He looked away, as if he was embarrassed that she should be forced to look at him. “I expected you might think that.” His voice raspy with emotion, he continued. “I know I was never a handsome man. Now, though? I fear I am the stuff of nightmares.” Something flashed in his eyes that looked almost like humor.
“What happened? Was it a fire?”
Before her eyes, his expression turned almost blank. “Jah. Well, I mean, there was an explosion of some kind. But it was sudden and violent, and it gave birth to a fire in one of the tents.”
“That must have been frightening.”
“It was.” He closed his eyes. Shook his head. “Nee. What I mean to say is, others have said it was a terrible thing. I don’t remember much besides a loud noise and a bright light.”
“What caused the explosion?”
He shrugged. “No one is real sure. Maybe some ammunition was out too close to a fire or stove?” He swallowed hard. “Next thing I remember, I was in a hospital tent in southern Pennsylvania. I was feverish for a time, had no idea where I was. Who I was. Only later did I come to find out that I was the one to survive the blaze. For some reason, the Lord saved me.”
“And the others?” she asked. She didn’t want to make his story more difficult, but she needed to piece all the information together in her head. “The others died?”
Discomfiture flared in his gaze. “Everyone but me. It’s a hard thing to live with, Sarah, knowing that I lived while others didn’t. And that so many men were taken to God’s glory, not because of Confederate bullets, but because of an accident in the camp. I’ll be carrying this burden for the rest of my life.”
“It’s a blessing you survived, though I can only imagine the pain you’ve felt.” She’d heard that burns like his were terribly painful.
He looked away. “It was, ah, painful. But I did survive.”
She felt herself flinching again, but this time not from fear. Instead, it was from shame. It was obvious that even talking about the fire and his recuperation was difficult for him.
She needed to push away her own selfish wants and worries. Their past was just that, in the past. And while she might not have made peace with their relationship, she did know that she’d never wished him dead.
“Daniel, I am mighty glad you survived.”
He said nothing, only stared at her. His gaze seemed to coax her into knowing him, into recognizing the man he was.
The man she was married to . . . and had almost been relieved to know was gone.
Desperate to make some sense of things, she said, “I didn’t know you were injured.”
“I know.”
“What I mean is . . . I saw the name Daniel Ropp of Holmes County on the list of deceased. You were dead.”
His lips twitched; well, the portion that could move. “Obviously, that information was exaggerated.”
“Nee, I mean that I truly believed you were deceased.” Was he upset with her for thinking that?
“I don’t blame you for thinking I was gone forever.” He lifted his head, scanning the area beyond her, his expression filled with regret.
He swallowed. “Sarah, the battlefield? It was chaotic. Bloody.” He drew in a ragged breath, as if the memory made it difficult to breathe. “Many men did die. It’s understandable that some mistakes were made. In my case, the list was wrong.”
“I . . . I, ah, yes, I suppose it was.” With effort, she sat up. Once again the man reached out to assist her, but now that she was aware of him, his movements were far more stiff. Tentative. Now his hand merely lingered in the air—waiting for her acquiescence.
She couldn’t bear to give it. Shifting, she moved as far from him as she could in that limited amount of space. The cold, awful truth was that she was as fearful of the man she remembered as she was of the man by her side.
To her surprise, instead of stiffening, he relaxed. “You know, it is all right if you don’t want to accept me right away.” After a pause, he added, “I didn’t expect you to accept my return easily. I was gone for some time.”
“A little over three years.”
“Three years is longer than we were together.”
“We lived together for eighteen months before that.”
“Yes.” His voice turned hard. “I know the kind of man I was, Sarah.”
Do you? she ached to ask, but was too afraid.
If he truly was Daniel, there was a chance that this was simply an act. Perhaps he was hoping to lure her into a sense of security before he struck out again.
After all, could anyone really change all that much? Surely not even a body marked with scars could change how a person was on the inside? His constant need to keep her on edge, to be afraid.
As he gazed at her, as if waiting for her to believe that he had changed, something in his eyes faded when she said nothing.
She felt guilty, but only slightly so. If he were truly her husband, then he would understand more than anyone how he was behaving nothing like the man she’d been married to.
What was hard to come to terms with was the fact that he’d carried her to the sofa. The man she’d married would have left her on the ground. Shaken her awake roughly. Yelled at her until she’d gotten up on her own. He never would he have knelt by her side or tried to talk through things with her. Never would he have cared for her like this.
Now she was aware that he had not only laid her on the sofa, but he was kneeling at her side. Looking concerned for her welfare.
“What has happened to you?” she whispered.
He looked down at his scarred hands. “I told you. An explosion.”
“No, I mean—” She stopped herself just in time. What kind of wife would only concentrate her husband’s differences after more than three years of separation? What kind of woman would go out of her way to recall a man’s flaws? “Never mind.”
Moving to the edge of the sofa, she attempted to stand up.
This time, his hands did reach for her. His grip was gentle but sure as he kept her in place. Not painful. “Wait a moment, please. You need to take things easy. I fear you’ve had a terrible fright.”
