The Captive Heart

by Dale Cramer

  Never in her life had she felt so divided, so torn, as in that moment. His words sent part of her spiraling into bleak depths, for a very tall fence remained between them. But another part of her heard only the word cualnezqui—beautiful one—and that part of her took flight like the hawk.

  She took his hand again, held it softly. “I do love you, Domingo. May Gott help me, for I cannot help myself. The feelings I have for you I have never held for another man, and the hours spent with you in this valley have been like another life. Like heaven on earth. There is nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you, I know that now. But if you cannot be Amish, then the only way we can be together is for me to leave the Amish.”

  Now she looked into his eyes with profound sadness and said, “Domingo, you are asking me to choose between you and my family.”

  He waited, watching her eyes, saying nothing and making no move toward her.

  “I cannot choose,” she said. “Either way lies a price I cannot bear to pay. I will need time, to think and to pray. I don’t know how long. Will you wait?”

  He smiled, peacefully, patiently. “I will wait forever if I must. I have no choice.”

  ———

  The next morning, in the pale gray light of dawn, Kyra and Miriam saddled their horses, hitched up Domingo’s travois, and headed for home.

  Chapter 41

  Rachel missed her sister. It had been nearly two weeks since Miriam left, and she ached to see her again, longed to talk to her. She missed their late night conversations after everyone had gone to bed, a time when she and Miriam shared secrets too deep to pass between anyone but sisters, and then only whispered in the dark.

  She missed Miriam, but she wasn’t worried about her. Deep down, some part of Miriam was also part of her, and she never doubted for a minute that if anything happened to her sister she would know it. She would simply know. Until now, at least, there had been no earthquake in the Miriam part of her heart. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, Miriam was safe. If only she could explain that to Mamm.

  Mamm was inconsolable, unreachable. Dat said something cracked in Mamm’s foundation the day Aaron died, and fear rushed in like water to fill the void. She tossed and moaned half the night, then sat crying and staring at nothing all day long, unable to work or even think straight. Ada, too, had become almost unmanageable without her mother’s constant attention.

  These were the things that filled Rachel’s mind on a sunlit Friday afternoon while she was out hoeing weeds from the kitchen garden with Leah and Barbara.

  “Someone is coming,” Barbara said, leaning on a hoe and gazing off to the west.

  Rachel was bent over between tall, staked tomato plants. “Who is it?” she asked tersely, a little put out with her youngest sister, whose attention tended to wander from her work.

  “Too far away to tell,” Barbara said. “Looks like two Mexicans on horseback coming down the ridge trail way out beyond Levi’s, but they don’t look like bandits. One of them is dragging something behind his horse. That’s odd.”

  Rachel stood up straight, but she still couldn’t see around the tomato plants. “What’s odd?”

  Barbara shaded her eyes from the lowering sun, squinting. “Their horses. From here they look like standard bred.”

  Two Mexicans on standard-bred horses, coming from the west.

  The Miriam part of Rachel’s heart sent a shock wave up her spine. Her hoe fell to the ground between the rows as she rushed to Barbara’s side, her eyes searching the shimmering distance.

  Barbara pointed.

  “That’s Miriam,” Rachel said, with a calm certainty. “Go get Mamm and Dat. Call everybody.”

  Then she started running.

  It was a joyous homecoming despite woeful stares at Miriam’s clothes. The whole family swarmed around her, and then they swarmed around Domingo and Kyra. Rachel had already untied Domingo from the travois and helped him get up onto his crutches before Caleb got to him.

  “You’ve come back from the dead,” Caleb said, shaking his hand, eyeing his wounds. “Maybe we should call you Lazarus from now on.”

  A blank stare. “Lazarus? I don’t know this name.”

  Caleb laughed. “I’ll tell you the story sometime. You must be hungry. Come in, let us get you something to eat.”

  Domingo winced. “I would, but our mother waits for us at home. She doesn’t know.”

  “I have to go, too,” Miriam said. “My clothes are at Kyra’s.”

