“I’ll help you hitch up,” Ketura said. “Best get ahead of that storm.”
* * *
Levi stood by the window, looking out at the falling snow. It was coming down thicker now, and a gust of wind whipped it sideways. He’d been watching for Rosmanda’s return with the buggy, his anxiety ratcheting up with each howl of the wind.
His parents were both in the kitchen—Mamm kneading a bowl of bread dough, and Daet sat at the kitchen table with a sandwich. The babies were in their high chairs—a way to contain them at this point—hammering on the table with spoons to occupy themselves.
“Rosmanda said that you wanted her to leave,” Levi said, turning from the window.
“I didn’t say that!” Mamm said. “It wasn’t like that, Son. She’s your brother’s wife and the mother of our grandbabies. Do you really think I’d throw her out?”
No, he didn’t. But maybe she didn’t need to be thrown. Maybe she just needed to have the door opened for her....
“Then what happened?” he demanded.
“Watch how you talk to your mamm,” his father said past a bite of sandwich.
“Mamm, what happened?” Levi asked, adjusting his tone.
“Her parents wrote to her . . .” Mamm poured some oil onto her hands and then smoothed them over the roll of dough. “And I’m a mother, too, so I understand how much they miss her, and how much she misses them.”
“She’ll take Susanna and Hannah with her, you realize,” Levi pointed out.
“Yah.” Mamm looked up. “Of course. But we’ll still see them. She’ll come visit, and we can go see her in Indiana and bring the girls some treats—”
“Is this because of that business with Jonathan?” he asked. “Because I took care of it. He’s gone.”
“It isn’t about that,” Mamm said. Her hands moved over the dough, flattening it, rolling it, then pausing while it pulled back together again.
“People are talking,” Levi said. “Won’t they talk more if she suddenly up and leaves?”
“I’m not concerned with gossip,” Mamm replied tightly. “A good Amish Christian will keep her mouth closed when it comes to that kind of thing.”
“And yet, they’re talking anyway,” Levi said bitterly.
Susanna reached forward and grabbed a block from the tabletop, then pushed a corner into her mouth, gnawing on it for a moment before she looked down at the soggy wood. Stephen handed another block to Hannah, but Hannah was less interested in it. She reached for her grandfather instead, and Stephen scooped her out of her seat and settled her onto his lap.
Watching his daet with his granddaughters, Levi had to wonder why this was suddenly so easy to do, if it weren’t about people talking, their family reputation being tainted along with Rosmanda’s. Because everyone was attached to these baby girls, including Levi. But his heart wasn’t aching because of the babies....
“Is it that easy for you?” Levi shook his head. “This is her home. Here, with us!”
“Her husband is dead!” Mamm said, her voice rising. “Dead!”
Levi hadn’t expected that explosion, and silence descended in the kitchen. Even Susanna stopped her banging. Levi looked over at his father, and Daet put down his sandwich, eyeing Mamm uncertainly.
“And you blame me for that—” Levi said, his voice tight.
“No!” Mamm pressed her lips together. “This isn’t about placing blame for his death, it’s about accepting it. Rosmanda’s husband is gone, Levi. You don’t seem to understand the implication of that. She isn’t ours. She was Wayne’s. And now her parents are asking her to go home.”
Yah, she’d been Wayne’s in name and in marriage, but she belonged here, too, in a different way. Rosmanda belonged with him. They meant something to each other. This was no formal, polite arrangement anymore. It wasn’t about sending her off to find a respectable husband to help support her. She’d become a part of the fabric here, and tearing her out wouldn’t be so easy. Not to him.
“You’ll miss her, too,” Levi said.
“Of course I’ll miss her!” Mamm said with a sigh. “I’ve spent every day with her in the kitchen, hung laundry with her, canned vegetables . . . I’ve helped raise these girls. We’ve been a family, but I also know how much we have a right to. And she’s got to live her life.”
“In Morinville?” Levi said.
