Her brows wrinkled a bit, and he wondered if she found him as difficult to understand as he found her. “Why didn’t you?”
He gathered a small handful of hay off the floor and tossed it out the doorway. “I don’t know. Maybe because I know I haven’t earned your kindness. And we have opposing visions. It’s like we’re enemies, and yet we’re not.”
She put the three sleeping kittens on the blanket. Keeping the other one in her hands, she moved to the hayloft door next to him. “I can see that.” She sat, dangling her feet toward the ground. “There’s always been plenty unsaid between my Daed and me too. It’s the way he is with all his daughters. Good man. Diligent and faithful to God, family, and community, but …”
“You wanted more.”
“I longed for him to understand me. I had that kind of relationship with my grandfather. And Daed seemed fine with my voicing an opinion or questions—in small amounts. Based on what I’d said, he even changed certain aspects of how we farmed. But I kept my mouth shut as much as I could stand. I didn’t want to ruin what we did have.”
“I hate how tough it is to build a good relationship and how easy it is to ruin it.”
“You and Michael could win an award for what’s left unsaid between you two.”
He cleared his throat. “When I was a kid and even well into my teen years, we talked about everything. But after we moved here, he and Mamm changed. They’d been through hell in Ohio, and every hope they had was centered on this farm in Dry Lake. Within weeks of moving, Daed started feeling exhausted and weak, and the knuckles of his thumbs hurt. Within a couple of months, all his joints ached, and shortly after that he was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. He made it worse because he stopped trying to use his hands. He’d spend weeks in bed, and when he got up, he’d start in on me about everything I hadn’t done. The farm was going to seed … and it was my fault.”
“Is that when you started to hate farming?”
“Probably. The next few years I worked like crazy trying to live up to what he wanted.” He ran his fingers over the dust on the rough-hewn planks. “It never happened. I was so miserable that I’d do anything for a break from the weight of it. From that first beer, the experience was … an escape. So I started partying with anyone who wanted to come to the cabin and bring drinks. I couldn’t get enough. It’s not Mamm’s or Daed’s fault, but they made it easy. Never checked on me. All those times I didn’t come home at night, they thought I was sleeping in the barn.”
“Maybe if you really opened up with Michael as humbly and unaccusing as you just—”
He put his index finger to his lips. “Don’t, please.” He stared at the rolling hills dotted with grazing cows. The sight might look beautiful to her, but it made him feel like a slave to a bunch of completely stupid creatures. “Can we change the subject?”
She nodded. “How’s Frani?”
“She’s a mess. More pigheaded than I am. But there’s hope that she’ll decide to get help.”
“When your Daed hired me, he said I could share the cabin with anyone I wanted … as long as it wasn’t a man, of course. I think he had my sisters in mind. But if it comes to that, she can stay with me for a while.”
“Thanks. That’s really generous of you.” Aaron chewed on a piece of straw, mulling over whether to ask her a question or two. “What happened between you and the man you …”
“Elam.” She stared at the horizon. “We fell in love, but when he asked me to marry him, I wasn’t ready. I wanted another year, maybe two. Three weeks later he asked … someone else. A few years after they married, the emotions between us resurfaced. That’s why I came here.”
The depth of grief in her brown eyes made a twinge of physical pain run through him. Maybe he shouldn’t have written that letter. He hadn’t known this was her reason for leaving Path Valley. He’d thought she was here because of a feud with her sister. That was what she’d said, wasn’t it?
The upside was that she had no idea Beckie had ignored his letter. So far.
“Hey.” She tossed a little hay at him. “Just because I don’t want to talk about that doesn’t mean you can’t talk at all.”
He wrestled with the idea of asking her to go for a buggy ride. At almost twenty-six, he’d never asked a girl to go anywhere. It’d be nice if he had some experience to rely on. He wondered how Elam had asked her out the first time and what she might expect from a beau.