  Caleb shook a finger at her, eyeing her Mexican laborer’s attire. “You’re not going anywhere this night, Señor Miriam. All my children are staying together, under my roof, for at least a year. I’ll take Domingo and Kyra home myself, in the hack, and I’ll fetch your things back. Right now you’re going to go in the house and sit with your mother until she feels better.”

  Miriam nodded and started for the back door, but Caleb put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Go easy with her,” he said softly. “Mamm’s . . . not right. After Aaron, and all those babies, then Rachel got kidnapped and you were gone so long—she’s just not right anymore, Miriam.”

  She found her mother sitting listlessly at the kitchen table, staring into space, oblivious to the clamor around her. Mamm didn’t even notice when Miriam came in until she straddled the bench next to her and turned her head gently with a finger, tossing the sombrero on the table and letting her hair fall free.

  “Mamm, it’s me. Miriam.”

  Mamm’s eyes widened slowly, then filled with tears. She reached out to touch Miriam’s cheek and her mouth formed a quivering O. The floodgates opened as she threw her arms around her lost daughter and buried her face against an Aztec poncho.

  While Miriam sat holding her mother Caleb hitched a fresh horse to the hack and helped Domingo into the back of it, propping him up with a buggy robe in an effort to make it a little more comfortable than a travois. Domingo sat up, adjusting the bandanna around his head.

  “Where’s your hat?” Caleb asked.

  Domingo flipped a casual wave toward the western mountains. “Lost it.”

  “I see. Wait here.”

  He went into the house and came back with a wide-brimmed black Amish hat. Holding it out to Domingo, he said, “See if this fits.”

  Domingo took the edges in his fingertips and pulled the hat down on his head. “Fits perfect,” he said. “But this is your Sunday hat, Señor Bender. What will you wear to church?”

  Caleb gave the question a dismissive wave. “I’ll wear my work hat, and if anyone asks what became of my good one I’ll tell them I traded it to get my Rachel back. A hat is nothing. I will never forget what you did, sacrificing yourself like that. You’re a hero, Domingo. I wish there was a way I could repay you. No price would be too great.”

  Caleb’s words only seemed to embarrass the young man because he shook his head and looked away, refusing to meet Caleb’s gaze. Clearly exhausted, he lay back against the bundle, covering his eyes with the hat and mumbling something in Spanish.

  It sounded to Caleb like he said, “No estoy tan seguro.” I’m not so sure. Domingo had a habit of deflecting praise as if it embarrassed him—a character trait Caleb shared and admired. No matter. Caleb gave his young friend’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and went to help Kyra up into the seat.

  Miriam saw through the kitchen window when her father tied Star to the back of the hack, preparing to leave. Pulling away from her mother’s embrace, she said, “I’ll be right back. I must say goodbye to Domingo and Kyra.”

  Leaving the back door open, she ran out to the hack and gripped the side rail next to Domingo. Her father climbed up into the driver’s seat next to Kyra and hesitated, giving her a minute before he urged the horse into motion.

  Domingo’s head turned, and his fingers came up to touch Miriam’s. He smiled.

  She whispered the word Soon, and backed away. Her father snapped the reins and clucked at the horse. She waved goodbye to Kyra and watched them pu
ll away before she went back inside the house.

  ———

  The news spread quickly, and within an hour Micah came to join the throng at the Bender house, his face lined with regret. Emma, Levi, Mary and Ezra came with their babies, and Miriam was glad for the crowd because it kept her from having to deal with Micah just yet. There was great jubilation over her return, so even though she was exhausted Miriam still spent the whole evening with her family in the living room, recounting every detail of her adventure in the Valley of the Parrots.

  Almost every detail. She left out the important parts. This was not the time to bring it up, especially with Micah right there in the room and the matter still undecided.

  Mamm sat close, clinging to Miriam’s arm and hanging on every word, and yet Miriam got the sense that her mother absorbed very little. She just clung, saying nothing, her eyes still full of fear.

