The family was still playing their board game when Daniel told them he and Mark were taking the buggy. He refused to say where they were going. He wouldn’t even tell Mark. When Moriah and Grace pleaded to tag along, he said firmly, “No,” and they backed off, knowing he’d meant it. The family’s inquisitive stares followed them out the door.
Gertrude led them toward the falling sun, which was hazy and round like an enormous sweet potato pie. Another gentle snowfall had begun blowing in from the north. Daniel, careful to navigate the snowy shoulders, kept the mare at a gentle walk. Mark said nothing during their drive, his forehead full of wrinkles under his felt hat. They passed the quiet farmhouses and the dilapidated Amish cemetery where Daniel’s wife and baby son were interred. The Amish were not mawkish over such things—or they pretended not to be. The brothers traveled past the nondescript tombstones with only the unspoken awareness of who was buried there.
“It’s your farmland,” Mark said, eyes wide, when Daniel pulled into the unplowed driveway fifteen minutes later. “Why did we come here?”
Daniel set the brake and climbed out. He stood overlooking the small thirty-acre tract he had bought a few months before he and Esther had married. No buildings stood on it, since the tornado that had ripped through nearly two years ago had left nothing standing, other than a few ridgepoles and the wooden fence. He and the other men in the community had removed the debris and torn down the remains of the house, barn, and woodshop, too unstable to leave in their dilapidated states. The community had wanted to rebuild for him, but Daniel had been unable to imagine himself living alone after the deaths of his wife and baby son. Tucking away his losses, he’d moved back home with his family.
The English farmer who rented the land came from thirty miles away to use the good earth for growing his soybeans. Many farmers in the area rented or purchased land to add to their acreage, far from their homes. They took land wherever they could grab it. Daniel understood how increasingly expensive and difficult it was to come by.
“I already talked to Mr. Sweeney, the English farmer I rent the land to,” Daniel said to Mark, who had climbed from the buggy and stood next to him. Mark’s eyes were riveted on the snow-blanketed field that abutted a thin grove of trees. “I wanted to let him know before he began the spring crop. He knows to fully vacate by January fifteenth. I’ve already got the paperwork. The land is yours now, and when the snow clears, the community can build you and Heidi a nice house and barn and woodshop to go on top of it.”
Mark’s mouth dropped open. “Are you speaking clearly? Is this the truth?”
“It’s yours.”
“Daniel, you’re… you’re too kind.”
“Makes the most sense, don’t you think? Why let some English farmer have the land? I don’t need the money from the rent anymore, not really.”
Tipping his hat higher on his head, Mark ogled his new land, his eyes swallowing each and every acre, each and every plank of the ramshackle wooden fence, the one structure left standing in the wake of the tornado. “I’m speechless, Daniel. I don’t know what to say.”
Daniel shrugged. “You don’t got to say anything.”
“But it makes me sad too. Means you probably won’t be moving back to Henry. I always thought you might rebuild on your land someday.”
“No, I can’t see I’ll be able to do that.”
After a moment surveying the land in silence, Mark turned to Daniel and said, “Shouldn’t I at least pay you for it? It’s prime land. Let me owe you for it.”
“We’re brothers,” Daniel said, staring at the snow-covered spread of earth. “You should never owe me for anything.”
DANIEL sent Mark home. He decided he wanted to walk back to the farm and be alone with his meditations. To take in the winter landscape some more before leaving in a few days, perhaps to say goodbye to everything for the last time. Mark seemed to have understood. He steered Gertrude down the driveway with only a parting glance through the small side window.
In the descending darkness, the flat farmland faded. Enough snow had fallen over the past few days that walking the fields had become cumbersome. He did not care. The snow sucking at his boots failed to hold him back.
He came to the cemetery where his wife and son were buried. He had not stood by their graves since the day the community had put them into the ground nearly two years ago. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to pick out their tombstones. Then he remembered. They’d been buried next to a lone oak tree. They’d been some of the last community members put to rest in that small parcel of earth adjoining private farmland.