Idiot! What am I thinking? They couldn’t get all cozy. He intended to sell this place and leave. She was bent on convincing him not to sell and probably wished he’d just leave. The key word in either scenario was leave.
Sylvia moved closer and dusted off the hay that she’d thrown on him, quickly brushing her hands over his shoulder before picking a stray piece out of his hair. “There, now you look all perfect and handsome again.”
Did she think him handsome? He liked that idea, although he knew he shouldn’t. He took the lone piece of hay from her and quietly placed it on her head. They laughed before she plucked it off and dropped it out the window.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She passed him the kitten and rubbed behind its ears. “During the after-service meal, a couple of the single girls invited me to a singing tonight.”
“And you said yes? That’s unexpected.” His eyes locked on hers.
“Not that much. I’ve been to singings all around Pennsylvania, some in Ohio too.”
“Really?”
“I used to get away from the farm for weeks at a time, staying with cousins. We went to singings and outings.”
“That’s a side of you I wouldn’t have banked on.”
“It was fun. I never found another guy I liked, but I met lots of interesting people. A girl named Mary is coming to get me. Do you want to go with us?”
His heart beat a little faster at the idea, but he wasn’t the kind of person to attend the overly chaperoned event, boys on one side and girls on the other. A fair number of the parents seemed to want a spotless attitude to shine from every youth, and he wasn’t a mask-wearing type of guy. “Spare me.”
She laughed. “That’s a definite no.” Then she hustled down the ladder.
Seeing the top of her head vanish, disappointment settled over him. He could have talked with her the whole evening and enjoyed it more than doing anything else. It was apparent she didn’t feel the same way.
Twenty
In the upstairs bathroom Cara held a washcloth under cool water, hoping to find some relief from this awful heat wave. She wrung it out and wiped it over her face and neck. The old mirror hanging in front of her matched the banister, moldings, doorknobs, and other fixtures in Ada’s House—worn, but classic.
This house had character and stamina. It gave shelter from the elements, provided a place to be a family and meet each other’s needs, and even offered a way to make a living. In a metaphorical way, she wanted to be like that too—protective, hospitable, and a unique asset.
But she couldn’t stop rehashing the hurt and misery her dad’s choices had caused her. She wanted to be free, not just so she could settle the issue with the church leaders, but so she could focus on healthier things.
He’d lived as he wanted to, making poor choices all along the way and not caring one iota about her. Who she was today—the ugly, awful past Ephraim helped her shoulder—wasn’t her fault. If Trevor had stopped indulging himself in liquor long enough to make sure his daughter was in safe hands, she would’ve grown up being the kind of woman Ephraim deserved.
“Cara?” Deborah tapped on the bathroom door.
“Come on in.”
Deborah opened the door, moved to the sink, and picked up her toothbrush. “Jonathan found this neat little ice cream parlor about two miles from here. It opened earlier this summer, but he just discovered it a few days ago. Since we’re closed this evening, we thought we’d put our night off to good use. Would you and Lori like to go with us?”
Deborah and Ephraim didn’t favor each other as muc
h as some siblings, but they’d both stolen her heart. “You sure Jonathan wouldn’t mind? Maybe he’d like a little time alone with you.” Jonathan helped around Ada’s House nearly every night and worked as a traveling blacksmith to Amish farms during the day.
A beautiful dusting of pink shaded Deborah’s face as she loaded toothpaste onto her brush. “He’s the one who said to ask.”
“Really? I knew I liked that young man of yours.” Cara stepped aside to let Deborah brush her teeth. After Cara removed her prayer Kapp, she pulled the bobby pins out of her half-fallen hair and brushed it in an effort to recapture all the loose strands.
Deborah had been seeing Jonathan for quite a while, and their relationship had been tested. Mahlon, her ex-fiancé, had come back for her and promised to do whatever it took to win her back. But instead his visit had convinced Deborah that the kind of man she really wanted was the opposite of Mahlon—a man who embraced life and people, who gave because he enjoyed it, who didn’t need her to keep him in line or to make sure he had enough reasons to want to live.
