Sisters of the Heart - 03 - Forgiven

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  “Three weeks is a long time to give someone!”

  “It was. But I was so determined to make something happen.” She shook her head. “In the end, it was no good. It was like trying to put a round knob in a square hole.”

  “I hope one day you find your match.”

  “Danke. I hope you will one day find your match, too.”

  “If we’re lucky, we’ll take that big step one day. I just hope when we do, the path won’t be too painful.”

  “We’ll hope and pray.” Winnie forced herself to look anywhere but directly at him. She was afraid if she met his gaze, he’d see what she was trying so hard to conceal. Pointing to her feet, she grinned. “I’ve been learning that sometimes even when our paths aren’t always easy, one survives. And sometimes, it is worth all the hardship.”

  “That’s good advice.” His lips twitched. “As long as it doesn’t involve a broken foot.”

  “I’ll let you know if my foot’s pain is worth it.” She blinked as he laughed. And finally, gave in to the pull that was happening between them. An invisible, tenuous bond held them together. She felt it as much as she had felt the instinctive knowledge that Malcolm would never be for her.

  For a split second, she spied hope and a yearning that matched the feelings in her heart.

  Winnie forgot she was sitting in a hospital bed with needles and bandages over her. She forgot how unhappy she’d been. How much she’d wished things would change and that she be given an opportunity to do something new with her life.

  All she seemed to be able to think about was the man sitting next to her. How his hair was streaked with gold from hours in the sun. How his shoulders and arms looked like they could hold the biggest load of wood with ease. She noticed the calluses on his fingers, and the lines around his eyes that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with laughing and living.

  But even more importantly, she noticed the things that had nothing to do with looks. His sun-streaked hair hinted of his love of the outdoors. The calluses and muscles showed he wasn’t afraid to carry burdens. The lines on his face proved he wasn’t afraid to live.

  But as her fancies settled down, Winnie slid back to reality with a thump. He wasn’t Amish. It was too late for both of them. It was now too late to even dream.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “I’ll look forward to those magazines and a book. Thank you again for offering to bring some reading material.”

  His expression clearing, Samuel nodded as he stood up. “Like I said, it is no trouble. I’ll bring them by tomorrow. And that movie I promised?”

  “I would enjoy that. A special treat, indeed.”

  Backing out of the room, he nodded. “I’ll go, then.”

  “Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye, Sam.”

  When the door closed and the room felt too big, Winnie pretended it was only her foot that was hurting.

  Chapter 5

  David had never meant to start the fire. All he’d been doing was trying his hardest to make smoke rings. He and two other boys had seen some English teenagers making perfect circles in the air outside the Brown Dog Café. When David had seen how impressed his friends had been, he’d become determined to make them, too.

  They were much harder to make than he’d thought.

  That night, well, he’d been so intent on spying those rings in the moonlight, he hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been extinguishing the cigarettes like he should.

  At least, he supposed that was what had happened.

  But once that first spark flickered, then flashed into flames, he’d hardly had time to do anything but back away in a panic—the blaze got so big so quickly.

  But still, even then, he’d stayed nearby. After all, he knew he was at fault. The right thing to do would be to alert the Lundys and help get all the animals out of the barn.

  But all he could think about was what his daed would do when he found out.

  When he heard Jonathan Lundy’s shout and the frightened shrieks of the horses, he’d felt relief. Jonathan would take care of everything. And so he ran farther into the shadows. He wanted to help. Honestly, he wanted to do whatever he could, but it was surely too late.

  Besides, it seemed as if his feet were running faster than his mind could work. Like lightning, he’d run across the back fields, the tall grasses whipping against his knees like miniature reminders.

  When he got home, his daed’s kerosene lamp glowed from the window of his parents’ bedroom. He’d let himself in just as he heard the familiar thump, thump of his father’s thick-soled shoes echoing through the darkness. He knew what his father was going to do—he was going to ride out to the Lundys’ and give assistance. Most likely, his well-honed sixth sense had alerted him to a fire nearby.

  That’s what his father always did—the right thing. He’d never had patience for people who didn’t follow rules. He didn’t believe in gray areas. No, things were stark in his father’s world. Either a person was right or wrong. And if someone was wrong, that was usually unforgivable.

  He’d hardly had time to hide in the shadows before his father had mounted their mare and rushed to the farm.

  And then the next morning, when he heard Winnie was in the hospital and that the whole barn was ruined, it was too late to say a word.

  What was done was done.

  How could he confess what he’d done? No one would understand his reasonings anyway. He hadn’t meant to set the fire. He hadn’t meant to run and hide. But he had. He didn’t understand why things had happened.

  Now he couldn’t help but wonder if this was God’s way of punishing him for smoking.

  He’d decided right then and there never to smoke again. He hid his last carton and lighter from sight. When the time was right, he’d take it into town and toss it in a trash can. He didn’t dare dispose of anything around the farm. He was too afraid.

  But now David couldn’t sleep. Something told him that things still weren’t right. They would never be until he admitted all his wrongs.

  But every time he thought of the expression on his parents’ face, he dared not say a word.

