Her Brother's Keeper

by Beth Wiseman

  I’m damaged. She chewed on her bottom lip, not wanting the conversation to get too deep. “Ryan, you talk a lot about God. And that’s fine. But it’s just . . . well, He just isn’t my thing. I don’t base my decisions, choices, or motivations around God.”

  “It’s never too late to have a relationship with the Lord.”

  Charlotte’s eyes were watering for reasons she didn’t understand. She changed the subject, but couldn’t quite detach herself from the God-talk. After they hung up, she lay awake for another hour . . . wishing, longing for a God, someone who loved her, no matter her faults or mistakes. Someone who would forgive her, who was preparing a place in heaven just for her, the type of paradise believers talked about.

  Closing her eyes, she thought about Ethan, hoping he was in such a place.

  Three

  Isaac looked at the clock on the wall, knowing a hundred people would be piling into the house for worship service soon. Hosting church fell on each family every nine or ten months, and a lot of extra work went into getting everything ready. The house had a fresh coat of paint, the yard was freshly mowed, low tree branches trimmed, shrubs and flower beds manicured, and his mother had been hard at work on the inside. He glanced out the window at his father sitting in a rocker on the porch, then turned to his left when he heard his mother’s footsteps.

  “He seems to be having a good day so far,” she said as she touched Isaac’s arm. Anna Ruth Miller smiled, and Isaac nodded as he recalled the way their lives had been before his father got cancer. Everything had changed three years ago. Isaac remembered exactly where he was when he got the news. He’d been on his way to ask Hannah King out, finally, after years of dating other girls that weren’t right for him. But Hannah had always had a long list of suitors, and for once . . . neither one of them were seeing other people. By Amish standards, they were both well overdue to get married, but following his father’s diagnosis, Isaac assumed the role as head of the household, and Ethan slipped into town and stole Hannah’s heart before Isaac even had a chance to try.

  Sometimes, Isaac wondered if he was even worthy of Hannah’s love. He’d sensed that Ethan might be in trouble, but he’d let jealousy creep into his heart and hadn’t made an effort to help. Isaac believed that he’d failed God—and Hannah—by not doing more for Ethan. He knew that God had forgiven him, even if Isaac struggled to forgive himself.

  He walked out onto the porch, looped his thumbs beneath his suspenders, and peered out over the yard into the pastures. Over a hundred acres to tend. It had been tough when there were two of them doing it, and now it was only Isaac. They were blessed to have good employees at the furniture store. Isaac went in once a day, but without Phyllis and Tom, he’d be lost.

  “Sohn, everything looks gut. I know your mamm gets anxious when it’s our turn to host worship.” His father carefully stood up and eased toward Isaac. Daed was still getting used to a prosthetic leg. “You’ve done a fine job readying up the yard.”

  “Danki.” Isaac had hoped that the new leg attached at his father’s knee might be more comfortable and allow his father to at least do a little bit around the house. The cancer was in remission, and his daed seemed to have more good days than bad.

  A line of buggies was heading up the driveway, and Hannah was in one of them. Just knowing that sent Isaac’s heart to racing. Maybe it was time to leave the past behind him. He couldn’t bring Ethan back, but he could love Hannah with all his heart if she’d let him.

  “I’m going to ask out Hannah King,” he said to his father, giving a taut nod. When his father didn’t respond, Isaac turned to him, lifting a hand to his forehead to block the sun rising behind Daed.

  His father was losing his footing, and if Isaac hadn’t caught him by the arm, he would have fallen. He helped his father back to the rocking chair.

  “I’m still a clumsy man.” Daed shook his head, sighing. “Now, what were you saying?”

  Isaac looked out at the buggies getting closer, then back at his father. “I-I was thinking about asking out Hannah.” He turned to his father, who was scowling.

  “I’ve heard that maedel is still brokenhearted. Probably best not to pursue her. You might end up with a broken heart as well.”

  “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Isaac watched Hannah stepping out of one of the buggies. He was tired of living in regret.

  “I guess I could sell this place,” his father said, sighing again.

