by Beth Wiseman
“Why?”
It was the question she had wrestled with for years.
“He said the child had been spawned by an evildoer, and nothing but evil would follow him and me. He said the boy would have a better chance to thrive in the English world.”
Hope couldn’t speak for several moments, then she whispered hoarsely, “Daed was ashamed of me. He treated me as though I’d done something wrong. He said the district would never accept the boy. What I was too young to realize at the time was that he couldn’t accept the boy. He lied to everyone in Paradise about sending me to a dying relative—a shunned cousin who had no one to care for her—rather than accept the truth.”
Stephen covered his face with his hands and remained quiet. When he lifted his chin, his eyes were red-rimmed and watery. “You told no one for all these years?” His voice had hardened.
Hope stared at the wall clock. “I told my friend Rosa, and of course Mamm knew. That’s all.”
Stephen blinked. His lips thinned into a line. “You told a girlfriend but you never told me—the man you pledged to honor and love for as long as you lived?” He slapped his palm on the arm of the sofa.
She couldn’t swallow; she could barely breathe. “By the time we started courting, I had kept my secret for so long. Mamm said no man would have me if he knew the truth.”
“She taught you to deceive, and you went along like a mindless sheep?” He shook his head with disgust.
She couldn’t look him in the eye. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I was weak.”
“Thirteen years we’ve been married. You could have told me at any point. You are a complete stranger to me, and I to you, if you thought you couldn’t trust me.” He struggled to his feet, all six feet three inches of him, set his Bible on the table, and stomped out of the house, letting the screen door slam behind him.
Hope remained frozen in her chair. This wasn’t what she expected. She thought he’d be sympathetic, understanding. She thought he’d care.
At first she sobbed. Then she prayed. Finally, she realized, It is done. Whatever his response, I’m no longer keeping a secret from my husband.
A knock on the back door drew her out of her reverie. She heard the screen creak open and a halting step approach through the kitchen.
“Hope?” Rosa’s voice called. “I knocked but no one answered. I knew you hadn’t gone anywhere at this hour.”
She came into the living room, looked Hope up and down, and frowned. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Hope nodded. “I told him, Rosa. I told him the truth about the baby.”
Rosa lowered herself to the sofa. “Where is he?”
“He left. But I know he loves me.” Hope pronounced the words like some sort of revelation. “He will come back. And if necessary I’ll spend the rest of my life making amends for my sins.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Not the rape, no. But I am responsible for my deception. I made a grievous mistake. Still, all will be well. I’ve prayed on the matter too many times to count; at last I feel peace in my heart, unburdened, as though I’ve finally turned this over to God.”
“All will be well,” Rosa whispered. She stayed, silently holding her friend’s hand, and after a while left through the front door without another word.
When Stephen marched out the front door and down the porch steps, he didn’t know where he would go. He crossed the lawn waiting to be mowed, passed the barn where horses nickered as they settled down for the night, and circumvented the cow pasture. The last thing he needed was to step in a flop or two in his present state of mind.
Pausing in a thin circle of moonlight, he gazed skyward. A fleeting cloud scuttled across the surface, but otherwise the night was clear. A million stars shone down on him. Suddenly, the sound of a nightjar broke the stillness—the bird’s shriek seemed to be mocking Stephen’s ignorance. “Scat!” he called to his unseen tormentor. Then he stomped off toward the cornfield. Maybe he could lose himself in the maze of cornstalks and wander until he spent every ounce of energy.
How could the love of his life keep a secret for thirteen years?
How could she neglect to tell him something so important? More to the point, what other secrets was Hope keeping from him?
On he walked, lengthening his strides and quickening his pace. Stephen kept his head down and gritted his teeth. Tough, brittle cornstalks scratched his face and arms, while mosquitoes feasted on his bare arms. He stumbled over a hidden rut, nearly falling facedown between the straight rows of corn. Yet he didn’t stop until he’d crossed the field and reached the fence line.