“Sometimes you have to face your past,” Daet said, and he looked up at Levi pointedly. “There’s no moving forward until you do, Son.”
Had this just become about him? He glanced out the window again, and the snow was coming down much harder. Maybe Rosmanda decided to stay with Ketura until the storm had passed . . . or maybe she hadn’t. Was she out on those roads in this mess?
“Is this about me now?” Levi asked. “Because I’m no longer drinking. You know that.”
“Yah, and I’m proud of you for that,” Daet replied. “But I’m talking about your brother.”
“My issues with him are buried with him,” Levi said with a sigh.
“No, they aren’t.” Daet stood up and came to the window to look outside. “You’re still competing with him. You’re still fighting him, even now.”
And maybe Levi was, but what was he supposed to do about that? His competition with Wayne had fueled most of his choices in life . . . and maybe it was the same for Wayne, too. They’d played off each other, competed, jostled. But now that brother was gone, and he had no one else who cared enough to fight with him.
“You backed him up,” Levi said, turning toward his father. “You knew what it would do to us, and you backed him in going after Rosmanda.”
“Your brother didn’t ask our permission,” Daet replied.
“Yah, but when he came home and said he’d asked her to marry him, you told me to celebrate with my brother.” Levi shook his head in disgust. “Celebrate!”
“Actually, first of all I told you to forgive your brother,” Daet replied.
“I loved her, Daet!” Levi exploded. “I loved her!”
“And we didn’t know it—” His father brought the baby to Miriam and handed her over. “Levi, how many girls did you play around with?”
“I wasn’t playing around . . .”
“They were all rather hopeful that you’d start courting them. That hope came from somewhere!” his father snapped.
“Rosmanda was different,” he said. “And if you’d asked me, you’d have known that.”
“Did your brother know it?” Daet asked. “Because from what he told us, he thought you were toying around with Rosmanda, too, and he figured he was doing her a favor—giving her an honest to goodness proposal.”
“Trying to win,” Levi said. “Always trying to beat me.”
“No.” His daet shook his head. “Not competing. Not that time. Wayne loved her. From afar, granted. But he loved her. And he thought you didn’t.” His father glanced toward Miriam, then sighed. “By the time he figured out that whatever had been between you and Rosmanda had been genuine, it was too late.”
This new information swirled through his mind like the snow outside the window. He’d never heard this part of the story.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“They were already married,” Daet replied with a weak shrug. “And he realized that she’d loved you, too.”
“It broke his heart,” Mamm added. “So you weren’t the only one hurting after that wedding. Your brother spent every single day after that trying to win her love. Not her respect. Not her admiration. Not her affection. But her love.”
“But she married him—” Levi frowned.
“Yah. She did.” Mamm sighed. “And I don’t think she ever saw what Wayne was doing. She just thought he was considerate, and she appreciated it. He was a good husband. But he’d wanted more than appreciation. It was why he wanted to keep you away from her, and why I didn’t step in to stop it.”
His brother had been trying to win over his wife . . . and had been failing? The thought brought
a lump to his throat. He’d spent so much time simmering with fury over his brother’s betrayal, that he’d never stopped to consider the fallout of his brother’s hasty marriage.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Levi asked.
“It was your brother’s burden,” Daet said. “It was his private pain. It wasn’t our place to pass it around. Besides, what would you have done? Come around more often? Wayne would have seen something between you—even if you never acted on it—that he couldn’t compete with. It was better to leave it.”
So Wayne had still been competing . . . still feeling inferior . . . still worried that Levi had something he’d never have. It explained why his brother would come to see him at the farm he worked and never invited him home. It explained why Wayne went out of his way to keep Rosmanda as far from him as possible. It explained why Wayne hadn’t wanted Levi in the lives of his newborn twin girls....
And yet, it didn’t explain why when Rosmanda was able to see Levi’s heart laid bare, why she’d willingly married a man she didn’t love. As a way of escape, maybe? It didn’t change things with Rosmanda, but it might change his memory of his brother.
