“Nothing,” Simon said. “I just want to work, is all.”
Something had changed. Jeb nodded. “Fine. You can start by watering the cattle in the west pasture. I was going to head out there next.”
Simon didn’t move, though. He met Jeb’s gaze uneasily. “My sister is going to suggest you fire me.”
“You think?” Jeb asked.
“She might. Man-to-man, I want you to know that I’m willing to work. I won’t mess this up again. I’m going to attend some meetings—these Englisher meetings for men who gamble. It’s supposed to help.”
“That sounds like a start,” Jeb said.
“I didn’t think it was possible to get to the end of my sister’s patience, but I have. She’s got a big heart, she’s got integrity without bounds, but she has her limits.” Simon gave him a meaningful nod. “For what that’s worth.”
“All right.” What else was he supposed to say to that? But he saw something in Simon’s face that softened him just a little. It was the frustrated look of a young man who’d just seen how hard life could be.
“She’ll forgive you, Simon,” Jeb said.
“It’s not always about forgiveness,” Simon replied. “I’ve got to change my ways, Jeb. I’ve got to be better.”
Funny—standing here in the stable with a newly humbled young man in front of him, Peter seemed closer than he’d felt ever since his death. This was what Peter had been to him—an older man who had seen more life than he had. And yet Peter hadn’t demanded that he change. He’d just worked alongside him, and listened when he talked, given advice when he could.
“You know what,” Jeb said. “I’ll go with you to water the cattle. It won’t take as long with two of us.”
Simon paused, then nodded. “All right, then.”
Jeb would help his wife with Simon. The young man needed guidance, and distraction. Maybe the answer wasn’t in sending Simon off to do the work on his own, but in going with him to do the work shoulder to shoulder. For Jeb, any healing he’d experienced hadn’t come through the broader Amish community, but through the steady companionship of one good man.
Funny, how after all these years of diligently keeping to himself, he was considering this amendment to his ways. But Leah couldn’t shoulder this burden by herself much longer. It was a husband’s job to carry the firewood, to do the heavy labor that was too much for a woman ... It was Jeb’s job to make her life a little easier.
He had a feeling that Uncle Peter would approve.
Chapter Eighteen
Leah watched out the kitchen window as Jeb and Simon drove the farm wagon down the muddy gravel road, the horses plodding along in that unflappable way that workhorses had. The wheels bumped into a water-filled pothole and the wagon clattered with the jolt.
So, Simon had decided to work.
She watched the wagon as it continued on, Simon sitting next to Jeb on the seat, Jeb taller and broader. Simon’s hat was a little bit crooked, but they looked like regular Amish men in their white shirts and suspenders. Her family.
This was what she’d prayed for, wasn’t it? And she had it—a husband of her own, a man who belonged to her.
And yet it wasn’t real, was it? Because while Jeb was her husband, they weren’t truly husband and wife—not in the way she’d prayed for at least. On the outside, God had answered her prayer. In her heart, she ached with loneliness.
Leah went down the hallway and opened the door at the end—the laundry room. A wringer washer stood along one wall, and there was a bank of cupboards topped with a length of counter. The room was bright—no curtains on this window—and outside, it looked like it might rain again. Leah would do the washing, but she’d hang their clothes indoors to dry. She could transfer them outside later if it cleared up.
She pulled some clothes from the hamper—two of her own dresses and some of Jeb’s shirts. His clothes were so much larger than Simon’s, and as she shook out Jeb’s shirt that still smelled like him—hard work and hay—there was a faint knock. Leah paused, listening. There was another knock—louder this time. Someone was at the front door, it sounded like. Friends and family always used the side door, so her curiosity was piqued. She hung the clothes on the side of the wringer washer and headed toward the front door.
When she opened it, she was faced with a gray-bearded elder—she knew him well enough—and his wife. They were Methuselah and Trinity Beiler, and they smiled cordially. Trinity, who was about ten years younger than her husband, had some considerable gray in her hair, too. She held a basket in front of her.
“We’ve come to say hello,” Trinity said. “And I’ve brought some baking.”
“That is so kind,” Leah said, stepping back to let them in. “Thank you so much.”
“Well, I know how busy it is as a new wife, and I wanted to take some of the burden off you for today.”
Trinity and Methuselah came inside, and Leah gestured toward the sitting room.
“Please, sit down. I’ll get some tea started. My husband is doing chores, but if he sees your buggy, I’m sure he’ll come inside.”
Actually she wasn’t sure of that at all, but it was the wifely thing to say, and she couldn’t imagine that they’d come to see her exclusively. Likely, they were here to be kind to her husband and start a process of drawing him back into the community.
Methuselah went into the sitting room as he was bid, and he sat down in the one high-backed chair, looking around himself slowly. A Bible sat on the table next to him, and he nodded at it approvingly.
“Actually, dear,” Trinity said. “If we could just talk first ... while you’re alone.”
“Oh . . .”
Trinity put the basket of baked goods aside on one end of the couch and then sat down, patting the seat next to her.
This was no ordinary visit, then ... and there were a few things they might have heard from the community grapevine. Her brother, most likely.
