Jeb's Wife

by Patricia Johns

  She roused herself and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Do you know a woman named Ruth King, Cherish?”

  Cherish’s eyebrows raised. “Why?”

  “She’s a relative,” Leah said, boldly meeting Cherish’s gaze. “I only recently found out about her. I was hoping to visit her.”

  “Yah, she’s in town. She works at an Amish inn—she works the front desk.” Cherish didn’t say anything else, and neither did Leah.

  Leah’s husband’s secrets were safe with her. She’d be the warrior at his back ... even from here. All the same, she did intend to meet her mother-in-law.

  * * *

  That night, Jeb didn’t sleep well. He went into her bedroom and looked around. It was as neat and nearly as empty as the day he’d given it to her, but it was different now. He could smell the soft scent of her around this place—her lotion, her soap. There was a bar of softly scented soap in the bathroom, and he wouldn’t touch it, because it reminded him of her....

  “I’m an idiot,” he muttered.

  The truth was, he missed her desperately, for all the good that did him. He knew this would be the fallout of letting himself feel too much, but it hadn’t felt like a choice. Leah tugged these complicated emotions out of him, like a thread pulled through fabric at the end of a needle. He was drawn along ...

  But he didn’t need to draw her along with him. He could have kept his hands to himself. He didn’t need to complicate things for her. In fact, if he hadn’t, she might still be here. The exquisite agony of sharing a house with her could have been his alone to bear, and it would have been far preferable to having run her off.

  Because he wasn’t fooled—she’d left because of him.

  A day’s worth of work hadn’t improved matters, and neither had trying to make small talk with Simon once he’d gotten back from the bus depot.

  “You’ve made a mistake,” Simon had said. “Both of you.”

  And that’s all he’d say on the matter.

  Maybe the kid was right. But it was a little late now. Leah was in Rimstone and the community there would be thrilled to have her back to teach their kinner. It was what Leah wanted.

  The night, Simon declined coming in for dinner. He had promised to go to that Gamblers Anonymous meeting, he said, and Matthew was picking him up to drive him. Apparently Matthew wasn’t going to give Simon a chance to back out—not a bad thing, Jeb had to admit. Simon, at least, could benefit from this community.

  After a hasty dinner, half of which Jeb didn’t eat, he sat at the kitchen table, his heart still feeling heavy and sodden inside him. Outside he heard the rattle of a buggy, and Jeb pushed himself to his feet and looked out the window. It was Bishop Yoder with another elder—Methuselah? Yah, that looked like him. The very elder to have visited his wife the other day apparently. They were worried about her ... and they’d likely come to check up on her. And he’d have some explaining to do.

  Jeb sighed. They’d find out eventually that she’d gone to teach in Rimstone again, and it was like his heart was drawn to that town doubly now—the town he’d grown up in, where his mamm still lived, and now the town where his wife worked to keep her distance from him. Today wasn’t a good day for a visit from the bishop. His emotions were too raw. But they were here all the same, and Jeb resignedly headed through the mudroom and pulled open the side door. The men had reined in the pair of horses and they jumped down from the buggy.

  “Good evening, Jeb,” Bishop Yoder called.

  Jeb gave him a curt nod but didn’t answer.

  “We’re glad we caught you at home. How is married life treating you?” The bishop smiled.

  “Fine.” It was the acceptable answer, wasn’t it? No one told the truth if their heart was in shreds anyway.

  “We hoped to speak with you,” the bishop said. “May we come inside?”

  Methuselah still hadn’t spoken, and Jeb looked over at him quizzically. The older man looked down uncomfortably, and his discomfort was welcome at least. The last time Methuselah had been here, it was to undermine his marriage. He should feel badly about that.

  “Come in, then,” Jeb said, standing back.

  The men came up the steps, wiped off their boots on the mat, and came inside. They glanced around, then pulled up chairs at the kitchen table. Jeb was expected to offer them something, so he picked up the basket of baked goods Methuselah’s wife had brought and plunked it onto the center of the table. He looked at Methuselah meaningfully.