Hot, itchy, and exhausted, Stephen fell to his knees under the sole tree along the property line. His heart slammed against his ribcage; beads of sweat slid down the sides of his face. But his anger had started to dissipate. He’d ground it into dust along with the chaff from dead stalks.
“What should I do, Lord?” he asked, turning up his face. But he knew the answer. He needed no parting of the clouds or trumpet-heralding messenger to give him direction.
Forgive. Not seven times, but seventy times seven.
His wife had done nothing unforgivable. She had been victimized as a girl. And then her own father had shown not one shred of compassion. Instead of comforting and helping her deal with the trauma, he had made her feel ashamed and culpable. And as if that weren’t enough, Silas Klobentz committed the unthinkable: he forced his child to surrender her baby.
The person he needed to forgive was his father-in-law, not his wife. But Stephen sensed he would have to spend much time in prayer before facing Hope’s father.
He rose to his feet, brushed off his knees, and started home with a heavier step but a lighter spirit. He opened the door on an empty kitchen where a sole kerosene lamp burned on the table. But as he washed his hands and face at the sink, he sensed someone enter the room.
“You’re back,” Hope said, her hands folded behind her back.
Reaching for the towel, he turned to face her. “I am. You discovered the high pasture to be a gut thinking spot. It took the length of our cornfield to bring me to a few conclusions.”
Tentatively, she reached for him. “You’re bleeding.”
Stephen welcomed her touch. “It’s nothing—don’t fret.” He took her hand and drew her to the table. Her hand felt small in his palm. “Sit with me awhile.” He pulled her into his lap.
“What conclusions did you come to?” Her voice quivered.
“You’ve carried a heavy burden for a long while. I wish I could have lightened it for you. But what’s done is done.” Stephen tipped up her face with one finger. “You’re not to blame for what happened to you, or for giving your baby up for adoption. A young girl with an eighth-grade education and no job has few options. Had we been courting then, we might have married earlier. I would have raised the boy as my own.”
Hope buried her face against his shirt, and her tears seeped through the cotton.
He stroked her back to soothe her. “Your father wronged you and the district with his lies, but all that is past. After today I won’t bring this up again, unless you wish to talk about it. Then I’ll listen for as long as you like. Don’t ever think you need to keep something from me. There is no truth involving you I cannot bear.”
“I love you,” she said against his chest.
“And I you.” He held her until she had exhausted her tears. When she lifted her face, her lips formed the tiniest of smiles. “Danki, Stephen. Your forgiveness is a cherished gift. My deception separated me from God, but He has been waiting for me to seek Him with my troubles. He will grant us our desire once I finish what I started.” She wiped her eyes with her apron.
“What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled. “God’s forgiveness should be sufficient.”
“It is, I assure you, but God’s not finished with the Bowman family. I just know He will bring us a boy-boppli.” Hope sprang off his lap as Faith’s cries reached their ears. “There’s one more t
hing I need to do.”
“Don’t associate the past with our current situation,” he warned. “One has nothing to do with the other.”
At the doorway she turned back to him. “Oh, but it does. One has everything to do with the other. Tomorrow I will face my daed and truly put the past behind us.”
Chapter Five
That night after Faith’s last nursing, Hope slept soundly and awoke refreshed. No bad dreams with evil phantoms following her down dark country roads. When she raised the shade with a snap of her wrist, a pink-tinged dawn greeted her with the promise of fine weather. She hummed a hymn as she fed and bathed the baby and cooked breakfast for her family. Oatmeal with sliced peaches had never looked so appealing in her bowl.
“What’s wrong, Mamm?” Josie said. “Why are you so happy? Did our chickens lay two eggs instead of only one?”
Emily burst into giggles, and Greta laughed too.
Hope carried the jug of milk to the table along with three glasses. “I’m joyous about having such gut dochders.” She winked at Josie.
A twelve-year-old wasn’t so easily fooled. “What’s the real reason?”