  Isaac looked at his father. “What? You can’t do that. This farm has been in our family for four generations.”

  “Isaac . . .” Daed stroked his long gray beard. “I’m not able to tend this place on my own.”

  “You can’t sell it.” Isaac reached for his father’s arm when he struggled to push himself up from the chair. Normally, Isaac’s parents would have moved to the daadi haus on their property, but the old house was in need of repairs—repairs that should have been started on years ago. It wasn’t livable anymore, and Isaac didn’t know when he’d fit that into his schedule. Others in the community would lend a hand, but these days, everyone stayed busy. It was hard to make a living just farming, and many had turned to an outside source of income, the way Isaac’s family had with the furniture store. Although, for the past three years, Miller’s Furniture Store had been mostly dependent on consignment pieces.

  “It only makes sense that you should leave here, marry, and have a family. Your mamm and I can make do in a small haus, something we can take care of.”

  “Mamm loves this place,” he said softly as he watched Hannah coming up the sidewalk.

  Charlotte smiled at Isaac Miller as she followed Hannah on the sidewalk. She couldn’t believe she was going to have to sit on a wooden bench for three hours, listening to a church service in a foreign language, about a subject she didn’t know anything about. Even someone as attractive as Isaac couldn’t provide enough of a distraction for this. At least they only held church service every two weeks.

  Lena introduced Charlotte to everyone, and several people spoke to Charlotte in Dutch. She quickly realized that memorizing a few words and sayings wasn’t going to make her proficient overnight. And based on some of the strange expressions, she was failing miserably. Eventually, she pointed to her throat and whispered, “Sore.” But she caught the look between Lena and Hannah, pretty sure they were on to her.

  She spent the three hours on the bench plotting another lie, one that she hoped her pretend Amish cousins would believe. Otherwise, it was going to be a long month trying to fake her way through conversations.

  Hannah and Lena headed directly to the kitchen following the worship service. All of the men left the house, and Charlotte could see most of them making their way to the barn. Charlotte shuffled into the kitchen with the other ladies, and even small children were gathering plates, food, and utensils to carry out to tables that were set up outside. Nothing like baking in the August heat. She thought about Texas and how much hotter it was at home, and she made a mental note not to complain too much.

  As Charlotte carried a tray of pickles outside, Hannah and Lena got in step with her. Hannah spoke to her in Dutch, then smiled. Charlotte had chatted in English with some of the other women in the kitchen earlier, so pointing to her throat wasn’t going to work again. But she didn’t feel like this was the time to break into the story she’d prepared. So, instead, she said, “Gut, gut.” She realized she hadn’t retained much of what she’d read in her dictionary. Hannah glanced at her mother and then at Charlotte, and she knew that she’d not given an appropriate response. Hannah nodded, then turned to her mother as they laid out food. Hannah spoke to her mother. In Dutch.

  “She doesn’t understand a word we are saying,” Hannah said to her mother. “You heard what I asked her.”

  Her mother waited until Mary was out of earshot before she put her hands on her hips and whispered, “’Tis tacky for you to trick her like that.”

  Hannah grinned. “I thought it was funny. I asked her what her
favorite color is, and she said gut. Because that seems to be the only word she knows.”

  Mamm dropped her arms to her sides and sighed. “I’m sure there is a reason her people don’t speak the Deitsch. And the Lord would not approve of you intentionally deceiving her like that.”

  “He also wouldn’t approve of her pretending to know the language. That’s lying.” Hannah walked with her mother back to the house. Mary brushed past them with a tray of glasses filled with iced tea.

  “We will speak with her later about this. Not now.” Mamm opened the screen door for Hannah to go in first, but out of the corner of her eye, Hannah saw Mary walking toward Isaac. He was washing his hands at the pump. Mary would be wasting her time with him. Several of Hannah’s friends had tried to get Isaac to take an interest in them, but Isaac stayed busy taking care of his parents and had no part of it. Hannah had known Isaac all her life, and she’d watched the wonderful man he’d grown into. But there had been opportunities in the past, before Isaac’s father became ill, for Isaac to ask Hannah out, and he never had. Besides, Hannah’s heart still ached for Ethan. She wasn’t sure when she would be ready to date again. But if there was one man in their community that could make Hannah consider dating again, it was surely Isaac Miller.

