by Leslie Gould
“I could try.”
“What if Lila was attacked? Wouldn’t you defend her? What about a child someday? How could you not defend them?” Joel asked. “That’s what a husband and father does.”
Zane didn’t respond. Of course he’d defend his family.
Shani came back on. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
“Yes,” Zane said.
Shani was silent for a long moment and then said, “Lila, do you want me to call your Dat?”
“No,” she answered. “I’ll leave him a message.” The thought of it made her ill. She was going to disappoint him horribly.
“Zane?” Joel had come back on the line. “I’m hoping you’ll change your mind.”
“I won’t,” Zane said. After he said good-bye, he hit End.
He handed the phone to Lila and she called the phone in the barn, leaving a quick message that she was with Zane, headed to Canada, and she would call soon.
When she hung up, Zane gave her a sly look and said, “Chicken.”
“I know,” she answered. “I just couldn’t spell it all out yet.”
Lila scooted across the bench seat, close to Zane. He put his arm around her, and they sat and watched the water crash down the cliff. “I don’t blame you,” he said. “I know what it’s like to be afraid.”
She rested her head on his shoulder.
“Jaalal told me not to go back to Afghanistan.”
“That was a strange thing for him to say,” Lila said.
Zane shook his head. “He knows it’s a dangerous place to be.”
She leaned her head against his chest and wished she could hear his heartbeat, but all she could hear was the roar of the water and her own blood racing in her ears.
“We should get going,” Zane said. “And get across the border.” He started up the engine and made his way through the parking lot. Once they reached the road, Lila pulled out her crazy quilt, hoping to distract herself. She had enough daylight to work on it as he drove. She began stitching a stump. She was telling their story. But she had no idea how it would end.
Zane started quoting “Splendour in the Grass” as he drove.
“What through the radiance
which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass,
Of glory in the flower.”
Lila joined in, and they said the rest together, slowing down more and more toward the end.
“We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.”
Lila swiped at a tear. “It’s so much more depressing than it was four years ago.”
“That won’t be us,” Zane said. “Things will work out.”
“‘The faith that looks through death . . . ’ What do you think that means?” Lila asked.
“That faith survives loss,” Zane said as he stopped at the back of the line at the border crossing. “It has to. Otherwise what hope do we have?”
She pointed to the flower on the quilt, next to the gate. “It’s the flower from the poem,” she said. “That’s what it represents to me anyway.”
“The quilt is beautiful,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
They inched along in the line. Lila retrieved her passport card. The uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach grew stronger. Shouldn’t she feel excited about what was ahead of her? Zane was going to join the Amish. She was going to marry him. It was her dream come true.
And yet . . . it wasn’t.
23
After they crossed the border, for the next two hours as Zane drove through farmland toward the nearest Amish settlement, he silently rehearsed what he would say. Nothing he attempted sounded right.
“We should stop to eat,” Lila finally said.
She was right. They didn’t want to arrive expecting to be fed. He’d wanted to get to the Amish settlement before dark but soon after would have to do. They stopped at a restaurant in Hamilton, ate quickly, and then kept on going.
Once they neared the settlement, Zane pulled into the first Amish-looking farm they saw. The smell of a dairy greeted them. In the dim light, the siding on the house and barn both appeared worn and not nearly as spruced up as what they were used to in Lancaster County.
“I’ll go knock on the door and ask where the bishop lives,” Lila said, slipping into her coat.
“Denki,” Zane answered, lowering his window and watching as she climbed the front steps. Woodsmoke and the spicy scent of autumn filled the cold air.
A few minutes later she headed out of the house, followed by a middle-aged man who could have been Tim’s brother.
Zane hopped down from his truck, realizing he should have accompanied Lila to the door. None of this probably looked good to the Amish man.
The man extended his hand and Zane shook it, introducing himself.
“I’m John Miller,” the man said. “So you traveled up from Pennsylvania?”
“Yes, sir,” Zane said. “We’re looking for a community to become part of here.”
“But you’re not Amish.”
“That’s right. I plan to join.”
The man looked him up and down and then back at Lila. “How about if I ride over with the two of you to the bishop’s place?”
“Denki,” Zane said. “We appreciate that.”
Even if John Miller had given them detailed directions, Zane doubted they would have found the bishop’s farm. He lived on a dirt lane several roads off the highway. By the time they reached his house, it was completely dark. Thankfully a lamp shone in the window.
John led the way, and Lila and Zane followed.
Another middle-aged man opened the door. “John. What are you doing here so late?”
“I have some strangers with me,” John answered. He introduced the bishop as Matthew Miller. “My cousin,” he said with a smile. Then he introduced Lila and Zane.
The bishop invited them into a small living room furnished with straight-back chairs and a bench. A clock sat on the mantel but that was the only kind of decoration. The room was much plainer than any Amish home Zane had seen in Pennsylvania.