  “Have some of your wife’s baking,” he said, and then sat down, too.

  “Jeb, I want to apologize for that,” Methuselah said, breaking his silence for the first time.

  “Yah?” Jeb raised an eyebrow. “Coming to a man’s home, spreading tales about him, trying to convince a man’s wife she’s in danger.”

  “Where is your wife?” the bishop asked quietly.

  “She left,” Jeb said, his throat thickening with emotion. “Ask your elder about that.”

  “Where did she go?” Methuselah asked, frowning.

  “She’s gone back to teach in Rimstone,” Jeb replied. “And you can confirm that with her brother, if you don’t believe me. He’s the one who dropped her off at the bus station.”

  There was silence around the table, and Methuselah cleared his throat awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “It wasn’t all you,” Jeb said. “So, are you done, then? She’s safely away from me.”

  “We didn’t actually come for that,” Bishop Yoder said.

  Jeb eyed them uncertainly. If this wasn’t about his wife, why were they here? “Menno?” he asked.

  “Yah.” The bishop nodded.

  There it was. If they couldn’t ruin his personal life anymore, it looked like they’d meddle further into his relationship with his cousin. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment, looking for some way to lower this rising anger inside him. He should have left the Amish years ago . . . He still could! What kept him linked to this community when they kept ruining every part of his life?

  Except he was Amish. Angry, resentful, heartbroken, ugly ... whatever he became, he was also Amish. It was the last tie he would not cut himself. But maybe that was being taken from him now, too.

  “We came here because Menno has been saying some rather incriminating things about you, Jeb,” the bishop went on. “He’s claiming you manipulated his father into changing his will in your favor. He wants this land. I’ll tell you that straight.”

  “And you’re here to demand I sign it over, I take it?” Jeb said bitterly. “And if I refuse, I can face the wrath of the community?”

  “No.” The bishop shook his head. “I’m here to reassure you that we’re on your side in this. I knew Peter well, and I was aware of that will. It’s all perfectly legal, and your uncle wanted you on this land. He also wanted you married—so it looks like Peter managed to get things sorted out.”

  “Wait—” The word caught in Jeb’s throat, and he cleared it. “You’re saying ... you’re on my side?”

  “We’ve looked into it,” Methuselah interjected. “You’re in the right here, Jeb. And we stand for what is right. Menno is angry—maybe even understandably so. He lost his father, and he truly believed he’d inherit this farm. It was a blow to him. But it wasn’t right of him to slander your name behind your back.” Color tinted the older man’s cheeks. “Neither was it right of me to do the same, Jeb.”

  Jeb stared at them, the words still sinking in. He hadn’t expected this show of support. If anything, he’d expected to have to throw them off his property . . . He sucked in a breath, then released it, words still not coming to him.

  “We want you to know that we’ve visited with Menno, too,” Bishop Yoder said. “And we’ve told him that he needs to stop the rumors he’s been spreading, or we’ll have to address this with more of the elders. We are an honest and truthful community, and we must treat each other fairly.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Jeb said
.

  “It’s been a long time since you’ve been to service,” the bishop said.

  There it was ... the demand. “So, there’s a price for your support, is there?” Jeb asked.

  “A price?” The bishop shook his head. “No, I was just going to say that we’d like to see you, Jeb. It would be nice if you’d come out with the rest of us. And I do understand if you’re not up to going to other gatherings, but when we worship God together it’s healing. I don’t know how to explain why, or how. But it seems to be.”

  “And if I don’t go?” Jeb asked gruffly.

  “You’ll be missed.” The bishop smiled. “And from time to time I’ll invite you. Our community should have done better by you, Jeb. We’ve missed opportunities to be the neighbor you need. We want to do better. That’s all.”

  Jeb was ready for a fight, but not for this. He swallowed a lump that rose in his throat. He dropped his gaze and looked away, not wanting to expose the emotions that flowed through him.

  The bishop tapped the table, and both men rose to their feet.