  Charlotte wondered if Isaac might provide a nice distraction while she was here. His muscular body was evident beneath his blue shirt, black slacks, and suspenders that strained against his broad chest. His dark hair was cut like every other Amish man, and his cropped bangs fell above dark-blue eyes. Hannah had told her he wasn’t married. But she figured that out right away because he was clean-shaven. She quickened her steps until she was right beside him, all the while hoping that he would speak to her in English.

  “Hi, we haven’t met. I’m Mary.” She waited for Isaac to finish washing his hands before she extended hers. He stood tall and hesitated for a few seconds, but eventually wiped his palms on his black slacks and latched on with a firm grip.

  “Wie bischt?”

  Finally. A phrase she was familiar with. “I’m gut,” she said, then quickly added, “It’s hot out here, but not as hot as in Texas. That’s where I’m from.” She wanted to set the tone for the conversation and ensure that it would be in English.

  “Do you ride horses there? Do the Englisch ranches have oil wells? Cowboys in big hats?” Isaac tapped a finger to his straw hat.

  Charlotte smiled. Why was it that every time a Texan left the state, these questions popped up? “No. I . . .” She stopped herself before she said she lived in a high-rise apartment near downtown. “I don’t ride horses. Some ranches have oil wells, but you don’t see too many cowboy hats unless you’re in a rural area.”

  He nodded and smiled. Initially, she’d only approached Isaac to see if he was just as handsome up close, which proved to be the case, but now she was thinking that Hannah wasn’t the only one here who had known Ethan. Maybe Isaac and Ethan had been friends.

  “So, um . . . Hannah told me that your family owns a furniture store. I’d love to see it while I’m here.” Charlotte could think of worse ways to spend her time. At least Isaac was easy on the eyes.

  “Ya, it’s on the main road. I can give you directions. An Englisch couple runs it for us. Just ask for Phyllis or Tom.” Isaac shrugged. “Or anyone working that day can help you.”

  Charlotte nodded, smiling a little, as she tried to think of a reason she needed Isaac to be the one to show her, but nothing came to mind.

  “Nice to meet you, Mary,” he said before he turned to walk away.

  He’d only taken a few steps toward the barn when Mary sprinted to catch up with him. “Maybe you can show me your furniture store, and . . . we . . . uh, could have lunch . . . or something.”

  Isaac stopped, faced her, and scratched his cheek. “I have much work to do, but . . .”

  “We can make it a quick trip.” She was seizing the moment, hoping to get him to commit. “What about Saturday?”

  Isaac’s eyes rounded as he grinned. “Ya. Okay.”

  “How does noon sound?”

  He nodded, narrowing his eyebrows, almost appearing confused. Then he pointed to the barn. “I better go join the others.”

  “What’s going on in the barn?” she asked, getting in step with him.

  He didn’t say anything, but opened the barn door for her. A cloud of cigar smoke rushed at her face and into her lungs. She backed up a few steps. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. “I’ll just see you back at the house.” Charlotte backed up a few steps until she was clear of the smoke.

  “They are all smoking in the barn. Is that normal?” she said to Hannah when she returned to the tables.

  Hannah plucked an olive from the pickle tray but just held it as she answered. “Ya. They smoke cigars before the meal while we are getting things ready, and usually after the meal too. They tell jokes out there.” She popped the olive in her mouth.

  Really? “People in my Amish town don’t smoke.” And what about all that hay? Aren’t they worried about fire?

  Hannah didn’t look up as she put spoons in the jams and relishes. “I only know a few men who smoke cigarettes. It’s mostly cigars.” She finally glanced up. “But we were in Ohio once for a cousin’s wedding. They don’t smoke at all, and they were very offended when some of the wedding guests did.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s different everywhere.”