Hope sipped her coffee, leaning against the stove. “After morning chores we’re driving to Grossmammi’s haus.”
“Again? We just went a couple of days ago.”
“Again. Days as pretty as this call for a buggy ride. Eat up and see to your chores.” Eager to put an onerous task behind her, Hope turned back to the skillet where a ham slice sizzled.
As if the man could smell ham and eggs all the way from the barn, Stephen entered the kitchen just as Hope slipped his over-easy eggs onto a plate. “Ach, you’re just in time. I didn’t have to send out Emily.” Hope placed his breakfast on the table, then began filling her sink with warm water and suds.
“In a big hurry today?” he asked, sitting down with his favorite mug.
“Ya, we’re going to Mamm and Daed’s.” She filled his cup to the rim.
“Still got that on the mind, I see.”
“Time to clear the air with him. I’ve waited too long already.” Hope didn’t turn around, knowing Stephen wouldn’t pursue the conversation with the girls in the room.
He ate in silence and then filled a travel mug with coffee. “I’ll be cutting hay today in the south fields,” he whispered close to her ear. “Think long and hard before you overturn this particular rock. You know what your daed is like.”
Hope kissed his cheek. “I do indeed, ehemann. I am doing this for my sake more than his.”
He exhaled heavily. “Then I wish you the results you seek.”
All the way to her parents’ farm, Hope mulled over how to best broach the subject. But she received no great intuition on how to crack the thick shell of Silas Klobentz. When she arrived, Hope found her mamm canning green beans. Her face was flushed from the heat at the stove. Hope set her daughters to work trimming and washing the beans, which sat in bushel baskets against the wall, then placed Faith down for a nap in the substantially cooler front room near the window.
“I’ll pitch in later, but there’s something I must do first. Where’s Daed?” she asked.
Her mother immediately raised an eyebrow. “He’s out scrubbing the henhouse. Why?”
“I need to talk to him.” Hope made sure Greta could reach a supply of beans to snap.
“You intend to talk to your father?” asked Martha. Only a family member would understand: nobody sought out Father’s company unless it was absolutely necessary.
“I do.” Hope placed her hands on her hips. “Girls, stay here with Grossmammi. I will come back soon, so there’s no need to hunt for me if Faith starts to cry.”
“Maybe you should wait until—”
“No, Mamm,” Hope interrupted. “This conversation has waited too long already.”
Hope fled the haus before Martha could dissuade her. Inside the henhouse, she found her father washing the floors with bleach. He did not look up when she entered. “It’s me, Daed, Hope.”
“I know who it is. I saw your buggy pull up the driveway from the window.” Silas continued to dunk and wring his mop.
“Then why do you ignore me like I’m not in the room?” Her voice lifted a notch.
Silas’s head snapped up. “Me? You’re the one who shut your father out years ago, refusing to pay me the respect I deserve.”
She reflected for a moment. “True, I did shut you out. I was angry because of the way you treated me after . . . everything that happened.”
The blood drained from his pale, deeply lined face. “Must we rehash that night? Nothing gut can come from it.” He resumed scrubbing the floor.
“Ya, we must. You accused me of not struggling hard enough, of not fighting off my attacker because of weakness or fear.”
Silas froze, his knuckles whitening on the wooden mop handle. Finally, he spoke. “I never should have said that. I lost my temper and spoke harshly.” He released his grip one finger at a time.
Hope waited for an apology. After half a minute she realized that none would come. But her forgiveness did not depend on his apology. “And I was angry about what you forced me to do.” She enunciated her words carefully.
This time Silas met her gaze with eyes cold as January. “I did what was best.”
“Best for you.” She forced herself not to look away.
“Nein, best for all of us, including the boy. He never would have fit in.”
“I disagree. But I’ve not come to argue with you. All of that is water under the bridge. We can only pray the child has found love and happiness with his English family.” Hope swallowed hard and drew in a calming breath. “I’ve come to say I forgive you for forcing me to give away my son. The Lord has forgiven me, and I hold nothing against you.” She wiped perspiring palms down her apron before extending her hand in Christian love.
