her time in Amish country had come to an end.

  Aside from laying his family in the ground, saying good-bye to Annie was the hardest thing he had ever done. Gideon ground his teeth together as he watched her go. It was best. He knew that.

  His mind kept telling him so, but his heart was a different matter.

  He slapped the reins, his eyes full of grit, his stomach heavy. She had told him that she loved him. She had poured out her feelings for him, but he had said nothing in return. For all it was worth, he loved her right back. There was so much he had wanted to tell her. How she healed him. How much he loved her. How without her he wouldn’t be the man he was today. But he could say none of those things. They would only make this harder.

  She didn’t belong here, so he had to let her go. He jostled along in the buggy, barely watching the road. It was for the best, he told himself again.

  He had made a commitment to God and the church a long time ago, and he intended to honor that pledge. Lately, he had been going down his own path, but no more. Next church service, he would ask for forgiveness, and after the noon meal, he would ask Rachael Miller to go for a ride in his buggy. Life would go on.

  Without the violet-eyed Englischer who had taken his heart to Texas.

  14

  When she boarded the plane that would take her back to Dallas, Avery was numb. Soon the pain would set in. It was as inevitable as the sunrise.

  He had planned it. He’d planned it all. Right down to putting all of her things in the buggy, making sure she had Louie with her, and arranging for her father to meet them in town. She couldn’t figure out what hurt the most: his forethought or the fact that she had once again fallen for a man who couldn’t return her love.