  Charlotte’s mouth watered as she noticed all the loaves of homemade bread. “I guess.” She scanned the table until she spotted the butter. The men would be served first, and she hoped they weren’t greedy with the bread. It was tempting to snatch a piece now.

  “I saw you talking to Isaac.” Hannah didn’t look up as she placed another spoon in a bowl of chowchow.

  “Yeah. Um . . . ya,” she said as she and Hannah walked back to the house. “We’re going to have lunch on Saturday, and he’s going to show me his family’s furniture store.”

  Hannah stopped walking and turned to Charlotte, blinking her eyes. “What? Like a date?”

  “I guess you could call it that.”

  Hannah folded her arms across her chest, her eyebrows raised. “Hmm . . .”

  Charlotte’s skin prickled. Did her beautiful cousin think Charlotte wasn’t good enough for Isaac? Just because others had tried to win Isaac didn’t mean that Charlotte would fail, even though that wasn’t the purpose of the so-called date. “Are you surprised?”

  Hannah dropped her arms to her sides, then reached up and twirled the string of her prayer covering with one hand. “He just hasn’t dated anyone that I know of since his daed got cancer a few years ago.”

  “Oh.” Charlotte fell back in step with Hannah.

  Her pretend cousin didn’t have much to say the rest of the day. It didn’t take a genius to recognize jealousy. Charlotte kept quiet, then excused herself after supper, even though Hannah scowled. The family probably prayed together at night and wondered why Charlotte hadn’t joined them.

  After showering, she sat on her bed and ran a comb through her wet hair, then pulled out her journal, which was just a yellow legal pad. She’d tried recording her thoughts on her computer and her phone, but there was something about writing them out longhand that she liked. Sometimes, she wrote letters to Ethan. Other times, she didn’t think Ethan would like what she had to say, so she just logged her thoughts in a journal.

  August 21

  Well, I managed to snag a date with an Amish fellow . . .

  Isaac rushed down the stairs when he heard the commotion. At first, it was muffled rumblings, but as he got closer, he heard his mother yelling.

  “Gideon, you have to try to help yourself!”

  Isaac hurried through the living room and stopped at his parents’ closed bedroom door. “Is everything okay?” he said in a loud voice.

  Both his parents began yelling at once, but it was his father’s voice that drowned out his mother’s. “Nee! Everything is not all right.”

  Isaac reache
d for the doorknob, but the door swung open before he could grab it, and his mother came out of her bedroom wiping her cheeks. “I give up. Your father won’t try to do anything to help himself.” She raised her palms as her shoulders rose. “I love him with all my heart, but I won’t always be able to lift him when he falls, help him to get dressed, or all the other things he depends on me for.”

  Isaac sympathized with his mother, but he eased past her into the bedroom as she headed to the kitchen. His father was sitting on the floor in his underwear, reaching for his prosthetic leg. When he saw Isaac, he pulled his arm back and motioned to the leg.

  “Danki, sohn. I guess your mamm was just going to leave me on the floor.” Scowling, his father attached the device at his knee, then stretched out his arm toward Isaac. As Isaac helped his father to his feet, he glanced at the wooden handle on the wall nearby. Isaac had installed the makeshift support so that his father could pull himself up if he fell. “I’m half a man. What does that woman expect from me?”

  Isaac felt an overwhelming urge to stand up for his mother, especially since Isaac agreed that his father was too dependent on others and didn’t make any effort to learn new ways to care for himself—or anything else. But he’d never confronted his father, and now didn’t seem like the best time. He could hear his mother crying from the other room.

  All this time, he’d been worried about how his parents would take care of the house and the land if Isaac ever left.

  Now he was wondering who would take care of them.

  Charlotte reread what she’d written this evening. Even though her journal was for her eyes only, the editor in her demanded perfection. She’d recently left the publishing house she’d worked at for two years, and now she edited manuscripts from home. The biggest perk was that she could structure her jobs and free time however she chose. If there was a downside, it was her inability to turn off her editor brain and simply enjoy a book. Same with her journal, which was supposed to be a record of her feelings. She went back and revised three sentences just the same, then read it a final time, starting from the beginning.