Silas stared as though he no longer recognized her. “You forgive me? You wish to shake my hand?” The incredulity in his voice stung like a slap in the face. “How dare you place yourself above me? You’re in no position to offer forgiveness to anyone, dochder.” He glared at her outstretched hand as if it were a rattlesnake poised to strike. “Go into the haus and help your mamm. Leave me to my chores.”
Slowly, she drew back her arm. “I will go, but I wanted to clear the air with you.” Hope forced herself to smile. “I pray that the Lord blesses and keeps you, Daed, and extends His grace in every way.”
Hope turned and left the chicken coop. She headed toward the kitchen where a full afternoon of labor awaited. But no matter how hot the kitchen or how her back would ache by day’s end, nothing could dampen her good spirits. A weight had been lifted.
When she arrived home, Hope found the box of fertility tea bags in the mailbox. Before entering the house she tossed the package into the trash. “Forgive me, Lord,” she said, “for being wasteful, and for putting my faith in a foolish potion instead of You.”
Stephen placed the pot of chili into the oven on low heat before heading into the shower. Hope had left a list of specific directions regarding their supper that night. After all these years she still spelled things out for him. Amish husbands typically did very little in the kitchen, considering it a woman’s duty. But he didn’t object to helping out when necessary, since the sooner the meal was ready, the sooner they would eat. And after a long day of raking and baling hay, he was hungry.
Tonight the Bowman family would dine on beef and bean chili, pickled vegetables—the last of last year’s—and sliced tomatoes. Tomatoes, like houseflies and mosquitoes, seemed limitless during late summer. The chili was one of the many contributions from sisters’ day. He silently thanked the ladies, especially whoever came up with the original idea of cooking for new mamms and shut-ins. A meal ready to reheat came in handy because it would be eight o’clock by the time his family returned from the Klobentz farm. Hope would feed the girls at her mamm’s but she would wait to eat with him.
As he stepped under the shower spray, the
hot water relieved his sore back and shoulder muscles. Too bad warm water couldn’t soothe his troubled soul so easily. Each time he thought about Silas Klobentz his mind filled with rather un-Christian thoughts. How dare he force his will on Hope in such a fashion? Stephen lifted his face into the direct spray, hoping to wash away his anger with the dust from the fields.
A son. His wife had given birth to a boy. A son he could be raising now, along with their four daughters. Hope knew that the lack of common blood would mean little to him. He could have adopted the child, making him legally a Bowman. Who knew what kind of family the boy ended up with?
Later, as he nursed a cup of coffee, waiting for Hope to return, he couldn’t get the boy out of his mind. She had held him in her arms for a few minutes, then he’d been taken away like a toy from a naughty child. Stephen ground his teeth. Lord, help me forgive Silas, because right now I’m having trouble with that. The sound of buggy wheels in the driveway distracted him from his uncharitable thoughts. Stephen opened the door in time to greet his family. Even at this hour, after a full day at Grossmammi’s haus, his daughters were still fireballs of energy.
“Daed!” they cried in unison.
“Did you miss us?” Josie asked.
“I could barely stand it another minute.” He enfolded them in a group hug as Hope climbed the steps, carrying the youngest Bowman.
“I’ll bet you’re starving.” She brushed his cheek with a kiss on her way inside.
“Oh, I’ll definitely put a dent in that pot of chili. Why don’t I tend to your horse while you put the kinner to bed?”
“Gut, danki. Supper will be on the table by the time you’re finished.” Hope smiled. This was their routine whenever she’d been gone all day—he would rub down, feed, and water the horse while she put the girls to bed.
And Hope was true to her promise. When Stephen reentered the kitchen twenty minutes later, his dochders were nowhere to be seen, two places had been set at the table, and the steaming pot of chili waited on the center trivet.