And Deborah had all that in Jonathan.
Deborah rinsed her toothbrush. “Here, let me.” She ran a brush through Cara’s hair. “Since Amish women don’t cut their hair, I didn’t realize it grew in again so slowly. You’ve been growing it out for more than a year, and it’s not even to your shoulders yet.”
“That’s partly because it started out shorter than most men’s hair. And maybe my hair grows really slowly.”
“Why’d you keep it so short?”
“It was convenient and cute, in my estimation. When I saw all the Amish women with their hair pulled back, I thought that was silly. If you’re going to keep it hidden, why not cut it short?”
“I can see thinking that way.” Deborah looped a covered rubber band around Cara’s hair and pinned it in a bun. “So are you going with us to the ice cream parlor?”
Cara put on her prayer Kapp again. “Sure.” She went to Lori’s room, where her daughter sat on her bed, reading aloud to Better Days. “We’ve been invited to go with Deb and Jonathan for ice cream. Care to—”
“Yes!” Lori hopped up and gave Cara and Deborah a hug before bounding down the steps, Better Days running ahead of her.
“The dog stays, Lori.”
“Aw, Mom.”
“He’ll eat your ice cream, mine, Deborah’s, and Jonathan’s.”
“Well,” Israel said.
Cara spun around.
“Good thing he’s not eating my ice cream.”
“Israel.” She wanted to hug Lena’s dad, but that suggested a closeness she didn’t really have with him. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I wasn’t. Now I am. What’s all this talk about Better Days eating ice cream?”
Lori hurried over to him and took his hand. “You seen Ada yet?”
“I most certainly have.” He pointed up the stairs.
Ada stood behind the banister, peering over it. She wore a clean dress and apron and a beautiful smile. She looked more youthful than ever as she slowly made her way down the stairs.
“So where’s Jonathan?” Cara asked.
The sound of footsteps on the wooden porch made them turn toward the screen door.
He stood there.
Israel glanced at Cara, waiting to take a cue from her. But she stood in a pool of hurt, unsure how to cope with his presence. It was as if each time she saw him, she dealt with the same raw, unbound pain she’d grown up with.
“Trevor.” Israel motioned for him to enter. “Good to see you.”
When Trevor stepped inside, Lori took a step back, withdrawing her hand from Israel’s. She moved beside her mother and wrapped her arms around Cara’s waist.
Jonathan came in the front door. “I’ve connected the hayride wagon, minus the hay. Now we have room for everyone.” When he spotted Trevor, he looked at Cara as if checking on her.
She wanted to shake her head, but something stopped her. Maybe she should feel sorry for Trevor. He looked out of place, standing in the middle of a group obviously bent on going elsewhere.
In the eleven days since he’d begun working at the Blank farm, he hadn’t been around much. And she’d enjoyed every moment of his absence. Nothing like dairy farming to keep a person constantly busy.
“I’ll just be going.” Trevor looked at Cara. “Have fun. I’ll see you later.”
When he walked out, everyone stood there awkwardly, looking anywhere but at her.
“Okay, fine. I hear you.” She stepped onto the porch. Her father’s shoulders were slumped as he went down the sidewalk.
An image of herself at sixteen, scantily dressed and dancing at a bar, flashed before her. Circumstances had trapped her into making choices she wasn’t proud of. Had they trapped him too?
“Wait.” Cara hurried toward him.
He turned.
“You could go with us.”
“That’s okay, Carab—” The hurt reflecting from him tugged at her.
She closed her eyes. “I want you to come with us.”
“No you don’t.”
“So you’re giving up?”
He barely shrugged. “I’m not much of an arguer.”
“Was Mom?”
He shook his head. “She had a strong will, but like most of her people, she wore it quietly and politely.”
Cara’s eyes misted. “I still miss her.”
He nodded. “So do I. Every day, all day long.”