  Truthfully, there was little he could do now. What was done was done. Now he just had to hope and pray that no one would ever find out. If his father ever discovered the truth, he’d be horribly angry. So angry David was afraid to tell him.

  But what he did still shamed him.

  “Thank you all for coming. I know I need your help to make these difficult decisions,” Jonathan began, looking toward Henry Brenneman and his father, John, Eli Miller, and Marvin Kropfs, the bishop of their church. “I spoke with the fire marshal and he assured me that their investigation is complete. They’ve called the fire an accidental one, that was set by a stray cigarette.”

  The other men looked at each other in consternation. The bishop’s expression hardly flickered—it was almost like he hadn’t heard a thing.

  But that was his usual way of listening—impassive. Stoic.

  Jonathan wondered what was going through their minds. He’d seated them all at the dining room table, where they could see each other equally around the oval and take notes if needed. But as the moments passed, Jonathan began to doubt his instincts. Maybe he should have asked Bishop Kropfs for a more formal meeting at another location?

  Maybe he should have just said nothing and waited for someone else to bring things up?

  Finally Bishop Kropfs spoke. “Jonathan, if the police and fire investigators said their work is over, does that mean they no longer need to come nosing around here?”

  “I believe so. We can rebuild and move on.” Quietly, he added, “It doesn’t look as if someone was meaning to do harm…” His voice drifted off. He wanted to give whoever had done the damage the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to concentrate on moving forward instead of looking backward, but the positive, optimistic words felt stuck in his throat.

  The truth was, he felt bitter and angry inside. He wanted retribution. He wanted someone to be puni
shed for the destruction and danger caused.

  “Accidents happen, Jonathan,” the bishop said with a shrug, looking at Henry’s father meaningfully. “Perhaps it was God’s will.”

  Jonathan knew what that shared look meant—the two older men thought he was acting a little too rash and foolishly.

  Maybe he was.

  But, for the life of him, Jonathan couldn’t think of a single reason why the good Lord would have wanted his barn to burn to the ground.

  Though, of course, it wasn’t his place to question the Almighty. But still, the Lord had given him a mind, too, and he was intent on using it. “I realize that the Lord has His ways, but there are signs that it might have been someone in our community who set the fire. Accident or not, the fire was a terrible thing.”

  “We were right lucky Winnie wasna hurt worse.”

  “Only by the grace of God did we get the animals out and Winnie to safety,” Jonathan agreed. “However, now I find myself unable to sleep. I think about Katie and Mary and Hannah. What would have happened if my girls had been here? What if the fire had spread more than it did? I could have lost my house.” Haltingly, he added, “I could have lost my girls.”

  Henry whistled low. “But you didn’t. Come now, freind. Don’t dwell on what didn’t happen.”

  “I’m having trouble only looking at the bright side. Too much was in danger.”

  A new awareness entered John Brenneman’s expression. “I hear what you are saying…I, too, have been plagued by ‘what-ifs.’ After all, I, too, have a daughter who could’ve been caught in the fire. But…that doesn’t change the fact that Winnie is all right, your animals are okay, the girls and Katie are unharmed, and your house is fine. We shouldn’t go borrowing trouble.”

  Frustrated by the other men’s inability to read his mind, Jonathan shook his head. “John, you are right, but that is not what concerns me. See, I’m wondering what I should do about the culprit. Should I give the police permission to try and figure out who started the blaze, or should I just let the investigation fall and move on?”

  Bishop Kropfs sipped from his coffee, and obviously finding it cold, frowned and pushed it away. “Cigarettes are not against the law. How could anyone even begin to figure out who did such a thing? That investigation sounds impossible.”

  John nodded as well. “Monitoring the English is not something we should be worried about. Besides, who could it be? I couldn’t help with any ideas. I know many of the English, but not their habits.”

  Jonathan sighed. Obviously, he was going to have no choice but to share all of his worries. “Katie suggested that it’s more likely to be an Amish teen. I think she might have a point.”

  “C-certainly not,” the bishop stammered. “No member of our group would do such a thing.”

  As the other men looked just as horrified, Jonathan hastened to explain himself. “While at first I was shocked, now the idea makes more sense to me. My place is familiar to everyone in our community—but not to outsiders. After all, there’s no reason for an Englischer to be sneaking around my land, just to have a smoke. There’re many other places that would be far more convenient.”

  “English teens still do sneak around, though. Even English parents don’t smile upon teenagers doing such things.” John waved a hand. “Most likely there was beer or wine or something hidden in your barn, too. Or, it could have been a pair of teens.” He raised his brows. “Put that way, your barn would be a far sight better spot to play around in than a parked car.”

  Henry chuckled. “Daed, the things you say. Sometimes you still surprise me.”

  “I’m old but not deerich,” John replied with a wink.

  Bishop Kropfs chuckled. “No, you have never been a foolish man, John.”