  “We should be off, then,” the bishop said.

  “I see you still have my wife’s baking,” Methuselah said quietly. “Please enjoy it, Jeb. And with your wife away, I’ll have her bake extra and we’ll drop it by for you.”

  “I don’t need charity,” Jeb said brusquely.

  “Then call it friendship,” Methuselah said.

  Jeb looked up at the older man uncertainly. Friendship. He looked in to the basket—the braided loaves of bread, some blueberry muffins. They were getting stale.

  “I have a broken wheel on my buggy,” Methuselah added. “I know it might be a lot to ask, but I could use a hand in fixing it. If you had the time.”

  Jeb nodded. “Yah. I suppose, I could. Sure.”

  Methuselah smiled. “Much appreciated.”

  The bishop headed for the door, and Methuselah put out his hand. Jeb reached out and shook it.

  “Sometimes when you’re having a rough time,” Methuselah said quietly, “you just have to ask for the help you need. So I thank you. You’re a good neighbor, Jeb.”

  Yah . . . a lesson for the kinner almost, in what it meant to be Amish, but a reminder he needed, too. He didn’t mind helping Methuselah out with a wheel. It could be fixed easily enough between the two of them.

  The men saw themselves out and headed back to the buggy, but Jeb stood in his kitchen for a long time, his mind whirling.

  Was it really so simple, to just ask for what he needed? Because right now, he didn’t need baking or company. He didn’t need neighbors even . . . he needed his wife. He missed her, and even having her across the hall was preferable to this emptiness in his home.

  But Jeb wanted more than having her across the hall. He wanted her in his arms. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted to pull her close and fall asleep to the soft scent of her hair on the pillow. He wanted a marriage—a true, soul-deep kind of marriage—and he’d been afraid to ask for any of it because he’d never gotten much of what he wanted in that respect before.

  He’d asked for more . . . she’d said she couldn’t live his solitary life. But she’d asked for what she needed, too, and maybe it was time to take a chance on community again. For her.

  Abundance might have done him wrong, but they’d also come and apologized, admitted it, and backed him in his dispute with Menno. Before they’d even spoken to Jeb. Before they even knew if he could forgive them ... they’d given him their support because it was just and right.

  They’d done the right thing. The difficult thing. Maybe it was time for Jeb to do the same.

  So he’d help fix that wheel, and if he had his wife next to him, he could go to service as well. He couldn’t promise to go to strawberry parties, but he could give a little more to the woman he loved. He could help a neighbor with a broken wheel. He could pitch in during harvest and barn raisings. He could find his place here again ... a different place than before, but a place all the same.

  Jeb sucked in a breath, his heart hammering in his throat. His wife was in Rimstone, and before anything else, it was time to see if she’d come home.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Finding Ruth King had proven easier than Leah had anticipated. First, she’d gone into town and checked at the Rimstone Inn, where she worked, but the manager there said that Ruth had the day off. So Leah had gone to her home—a little apartment in the back of an Amish house. It was small but neat, with wide windows and a tiny garden out back that was flourishing.

  “You’re my son’s wife?”

  Ruth King’s face was lined and browned from the sun. She slid a mug of tea across the table toward Leah and eyed her uncertainly.

  “I’m Leah King,” Leah said with a nod. “Did Jeb write to you?”

  “Yah, he did.” Ruth frowned, pressing her lips together. “Where is he?”

  Leah felt the accusation in those words, but she wouldn’t look down. “He’s in Abundance still. I’m teaching school here.”

  “And you’re here alone? Even though you’re married?”

  “Yah.” Leah smiled sadly. “I am.”

  They were silent for a moment, and Leah could see the older woman weighing the situation, and then she leaned forward, her gaze locked on Leah’s face.

  “How is he? How is he really? Because he writes to me, and I just sense—” Ruth sighed. “He doesn’t tell me everything, and as a grown man, that is no surprise. But I worry.”

  “He’s very, very alone,” Leah said softly.

  “Ah.” Tears misted Ruth’s eyes. “I was afraid of that . . .”

