“I did forgive them,” Abe said. “I thought I had. It was when I was going around asking them to contribute to this medical fund that would help everyone that they started remembering how it was for your mamm. And every last one of them told me that they didn’t want to go through that with their loved ones—have the money run out and there be nothing left. So this would be extra insurance against that.” Abe’s eyes misted. “That was when I got angry.”
“Because they were trying to protect themselves?” Elizabeth asked.
“Because they were finally willing to empty bank accounts, and to sell unused plots of land, and to dig up money they weren’t willing to touch back when your mamm needed it,” he said bitterly. “They’d selfishly held on to their money when your mamm needed help, and now they were losing it. It felt . . . like justice.”
“And since when is justice more important than grace?” Isaiah asked.
“It isn’t,” Abe said, looking over at his son sadly. “It never was. But on a human level, it sure felt better.”
“And now that you’re back, you want grace,” Elizabeth said. “You want forgiveness. You want this community to give you a home again.”
“I do,” Abe said quietly.
“Why should they?” Isaiah asked. “After all you did to them? Yah, they didn’t give you more money for Mamm, but that was a long time ago. And they were thinking of her when they dug out their money to try to make it better for everyone. They didn’t deserve that, Daet.”
“I’m not so worried about the whole community as I am about my own family,” Abe said. “I need to know that you two forgive me—”
Abe’s words hung in the air, and Elizabeth longed to say that she did, and to take away some of her father’s pain, but she couldn’t.
“We’re working on it, Daet,” Isaiah said quietly.
“Pray for strength,” Abe said earnestly. “Gott is here for us, even in these ugly times. Gott is the one who commands us to forgive, and it is only through His strength that you’ll accomplish it.”
That was the father Elizabeth remembered oh so well. That was the preacher who stood in front of congregations and kept them rapt with his persuasiveness. That was Abe Yoder, the respected man of this community, who everyone had looked to for guidance and as an example of right living. And he was talking with religious fervor again.
“That—” Elizabeth felt the dam suddenly splinter and crack inside her. “That, right there! You’re preaching at us!”
“I’m just . . . talking,” Abe replied.
She shook her head, anger swirling higher and higher inside her. “No, you were doing what you’ve always done, and it has to stop. It can’t go on—there really is no place for your preaching anymore, Daet. We’re going to move forward as a family, but things are going to be different. You no longer get to preach to us about Gott’s will or the Amish way. You’ve given that up. You gave that up when you joined criminals in defrauding your own community!” Elizabeth’s hands had stopped trembling now. “We’ll love you, and we’ll find a way to forgive you, but you are no longer a spiritual leader to any of us!”
“I will always be your father,” Abe said, his voice shaking. “And just because I’ve made a mistake doesn’t make every spiritual lesson I’ve ever learned untrue or useless to you.”
Outside, Mo’s little cry rose up, and they all suddenly fell silent, realizing how loudly they’d been talking. Bethany would have heard most of that.
“Let’s not argue,” Isaiah said, sounding tired. “We can fight about this for years, I’m sure, and we’ll have plenty of time to do it. But our family is not whole until Lovina is home, or at the very least we know that she’s safe.”
“I’ll find her,” Abe said.
“How?” Elizabeth asked, spreading her hands. “How will you do that, Daet? We’ve asked around, we’ve contacted the police, we’ve gone to the library and searched for her online. There isn’t anything left to do. If Lovina doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”
“Lovina is my little girl,” Abe said, his voice trembling. “She might be your sister, but she’s my child! And if I tell you that I’m going to find her, then I will find her, or I swear before Heaven above that I will die trying. Do you understand that? Or is that too religious for you, Lizzie?”
“Daet, enough!” Isaiah cut in. “Don’t fight with Elizabeth now, too. We’ve waited a long time to see you and you’ve waited a long time to see us. I don’t think any of us wanted to fight with one another when we finally came together.”
Isaiah shot Elizabeth a sharp look.
“I’m sorry, Daet,” she said quietly. “I’m upset. But I love you, and I’m glad you’re safe. I was so worried . . .” She wiped an errant tear from her face. “We’ll sort this out, but maybe not all in one sitting.”
Elizabeth rose to her feet. She couldn’t stay here any longer. She needed to get out somewhere big enough to cradle this ocean of emotion inside her.
“Are you ready to leave?” Isaiah asked her.
“Yah. I need to get back,” she replied.
The side door opened, and Elizabeth heard Bethany come back inside. She murmured something to the baby and then the door shut.
“Can we pray before you go?” Abe asked.
They’d always prayed together. Daet had been known for his beautiful prayers. But now it felt false.
“Please, Lizzie,” her father said when she hadn’t answered. “Let’s pray.”
Would this prayer go anywhere when it was offered up by angry people who couldn’t forgive? Or would it bounce off the walls and the ceiling and settle in a corner somewhere, useless? All she knew was that she could not stand there and pretend they were a united, faithful family when they were not. That kind of prayer might very well be a curse.
“No, Daet,” Elizabeth said, and her voice caught in her throat. “I’ll pray when I’m alone.”
