by Marta Perry
Aaron shook his head, frowning, like a horse shaking off flies. “How can I trust Benjamin when he does something like this, sneaking off with a girl? Should I just act as if it’s nothing?”
“No, of course not. You should talk to him calmly, not when you’re angry. Help him to see that he must protect Louise by not giving anyone cause to gossip about her. He will respond when he knows you trust him.” She prayed she was right, for all their sakes.
“Will he?” The anger faded slowly from his face, leaving concern and worry in its place. “Once he was the little bruder I loved and protected. But as he grew, it seemed a gap came between us. Now—now I just don’t seem to know him.”
She couldn’t help responding to the lost note in his deep voice. She put her hand on his arm, longing to comfort him. “One thing I know for certain sure is that making Benjamin feel you don’t trust him could push him straight into the thing you fear.”
Aaron took a breath so deep it made his chest heave. “You make it sound easy. Trust him. But it seems every time I speak to him he flares up at me.”
He looked down, seemed to realize she was touching him, and put his hand over hers. His was warm and hard from the work he did, but gentle, too. Her breath caught.
“You . . . You have to try.” Just as she had to try to gather her scrambled thoughts. “Maybe, when you look at him, you could picture that little bruder who tagged along after you. Don’t tell me he didn’t, because I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Ach, those were the times when he thought his big brother could do no wrong. They are gone, I think.”
At least he wasn’t angry anymore. But he was holding her hand with such tenderness and speaking so softly that her foolish heart was tumbling over itself.
“Just try, Aaron. For Molly’s sake, as well. She’ll do better if she’s not worrying about the two of you, ain’t so?”
“How is it you understand my family so well, Sarah?” His fingers tightened on hers, and she looked up to find his face very close. “How is it you understand me?”
“I . . . I don’t . . .” Whatever words she might say were lost in the intensity of his gaze, and her heart swelled until she thought it would burst. Aaron’s eyes darkened. A pulse beat at his temple. And then he lowered his head and kissed her.
The world narrowed to the strong circle of his arms. All she could hear was the steady beat of his heart against her palm on his chest. She couldn’t feel the chill of the air for the warmth that flowed from him.
Then he pulled back, taking a quick step away from her. He looked . . . confused, as if he didn’t quite know what had just happened.
“I shouldn’t—” He stopped, shook his head, started again. “I’m sorry.” He smiled a little, lifting his hand to run his fingers along her cheek in a feather-light caress. “I can’t chide Benjamin for smooching in the barn when I’m doing the same thing, can I?”
She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Thank goodness Aaron didn’t seem to expect anything. He just cupped his hand under her elbow and led her toward the door.
Aaron propped the latest copy of the Amish weekly newspaper up in front of him and leaned back in his chair, feigning a relaxation he didn’t feel. Molly didn’t seem to notice, in any event. She sat across from him in the rocking chair, sewing at some tiny baby garment, a soft, secret smile on her face. The old house was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of her rocking and the crackle of the fire he’d started in the fireplace when they got home.
He tried to concentrate on the printed page and failed completely. The events of the day were too powerful to shut out. He could pull a book from the bookcase at his elbow, but he probably wouldn’t be able to concentrate on that, either, even though some of those books were like old friends.
Benjamin had stayed out of his sight since that encounter in the stable, which was just as well. Aaron needed time to think before he talked to the boy.
And he needed to avoid thinking about what had happened between him and Sarah.
“Well?” Molly said. “You might as well put down that newspaper and stop pretending you’re reading it. Talk to me about it, whatever it is.”
He took his time folding the paper and putting it into the basket beside his chair. But Molly still looked at him, eyebrows arched, face questioning.
“How do you know something happened? Did Benjamin come to you about it?” He couldn’t help the way his voice sharpened on the question. If the boy was trying to drag Molly in between them—
“Ach, how could I not guess? Benjamin and Louise disappeared from view, then you and Sarah. And then Louise comes back in looking like a scalded cat.”