He traipsed through the cemetery, leaving behind solo footprints in the snow. No one had visited their deceased loved ones in a while, at least not since the snow had begun to fall last week. It would be disrespectful to frequent a gravesite. The dead were gone, and it was no use wishing them back. God would take that as an affront. Personal grieving was selfish. The community tended the grounds out of deference, but little reason for that in winter, while everything lay dormant.
Finding their tombstones, he merely stared down at them. They were no larger than one of his mother’s family-sized serving platters. A simple inscription on each read: “Esther L. Schrock; born February 23, 1985; died March 13, 2010;” and, “Zachariah A. Schrock; born February 8, 2010; died March 13, 2010.”
Their deaths had seemed from another lifetime. So much had happened to him since. He wondered what his life would be like now if the tornado had never touched down, tearing through his world. Divorce was impossible in his Amish faith. Would he be happy living the life of a typical Amish farmer with a growing family? Strange how events in life unfolded, like the making and taking of life itself.
Shedding any note of sadness from his memories, he headed back toward the lane where walking would be easier. The English snowplows had already passed by a second time since he and Mark had surveyed the farmland. Unwieldy snow berms made walking awkward. Burdened with thoughts, he walked the middle of the desolate lanes.
Had he been too harsh with Aiden? Had Daniel’s severity caused him so much heartache he’d refused to even answer his cell phone?
The original cabin owners had never installed a ground line, and Aiden insisted they keep it that way, so Daniel had no way to get ahold of him other than his cell phone. They used satellite service for the Internet, which Aiden needed to e-mail his articles to publishers. Daniel wondered about the laptop Aiden had left behind. How would Aiden get any work done without it?
Alone on the still lane, he pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed Aiden’s number. The light from the phone stung his eyes. He blew out a billow of steam when Aiden’s phone went straight to voice mail for the umpteenth time. It would be near two o’clock Montana time. For sure he’d be hunkered down in the cabin by now, probably sitting on the sofa reading a paperback next to a roaring fire with a steaming mug of coffee or hot chocolate.
He walked, plodding past the landscape that seemed to absorb all sound, even the crunch of snow under his heavy boots.
Several more attempts, and still Aiden refused to answer the phone. Maybe the battery on his phone was dead and he had yet to recharge it. He was always complaining his old Motorola RAZR could not keep a charge for more than twenty-four hours.
When he reached the family farm, he called Aiden once more while hidden behind the barn, away from his family’s condemning eyes. They knew he had the phone and had even taken advantage of it a few times during his visit, but still, chatting away on a cell phone in front of an Amish farmhouse on a Christmas afternoon would look improper.
Again, straight to voice mail.
Aiden had some way of making a point. Daniel fumed.
Chapter Eighteen
DANIEL awoke, dazed. He hardly recognized the room. Then he remembered last night when David had put up a fuss after he’d learned he and Daniel would be sharing his bedroom. Not too long ago, David would’ve enjoyed sleeping in the same room with his big bruder. Last nigh
t, he had stomped downstairs with a tart grunt, pillow and quilt under arms, headed for the sofa.
Sunlight streaked across the bed as he gazed outside the window. A steely cloud cover from the south eased its way northward, ready to burst with more snow. The dark clouds rising above the horizon against the clear sky reminded him of the mountain ranges in Montana. A longing for the cabin, and for Aiden, tapped him of breath.
Early in Montana or not, he was going to call Aiden. He’d telephoned again in vain late last night before finally rolling over and letting the turbulent dreams take over.
He dialed. Like yesterday, the phone went directly to voice mail.
Daniel grew outright angry.
The Englisher pushed his stubbornness too far.
It was Monday, the day after Christmas, and he was sure Kevin Hassler, a hardworking newspaperman, would be in his office bright and early. Kevin answered the first ring with a deep, fully awake voice. Skipping normal greeting protocol, Daniel asked if he had heard from Aiden since he’d taken him to the airport. Kevin, sounding surprised, said he had not spoken with him since he had dropped him at Champaign’s Willard Airport. Whether or not he’d caught a flight, Kevin was uncertain.
