In his own way, this man had been just as cruel as Daniel ever was.
With effort, she pulled her fingers from his. “Don’t touch me.”
“I beg your pardon.” Immediately, he released his hold. In a clumsy fashion, he got to his feet and stepped back. “I don’t want to hurt you further, Sarah. Though you have no reason to trust me, I promise that I never meant to hurt you. I only came here for Daniel’s money.”
Her control snapped. “But there is no money. There’s nothing! Daniel must have lied to you.”
“Daniel told me too much for it all to be lies. I’m sure of that.”
“He was good at spinning a tale. He was good at doing whatever it took to make others believe in him.”
A line formed between his brows. “I know all about lies and empty promises, Sarah. However, Daniel’s story rang true. He told me all about how he collected funds from the sales of crops to the army. At first they paid him in silver dollars.”
“If they did pay him, it wasn’t much.”
John stepped closer. “He did this for years,” he replied, talking over her. “And later, when all landowners were required to give everything over to the Union, he saved and scrimped and hoarded his pennies.”
She shook her head.
“Sarah, he boasted about it continuously.”
“But we had nothing. We went hungry.”
“Before he left, he hid it all in or near your barn.”
“That canna be true.”
“He swore it to be true.”
“I still don’t understand why you are here.”
He averted his eyes, as if he was too embarrassed to confess. “I spent the last couple of months in a series of hospital encampments, struggling for my life. Struggling to overcome the pain.” His voice lowered to a mere whisper. “Struggling to resign myself to looking like this. To losing most of the feeling in my cheek, on the left side of my body. Of being scarred. Damaged. Ruined.”
“You are not ruined, John,” she blurted, unable to help herself. After all, she knew what it felt like to be damaged.
He ignored her. “When I was discharged, I walked out of the base realizing that I had nothing. No money, no family. I was disfigured and in pain. All I had was a uniform marked with lieutenant’s bars—but I wasn’t even fit to serve. Sarah, I had nothing.”
Sarah tried to imagine such a thing but she couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine any friend of his not offering him shelter during his time of need. After all, he’d already lost so much fighting for his country.
“I am sorry for that.”
He shook his head. “Don’t pity me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, except that I yearn for you to understand what led me here.” He sat down in the chair across from her. “I felt adrift and alone. I needed something to believe in, something to give me hope. And as sad and terrible as it sounds, the only thing I had was the idea of finding Daniel’s money. Soon, it seemed it was all I thought about.”
“So you came here to live his life?”
“Not at all. It was as I told you. I came here to take your money. To steal from you.” He looked down at his feet, as if he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes. “I came here to take what was rightfully yours. I was going to take it and go out West. Thinking that maybe somewhere in Texas or the Oklahoma Territory, they would have me. But then?”
“But then I found you.”
“You did. On only my third night.” He shook his head in dismay. Looking rueful. “See, I made a terrible mistake, Sarah. I never asked enough questions. When the explosion hit our encampment and your husband died and I became like . . . like this, I only had the barest information about the money. And a whole lot of information about you and his Amish way of life.”
She was starting to understand. “You remembered it all because he had so much . . .”
“Yes. Because he had so much and I had nothing.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you, that first night.” She swallowed. “I . . . I did believe you were my husband.”
“Men had told Daniel and me that we looked eerily alike. Our eyes were almost the same color, our builds much the same. You may not ever believe me, but I promise you this, I never, ever thought that you would find me. I never intended to move in here. But when you called me Daniel and then fainted, I knew I couldn’t simply leave you. Not when I felt like I knew you.”
“But when I woke up?”
“I didn’t think. I acted like a fool. At first it was mere preservation. I knew if I told you the truth I would have to leave and I would have nothing. And I didn’t want ‘nothing’ any longer. So I told myself I’d pretend to be your husband for just a while.”
“Until you found the money,” she murmured.
“Yes. But I justified it, too.” Shaking his head slightly, he said, “I knew how he treated you. I knew how he’d thought of you. It pained me. I saw the distrust in your eyes. I saw fear and hurt and exhaustion etched in your beautiful face and I wanted to erase it. And so I made a vow to myself. I decided to do what I could to try to make up his treatment of you. I thought I would help you. Treat you kindly. Help you get back on your feet. Then I would leave, and you would be at least a little better off than before.”
“How am I better off?” she asked. “All this time, I’ve been so confused. I felt hurt. I didn’t understand how the war could have changed you so much. Not just your looks, but your whole personality.
“John, I don’t think you have any idea about how I’ve felt. When Daniel left, I didn’t miss him, I felt relief. And then, hearing that he’d died—all while I’d been secretly glad he was gone? The guilt I felt . . . well, it was extraordinary.”
When he tried to interrupt, she held up a hand. She wasn’t sure why she needed to share so much but she did. For some reason, divulging her secrets felt cleansing.
But she wasn’t done.
“When I first saw you? Thinking you were Daniel, back from the dead? I felt like the Lord was punishing me. But then, as we spent more time together, I began to thank the Lord for bringing you back.” She shook her head. “So, your plot and schemes were not so good after all, Jonathan Scott. See, instead of making my life better, you have made it so much worse.”