His words stunned her. He used to say that to her before bedtime on a good evening. They’d had good times? The realization made her shudder. “You … read to me on the couch while Mama sat in her chair mending clothes.”
A faint smile eased some of the sorrow from his eyes. “Yeah, that’s right.”
She remembered that when it was time for her to go to bed, she’d say, “I love you,” and he’d say, “I love you more. Every day, all day long.”
She’d gag on those phrases if she tried to speak them now. “You should come with us.”
“You really want me to?” The disbelief in his voice rattled her.
She nodded.
“Lori won’t like it.”
“I’ll let Better Days go with us, and you can give the dog a lick of your ice cream. She’ll like that.”
He scrunched his face. “Do I have to eat the rest of the cone afterward?”
She stood speechless for a moment until she realized he was teasing her. She chuckled. “Is it okay if I call you by your first name?”
“Of course.”
“How about a horse-and-wagon ride to the ice cream parlor, Trevor?”
“I’d like that.”
She turned toward the house. “Deb, you guys ready?”
While everyone piled into the wagon, Cara stepped inside the house. “Come on, Better Days.” The dog bounded out the door, to the wagon, and onto Lori’s lap. Cara climbed into the wagon, and Lori beamed at her mom.
Israel drove with Ada beside him. Trevor shifted, his thin frame looking uncomfortable on the wooden slats. “Where’s Ephraim?”
“He doesn’t usually come to Ada’s House during the week.”
“Why not?”
“He logs a lot of hours at his cabinetry shop in Dry Lake.”
“He seems like a good man.”
“He is.” She bit her bottom lip to keep a goofy grin off her face. “I first met him when I was eight. As an adult he came to New York, looking for me.”
They spent the ride in stilted, uncomfortable conversation. But at least she was able to talk civilly to him.
The ice cream parlor had walk-up windows and picnic tables under huge shade trees. Everyone except Trevor picked out a favorite flavor, then moved to a table. Trevor stayed in the wagon with Better Days.
Cara ordered three cones and sent Lori back to the wagon with Trevor’s. After gathering some napkins, Cara handed Lori her ice cream, and she hurried to Deborah and Jonathan’s table.
Cara moved back to the wa
gon and sat on the tailgate. “If cameras were allowed here, I’d fill a photo album a month with pictures.”
Trevor licked his ice cream while trying to keep forty-pound Better Days at bay. “You could probably snap some privately of those closest to you and keep them tucked away.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I’m already on the bishop’s most wanted list, though I’ve managed to stay off the deacon’s list. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“The deacon coming to see someone is a bad thing?”
“He visits when a person is in violation of an Amish rule. From what I’ve seen, the bishop tries to intervene in situations and steer folks the right way. If the deacon is called in, he drops the gavel—no debate allowed.”
“Guess it’d be best for you not to be caught with a camera.”
“I wish they’d at least allow one family picture every four or five years. Nothing fancy but something like the shot you have of Mom and me.”
“I look at it every day.”
“I don’t have a single photo of Lori’s dad to show her.”
“Why not?”
“I needed to get out of New York fast, so I took Lori and left everything behind except the clothes on our backs … and her book bag.”
“Maybe you could return to New York to get your things.”
“Oh, I can just see the Plain folks finding out I’m running over to New York for a couple of eight by tens.”
“I guess not. Those pictures meant a lot to you, though, didn’t they?”
“Certainly not more than our safety. But they would mean a great deal to Lori. She doesn’t have any memories of her dad, and he loved her so much—both of us, really. I think she’d cherish having photos of them together. Even more so when she gets older. I realized that when I saw the picture of you and Mom.”
“Where in New York did you live?”
When she told him the name of the apartment building, his eyes lit up. “I know right where you’re talking about. I used to work as a handyman at the apartments across the street.”
“Really?”
“The manager of your apartment building would’ve had cleaners get rid of anything left behind.”
She shrugged. “Yeah. Probably.”
The Harvest of Grace Page 17