He looked out the window, his thoughts in a jumble, and he finally focused on that swirling snow. She was out there.
“The snow is getting bad,” Levi said.
“She should have been home by now,” Mamm said.
“She probably stayed when she saw the snow,” Daet said, adjusting Hannah in his arms.
“No, she’d have tried to make it back,” Mamm said. “You know how she is with her daughters—she never leaves them for long.”
His mamm was right—Rosmanda would come back for her girls, and the storm had arisen out of nothing, it seemed. She’d be on her way.
“I’m going to check the road for Rosmanda,” Levi said, turning toward the door. “She should be back.”
“Levi,” his mother said, and there were tears in her voice. “We couldn’t tell you your brother’s secrets. You understand that, don’t you?”
He looked back at his mother and saw her anxious gaze locked on him.
“Yah, Mamm,” he said past the lump in his throat. “I understand that.”
Levi headed into the mudroom, plunged his feet into his boots, and grabbed his coat off a hook. He didn’t want to deal with his feelings right now, or his memories. He wanted to get out there, find her, bring her home, and fix something in this miserable day. Because the way it seemed to him, life was a jumble of broken people, broken promises, and dashed hopes . . . Sometimes, a man had to have one win.
And maybe Wayne had wanted the same thing—and gotten so much more than he’d bargained for.
Chapter Seventeen
Rosmanda pulled her shawl closer—the biting wind whipping through the wool. The snow swirled over the asphalt ahead and wind drove snow into her face, clinging to her hair, freezing her ears. She pulled her shawl up over her head, and she dug out some gloves from under the seat, pulling them on as her cold aching fingers got a bit of relief. She already had the lap rug over her legs to keep her protected from the elements . . . it just wasn’t warm enough. Some spring snow wasn’t unusual, but this was a little late for a blizzard.
Rosmanda leaned forward, squinting to get a glimpse of some familiar landmark. She was trusting the horses to know their way home, at this point, because if it were left up to her, she’d probably drive them straight past the farm.
The horses plodded on, and another gust of wind blocked her view. She held the reins tightly, trying to see the edges of the road. She didn’t dare put the buggy in the center, because there were cars who were equally blinded, but the ditch was deep, too.
God, guide me. . . .
She’d been praying ever since she’d started out. At first, she was praying for wisdom in her upcoming choices. Was going back to Morinville really the best path? Could she find a way to support herself here if she stayed? Maybe she and Ketura could start making more money and she could rent a room in town, or something. Maybe an older couple like Josiah and Anna would make a similar arrangement with her—a roof over her head and a place to raise her girls in exchange for cooking, cleaning, and basic chores. Maybe there were options that could allow her girls to be raised with dignity in the community, but didn’t require her to marry right away . . . She was willing to do what she must, but marriage wasn’t easy, and she doubted a second marriage would be any easier than her first.
But then the falling snow had started to whip into a proper storm, and her prayer became a whole lot more immediate.
Father, guide me . . . Get me home to my girls.
Anything else could wait.
The wind let up, and a pair of headlights pierced the veil of snow down the road. The car slowed as it approached, and the driver cranked down the window. It was a young man.
“Hey, you okay?” he shouted out the window.
“Yah! Thank you!” she shouted back in English, and the horses carried her past the vehicle. She looked behind and the taillights glowed red for another few seconds before the car started off again.
The Englishers were well-meaning, but she didn’t know what they expected to do for her . . . give her a ride and leave the horses in a storm? Unless that Englisher was a skilled buggy driver, he wasn’t much use to her.
The Englisher car had disappeared before she realized she wouldn’t have turned down a coat . . . but it wasn’t likely anyone would have an extra coat kicking around, either. What she needed was to get home as soon as possible.
Another blinding swirl of snow circled the buggy, and this time, she felt the wheel slip . . . not just a small slip on icy pavement, but an actual sideways slide. Her stomach flew up into her throat, and she put a hand up, catching herself before she slid down the seat, too. The horses’ hooves scrambled against the asphalt, and they squealed in fear.