At his harsh intake of breath, she forced herself to look directly in his eyes. “See, when I began to trust you, I felt that God had granted me redemption. He’d forgiven me for not mourning Daniel like I should have. He’d given me a second chance to be a better person.”
“Being relieved your husband wasn’t hurting you is not wrong, Sarah. Neither is being grateful for being treated kindly. You have done nothing wrong.”
“I did everything wrong. I’ve become a person I don’t recognize.” She left it at that, and hoped he wouldn’t ask what she meant. She couldn’t bear to admit just how deep her feelings ran for him. She couldn’t bear to admit that she’d been sure she was falling in love with him.
The pain in his eyes showed that he wasn’t having an easier time with their conversation. “Sarah, I don’t know how to leave you without causing you more problems.”
Suddenly, she was exhausted. She turned to go to sleep. “I suppose we’ll solve that problem verra soon. But for now? For now I am going to sleep.”
“You don’t want me to leave right now?”
“The room? Jah.”
“The house? The farm?”
“In the middle of the night?” She shook her head. “We have too much to discuss. Things better left for the new day.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. Because everything is sure to look different in a few hours.”
She turned away, not wanting him to see that she completely agreed with his derisive comment. It was going to take far more than a new day to finish their discussion. To figure out what to do next.
It was going to take even longer to wrap her mind around the fact that not only had John been lying to her about pretty much everything . . . but that she had eagerly believed his lies. S
he’d been so ready to have the life she’d fantasized about. A life with someone who treated her with respect and dignity.
And because of that, she’d accepted his kindness. Dared to believe his compliments.
But worst of all, she’d allowed herself to hope. To be happy.
Now? Now, she had nothing, all over again.
Eleven
The Partnership
JOHN HAD ALREADY been up a full hour by the time the sun broke over the horizon. After milking the cow, he’d entered the still-dark kitchen, brewed a pot of coffee, and then nursed cup after cup of the strong brew, staring at Sarah’s closed bedroom door in the morning’s silence.
As he did, he wondered if she’d arisen. Wondered if she had considered forgiving him.
And then he found himself contemplating why he hadn’t already left.
He hadn’t been able to sleep much the night before. Now that his dark secret had been broken, he was too restless with nervous energy. He was guilt-ridden, too. Never would he forget the way her face had looked when she’d realized the full extent of his lies.
What he had done had been unforgivable. If she never wanted to see him again, he wouldn’t blame her one bit. But still he stayed.
He wanted to believe that he stayed out of concern for Sarah. But inside, he knew that wasn’t the case.
No, he was merely staying for himself. He didn’t want to leave his life with her. It had become too dear to him.
Sarah made an appearance when he was pouring his fifth cup of coffee. She looked as she always did, her clothing neat, her hair carefully twisted and fastened under her kapp. Only her red eyes hinted at their tumultuous night—and the strain he’d put her through.
He ached to ease her. “Sit down, Sarah. I’ll get you some of your coffee and milk.”
A mixture of emotions passed through her face before she replied. “John, I’ll have you know that I drink kaffi in the morning. Not kaffi and milk.”
He couldn’t believe that she was joking with him. “You drink warm milk with a splash of coffee. And then you add enough sugar to make one’s teeth fairly sing.”
She pretended to look mildly affronted. “Surely I don’t add that much.”
“You add enough. Surely a heaping teaspoon.” He grinned as he prepared her coffee just the way she liked it and then handed it to her with a small bow.
“It is hardly worth mentioning.” She took the mug and sipped. Closed her eyes in obvious pleasure, then sipped again.
“Maybe not. Or maybe so,” he quipped, taking care to keep his voice easy and light. Gentle on her frayed nerves. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been surrounded by so many men in my life, but I’ve never seen anything like the sweet, creamy beverage you call coffee. Does it taste okay?”
“It is wunderbaar.”
She looked so pleased with something so small, John felt his heart twist a bit again. He was finding it hard to hide his burgeoning feelings for her.
“I saw a beehive outside. If you want, I’ll try and coax some honey from those bees.”
Alarm filled her blue eyes. “Nee! You might get stung!”
Whether it was masculine pride, or the fact that he could obviously handle something as slight as a bee sting, he chuckled. “I promise, I’ll gladly accept a bee’s sting as a trade for your honey.” But when he noticed her eyes had teared up, he stopped his blustering and crouched in front of her. “What’s really wrong?”
“I’m afraid of bees. Please don’t go near that hive.”
He yearned to reach out and cradle her face in his hands. To press his lips against her cheeks to stop the flow of tears.
“I won’t,” he promised.
“Danke. I . . . I know it’s silly.”
“It’s not silly if it’s important to you.”
After a pause, she said quietly, “Daniel thought my fear was unfounded. He didn’t understand why I wanted to purchase sugar when we had so much honey on the property.”
“If it makes you happy, you should have it.”
Wonder filled her gaze. “You mean that, don’t you?”