  “There is news here, too,” Micah said. “Freeman Coblentz came to see me when I was out in the field today. His are leaving, going back home. Hannah is just too shook up about losing little Suzie. Aaron was courting Cora too, and then all this bandit business.”

  “Hannah always was a little frail,” Rachel said.

  Mamm shook her head, dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “Poor Hannah,” Miriam said. “I don’t blame her one bit.”

  “Freeman said they’ll be going back Tuesday morning,” Micah added. “It’s a shame. His house is half finished, and he already paid for the land. I don’t know what they’ll do.”

  Micah stayed through the evening and helped with the chores. Catching Miriam in the dark on the way back from the barn, he spoke to her alone.

  “I’m mighty glad to see you back safe and sound,” he said, “and I’m real sorry I didn’t just go with you that night.” Even in the moonlight, without a lantern, she could see genuine sorrow in his eyes, and shared in it, though for entirely different reasons.

  “It’s all right,” she said calmly. “Everything worked out just fine. We didn’t have any trouble at all. I know everybody was worried, and I never would have stayed away so long if it hadn’t been—”

  “I know. Domingo,” he said, and he couldn’t keep the fine edge of jealousy from creeping into his voice. “You already told us all about him. But, Miriam . . . that other thing—what I said about, you know, not being my wife and all—”

  “Stop. There’s no need to do this, Micah. You were right. It would never work out between you and me. We would never be happy together. It was wise of you to break our engagement before we made a serious mistake.”

  His eyes wandered, searching for words. He clenched his hat in front of him, his fists unconsciously rolling the brim. It was a lost cause, the cold distance between them well established earlier in the crowded living room when she would not meet his eyes.

  “Well, I’m real sorry about that. I wish you’d change your mind, Mir. I would still have you, you know. I didn’t really mean what I said.”

  She stood her ground, shaking her head slowly. “No. You’re a good man, Micah, and you’ll make someone a fine husband. But it won’t be me.”

  He turned away quickly, jammed his bent hat on his head and plodded quietly to his buggy. Watching him drive away, though she would never have admitted it to anyone, Miriam felt a stab of guilt. It was never her intention to hurt him.

  Later, in bed, Miriam could tell that Rachel was still awake after everyone else had fallen asleep, though she’d been strangely quiet.

  “Rachel,” she whispered, “are you all right?”

  “Jah.” She didn’t move, didn’t elaborate.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  Lying back to back, Miriam sensed a distance between them. “Rachel?”

  “Jah.”

  “When you were telling us about what happened with the bandits—you know, the night I left—I got the feeling there was something you weren’t telling us. You kept looking at me, like you do when you’re hiding something.”

  “Oh, that. Jah, I remember. I just didn’t want to say it in front of Mamm, upset as she was already, but the bandit in the barn—the one Jake knocked out—he came there in the middle of the night to . . . you know. It was awful.”

  “Did he? I mean, did he harm you?”

  “No. Thank Gott, Jake got there in time.”

  Miriam pondered this for a minute. Rachel hadn’t moved or raised up and she seemed reluctant to talk—very unlike Rachel.

  A slight hesitation, then Rachel’s voice from the darkness, “It was no big deal, I just didn’t think Mamm needed to hear that. What about you? I felt the same way when you were talking tonight, like there was something you weren’t telling us. What really happened in the Valley of the Parrots?”

  Miriam held her breath for a moment, then said, “So many things happened, it will take me a long time to remember them all.”

  “Really?”

  Now it was Miriam who hesitated and lay too still. “Jah. It was nice there. You wouldn’t believe how much Kyra knows about living off the land. She was amazing.”

  A long pause, and then Rachel’s voice, muted, drifting. “Jah, she’s quite a woman.”

  Chapter 42

  Two weeks passed without a word from Domingo or Kyra. Caleb rode over to check on them twice, but he brought no word for Miriam apart from Domingo’s rapid improvement.

  “Kyra keeps a good stiff splint on that leg, and he walks with only a cane now,” Caleb told her after his last visit, three days ago.

  On a Monday afternoon, late in the day, Miriam was out taking down the laundry from the line when she heard hoofbeats.