John explained why Zane and Lila had come.
“I see,” the man said, looking at Zane. “What are you running from?”
Zane winced at the bishop’s insight. He thought of his father fleeing back to Philadelphia after Bub had been born, abandoning those he loved most. But that’s not what Zane had done—he’d brought Lila with him.
Zane hadn’t told John about being in the U.S. Army. He took a deep breath and launched into his story, telling about what happened in Afghanistan, being sure he wouldn’t have to return, and then getting orders to fly back.
The bishop didn’t seem sympathetic. Nor did he ask any clarifying questions about Zane being a soldier. Instead he asked, “Were you willing to join the church to marry this young lady earlier?”
“I was considering it,” Zane answered, aware of how hard the chair was. His shoulder began to ache. “After I was discharged from the Army.”
“But you’ve decided to do it now—to save your bacon, so to speak.”
Zane’s face grew warm, even though the temperature of the house was cool.
The bishop continued. “Are you wanting to use us to get out of a commitment you made?”
Zane began to feel sick to his stomach. What if that was how Lila felt too—as if he were using her?
“I’ll have to think about that more,” Zane said.
The bishop turned to Lila. “Had you considered marrying him before this?”
“Jah,” she answered.
“Have you been baptized?” he asked.
She nodded.
“So you were willing to leave the church?”
She shook her head. “I hoped he’d join. That’s why I agreed to come with him.”
“I see,” the bishop said, glancing at John. “Why don’t we all sleep on this tonight? I’ll make a few phone calls in the morning.”
Zane guessed he’d probably get in touch with Gideon. Zane didn’t know if that would be a good thing or a bad thing.
“John, can Zane stay at your house tonight? Lila can stay here.”
Zane was about to protest when a middle-aged woman and teenage girl stepped into the room from the kitchen. “I’ll show you the spare bed,” the girl said.
“I’ll grab my bag,” Lila answered. Zane followed, but he didn’t catch up with her until she was at the truck.
When she opened the passenger door and the interior light came on, he could see tears in her eyes. “Nothing about this feels right,” she said.
He nodded. Being with her felt right—but that was all. This wasn’t their community. They weren’t wanting to join for the right reasons.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I know,” she answered. “So am I. I feel so unsettled. . . .”
“I know you were troubled on the way here. But I continued on anyway.” He gazed down at her until she shut the truck door and it was too dark to see her eyes.
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” she said.
He walked her back to the front porch where the two men were talking and then told her a quick good-bye. He’d been so determined not to pressure her or control her—and here he’d done it anyway. Dragging her along had been worse than leaving on his own.
Zane tossed and turned, fighting nightmare after nightmare. The next morning as the rooster crowed he finally checked his e-mail—surprised he had service. He had three from Sarge and two from Casey, all asking him to confirm he was flying out that night.
Zane groaned and closed his e-mail app. Then he dressed in the icy cold room and headed downstairs to help John with the milking. It was the least he could do after the man let him spend the night.
Two hours later he was on his way back over to the bishop’s house.
When he knocked on the door, Lila opened it holding her bag with her crazy quilt folded on top. “The bishop was right—none of this is for the right reasons,” she said to him, speaking in her softest voice. “Take me home, or I’ll call your mom to come get me.”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
The bishop stepped into view. “I went over to the neighbors and called Gideon Byler this morning. Lila gave me the number at his lumberyard. He said Lila’s father is upset.”
Zane exhaled. That was to be expected.
“And Gideon was surprised you’d do something so foolish.”
That wasn’t exactly what Zane had expected. He’d hoped Gideon might support him.
“Gideon hopes you’ll come home. Talk things through.” The bishop’s gray eyes were intense. Zane glanced at Lila. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“We’ll leave right now.” Zane reached for Lila’s bag. “We’ll go straight home,” he said to the bishop. “And thank you for your good advice last night. It was helpful.”
Once they were in the truck and buckled in, Lila said, “I don’t think we should go home.”
Zane backed the truck onto the highway and headed south. “Where do you think we should go?”
“To Philly—to the airport.”
He cringed inside. He wasn’t truly nonresistant. He’d tried to use this Amish group. He’d never want to join it otherwise, not the way he did the district in Lancaster County.
“I know you’re afraid,” she said. “Afraid you’ll have to shoot someone again. But what if God has someone for you to save? Another child? Or a soldier?”
“He doesn’t need to use me,” Zane said. “He could use anyone.”
“Don’t say that,” Lila responded. “You were the one who scooped up the little boy. You have to trust God with this. You can’t keep running.” She met his eyes. “We should go to Philly.”
Lila was right. It was the airport or the brig. His dad was right too—he wasn’t nonresistant. He wasn’t even a pacifist, not truly.