She started to move past her father, but then she leaned in and gave him a brief hug. Because resent him as she did, and as far away as true forgiveness seemed to be, she loved her father.
* * *
Solomon and Bridget had just finished soup and a sandwich for lunch when Elizabeth came inside, her face flushed from the heat and her forehead pink with sunburn. Solomon stood up—uncertain of why, or what he intended to do, but he wanted to help.
“Lizzie, what happened?” he asked. “Did you walk? Why didn’t your brother drive you back?”
“Because I wanted the time alone,” she said. “And it was one way to get it.”
“That’s a long walk, though,” he countered.
It seemed that the time with her daet hadn’t been any kind of happy reunion. At least Abe was home. That was something . . .
Elizabeth accepted a glass of water from Bridget, drained it, and then refilled it and drank down a second one before she sank into a kitchen chair.
“I got to talk to my daet,” she said. “And that was what I wanted.”
“And . . . he’s back now?” Solomon asked. “For good, I mean?”
“I suppose,” she said. “Where else will he go? Welcome or not, this is his home.”
“I can understand that sentiment,” Solomon replied. He was in the same position—back in a place that held his memories but didn’t exactly welcome him.
“You didn’t need to rush back,” Bridget said softly, pushing a fresh sandwich in front of Elizabeth. “When Sol told me that you were with your daet, I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow, quite honestly.”
“It turns out there wasn’t as much to say as I thought,” Elizabeth said. “Besides, there’s work to do here.”
“And lunch to eat,” Bridget said firmly. “I know you’re upset, but you still need to keep up your strength.”
Elizabeth bowed her head for a silent grace, then took a bite of the sandwich. She turned her gaze toward Solomon as she chewed.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, swallowed. �
�Yah. I suppose so.”
But she wasn’t. He could see it in her dark eyes. She was rattled, upset, and unsettled. Whatever had happened with her daet, it had given her no peace.
“You have work to do, don’t you?” his grandmother asked him pointedly.
Solomon looked up to find her gaze fixed on him, her eyebrows raised.
“Yah. Of course.” He had to check on the little jar of money and the last of the produce left at the stand, to start. “I’ve got plenty.”
“Best get to it, then,” Bridget said, but she cast him a tender smile to show there was no offense intended. Maybe she wanted to talk to Elizabeth alone.
Solomon gave Elizabeth a nod, then headed for the door. If her own daet’s return didn’t comfort her, what made him think he could?
For the next few hours Solomon dedicated himself to mucking out stalls, brushing down horses, refilling watering troughs, and hosing down the buggy. The corral fence was getting rickety, too, and Solomon thought he’d like to firm it up and replace a few slats while he was here. There were jobs his mamm and grandmother wouldn’t get to without a man to help them, and he felt a protectiveness for this old house and the women who’d raised him.
When Solomon had finished washing the buggy, he heard the screen door slam, and he turned to see Elizabeth heading in his direction. He turned off the hose and wound it up, and when Elizabeth got to him, he cast her a smile.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Your grandmother fell asleep in her chair.”
He smiled at that. “She does that sometimes.”
“She’s earned it,” Elizabeth said; then she looked out across the paddock.
They were alone—Mammi sleeping—and his first instinct was to take advantage of the solitude and pull her close, but he wouldn’t do that this time. He wanted to comfort her, but he wasn’t sure that his touch was going to do that....
“What happened with your daet?” he asked instead.
“He’s too much the same,” she said, her voice low. “He wants to tell us what Gott wants, and to pray with us, and . . . be the preacher, I suppose. I couldn’t take it. In one way I wanted my daet to be unchanged and just like he was . . . but he doesn’t have a right to it. It’s not the same anymore, you know? It’s different!”
“Yah . . .” Solomon and Elizabeth slowly walked out past the buggy, glistening with water, and toward the chicken coop. The hens were outside, scratching in the dirt, and the rooster sat on top of a post, surveying his domain. They carried on past the chicken house and stopped at the fence. For a moment they both just stared out at the grassy field, at the darting dragonflies, the wind rippling over the grass....
“My daet told me I should always speak my mind,” Elizabeth went on, and she put her hands on the top rail and leaned against it. “Not how most girls are raised, but he said that Gott gave girls brains, too, and He expected us to use them. And that a wise man listened to his wife—two are always better than one. And now . . . now I question everything my daet told me over the years.”
“I think a wise man listens to what his wife thinks,” Solomon said. “She knows the house and garden. And there is more to keeping a family fed than the fields.”
“But you’re half English already,” she said. He caught the soft jest in her voice. “When I thought my daet was suffering in prison, forgiving him seemed easier. But now that he’s back—” Tears misted her eyes. “What does that say about me?”
Solomon slipped his hand over hers. They were in full view of the house, and this was as far as he dared to go, but he closed his fingers over hers.
“It’s not so easy to do,” he replied. “Even my mamm seems to be having trouble with forgiving me.”
Was that the problem between him and his mother—Solomon trying to still be her son in the same way as before he was incarcerated?
“She’ll come around,” Elizabeth said softly.