  “What does he tell you?” Leah asked.

  “Oh, that he married you. That the farm is his. That Menno is giving him grief. Facts, not feelings.”

  Leah nodded. “He hates if I talk about his business.”

  Ruth dropped her gaze to her hands. “I know. He’s always been like that—very reserved. Some people deal with pain by lashing out. It was like Jebadiah lashed inward. But he used to talk to me at least. But that was a very long time ago . . .”

  “How long?” Leah asked.

  “Before I sent him to live with his uncle. He was barely thirteen then. It was never the same after I sent him away. He begged to stay with me. Did he tell you that?”

  Leah shook her head.

  “Well, he did. He wanted to be with me. He didn’t care if he never got a fresh chance at a decent life. But I couldn’t let my son try to protect me! He had to live his own life. And sending the kinner to be with their uncle was good for them. For Lynita, at least. She found a good man and married him. You know them, don’t you—Lynita and Isaiah?”

  “Yah,” Leah said with a quick nod. “They’re good people.”

  “But it didn’t go so well with my son,” Ruth said, and she leaned back in her chair. “If I knew then what I do now, I’d have kept him with me.”

  “You did your best,” Leah said softly.

  Ruth nodded slowly. “All the same, I never should have sent him away, Leah. I wanted to give him a community—a chance to really start his life—and I don’t think that was what he needed after all. He needed me.” Ruth wiped a tear from her cheek.

  Was Leah so very different? She’d left him, too. And ever since she’d arrived in Rimstone, all she could think of was her husband. She loved him—and while he didn’t fit into the proper Amish life she’d always imagined for herself, did she want that life without him in it?

  And he’d asked her to stay . . .

  A lump rose in her throat.

  “Ruth, can I ask you something?” Leah asked.

  “Yah. Sure.”

  “Did your community forgive you? I hope this isn’t offensive, but ... did they ever decide they’d punished you enough and let you back into the community again?”

  “Yah, of course.” Ruth laughed softly. “I’m not the same young woman who made those mistakes anymore. We all grow. It took time for them to forgive me, as these things do. But I also had to
realize that I’d changed through it all. I was different, and my place in my community would be different, too. You see, you’ll always have a place in the Amish community. It’s just a matter of where you fit. Life changes you—that’s inevitable. People make mistakes, or they get married, or they don’t get married when everyone expects. Maybe it’s the birth of a child, or a grandchild, or they get sick, or they get old. Your place in the community is constantly changing, but there is always a space for you. It just isn’t always in the same place as before. That’s all. I suppose that’s the wisdom that comes with age. I didn’t understand that when I was younger, so take it for what it’s worth.”

  Leah was silent as she rolled Ruth’s words over in her mind. Was it really as simple as that? Maybe it was time for Leah to change a few of her own expectations, too. If she loved Jeb this much, then maybe she’d need to let her place in the community change. If he couldn’t join her in the busyness and community, then she’d join him on the periphery.

  But loving Jeb had changed her—there was no turning back there. Maybe it wasn’t a question of having her community or not. Maybe her place with the Amish could change, too ...

  It would mean adjusting her vision of her future—the active Amish life she’d longed for wouldn’t be hers, but she’d have her husband’s love. There wouldn’t be kinner, but they would still be a family. It wouldn’t be what she’d expected . . . but did she really want to push the man she loved away?

  Outside, there was a rumble of an Englisher engine, and Ruth rose to her feet and looked out the window.

  “Oh . . .” she said, her fingers coming up to her lips.

  Leah’s heart leaped to her throat and she hurried to the window, looking over Ruth’s shoulder. There was a taxi idling in the driveway, and Jeb stood there next to the driver’s side window, peeling bills off a roll to pay the driver. Ruth opened the door and went outside.

  There was a murmur of voices, and Leah watched from the steps as Jeb embraced his mamm. Ruth stood on the tips of her toes to wrap her arms around him, and for a long moment they stayed like that. Then Jeb looked up, his gaze landing on Leah.