by BJ Hoff
Inside Doc had a nice fire going. “Ah,” said Gant, going to stand in front of the fireplace. “That feels good.”
Doc returned from the kitchen with two mugs of warm apple cider. He handed a cup to Gant. “Or would you rather have coffee?” he asked.
Gant shook his head. “Not at all. Susan make this?”
“She and Rachel. Fannie led me to believe that she also helped.”
Gant smiled. “No doubt.”
“All the women have been buzzing around, busy as can be, what with the harvest and the extra work it brings for them. Every time I make a call, I come away with a jar of apple butter or a gallon of sweet cider. Remind me, and I’ll send some of their handiwork home with you.”
“That’s an offer I’ll not turn down.”
Doc sat down in front of the fire, but Gant waited a few minutes more, letting the heat seep through him before taking a chair.
“The leg doesn’t like the cold, I expect,” Doc said.
Grant pulled a face. “It’s not even that cold out. I hadn’t thought it would be this sensitive.”
“It’ll be worse as you get older.”
“Ah. Something else to look forward to.”
“Heard anything from Gideon and Asa?”
“I had a note from one of the stations they’d stopped at recently. They were both good, and so far there hasn’t been much in the way of trouble.”
“Susan worries, not only about their safety, but she frets about Gideon getting back in time for the wedding. I do hope he makes it. She’ll be crushed if he doesn’t.”
“Well, once they get to Canton, they’ll be relieved by someone else, and they can head back. They should make it home in plenty of time.”
“Good.” Doc took a sip of his cider.
Watching him Gant felt fairly certain the man had something on his mind besides the wedding. “Something wrong?” he said.
Doc paused, his expression still thoughtful. “Not exactly, but there’s something I think you should be aware of.”
He went on then to explain the conversation he’d had with Ellie Sawyer and the concern she’d expressed about her husband possibly moving on without her for a time.
Gant thought about that and discovered that he wasn’t all that surprised. “I’ve seen the restlessness in him. He’s a fella who can’t sit still more than a few minutes at a time, and he’s forever talking about ‘when they get to Indiana.’ No, I can’t say it would be any great shock to hear that he’s leaving before they can actually afford for him to go. Too bad, though. I don’t mind helping out his wife in his absence, and she’ll get help from other folks around town once they hear she needs it—but it’s not fair to her. Not at all. Seems to me the right thing would be for him to wait until she and the baby are fit to go with him.”
Doc nodded his agreement. “Suppose it would do any good if one of us was to talk with him?”
“We could try, I suppose, but I have my doubts. He’s a roaming sort, I suspect, and when a man has the wanderlust, there’s not much chance of holding him back.”
“Why do I think you’re speaking from experience?”
Gant shrugged. “I’ll not deny it. I know what it’s like, at least I used to.”
They sat in a comfortable silence for a time before Doc stretched both arms out in front of him as if to ease the tension from his back. “So—shall we have a game?”
The two spent many an evening trying to best each other at checkers. Both fiercely competitive, they seldom passed up a chance to play. But at the moment, Gant had another matter on his mind. “Maybe later. There’s something I want to ask you about first.”
Doc set his cup on the table beside him. “All right.”
Gant searched for just the right words. After all, Doc was well on his way to being an Amish man himself, and there seemed to be all number of matters the Plain People refused to discuss. He had no desire to offend his closest friend, but this thing with Samuel Beiler had been simmering in him ever since the day the man had come into his shop.
“If you don’t want to answer this, it’s all right. I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but what I’m wanting to know is would an Amish man give what might be considered a somewhat costly gift—not just a small and impersonal one—to an Amish woman if they’re not married or at least engaged?” He paused. “More to the point, would she accept such a gift?”
Doc frowned studying him. “Does this have something to do with you and Rachel?”
“Just tell me what you think based on your knowledge of the Amish.”
Doc eyed him with a speculative look. “Well. I suppose it might depend on the circumstances, but I’d say it’s highly unlikely on both parts. Even if he should make the gesture, I’m fairly certain she would refuse. Amish relationships, even their courting customs, are guided by secrecy and very strict standards. A couple won’t even discuss their romantic interests with their own parents. And as far as special gifts are concerned—it simply isn’t done, except from a man to his wife or perhaps between engaged couples. I’d have to ask Susan to be sure I’m right, but even with an engaged couple, I doubt there would be an exchange of anything but a token gift, perhaps a small something in remembrance of one or the other’s birthday.”
He stopped and then added, “Does that answer your question?”
Gant quickly processed Doc’s explanation before replying. “Aye, it confirms my own assumption.”
“As I said I’d have to get Susan’s opinion to be sure, but I believe I’m right.”
“No, best not to say anything to Susan.”
“So it does have to do with you and Rachel.”
“Rachel perhaps. Nothing to do with me.”
Doc lifted an eyebrow. “Another man besides you is giving Rachel a significant gift? Who?”
Gant looked at him, wondering just how much he should say. Still, he trusted David Sebastian more than any other man besides Asa. And he needed to get this off his chest before it ate a hole in his heart.
“Might I ask you to say nothing to Susan?”