“I’m sorry about that.” His fingers tightened on the arms of the chair. “Sarah tried to treat her as if everything was fine, but Louise was upset.” He had upset the girl—that was the truth of the matter.
His reaction to finding them together had clouded his common sense. He’d been fortunate that Sarah had come in when she had, though he hadn’t appreciated that at the time.
“Well?” Molly’s foot tapped. “Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?”
“Just what you thought happened. Benjamin and Louise had sneaked away from the rest of the kids. They were smooching in the barn when I found them.”
“Well, at least he had sense enough to meet her someplace out of the cold,” Molly said.
Aaron glared at her. “He shouldn’t have been meeting her anyplace. Don’t tell me you condone sneaking around.”
Molly considered that, head tilted. “No, I don’t, but I’m not exactly surprised. They’re young, and they fancy themselves in love.”
Aaron shifted his gaze away from her. “You sound like Sarah. That’s just about what she said.”
“I thought Sarah figured into this story someplace. What did she do?”
“She came in on us before I had a chance to say much.” He blew out a breath. “All right, I admit it. That was gut, because she kept me from saying all the wrong things. She talked to Louise as if nothing was wrong, saying her mother was looking for her.”
“That was clever of her,” Molly said. “If you’d had your way, you’d probably have reduced the girl to tears, and then where would we be?”
She was right, little though he wanted to admit it. “Maybe Louise should be doing a bit of crying,” he muttered.
“Ja, and I’ll bet she did, but not in public, where everyone would see and be talking about it.” Molly was briskly practical. “Komm, now, Aaron. Don’t you think Jacob and I slipped away for some snuggling now and then? The only difference is that you didn’t catch us.”
He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. “You women are ganging up on me. And Jacob’s lucky I didn’t catch you.”
Molly chuckled. “He knows it.” She leaned across the space between them to put her hand on his wrist. “Ach, Aaron, don’t be so hard on Benjamin. I know you think you had to be a parent to the rest of us, but you didn’t treat Nathan that way. You probably don’t know half of what he’s gotten up to.”
“I can trust Nathan not to cross the line.”
“That’s because Nathan is like you.” She patted his hand and then sat back. “Benjamin isn’t.”
His hands curled slowly. “Benjamin is more like Daad.”
She considered that silently for a moment. “I suppose he is, in personality. That doesn’t mean he has to make Daadi’s mistakes.”
“He won’t if I can help it.” Aaron had promised Mammi he’d look after the young ones. He couldn’t let her down.
“Aaron . . .” Distress filled Molly’s voice. “Don’t push him away from you while you’re trying.”
“You sure you and Sarah didn’t get together on this? That’s what she said, too.”
Molly stroked her belly, seemingly without being aware she was doing it. “Sarah is a wise woman, I think. And a gut one, too.” She gave him a speculative look. “It sounds like you’re getting to know her pretty well, ain’t s
o?”
The memory of that kiss brought a wave of heat to his cheeks. “Don’t start matchmaking already. I’m not looking for a wife.”
“You should be.” She rapped the words out, sounding like Mammi when she was exasperated with his stubbornness over something. “What are you waiting for, Aaron? I could understand that you didn’t want to burden someone else with us when we were young, not that there weren’t plenty of women who’d have taken us on for the sake of marrying you.”
“That’s not—”
“But it’s different now.” She swept on, not letting him interrupt. “I’m married, Nathan’s grown and will probably marry in the next year or two. Benjamin’s halfway to being a man. It’s time you thought about a life of your own.”
“Maybe I will.” He seemed to feel Sarah’s soft lips again. But how could he think of anything serious with Sarah, feeling as he did about her profession? “But if I do, I won’t let you know until it’s all set, little sister.”
That made her chuckle. “Don’t you want my advice?”
“I’ll handle any courting I do by myself, thanks.”