  Kyra trotted into the yard on Star, keeping her dust trail well away from the clothesline. Miriam did a double take when Kyra swung down from the saddle, for she had almost forgotten how beautiful Domingo’s sister looked in a peasant blouse and painted skirt.

  “You’re a woman again,” Miriam said.

  “I know!” Kyra answered, beaming. “I almost didn’t recognize you in that dark dress and white kapp. I’ll have to get used to it all over again.”

  Doing her best to make it sound like a casual question, Miriam asked, “How’s Domingo?”

  Kyra rolled her eyes. “We can’t keep him still. He wanders around in his bean field all day—leaning on a cane! But I guess it’s for the best. We would all go crazy if he stayed in the house.”

  “So what brings you here?” Miriam asked, picking up the laundry basket.

  “Oh, I need to borrow a pot. A big one. We have a lot of canning to do tomorrow—bushels. I don’t know how we’ll get through it, with no one to help and my mother’s knees acting up.”

  The thought traveled from Miriam’s heart straight to her mouth without a second’s hesitation. “I will come help you.”

  “No, you mustn’t do that,” Kyra said. “You have too much work—” A casual glance at Miriam’s face chopped off her objection. A wry smile crept into Kyra’s eyes then, and she nodded slowly.

  “Sí, I could surely use your help, Miriam. Perhaps you can come stay with me tonight, then help me in the morning and bring home the pot when we are done with it.”

  Her dat cast a worried glance at Mamm when Miriam asked if she could go with Kyra, but he reluctantly agreed. Mamm was better, though still not herself. Miriam wondered if she ever would be.

  She saddled a horse and rode beside her friend with a huge pot tied to the saddle horn, bouncing as they trotted over the fields. The sun had disappeared behind the western mountains by the time they reached Kyra’s barn on the back side of San Rafael.

  ———

  Putting away her horse in the twilight of the little adobe barn, Miriam grew nervous. “Listen, Kyra, before we go inside, I need to talk to you about something very important. I need to know what you think about it.”

  Kyra shrugged. “All right. My opinion is worth almost as much as you pay for it.”

  She decided to just say it and get it
over with.

  “Kyra, you know I love Domingo.”

  Kyra didn’t bat an eye, hefting her saddle up onto the stall rail, dusting her palms. “Sí. I saw the two of you in El Paso de los Pericos. I am not blind.”

  “And he loves me.”

  A little shrug. “I knew this long before you did. There are some things a brother cannot hide from a sister.”

  “Well, did you know that while we were at Parrot Pass, Domingo asked me to marry him?”

  Kyra’s mouth flew open in shock. “No! And did you give him your answer?”

  Miriam shook her head. “I couldn’t, then. It is a heavy thing, to choose between Domingo and my family. I needed time to think. I would be banned from the church, and my people would shun me.”

  Kyra nodded thoughtfully. “This explains much. He has said hardly a word in the two weeks since we brought him home. Have you come to a decision?”

  Miriam glanced away for a moment, marshaling her courage. She had never spoken the words aloud.

  “I am going to say yes,” she said.

  Kyra leaped into the air screaming and came down hugging her, dancing her in circles, laughing, squealing.

  “You will be my sister! And such sisters we will be, Miriam! We will set Mexico on its ear!”

  Miriam did her best to calm her excitable friend before she said, “You get ahead of yourself, Kyra. I should talk to Domingo before we celebrate.”

  Kyra peered out the door. “He is still out in the bean fields. Oh, but sister, I cannot let you go to him like this,” she said, touching her fingertips to Miriam’s kapp. Her dark eyes lit up suddenly. “Quick, come into the house with me! I have an idea.”

  Life must go on, Caleb thought after he watched Miriam ride away, but it was still a hard thing to let her out of his sight for the first time since she came home. The door to life opened on infinite possibilities—including, as Caleb now knew too well, unthinkable possibilities. But even a father could not keep the door closed forever, so he swallowed his misgivings and let his daughter go.