Doc seemed to consider that. “We don’t keep secrets from each other—”
Gant nodded to show he understood.
“But if it’s that important to you, I’ll keep your confidence, so long as she can’t be hurt by not knowing.”
“This has nothing to do with Susan, my hand on it. Only Rachel.”
He stopped, waiting for his friend’s reply.
“All right, then.”
“It’s about Samuel Beiler.”
Doc’s expression darkened. “What about him?”
“He came into the shop the other day and placed an order for a sideboard for Rachel. For her birthday.”
Doc’s mouth thinned to a hard line, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Gant. “I find that a bit strange.”
Gant sat forward. “So did I. More peculiar still, I had the distinct feeling that he didn’t think I’d agree to do it.”
“But if that’s the case, why would he place an order with you?”
Gant expelled a long breath. “This may sound stranger still, but my sense was that he was deliberately trying to goad me, or at least he meant to make it clear that he and Rachel…are a couple. He seemed genuinely surprised when I agreed to make the sideboard.”
Doc frowned. “I’d not be telling you anything you don’t already know if I said Beiler wishes he and Rachel were a couple. We’ve talked about that before.”
“Aye, we have,” Gant said nodding. “Rachel herself has told me enough to let me know Beiler’s been fairly…insistent in his attempts to court her.”
“Then you also know she’s not interested.”
“Not up until now.”
“You can’t think she’s changed her mind. That doesn’t sound like Rachel at all. From watching her when Beiler is around, my impression has been that she doesn’t even like the man.”
“But if she’s still refusing his attentions, why would Beiler go to such leng
ths? If nothing has changed between them, then he has to know she wouldn’t accept a gift of that nature from him.”
“I don’t know the answer to that, but I don’t believe for a moment Rachel has suddenly changed her feelings for him. Perhaps your notion is right—perhaps he simply wants you to think she’s changed her mind so you’ll stay completely away from her. But if that’s the case…”
Gant could almost see Doc’s mind working as his words drifted off. “If that’s the case,” Gant repeated softly, “the only explanation for it is that Beiler somehow knows I have feelings for Rachel, perhaps even knows I’d hoped to be converted to Amish myself so we could be married. But how would he know that?”
He waited, but when the other made no reply, he continued. “No one knew about Rachel and me except Rachel—and you and Bishop Graber. Now I hardly think Rachel would have filled Beiler in on the two of us, and I think I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t have said anything to anyone. So then, given what you’ve told me about the Amish not discussing their relationships among their own, not even with family members, how could Beiler know anything about my feelings for Rachel? Why would he be suspicious of me? Surely the bishop wouldn’t have said anything to him.”
“No, I hardly think so,” David said, trying to sound more convinced than he felt.
Given the suspicions that lately had been gnawing at him, it took a concentrated effort to keep an impassive expression, but he thought perhaps he’d pulled it off rather well when Gant said nothing more about the bishop.
“Well, something triggered Beiler’s actions. He doesn’t seem the type of man who’d act on impulse or a whim,” Gant pointed out.
David’s mind raced even as he formulated a reply to Gant’s statement. “I suspect it’s just what you thought, that he was bent on making you believe he and Rachel are a couple. As to why he felt the need—” he lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug, “I’ve no idea. Sounds somewhat perverse to me. So—you’re actually going to make the sideboard?”
“I am.” Gant’s smile was anything but pleasant. “But you wouldn’t want to know what I’ll be thinking while I ply my carving knife.”
“No,” Doc said dryly, “I expect I wouldn’t.”
“You’re convinced that he hasn’t won Rachel over, though?”
“I assure you,” Doc said, “I can’t even imagine a situation where that might happen.” And he couldn’t. He desperately wished he needn’t be furtive with his friend. It had already occurred to him that if Isaac Graber were no longer bishop, there might still be some hope for Gant and Rachel. He wished he could offer Gant that hope, but he simply couldn’t violate his professional ethics, nor could he in good conscience go against the Amish convention of privacy—not even for his closest friend.
He was relieved to hear Gant change the subject. “Well, I’ve bent your ear enough for one night. I do thank you for letting me talk this through. Now I’m ready to give you a proper thrashing at the checkerboard.” He held up his cup. “If you have plenty, I wouldn’t mind a bit more.”
Given David’s churning thoughts, he didn’t doubt but what Gant would thrash him.
Throughout the rest of the evening, he did his best to concentrate on the game, but his concerns about the bishop—and now this matter with Samuel Beiler’s behavior—cluttered his mind with even more questions than had been there before.
As they finished up and Gant prepared to leave, David decided to pose a question outright, a seemingly innocuous one he hoped. He had witnessed for himself his friend’s pain, both physical and emotional, and felt pressed to speak to the reason behind at least a part of that pain.
“About Rachel,” he said, choosing his words with care. “You haven’t given up on her, have you?”
Gant was obviously surprised by the question but answered forth-rightly, “If you mean do I still have any real hope things will work out for us, well, no. Why would I?”
“You can’t be sure of that. Things happen.”
Gant shot him a look that was pure skepticism.
“If something were to change,” David went on, “something unforeseeable right now—you’d still want to marry her, wouldn’t you? Your feelings haven’t changed—have they?”