“I don’t have my stuff,” he said. There was no way he could make it home and then back to catch his flight on time. It was at least eight hours to Philly, and he’d need to be at the airport by six p.m.
“Call your parents. Have them meet us there.”
He knew she was right. He continued on in silence.
“I’ll call your mom,” Lila said.
Zane pulled over to the side of the road, fumbling his phone from his pocket as he did.
They’d agreed to meet at a restaurant near the airport and have dinner before Zane needed to check in for his flight. Zane and Lila arrived earlier than they expected, and Zane turned off the engine and put his arm around Lila. “You’re right about me needing to figure things out. I’ll find my peace, and somehow, some day, we’ll be together.”
She nodded but she wasn’t warm to him the way she’d been the day before.
“I’m sorry I put you in that predicament,” he said. “I wasn’t using you . . .” But maybe he had been. Maybe he still had a lot of changing to do before he was ready to be Lila’s husband.
He pulled the pieces of rock from his pocket and held his hand up to the light. “They’re jasper,” he said. “From down by the creek.” He handed the bigger one to her. “Keep this one for me, would you?”
She nodded and slipped it into her apron pocket.
He put his arm back around her and tightened his hold until his phone buzzed. It was a text from Mom. We’re almost there. Tim and Beth are with us. So is Adam.
He showed the text to Lila.
“One big happy family,” she said, but she wasn’t laughing.
“Your Dat won’t fly off the handle, not in front of Beth and my parents.”
“I know,” she answered. “I just can’t fathom why he’d come.”
He texted back. Okay.
Zane had gone from planning to become Amish to returning to Afghanistan all in the last eight hours. Zane figured he had a couple of more minutes and clicked on his e-mail app and then on Sarge’s last message, typing On my way and then hitting Send. He did the same with Casey’s last message too and then slipped his phone back into his pocket. “You should have married Reuben,” he said. “Your life would be far less complicated.”
“Hush,” she said.
“I’d like to think I’m your best friend, but all I’ve brought you is uncertainty.”
“You are my best friend,” she said.
Mom’s van came around the corner and then parked beside them. Everyone started tumbling out at once.
“Ready?” Zane asked.
“No,” Lila said. She took his hand. “I’ll be praying for you. And for us. Know that.”
“Denki,” he answered. There was more he wanted to say, but after all that had happened he figured his words would sound hollow. He didn’t deserve her. But he guessed that was what love was all about.
24
Greeting everyone felt awkward, so Lila held back, letting Zane do the talking. He handled it well.
“I made a big mistake,” he said to the group. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Let’s go eat so we can get you on your way,” Joel said, leading the way to the front door of the restaurant, the rubber tip of his cane thudding along the pavement of the parking lot.
When they were all seated and holding their menus Zane, who sat down by his parents and Adam, asked Dat who was doing the milking.
“Reuben and Rose, with Trudy’s help,” Dat answered.
Beth smiled at Lila and then said from across the table, “We were all so worried.”
Lila fought back her tears. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t really think it through.”
Beth reached out and
covered Lila’s hand with hers. “I just wanted you to know how much we all care.”
Lila stole a look at her Dat, who sat next to Beth. He was listening to Zane talk about going back to Afghanistan.
“You’re right,” Zane was saying to his father. “I’m not really a pacifist. And I’m certainly not nonresistant.”
Dat leaned forward a little. “What do you mean?”
“I think some wars are justified,” Zane said. “And I think we often don’t know until long after the fact if some are or not.”
Dat pushed back in his chair. “Jah, that’s a problem.”
Zane nodded. “And I don’t see how I could stand back and not protect someone I love—or even a stranger—from getting hurt.”
Dat tilted his head. “That’s a more complicated issue. If that was truly the criteria for belonging in the church, most Amish men I know wouldn’t meet it.”
Lila wanted to ask what he meant, but Zane beat her to it. “What are you saying?”
“There are decisions made with the brain and decisions made with the heart. Those heart ones are hard to control sometimes. I think God expects us to protect those who are vulnerable.”
Lila put her menu down. “What about Jacob Hochstetler?” They’d learned about him in school. Way back in the 1700s, he was an Anabaptist man who hadn’t fought back during an attack by Native Americans and his wife and daughter were killed, while he and two sons were captured. There were many nonresistant stories from back in Europe too, long before the Amish fled to America.
Dat shook his head. “Frankly I’ve never fully understood how a man could watch someone kill his family without putting up a fight.”
Puzzled, Lila drew a deep breath. Her Dat was full of surprises.
Zane cleared his throat and then said, “I’d like to write to Lila if that’s all right with you.”
Dat spread his hands flat on the table. “Are you asking my permission?”
Zane nodded.
“What are your intentions?” Dat’s eyes practically bore through Zane.