“What’s happening?” Leah asked, but her heart was already hammering in her chest. “This is about Simon, isn’t it? I know he’s been in trouble, but he really does seem to be making a good step forward. Matthew Schrock—”
“It’s not about Simon,” Methuselah said, his voice a quiet, reassuring rumble. “Although we have heard of his struggles. We’re more concerned about how you are today.”
“Me?” Leah glanced over at Trinity, looking for some clue about what this was about, but the older woman appeared calm and collected.
“You are newly married,” Trinity said quietly.
Was this about their sleeping arrangements, then? She felt the color bleed from her face and the room spun for a moment.
“Dear—” Trinity reached out and took her hand.
“Normally a young woman will spend at least the first few months of marriage in her parents’ house,” Methuselah said. “There is wisdom in that—it sets an expectation of how the young wife will be treated under her parents’ supervision. But your parents are gone, and we as your community have a responsibility toward you.”
“Oh . . .” Leah looked between them. They were right—things would be very different if her mamm and daet were still alive. She wouldn’t be quite so alone in any of it, and the kindly older faces made grateful tears rise in her eyes.
“I have been missing my mamm and daet,” she said.
“As you would,” Trinity said with a kindly smile. “Now, please feel free to be as open and honest with us as you would be with your own mamm and daet. No one wanted to stand between you and a chance at marriage, but we do want to make sure that you’re—” Trinity glanced toward her husband. “—safe.”
“Safe?” Leah frowned. “Yah. I’m fine.”
“Your husband was married before,” Methuselah said. “And his first wife found a home with him to be quite unbearable. Now, people change. They grow. And fifteen years is a long time, but we wanted to make sure that you aren’t in a similar situation. We wouldn’t forgive ourselves if that happened a second time.”
A little late now that she’d married him, she thought bitterly. Was she considered so far past hope at thirty that a marriage to a monster wasn’t half bad? But that wasn’t her only concern here.
“My husband is a kind man,” Leah said. “We’re adjusting to married life. That takes time. But he is considerate, a hard worker, grateful for what I contribute to our home.”
“Has there been any suggestion of violence?” Methuselah asked quietly.
“Violence?” Leah started to smile, then stopped. “Why would you ask that?”
“We have to check.”
“Do you check on this with every newly married couple?” she asked. “Who has suggested that Jeb is violent?”
Methuselah pressed his hands together. “I don’t mean to suggest anything, Leah. But I feel I owe your father some caution on your behalf. When you were a teenager, your husband was married to a vibrant young woman. She tragically died in a fire. I’m sure you remember. And while there was no reason to suspect that the fire was anything but an accident, now that he is married again, we need to make sure we are vigilant on your behalf. Katie didn’t flourish in her marriage with Jeb. It was very likely a terrible mistake from the very beginning, but—”
“She didn’t flourish?” Leah shook her head. “So, everyone thinks that Jeb is the reason for the unhappiness there? Katie was in love with an Englisher—you know that, don’t you?”
“Marriage changes these things,” Trinity said, shaking her head in dismissal. “Many a young woman has been in love with another, and a sensible marriage has set her straight.”
“It didn’t,” Leah retorted. “Apparently, she really loved him.”
“Even you had a special friendship with another man before your marriage,” Trinity said delicately.
“We were engaged actually,” Leah said tightly. “And you’re right—time moves on. We’re both married to other people. But it wasn’t like that with Katie.”
“You were rather young at the time—” Methuselah began. “And sometimes the version of the story can change over a few years.”
“This isn’t about the version of the story told about a dead woman,” Leah said, leaning forward. “You seem to think my husband is abusive and cruel—yet you didn’t bring this up before our wedding! Do you really think that of him? He’s been nothing but considerate to me. He’s kind. He works hard. He’s been very, very kind to my brother, too. He’s not the monster you seem to think.”
“Monster is a strong word,” the older man said slowly. “And all we want is to make sure that you’re okay. That’s all.”
“I’m fine!” Leah capped her rising voice. This was an older man, an elder. She owed him her respect and she should be grateful that he was trying to do what her own daet couldn’t, but she couldn’t let them go on believing these things about her husband either. “Jeb has been pushed out of this community. I know that everyone thinks he just hid himself away—even I thought that. But it isn’t true. It’s rumors like these that keep him away.”
“At your age, you can choose for yourself who you marry,” Trinity said, her voice firming ever so slightly. “But you can’t blame the community for Jeb King’s oddities. Is this how you want to live?”
“Do I want a normal life, you mean?” Leah asked. “Of course I do! I want to be able to go to social events with my husband. I want to have guests come visit! I want something normal!”
And it was the community that stood in the way of that happening. Jeb had said that there were times that a person couldn’t change another’s view of him. And this was what he meant—rumors that dogged a person for over a decade.
“And you don’t have that . . .” Trinity said quietly. “Is he refusing to allow you—”
“No!” Leah shook her head. “You are so certain that he’s a particular way that you aren’t listening to me!”
She saw the warning look that crossed Methuselah’s face, and if she wasn’t so infuriated right now, she would heed that silent warning. Instead, she plunged on. “Katie was in love with an Englisher, and that never changed. Her relationship with that Englisher didn’t stop either. She wasn’t being faithful to Jeb, and she was leaving him. She was going English. He didn’t find out about that until after her death.”