  Choosing his words carefully, Jonathan said, “While I agree that my barn is a secluded spot, I still don’t think it is a likely place for English teens. And, the police didn’t find any evidence of liquor bottles or cans. I think we need to consider the idea that it was one of our members. An Amish child doesn’t have as many options for foolishness. It really does make the most sense.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree,” Eli said, looking a bit worried. “It would be wrong to not imagine that someone in our order made a terrible mistake the other night. We all remember feeling our oats, so to speak.”

  “Even if it was an Amish teen—which I doubt—I’m not sure why you called us together,” the bishop said.

  Jonathan’s throat went dry. Without so much as raising his voice, it was obvious that their bishop was not pleased with the proceedings or the thread of conversation. Katie’s dad was starting to look uncomfortable, too.

  Slowly, he looked each man in the eye and finally got around to the real reason he’d sought their company. “The fact that it could have been a member of our community concerns me greatly. If a teenager did cause such an accident, it bothers me that he or she hasn’t come forward and admitted his responsibility.”

  “That is troublesome,” John murmured.

  It was finally time to admit the thing that was bothering him the most, even if it didn’t make him feel proud. “I, personally, don’t know if I’ll be able to move forward without knowing who did this.”

  The bishop peered at Jonathan over his half-moon spectacles. “You could, with God’s help.”

  John Brenneman chimed in. “If it was an accident, it shouldn’t matter who caused the damage.”

  “Jah. You need to forgive, Jonathan,” the bishop muttered, his voice laced with impatience. “You need to bayda, to pray and ask for guidance.”

  Jonathan struggled to keep his expression as neutral as the others’. At least, thankfully, Eli and Henry weren’t saying too much. It would be even harder if the both of them were feeling the same way.

  He chose his next words with care. “I would like to forgive whoever trespassed on my land and did so much damage. But how can I if the person responsible hasn’t accepted any blame? If the person hasn’t even asked for forgiveness?” Frustrated with the whole situation, he pushed back his chair and braced his hands on the thick oak tabletop. “Someone put everything I love in harm’s way and hasn’t even bothered to step forward. It eats me up inside.”

  “It would bother me, too,” Henry said.

  “I’m afraid I will not give my blessing to your investigation, Jonathan. What’s done is done.” The bishop pushed back his chair and looked ready to leave.

  Every time Jonathan closed his eyes, he felt as if the fire was ablaze once again. The all-encompassing rage and terror of those moments, when he wasn’t sure if Winnie was all right. His fear that all the animals would burn to death. In his heart, he knew he would never be able to accept the situation and put it behind him without answers.

  Even if it went against the basic tenets of their beliefs.

  After a lengthy pause, the bishop proclaimed, “I suggest we accept that we might never know who trespassed on the property and move on. Whoever did this will surely be feeling guilt, mark my words. And, of course, judgment is not ours to give, but rather our maker’s.”

  The other men nodded. Reluctantly, Jonathan did as well, but the decision didn’t sit well with him. He knew forgiveness was one of the tenets of their community. But still, he found he could not simply accept the fact that someone had trespassed, accidentally burned down his property, and almost killed his family and then got away.

  Long after the men left, Jonathan stood outside and stared at the remains of the barn. Plain and simply, he was angry about the damage. He still felt as if a frog was in his throat every time he thought about what could have happened to his sister.

  And while he could accept an accident, he surely didn’t know if he could accept a lie for the rest of his life. As of now, he knew every time he spied a teen looking sheepish or secretive, he would blame him.

  And surely, that wasn’t right either, now was it?

  “Jonathan, you’re still out here?” Katie asked as she walked out to stand
beside him. Staring at the charred remains of the building, she folded her arms over her chest. “Are you planning to join us inside anytime soon?”

  “Maybe.” He would go inside if he could shake the anger and sense of helplessness that coursed through him every time he glanced at the remains of the barn. Being around his daughters while filled with such bitterness wouldn’t be good at all.

  “Maybe, hmm?” Instead of sounding perturbed, Katie just seemed amused. “I’ll tell Hannah that, then. I’m sure she’ll understand that her daed doesn’t know when he’s going to tell her gud naught.”

  In what had become a habit, Jonathan reached for her hand. Very sweetly, she slipped hers in his and held on tight. As always, her palm felt cool and smooth and reassuring. So ladylike and feminine, but strong, too.

  Remembering how hard it used to be for him to trust, he took a chance. “I’m having a time accepting the bishop’s decision.”

  “What was it?”

  “We’re supposed to simply rebuild and let the Lord take care of the rest. Katie, I don’t know if I can do that.”

  Instead of replying immediately, she released his hand and walked over to the burnt remains of the barn. With a loving hand, she ran a finger over one of the few planks that was completely whole. “This has been a special place, hasn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She turned to him. “Oh, Jonathan, I know it has to bring back memories of your father, and your grandfather, too.” She raised a brow. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Some.” A lump formed in his throat as he thought of all he’d lost in a few hours’ time. Saddles were gone. His father’s finely honed bridle. His grandfather’s ax.

  No, he hadn’t lost memories, but he had lost the tangible evidence that people important to him had existed. He’d lost items close to his heart—items he’d one day wanted to hand on to his daughters or a future son.