The back door rattled, announcing that Nathan and Benjamin were home. Molly rose, gathering up her sewing.
“You need a little privacy to talk to Benjamin. Just remember what I said.” Her eyes twinkled. “And what Sarah said.”
She went out, and he heard her saying good night to her brothers. A moment later Benjamin came in, fists clenched, every line of his body stiff, defensive.
“Molly said you wanted to talk to me.”
He nodded. “Ja, I think we should talk. Sit down, why don’t you?”
“I’ll stand.” Benjamin took up a position in the center of the hooked rug Mammi had made, legs spread stiffly.
Aaron’s throat seemed to close. How had he let such a chasm grow between himself and his little brother? Never mind that Benjamin constantly found new ways to exasperate him. He was the older brother—it was up to him to behave like an adult.
He took a breath, knowing what should come first. “I’m afraid I might have scared Louise this afternoon.” He kept his voice even with an effort. “I’m sorry for that. Will you tell her so? She’d probably rather I not mention it to her.”
Benjamin blinked. Clearly that wasn’t what he’d expected. “I . . . I . . . ja, I will tell her so.”
“I reacted without thinking when I found you.” How could you be so thoughtless? That was what he wanted to say.
But Sarah had been right. It wouldn’t lead to any good result. He seemed to hear her soft voice in his heart.
“I don’t need to tell you that you shouldn’t have gone off to the barn with Louise. I think you know that.”
“We just wanted to be alone a little bit, that’s all.” Anger edged his voice. “You don’t have to make it sound like we ... we were doing something wrong.”
“I know you weren’t.” He hesitated. “I know, too, that you wouldn’t want to do anything that might make folks talk.”
“I don’t care what they say. Bunch of blabbermauls, always talking about other people.”
Aaron took hold of his temper with both hands. “Folks do talk. It’s only natural. You might not care what they say about you, but there’s Louise to consider. Like it or not, folks are harder on a girl’s reputation. You care about Louise, ja?”
Benjamin nodded, the mulish look lingering. “Ja. We care about each other. You wouldn’t understand.”
Every generation must surely say that to the one ahead of it. It made Aaron feel old.
“I understand caring. Loving.” He said the word deliberately. “It means putting the other person’s well-being ahead of your own. I trust you to do that for Louise. That’s all I wanted to say.” Or at least, it was all he thought it safe to say.
“It is?” Surprise chased the wariness from Benjamin’s face.
“Ja.” Aaron managed a smile as he rose. “I’m going up to bed. Will you take care of the lights and locking up?”
Benjamin nodded, the surprise lingering in his eyes. “Ja. I will. Good night, Aaron.”
“Sleep well.” At least they were saying good night without any slammed doors or shouted words.
That was a step in the right direction, wasn’t it? Aaron just wished he really trusted his little brother as much as Molly and Sarah seemed to think he should.
Sarah put one jar after another on the pantry shelves the day after the celebration. Rachel, Anna, and Leah had insisted on staying to do all the cleanup yesterday, determined not to leave until every last dish had been washed and dried and put back in its proper place.
Sarah had persuaded them to leave the gifts for her to take care of, saying Aunt Emma would want to look at them all again. Given the time of year, most people had brought the bounty of their gardens.
Each canning jar bore a label identifying its contents, but not the name of the woman who’d preserved it. That would be prideful.
Still, Aunt Emma, knowing her people as well as she did, hadn’t had any trouble identifying the giver. Sarah slid a quart jar of applesauce into place. That was probably from Dora Schmidt. Dora had talked about how bountiful their crop of McIntosh apples had been that year.
Sarah paused, hand on the shelf, knowing perfectly well what she was doing. She was occupying herself with these thoughts to block out the memory that had haunted her dreams and disturbed her sleep last night—the memory of Aaron’s kiss.