Gant glanced away, turning toward the door as he shrugged into his coat. “No, my feelings haven’t changed,” he said. “And they won’t. I’d marry her in a shake if I could.”
He turned to face David again. “But I have begun to wonder if I’m doing the right thing—for Rachel and for myself—by staying here. It’s hard, you know. Being this close to her but never being able to see her, at least not alone. I can’t even be a friend to her, not really. It’s just… hard.”
“I know,” David said quietly. “I went through a time—years actually—of loving Susan from a distance but not being able to do anything about it. I haven’t forgotten the frustration and the anger.”
Something quickened in Gant’s expression. “Yes, that’s it—anger—the unfairness of it all! Sometimes I get so angry I think I’ll strangle on it. It shouldn’t be like this! We’re right for each other—I know we are.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I think I’ll have to leave just to save my sanity. And maybe that would be best for Rachel too. She still has feelings for me, I can tell. Maybe if I’d just go away…”
He let his words drift off, his thought unfinished.
Gant wasn’t the type of man to be consoled, not a man to warm to platitudes. But on impulse David reached to touch his arm, then dropped his hand away. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t leave. Not yet.”
Gant looked at him. “The only thing that keeps me here is her. That and the fact that I told her once I wouldn’t leave, that I wasn’t going anywhere. Truth is I don’t know if I could leave. But sometimes I think I should.”
“Listen to me,” David said, feeling compelled to speak out. “God has His ways of changing things—even lives. He can turn things around in a heartbeat, in a moment. We can’t predict from one day to the next what He might do.”
Gant’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say, Doc?”
“Only this—if you love her, don’t leave. Wait.”
David didn’t know where the words came from. He wasn’t an articulate man, never had been. Most of his thoughts he kept to himself. But suddenly it was as if a stream of words came pouring out of him, words he hadn’t planned to say, words he hadn’t even thought of before this moment.
“You’ve built a life here, man. People like you. They respect you. You have friends, a business, your work with the runaways—you have reasons to stay besides Rachel. Give this time. Trust God to bring about His will for you and for Rachel. If it’s right for you to be together, somehow He’ll make it happen. But even if you can never be together, you have a home here, if you want it. Don’t go doing anything rash. Wait.”
It was the strangest feeling, the exhaustion that overtook him as soon as he’d said his piece. It was as if somehow the entire day had been leading up to this moment, and now that the moment had passed, he found himself completely depleted.
He became aware that Gant was watching him closely. He could feel himself flush slightly from the scrutiny, yet knew he’d said only what he must.
It was an awkward moment, finally eased by a typical touch of levity from Gant. “You can be a little strange sometimes, Doc,” said Gant.
“Yes, so I’ve been told.”
“No doubt. Well then, I’ll think about what you’ve said tonight.”
“I hope you will.”
“Oh, I will,” Gant said opening the door. “You see, I’ve noticed that, even when you seem a bit wild-eyed, you’re often right in what you have to say.”
With that Gant stepped outside and, with a wave of his hand, started down the path to take his leave.
31
WHISPER OF SECRETS
And men loved darkness rather than light.
JOHN 3:19
Long after Gant lef
t the house, David’s thoughts refused to give him any peace. He finally fixed himself a cup of coffee and, moving his chair a little closer to the fire, sat staring into the gently lapping flames, letting his mind roam free.
More than anything else of an unpleasant nature that had come to his attention this day—including his own concerns for Bishop Graber and the difficult situation young Ellie Sawyer would seem to be facing—Gant’s encounter with Samuel Beiler troubled him most.
When he was wrestling with his thoughts about the bishop earlier today, he’d felt the same distaste that too often accompanied any mention of Beiler. But Gant’s account of the Amish deacon’s visit to his shop and the reason for it had induced even stronger feelings.
He had long suspected Beiler of a behavior that, as a doctor and as a man, he abhorred. It was no secret to David, especially in his capacity as a physician to the Amish, that there were among the Plain community a few men—very few he believed—who routinely mistreated their wives and their children—some to the point of beating them. Such actions were never spoken of but kept veiled in a dark cloud of secrecy.
Because the Amish were such an isolated people, handling their own matters of conduct among themselves rather than bringing in the Englisch authorities, it was a behavior fairly easy to conceal. However, it could not always be kept hidden from their physician. Defying the importance that Plain People placed on privacy, on two separate occasions David had actually confronted husbands about this disgusting treatment of their wives and children. In both cases he had seen for himself the physical evidence of abuse and simply could not keep his silence.
In one instance he believed his interference had shamed the husband to the point that he discontinued the beatings. In the other case, however, the man was so furious with David he would no longer allow him to treat any member of his family.
He had absolutely no evidence that Samuel Beiler might be the sort of man who would beat his wife. But in the years that he had treated Martha Beiler and their children, he had seen signs in her that something was amiss. He’d heard it said about Martha that she was the “perfect” Amish wife, an example the younger wives should aspire to. Maybe so, but David had seen the way she looked at her husband on occasion as well as the way she shrank from close contact, and while she might have been a perfect wife, he had his suspicions that their marriage might not be so perfect.