“I feel better now.”
“Do you? Truly?”
Of course, she couldn’t answer that. She honestly didn’t know.
“And what about me? Do you recognize me now as your husband?”
His voice was almost taunting. Almost as if he was daring her to reject him. In good conscience, how could she?
All her life, she’d done what people had told her to do. She’d entered into the marriage because her parents had encouraged her. She’d been loyal to Daniel no matter what his treatment of her because she’d been taught that marriage was for a lifetime.
Now, even though he barely looked like the man she remembered, she couldn’t escape the fact that she should stay by his side. To reject his story, to push him out of her life?
Well, it would feel as foreign to her as the idea of leaving everything she knew and moving to a city in the South.
And, after all, who else could he be? She was a poor widow with little to offer any man. If a man was going to take another’s identity, surely he would have picked a more prosperous one to adopt?
“I don’t know if I recognize you,” she finally answered. “You look little like the man I remember.”
Some of the hope dimmed in his eyes. “I see.”
Breathing deep, she stepped off the precipice. “However, I can only imagine that you are my husband. For some reason, it seems that Got has brought us back together. And surely that is His will?” That, she realized, she believed with her whole heart. What other reason could He have for bringing a man who looked like her husband back into her life? Who claimed to be the same man who’d spoken the same abiding vows that she had?
His shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad. I know I look like a stranger with these scars, Sarah. Truth be told, I feel like a stranger, too.” His voice turned hoarse. “The battles were difficult. All of it was hard. S
ometimes I fear I’ll never be the man I was when I left here.”
Dared she hope the change was for the better? She stared into his eyes, feeling a tiny inkling of hope eke into her heart. Making her realize that they’d both changed, physically and mentally.
Of course, Daniel’s changes were obvious. But she had changed, too. She was thinner, older. More resigned, perhaps? Inside, she felt more at peace with her herself, perhaps because she’d had no choice.
She was now used to doing things her way.
What if he wanted her to go back to the way she was? Was that even possible? Could she return to being the same scared bride she’d been?
Or, she wondered, maybe she still was that same woman. She’d merely done a good job of hiding her.
He must have taken her silence as doubt, because he spoke again. “Sarah, listen. I’m not sure why the good Lord kept me alive, but He did. Perhaps one day we’ll all understand why He kept me here on earth, I don’t know. All I know is that I am mighty glad that I have been able to come home. I wanted to come back. Badly.”
“I’m glad you survived, too, Daniel.”
Relief filled his gaze. “Thank you for saying that.”
Feeling too vulnerable, she shifted. “I . . . I think I’ll be getting up now.”
“Are you certain?”
“To be sure. I am fine. Now, what do you need? A bath? Sleep?” she asked as she got to her feet, holding on to the arm of the sofa as she attempted to get her bearings.
“Food. If you have some to spare.”
Trying to remember what was in her icebox, said, “I don’t have much, but I did make some bread and I think I have two eggs.”
“Sarah, I’d be grateful for anything you make. Thank you.”
He would be grateful? It was all she could do to tamp down a reaction. Never had Daniel thanked her for cooking him a meal.
He looked around. “It’s awfully quiet around here. Why are you living alone?”
“Why would you think I wouldn’t be?”
“I had thought everyone in the community would help you when I left,” he said haltingly. “I thought, perhaps, someone might have even moved in with you for a spell. To help with chores.”
She said nothing. The pain of the community’s rejection had been hard.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing. Only that, well, many in our community began to keep their distance from me.”
“They left you to fend for yourself?” She nodded, nothing more than a brief jerk of her head. Even now it was hard to admit how lonely she’d been.
He looked incredulous. “But why? Why would they do that?”
She almost didn’t tell him the whole truth. After all, he seemed fragile, wary. But how could she lie? “Because they didn’t believe in your fighting.”
“But the church council decreed that we would send seven men.”
“Not everyone agreed with the decision. You know as well as I do that most did not. The sentiment grew stronger after John and Amos died. And then Lloyd Mast perished. Many felt the Lord let them die to show His displeasure.”
“The Lord doesn’t harm in order to prove a point.”
“To be sure, I agree. But you know that the Gospel forbids us to take the sword . . .”
“I see.” But he still looked confused.
Her husband’s dismay almost made her smile. Had being in a unit of men, all fighting for the same goal, made him forget what things were really like? “Jah,” she said simply.
He looked more confused than ever. “Who, then, has been helping you with the farm?”
“I haven’t been completely forgotten. Sometimes Zeke stops by.”
“Who?”
“Ezekiel Graber. Surely you remember him? He brought me rabbit or venison a time or two. Sometimes he chopped wood.”
“Who has been helping you with the animals? With the land?”
“No one.” Obviously, Daniel had imagined that they’d all stayed the same while he’d changed. She’d been fighting her own battles. But while his were for everyone to see, she carried hers stoically. On the inside.
“Your letters never mentioned how alone you’ve been. Why didn’t you tell me?”