He nodded and, realizing he was about to stroke her face, stood up. “It seems like a little enough thing. I would venture to say that every man should be so lucky to have a woman so easy to please. Shoot. I’d give you a cupful of sugar with each cup of coffee if it would make you smile.” Of course, the moment he said those words he ached to take them back. He had no business speaking to her in such a fashion. He was being too personal—and talking as if they were even going to have a future one day.
Luckily, she didn’t seem to take offense. Instead, she gazed at him thoughtfully.
He felt another odd tug around his heart. He wondered how she’d react to him hugging her. Kissing her. But of course the moment the thought crossed his mind, he pushed it away, feeling ashamed of himself. He should be trying hard to ease her worries, not daydreaming about holding her in his arms.
He cleared his throat and forced himself to return to their conversation from the night before. “Sarah, we should probably discuss last night.”
“Jah. We should.”
“Have you changed your mind about me leaving this morning?”
She paused. “Nee.” She set her now-empty coffee cup on the table. “Believe it or not, your indifference to that sugar was one of the first things that made me wonder if you were truly Daniel,” she murmured. “I couldn’t understand why you never cared.”
He ached to tell her that he’d spoken far too lightly of Daniel Ropp the night before. In truth, her husband had been the worst sort of man. He ached to tell her that he couldn’t imagine any other man caring so much about something so little.
But he was the last person to throw stones.
“Well, it turns out that you were exactly right to be suspicious, Sarah. In fact, you could spend all day listing ways that I’ve deceived you,” he admitted. “I’d rather you didn’t do that.”
“And why is that?”
He thought quickly and realized that he was holding on to the hope that she wouldn’t kick him out. He didn’t want to go back to merely subsisting. He didn’t want to leave and once again fend for everything, from food to shelter to even the basic dignity he desired. He didn’t want to be looked at as a source of both pity and derision. As if he should have either survived the war with his whole self intact . . . or had the dignity to die.
But most of all, he didn’t want to leave her.
“Because there’s nothing I can do about the past,” he finally said. “What’s done is done.”
“I agree. I don’t know if it’s possible, but I would enjoy brushing the past away. But is it really that easy?”
“I hope so. I’d like for it to be.”
She still looked uncomfortable. “I am not altogether sure what we should do. Last night, all I wanted was for you to leave the farm. But this morning when I woke up, I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do, either.”
“What do you think changed your mind?”
“You.” She shrugged. “And me, too, perhaps.” Looking restless, she stood up and walked her cup to the container of soapy water. “When I first married Daniel, I had stars in my eyes. I had a young girl’s foolish dreams about what married life was like.” Lowering her gaze, she said, “I soon realized, however, that reality was nothing like that. I tried to talk to my parents about my pain, but my mother told me that I shouldn’t speak of such things.”
“Where are they now?”
She swallowed. “Gone. Scarlet fever ran through our community shortly after Daniel and I wed. Many in our community passed on into heaven then.”
She’d been so alone for so long, John could hardly believe it. Just like him, she’d been surrounded by people, but essentially subsisting alone.
Taking a fortifying breath, John tried to soothe her, to at least let her know that her feelings were valid. That she’d been right to think so much of what happened in her marriage had been so terribly wrong.<
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“Daniel’s cruelty was never your fault, Sarah. I don’t know what all he made you do, or every terrible thing he subjected you to, but I know in my heart that the problem was his.”
“You sound so sure.”
“You forget; I spent many an hour by his side. I heard how he talked of marriage and his wife. And now I know you, too. He was wrong. He was wrong about so much.”
She rubbed her temple. “Your words are like nothing I’ve ever heard before. They make me confused.”
“I do apologize.”
“John, what I mean to say is that now I am not all that certain about what is right and what is wrong. It was wrong for you to arrive here wrapped in lies. And perhaps it is wrong for me not to cast you out. But I am also starting to wonder if, perhaps, the Lord brought us together for some reason that we can only dare to guess at now.”
John knew how she was feeling. More than once he’d wondered how he’d ended up next to an Amish man in a trench in Pennsylvania—and why that man had felt the need to tell him all his secrets.
He wasn’t ready to share that, though. At this moment, he felt like it was Sarah’s choice. She needed to be in control, not him. “What would you like to do?” he asked softly.
She dipped the cup into water, swirling it gently with her hand. “Wait,” she said after a moment. “I’d like to wait a bit. Wait until the shock of it all has faded. I feel like we need to make the right decisions now. But I am not sure what they are.”
Everything she said was true. He knew, no matter what, he would abide by her decision—even if she told him to pack up his gunnysack and leave within the hour.
But that said, he also knew it was time for him to speak his mind. He sat down next to her. “Sarah, I’ve been up most of the night thinking about this. Thinking about you and me.”
She raised her brows. “And the money jar?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t lie about that. “Sarah, of course that money is yours. Yours and Daniel’s. Since he isn’t here to retrieve it, why don’t I help you find it? I’d be honored to know that I helped you be a little better off.”
“If it’s there . . .”
Redemption Page 9