Daniel clicked off the phone. He tried to click off his worries at the breakfast table, where everyone was still going on about how wunderbar he was to have handed over his land to Mark and Heidi. Annoyed with the attention, Daniel excused himself to do some choring around the farm.
With his mind still hovering over Aiden’s refusing to answer his cell phone, he tinkered in the shed awhile, seeing if anything needed fixing, as their well-worn old-fashioned equipment usually did. No matter how hard he toiled, he could not escape from worrying about Aiden.
Was it possible Aiden had left him?
When Daniel had asked him where he was going, Aiden had replied, “Who knows?” What had he meant by that?
After a while, he found his roving anxieties carrying his feet out of the shed and in a spiral pattern across the fallow oat field. The only signs of life were the few birds feeding on the winter berries in the wan bushes. The horses were still stabled. Uneaten hay lay atop the snow, soiling the whiteness. Everything else was stark white or gray… dead.
Perhaps love wasn’t enough, he considered, kicking at the crusty snow. Two people who come together looking to satisfy two different wants can only lead to a pulling apart. Like plow horses yoked together, pulling in opposite directions. If Aiden had left him over their differences, then they had never meant anything to each other to begin with.
The promises Aiden and Daniel had made to each other in the backcountry of Glacier National Park, that first time they had made love, were as brittle as a frozen twig.
As he walked and tugged at his beard, the snowy landscape absorbed the sounds. Everything was deathly quiet, muted, sucked into a vacuum.
If only the landscape could soak up his thoughts.
Looking over the whiteness of the dormant field, he suddenly longed for summer.
He pictured the tall oats swaying under a hot central Illinois sun, sparkling golden like honey. Across the street, where their Mennonite neighbors, the Martins, grew soybeans, he visualized the rich dark green. Or down the lane, where the Rupps’ corn grew so tall even he, at six four, could get lost walking through the field. He smelled the tea-like sycamores, thick in the humid air. Felt the sunrays on the nape of his neck, which was brown and glistening with sweat from toiling in the fields. The sharp shadows providing cool shelter to him and the animals. The shrill of the treehoppers, the chirp of the swallows softening summer’s touch.
But summer, like Aiden, like Henry, seemed forever out of his reach.
Dirt and animal tracks crisscrossed the snowy field when he reached the thin strip of trees that bordered the next farm. He recognized a rabbit’s prints in the snow, followed by Boris’s. The hound must’ve been chasing the rabbit until it absconded into the grove. Someone wearing heavy boots had cut through the woods onto the field. From the looks of the prints, they were about a day old. The prints were unfamiliar. But he knew nothing of his family anymore. Not even who wore what boots.
A magpie fluttered from the spindly trees over the snowy field past the family’s farmhouse. The home looked as white as the snow, blending into the landscape. Vanishing from Daniel’s view.
Daniel trudged to the woodshop, where he hoped to shut out the world. He glanced out of the window as the mountain-looking clouds crept closer, overtaking the sky. He pictured him and Aiden hiking around the Montana backcountry. Aiden seemed to come alive in the forest. The way he would scramble up rock faces and leap from boulder to boulder, bounce down the trails as if the soles of his hiking boots were attached to coils.
Secluded in the woodshop, he figured he’d call the sheriff in Flathead County. If Aiden wanted to play childish games, he would play along.
The sheriff’s office said they would do a “wellness check” at the cabin. Daniel paced over the wood shavings while he waited for the police to call back. Jumping when his phone went off thirty minutes later, he nearly tripped over a pile of lumber.
“Hello, this is Daniel Schrock.”
“Mr. Schrock, this is Officer Lanza from the Flathead County Sheriff’s Department. We gave a look at your cabin. No one seems to be at home. The lights are off. No smoke coming out of the chimney.”
“Did you try to enter?”