“How did he find out?” Methuselah asked, frowning.
“There was a letter she left. She was in that barn that night to meet up with her Englisher boyfriend. I don’t know what became of him, but in that letter, she was telling Jeb she was leaving him.”
“A convenient story,” Methuselah murmured.
“I found the letter!” she insisted.
“Can I see it?” the older man asked.
“Jeb has it now,” Leah said. “And even if he didn’t, he’d be angry if—” She stopped. She was making him sound like that monster again, being afraid of his anger. But it wasn’t fear. It was respect for his privacy. But she could see the older man’s eyebrows furrow.
“Jeb only found that letter after he got home from his stay at the hospital,” Leah said. “And he was glad he didn’t know. He went into that fire to save his wife, and he didn’t hesitate. My husband is a good man, but his own community has been treating him like a secret criminal. He was the one who was wronged in that marriage, not Katie!”
“I see . . .” Methuselah said quietly.
“You came here because you wanted to help me. Well, Jeb isn’t the problem. If you want to help me have a proper Amish life, then you’ll help to make a place for my husband in our community again,” Leah said, her voice choking with emotion. “He’s been pushed out. How do you expect him to come back? How?”
“You’ve given us much to think about,” Methuselah said. “I’ll bring this to the bishop.”
Leah’s stomach clenched. Already Jeb’s secrets were moving outside of this home. She’d said more than he’d have liked—she knew that very well—but someone had to defend him. Katie’s memory had locked her into some sort of angelic state for the community. And she was dead—no one wanted to speak ill of her. It was easier to chastise the living.
Methuselah rose to his feet and his wife followed his lead. He walked to the door with the slow gate of a man with authority.
“Leah . . .” Trinity caught Leah’s sleeve and leaned in close, her voice low. “I have heard about your own bedroom, and I know there will be pressure to change that. But you don’t have to. You’re being cautious, and I can understand it. I want you to remember that while ideally a husband and wife should never refuse each other, it isn’t a sin for a wife to say no if she has a good reason. You are allowed to say no. Do you understand that?”
Trinity looked earnestly into Leah’s face, and she felt her cheeks flood with shame.
They knew. Everyone knew.
“Yah . . .” she said weakly.
“Good. I hope we’ll see you at service on Sunday.” Trinity went to the door, where her husband waited.
“Goodbye,” Methuselah said with a nod. “Tell your husband we gave our regards.”
Their regards—loaded with their judgment. Leah forced a smile and nodded.
“Good day to you,” she said.
As the door shut behind them, Leah put her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. She’d said far too much. And maybe shouldn’t have ... But if she didn’t, nothing would change, and the community’s judgment would continue. Someone had to stand up for Jeb. Someone had to make them see what they’d been doing to him.
Maybe this would only make things worse ... but there was also the chance that it might make things better, and they’d finally stop whispering behind Jeb’s back, making him out to be some sort of monster that he wasn’t. Because she had been serious in her request—and she did hope they would come to her aid. If they really wanted to help her, they needed to make it possible for her husband to come back.
* * *
Jeb pushed back his chair. Simon was still mopping gravy from his plate with a dinner roll—the
fresh-baked bread being the gift of an elder and his wife who had stopped by, apparently. Leah hadn’t eaten much, and she stood up to start clearing the table.
“You okay?” Jeb asked.
“Yah. Not hungry,” she replied with a wan smile.
Simon’s gaze popped up and he stopped chewing for a moment, then continued. So, Simon saw it, too. Something was up, and as her husband, he’d have to figure it out.
“Tomorrow morning we’re going to head out to the east pasture to check for calves,” Jeb said. “So we’ll want to get moving early.”
“I’ll meet you at the cow barn fifteen minutes early, if that works,” Simon said.
“Perfect.”
Simon’s attitude had improved drastically. Working with him instead of sending him off on jobs seemed to be relaxing the young man, and they’d chatted a bit while they worked today. Simon had his eye on a young lady, it would seem. But he had a lot of work to do to clear up his reputation before she’d ever let him drive her home from singing.
Simon rose from the table. “I’ll see you then.”
Jeb gave him a nod, and Leah turned and smiled at her brother before he headed out the side door. Then Leah rose to her feet and began to clear the table, but her hand shook as she lifted a dish.
“You should eat,” Jeb said quietly.
Leah paused with a serving dish in her hands, her dark gaze landing on him somberly.
“I’m going to have to tell you something, and you’re not going to like it,” she said, putting the dish back down on the table. Then she folded her hand in front of her in a tight grip. “But I have to explain myself first.”
“Okay . . .” Jeb eyed her uncertainly. “Explain what?”
“The elder—Methuselah. He and his wife, Trinity, weren’t just here to congratulate us on our wedding.”
“Why were they here?” he asked, and he heard the wariness in his voice.
“They were worried about me,” she said. “I told them that you’re a kind husband, and that I have no complaints, but apparently news has gotten out about our sleeping arrangements, and—”
“What?” Jeb’s expression darkened. “That got out?”
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