“I dare say there are people telling your daet the same thing about you,” he replied.
She didn’t respond.
“Hey—” He stepped closer, but her gaze flickered back toward the house, so he stopped. “You’re the best person I know right now. You’re kind, and sensitive, and you have good intentions. This is hard, and I don’t think a hard situation takes away from who you are, Lizzie.”
Her gaze moved up to meet his, and he could see so much uncertainty and sadness swimming in her dark eyes. He longed to tug her closer, to slip his arms around her waist and feel her heartbeat through her body against his chest . . .
“I’m supposed to forgive,” she whispered.
“You will,” he whispered back.
“And if I don’t?” she breathed. “What if the years creep by and I don’t?”
What if the years crept by and his relationship with his mother stayed frayed and angry? And it very well might if he went English. He didn’t have an answer for her or for himself.
“Even if that happens, I’ll always think the best of you,” he said.
“How would you even know about it?” she asked. “You’ll be English.”
“Then we’ll keep in touch,” he said with a small smile. “We’ll write letters. I’ll tell you about going to school at this ripe age, and about my Englisher job, and about life with electricity and television.”
“And I’ll write to you about starting over where no one knows me,” she said. “Until I get married, at least. And then I won’t be able to write.”
That stung—the thought of her married. Somehow this was easier to consider when he thought of them both single, pouring their hearts out to each other on paper with no one to step between . . . but marriage was the plan for her, wasn’t it? That was why she’d leave Bountiful and go strike out on her own in some distant Amish community. For a man. For a family.
He sucked in a deep breath.
“I don’t want to think about years and years from now,” he said softly.
“Me neither.”
They both turned toward the field again, and Solomon felt the warmth of her standing next to him, smelled the soft scent of her shampoo coming to him on the breeze.
“Lizzie,” he said.
“Yah?”
“Could I talk to your daet?” he asked.
“Solomon, I don’t need you to try to fix anything between us—” she began.
“For me,” he amended. “The thing is, I know you’re angry with him, and I know he ruined your life and countless others . . . I know that. But he’s the only one around here who’s been through what I’ve been through, and—”
How could he explain this? He was supposed to be supporting her, telling her that everything would be okay, not seeking out his own emotional support from the man who had hurt her most.
“My daet has no answers,” she said, and he could hear the bitterness in her tone. “If you want to be preached at and prayed with, you’re welcome to go see him.”
Solomon sighed. “I don’t expect him to have answers.”
“Then what can he offer?” she asked.
“I need to know if what I’m feeling is normal,” he said. “On this side of those walls . . . I just need to know.”
Her expression softened. “What are you feeling?”
“Lost . . .”
And scared. He still had that feeling like he should be watching his back, like someone might jump him at any moment. He felt like his last refuge had become this woman who wanted so much more than he could ever offer. And he felt like he was in a ditch between two lives—unable to crawl up onto either side.
It was easy enough to jump the fence and choose an English life, but he knew now what waited for him with the Englishers. He’d always be different. He’d talk more slowly, with his Pennsylvania Dutch accent, and he’d think like a farmer. He’d have his Amish bones no matter what life he chose. He’d have options out there in the world, but he wouldn’t ever really fit in. He knew the difficult path that was ahead of him ei
ther way.
“Oh, Sol . . .” Elizabeth’s voice caught, and she leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his shoulder. “You’ll find your way.”
The kiss was so impulsive and sweet that he felt his eyes mist.
“Lizzie—” He slid his arms around her waist just as he heard a thump from the porch. He turned—Bridget stood there with a broom in one hand, watching them.
Solomon dropped his hand. “You have a reputation to worry about,” he said with a rueful smile. “I don’t think I’m much good for it.”
He wasn’t good for her and he knew it. But she was good for him right now, comforting him on a heart-deep level that he probably didn’t deserve.
“So do you,” she replied, and she stepped away from him.
Yah, but his didn’t matter as much as hers. His was already beyond repair, and his only option was to go back to the Englishers and find some little spot where he could make a living and carve out a life.
Elizabeth headed off toward the house and he turned, pretending not to watch. His grandmother picked up the broom again and opened the screen door. She looked older today, a little more stooped, her hair a brighter white than he remembered. Elizabeth’s skirt swished around her calves, and he realized that nothing he could imagine in his life—a proper job, a reliable income, some decent friends—compared with a few stolen moments with this woman in a community that didn’t want him. And that didn’t bode well for his future happiness.
He already knew what he’d be missing.
Chapter Thirteen
When Solomon finally fell asleep that night, he had fitful dreams of being a boy again and walking to school, but as long as he walked, he never seemed to arrive, and he was afraid of being late because the teacher would be upset with him. . . . Then that dream melted into a different one where he was living an English life again and he was trying to start a car in winter. The car was cold as ice, and he put the key into the ignition and turned. It kept grinding, but not turning over, and every time he turned the key, the grinding was softer and softer until nothing happened at all. It was dead, and he felt a rush of that same panic that he’d be late. He looked out the car window to see the schoolhouse in the distance, and somehow walking there wasn’t an option that occurred to him.
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