“We can’t do that, Mr. Schrock. But the officer who checked your cabin says it seems to have been closed off for some time. We’ve had about six inches of snow up here since yesterday, and he says there are no tire tracks in the driveway or footprints on the premises. He asked one of your neighbors, a Mr. Olsen, and he said that he hasn’t seen anyone at the cabin in a week and that your mailbox at the end of the lane is near full. The officer testified to that.”
No longer playing a game, Daniel said, “Did he look in the windows, knock hard on the door?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Schrock. The officer said he checked around a good fifteen minutes. He even peeked inside your garage. From what he determined, no one is home.”
“Okay,” Daniel murmured. “Danke—thank you for your help.”
A few minutes later, Daniel called the one airline that flew out of Champaign’s airport. The airline’s operator had no record of an Aiden Cermak purchasing any tickets anywhere in their route system for the date Daniel had specified or any other.
Clutching the cell phone, Daniel wondered if Kevin had been mistaken about driving him to the airport. Maybe he had taken him to O’Hare or Midway. But was it possible for Kevin to have been confused? Kevin Hassler was known for an occasional spot of booze, but he wasn’t that dizzy. He called him again. Kevin, concern in his voice, said he had not only driven Aiden to Willard Airport, but he had helped him with his bags into the lobby.
Maybe Aiden had gone home to Maryland. Maybe when he couldn’t find a flight on Christmas Eve, he’d rented a car and driven to his parents’. Yes, that had to be the answer. Aiden must’ve concluded spending the holidays alone would be unbearable. Airports had plenty of car rentals, even Champaign’s small regional one. He rented a car, drove to Maryland, and was there now, safely surrounded by family. He refused to answer his cell phone to teach Daniel a lesson.
Daniel dialed Aiden’s parents in Maryland. Wanting to avoid alarming them in case Aiden hadn’t gone there, he told them he was calling on Aiden’s behalf, to wish everyone a belated Merry Christmas. They were delighted, and chatted a while. Daniel couldn’t wait to hang up. Clearly, Aiden had not gone back to Maryland.
Leaning against his workstation, another idea lifted his worries. Aiden had gone backpacking. Alone in the Swan Range behind their cabin, or perhaps even into Glacier National Park, where the massive mountains blocked cell reception. But could anyone hike mountains in winter, even with snowshoes? The officer at the Flathead County Sheriff’s Department had said they’d received six inches of snow since Christmas. For sure at least five t
imes that amount had fallen in the higher elevations. No way could Aiden climb steep switchbacks buried under heavy mountain snow, even with snowshoes. He was too astute to even try. Wasn’t he?
Daniel called information to connect him to Glacier National Park. The ranger who answered told him no Aiden Cermak had registered for a backcountry permit. And from the ranger’s data, the park’s only visitors were a group of retired cross-country skiers from Whitefish. Maybe the Forestry Department knew something. The ranger provided Daniel the number, and he called them next. Still nothing. Frustrated, Daniel nearly chucked his phone at the window.
Once more, he dialed Aiden’s number.
“Come on, Aiden, answer your shussly phone.”
Straight to voice mail.
Paralyzing hopelessness seized Daniel’s chest. It was true. No doubt now. No other explanation. Aiden had left him. Left him for good.
But where had he gone? And how did he get there? They had no other vehicle. They had used Aiden’s small Chevy Aveo to trade in for the Suburban. Maybe he bought a new one, or rented one, or took a train, or….
Daniel dropped his head into his hands. How long since he’d cried out to God in the privacy of his woodshop? When he had feared falling in love with Aiden Cermak in the first place? Now he dreaded losing him.
Chapter Nineteen
BADGER nibbled oats from Daniel’s hand. His warm, pink tongue lapped over his palm. Daniel stroked his forehead. The gelding’s ears flicked with pleasure. Other than a few tasty treats and soft caresses, the buggy horses seemed to be the only creatures on earth that demanded little from him.
Daniel recalled the day last summer when Aiden had handfed Badger granola bars after their trip to the horse auction. He smiled. Aiden’s thoughtful gestures always kindled his heart.
Between Two Promises Page 17