His glare, his anger was almost comforting. But that was what she was comfortable with. She was used to his rages. His bursts of temper followed by moments of true remorse. She’d learned when to speak in half truths and when to back away.
Though he seemed a bit off, she still was determined to tread lightly. “I didn’t want you to worry,” she murmured. Of course the real reason was that she’d feared he would blame her.
Or worse, that he wouldn’t care.
Daniel had viewed the roles in their marriage very clearly. He’d seen no reason for her to become involved in his business, and he’d certainly had never tried to become involved in hers. Actually, she couldn’t even imagine how he could have helped her . . . especially from afar. Instead she would have expected him to berate her often.
After staring hard at her for almost a minute, he turned away, and started toward the kitchen. Wordlessly, she followed him.
“Where is the wood?” he bit out. His voice was so controlled, his posture so stiff, it sounded as if he was holding back his temper with effort.
And she became afraid all over again.
Warily, she pointed to the back door. “There is some chopped outside the kitchen. Just like always.”
“Wood that you chopped?”
Nodding, she quickly folded her hands behind her back, embarrassed now of the thick calluses that had formed on them.
Shaking his head, he walked out, grabbed a couple of logs, then stomped back inside. Lit the stove. After a glance around the kitchen, he located a big pot and set the water to boil.
While the water heated so he could wash up, she pulled out a skillet, some cheese, and the remains of a slab of bacon, deciding to make him some eggs, bacon, bread, and cheese. It wasn’t anything special, but the nutritious food would fill him up.
As she cut strips of bacon, he leaned against the wall and watched.
“You . . . you never answered me about the scars. Do . . . do they hurt, Daniel?” For some reason, she couldn’t bear to think of him in constant pain.
His gaze lifted to hers. Fastened on her for a good long moment. At first she feared he wouldn’t answer her. Then he slowly nodded. “All the time.”
They stood there, staring at each other, circling around their past and their present. Neither fit them well.
Quickly, she cooked his meal and served it. She turned her back on him so he could eat in peace; it was painfully obvious that he was close to starving. Too hungry for table manners.
After he finished, she pulled out a few towels and a pitcher of cool water and set them on the table. “The water on the stove is hot now. I’ll go in the back room so that you can get cleaned up.”
“All right, but first, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“May I . . . may I hold you for a moment?”
In the blink of an eye, he’d had her at a disadvantage again. “What?” she asked, sure she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“I’ve been gone from you for years, Sarah. I know things between us weren’t good, but there were times when your letters were all I had to get me through. I promise I won’t try anything more. But . . . don’t I at least deserve that?”
Did he? Did she? All she knew was that her body was reacting of its own accord. She felt a pull toward him that she was unable to deny, and it seemed to trump all her doubts and fears.
Unable to help herself, she stepped into his arms. Braced herself for the unfamiliar.
After all, this wasn’t something they’d done much. Her husband hadn’t been an affectionate man. He hadn’t yearned for her touch, had never sought out her company.
But as his arms curved around her, his head lowered, and she felt him breathe in her scent, she had to
admit that his arms around her didn’t feel terrible at all.
And, for the first time, it felt right.
Just as she let herself relax against him, he stepped away.
She noticed, to her surprise, that he looked a bit chagrined.
Almost ashamed.
But what was harder to understand were her feelings. For the first time in their married life, she’d been comforted by his touch. As they stared at each other, each of them breathing a bit too hard . . . Sarah wondered what had changed between them.
And then she wondered if she truly wanted to find out.
Three
An Uneasy Acceptance
SARAH TOSSED AND turned for the first few hours after she went to bed. Whenever she was on the verge of falling into a deep slumber, she would wake with a start, stare at her closed bedroom door, and wish she had a lock on it. Every time the floorboards creaked or the wind shook the planks of the house, she shivered and tensed. Waiting for Daniel to enter and prove himself to be a liar . . . and prove herself a weakling for believing such lies.
When she wasn’t waiting for his approach, she was pondering their latest conversation. She didn’t know whether she had been more disturbed by his refusal to take her bed, insisting on sleeping in the spare room, or by her fear that he would change his mind and slip into her bed in the dead of the night.
At twenty-seven years of age, she’d assumed she was long past the point of being surprised by life. Experience had taught her that expectations were not always met. Disappointment was a wasted emotion.
And though the Lord meant well, He was more than a bit stingy with hope.
But Daniel’s return had turned all that on its head. Despite all signs and hints to the contrary—the formal letter she’d received from his unit commander and his name appearing on the list of deceased—he’d returned.
And this was where the Lord seemed to enjoy teasing her the most. It seemed He’d not only decided to change Daniel on the outside, rendering him nearly unrecognizable, He’d gone and brought about even more changes to her husband’s personality.
Now, instead of being worn and exhausted and bitter, Daniel had somehow become lighter in spirit. Instead of looking at her in disappointment and barely contained fury . . . her husband was gazing at her with something akin to respect and gentleness.
Redemption Page 2