“Oh, God!” Rosmanda said, and the buggy tipped sideways, throwing Rosmanda with it. She landed heavily in snow, but nothing landed on top of her. She’d fallen outside of the buggy, and when she looked around, she saw that the buggy had landed on its side against the snowy bank on the other side of the ditch. The horses had been pulled with it, one on its side, too, and the other already scrambling to its feet.
The horses! Rosmanda pushed herself up. She wasn’t hurt—at least not badly. There was a muscle along her leg that throbbed warningly, but she was in one piece. Her shoes slipped against the wet snow on the ground, and she slid down the bank into ankle-deep slush. She let out a gasp of shock, then scrambled up the other side, water seeping out of her shoes as she clambered up. Her wet feet would have to wait. The horses were in trouble. One was pinned—held down by the hitching tack. She had to undo it, and she pulled off her gloves to free up her fingers, started at the first buckle she could reach, pulling hard against the leather to loosen it enough to undo the hold.
“It’s okay,” she said aloud. “I’m helping you. Just stay calm, and I’ll get you out.”
The last thing she needed was to collide with the hoof of a frightened horse. Levi might have gotten away with nothing more than bruised ribs, but people had died from kicks like that, and she wasn’t taking chances.
The horse’s eyes rolled around as it tried to heave itself up again. Rosmanda pulled her hands back, and the horse collapsed back on the ground. She reached for the buckle again, this time getting it loose, and she started on the next one.
This would take her forever, and tears of frustration welled in her eyes. Her hands were cold, even through the gloves, and her muscles weren’t responding with strength or dexterity. She looked back at the buggy—the axle looked broken, from what she could tell. It would be an expensive fix for her father-in-law . . . She couldn’t pay for this—and if the horses were injured, too, because she’d stupidly started out when she should have waited—what could she tell them?
She was their dead son’s wife, not their daughter. They’d been kind, but this would be too much.
“Ro
sie!” The voice came through the howl of the wind, and she squinted through a swirl of snow. The wind drove the pellets straight into her face and she shut her eyes against it. “Rosmanda!”
“Levi?” she called, but her voice was whipped away in the wind. Was Levi out there, or had she imagined it? When the blast of snow cleared, she saw the dark outline of another buggy parked facing her, and Levi’s familiar form leapt down from the driver’s seat. She felt a rush of warm relief.
“Help me!” she called. “I have to unhitch them!”
Levi ran, slipping toward her. The ground was slick, and when he reached her side, he grabbed her hand and looked her over, his gaze going up and down her in a quick examination.
“Are you okay?” he demanded, almost angrily.
“I’m—I think so—” She blinked up at him, trying to curb the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. The buggy wasn’t. The horses weren’t. . . .
Levi looked past her toward the wreck behind, and then dragged his gaze back to meet hers. “You could have been killed!”
There had been a similar night that winter, and she sucked in a ragged breath. Would it have been appropriate somehow if she’d died in a buggy accident like her husband had?
“It threw me clear,” she said, her voice shaking.
Levi turned his attention to the horses, leaving her free of that scalding gaze filled with complicated emotions. Whatever they were feeling, whatever trauma was coming back at the memory of that other buggy accident that had killed Wayne, it would have to wait until they had the luxury to feel it.
Levi was stronger than she was, and he worked through the buckles faster than she’d been able to, grabbing the straps, hauling them upward and undoing buckles with fierce effort. He finally released the first horse from the rigging that had held it down. It scrambled to its feet, and Levi turned to the other horse.
“Catch him!” Levi barked.
Rosmanda caught the first horse’s bridle and led it a few feet off, then put a reassuring hand on its nose. It settled down, dropping its head as another wave of wind and snow swept around them. Her feet were more than cold now, they were numb, a dull ache moving where she thought her toes were. She didn’t trust her feet to hold her up if she stamped them, so she stood still, praying in her heart for Levi to hurry.
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