She pressed her palms over her eyes, as if to shut out the image in her mind. Anyone would think it was the first time she’d been kissed, already. It wasn’t, and she wasn’t a teenager anymore, caught up in rumspringa. At her age, a kiss should mean more. Did mean more.
But it couldn’t mean more, not with Aaron. Too much stood between them. Even if he knew the truth about his mother’s death, that wouldn’t change things. He’d still disapprove of the work to which she’d dedicated her life. To say nothing of the burden if she didn’t have children.
No, she was right to plan a life of singleness. She wouldn’t go through the pain again of disappointing the man she loved, and God had given her useful work to do. No one could ask for more.
Her heart seemed to hurt in her chest. She couldn’t deny the longing, but she would take refuge in obedience, doing the work God had set for her.
“Sarah, what are you doing? The canned meat goes over there.” Aunt Emma bustled into the pantry, taking a jar from her hand.
“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Sarah glanced cautiously at her aunt. Last night Aunt Emma had been a bit happy, a bit tearful, emotions all mixed together. Today all her defenses seemed to be up again . . . her voice tart, her lips set in a firm line.
“Is something wrong?” Sarah ventured the question, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“Wrong? What could be wrong with wanting to have things arranged properly on the shelves? What if I came in here in the dark and couldn’t . . . couldn’t . . .” Her face crumpled suddenly, tears not far away. “Ach, Sarah, I’m sorry. I’m that ferhoodled after yesterday that I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“I’m sorry. Was it too much for you? They only meant to be kind.”
Aunt Emma’s mouth worked for a moment, as if she wanted to hold back the words. “They were saying I’m done, ain’t so? That my useful days are over.”
Carefully, carefully. Sarah wasn’t sure she knew the right words here.
“I don’t think it was that,” she said slowly, feeling her way. “I think they wanted to express their love and caring after learning about your health problems.”
“Maybe so.” Aunt Emma’s expression smoothed a little, but something still clouded her eyes. “But even if that’s not why they did it, it’s true enough. After what happened with Dora’s baby, no one will trust me to deliver their baby. I might as well give up.” A desolate note sounded in her voice.
Sarah understood. Who better than she to know that drive to be useful?
“Aunt Emma, you s
houldn’t think that way. I’m sure—”
“You don’t need to worry about the house,” her aunt interrupted, suddenly decisive. “I told Jonas this last night. I’m signing the property over to you for the midwife practice.”
Sarah’s breath caught. “But . . . you can’t. It should go to your boys. I’m only your niece.”
“You are a daughter to me.” Aunt Emma clasped her hand firmly. “You must know that. Your mamm always knew I felt that way. She was glad to share you with me. That’s why you came to visit so often when you were little—because your mamm knew how I felt.”
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “I know she never grudged the time I spent with you or the fact that I wanted to be like you.”
“Well, then, it’s settled.” Aunt Emma patted her hand with a return to her usual briskness.
Sarah couldn’t just leave it at that. “But your sons . . .”
“My boys will do as I tell them. Besides, they all received a gut start from their father and me when they went out on their own. They don’t expect more.”
Sarah wasn’t so sure of that, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. And she had to try to do something about Aunt Emma’s feeling of uselessness.
“I’m grateful.” She fought to keep her voice from wavering. “I’ll be happy if I’m half the midwife you are. But you mustn’t give up just because of one problem. You’re doing well on the new medication, and I’m here to back you up. There’s no reason you can’t go on. Just maybe cut back a little.”
But Emma was shaking her head. “I want to believe that, I do. But I can’t. I can’t.”
“Please, Aunt Emma—” Sarah stopped. Probably they both heard the sound at the same time. A buggy pulling up, wheels creaking against the two inches of fresh snow on the lane.
Aunt Emma rubbed a clear spot in the fog on the pantry window. “It’s John and Charlotte Zug. Judging by the look on Charlotte’s face, you’re going to have the first new baby in the birthing center.”
“We,” she corrected. “We are.”
