To her surprise, however, she was slowly forgetting to guard her words. It gave her both a newfound freedom and a curious sense of exhilaration.
“Are you ready now?”
“I think so.”
“Well, come on then. Our day of playing hooky is upon us.”
She followed him out the door, choosing to carry the quilt while he held the tin pail. “I fear I don’t know what that phrase means.”
“It means that we’re taking some time off, but we’re being sneaky about it.” He gave her a little bow, looking gallant and much like the officer he had been. “After you, my dear.”
She ached to say something spunky in return but words failed her. So instead, she pointed to a clear path in the thicket of trees. “There’s a path there that leads to a creek. Have you seen it yet?”
“No. But I would like to. Lead the way and I’ll follow.”
She felt herself blush because of the way his words sounded, though she was sure he’d meant nothing romantic by them.
But her reaction made her even more determined to put their relationship—or lack of it—into perspective. What she was imagining happening was probably nothing more than a reaction to simple kindness.
For years now she’d witnessed her friends’ marriages. When she’d dared to dwell on them, she’d realized that the husbands treated their wives far differently than Daniel had treated her. Though they were still most definitely the head of the household, they did not eye their women with disdain or seek to embarrass them in front of others in the community.
Instead, a quiet fondness rested between them, illustrated in small words and tender gestures.
It seemed that was what John was doing. The experience was new and strange, and she felt awkward as she attempted to match his movements and comments.
And hopelessly out of her element.
“I, ah, don’t usually walk too fast,” she warned.
“I don’t want to walk fast. If we’re going to enjoy our day, then I want to take our time.”
She couldn’t think of any other warnings or responses to that, so off they started, at first with her walking in the lead, then eventually walking side by side as the winding, narrow path allowed. Their pace was anything but brisk. In fact, it bordered on meandering. Strolling.
Every few feet one of them would spy something worth pointing out, even if it wasn’t anything very much at all. John spied a snake curled up under a bush. Sleeping. She liked looking for cardinals and orioles.
Soon, her words eased, matching her even steps. She stopped stumbling over words and slid into his easy conversation. Soon, she was responding to all his comments, about anything and everything. She was discovering that not only was her pretend husband a wealth of information, he was also curious by nature. He asked question after question about being Amish and her feelings regarding it.
That in itself was a wondrous thing. Until John, she’d had little to no contact with the English. Ever. The men in their community dealt with outsiders. She’d gotten used to thinking of the Englischers as coarse and arrogant men. Dangerous, too.
But John was showing her that she’d made a grievous error in clumping all men who weren’t Amish into one group.
At last they arrived on the banks of the creek.
“What’s the name of this body of water?”
“It’s Sugar Creek.” She smiled slightly, thinking he was the first person she’d met who hadn’t known the name of one of their county’s biggest landmarks.
Kneeling down, he reached into the bubbling creek and let his fingers flutter in the water. The look that crossed over his features was one of pure bliss. She wondered if the cool water soothed his scarred skin.
“Do you come here often?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. “I mean, when you can?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Sarah knelt next to him on the creek bed. “Not so much. I mean, not so much anymore. I used to when I was a young girl.”
“When you were a young girl, hmm?” One side of his lips turned up. “I’m trying to imagine you as anything other than prim and proper. Was that what you were like?”
“Maybe. I’ve always been rather quiet.” For a moment, she ached to tell him more, to add something, but she decided against it. No man wanted to hear a woman continually chatter about herself.
After pulling his hand out of the cool creek, he shook it a few times, then stretched his legs out in front of him so that his whole scarred side faced the creek, and leaned back on his hands. “Surely you can do better than that, Sarah. What is there to be afraid of? Before you know it, I’ll be gone and never have a chance to tell your secrets.”
His quip hit her hard. It hurt to even imagine what her life was going to be like after he was gone. But this was a time for them to relax, not dwell on their problems. “I’m definitely not sharing my secrets with you,” she teased, tilting her chin up for good measure.
“Is it because you don’t have any? Or you don’t trust me enough?”
“I guess it’s a bit of both.” She reached into the pail, pulled out the jars of lemonade, and handed him one. After taking a fortifying sip, she said, “If I share something with you, will you share with me, too?”
“Yes.” But she noticed that he didn’t look all that eager to divulge something too personal, either.
“All right. I, um, used to catch frogs here.”
“That’s your big secret?”
Feeling a little embarrassed, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Jah. Why? What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing . . . except that it’s not personal.”
“I suppose it is not.” She leaned back on her elbows, only noticing after she was settled that she mirrored his position.
He sighed. “I suppose I’m going to have to help you out. Where did you receive your first kiss?”
“That is nothing we should discuss, Jonathan Scott.”
To her dismay—and yet, to her amusement, too—he let out a bark of laughter. “You sound like a mother, using my first and last name like that. I have now been firmly chastised.”
“Das gut. Because I will not talk about kisses.” Especially since she didn’t have too many to share. Daniel had been the one and only man she had ever kissed. And his kisses had been neither frequent nor particularly pleasant.
“Fine. Tell me a regret.”
The plea hit her hard, almost taking the breath out of her. “I doubt you want to hear any of those,” she hedged.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to hear. Come on, Sarah, isn’t there one that you can share?”
She didn’t like this game of his. She didn’t like being forced to think about things that she’d pushed aside for years, pretending they didn’t matter so that she wouldn’t feel any pain. “I regret that I never had any kinner. Any children.”
His teasing expression sobered. “Ah. I imagine so. I think you would be a wonderful mother.”
She inclined her head. Her tongue felt too thick to respond. “Is it your turn now?”
“Yes. If you want it to be.”
“Do your scars hurt all the time?”
This time he was the one who looked terribly uncomfortable. “No.”
“That is your answer?”
He looked away from her, as if he couldn’t bear to be exposed in so many ways. “Do you mind me asking why you care?”
She cared because she hated to think of him in constant pain. And she was beginning to care about him very much. “I noticed the look on your face when you dipped your fingers in the creek.”
“The cold water feels good. He held out his right arm in front of him, looking at it like it belonged to another person, as if he wasn’t quite sure how it had come to be on his body. “The scars, they make my skin feel tight. Like there’s not enough skin to cover. It’s not as much painful as uncomfortable. The doctors said that will ease in time.”
“I hope that is the case.”
“Me
too.” He paused, then added, “I don’t like talking about how I look.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed, but I’m not all that used to it. Not to sound too prideful, but I used to be a handsome man. When I was younger, I’d catch the girls sneaking glances at me. I was used to that. I’m ashamed to admit that at times I have difficultly realizing I’m now a person women turn away from. I hate to see myself in the mirror.”
She could only imagine what that must be like. Just as quickly, she amended her thoughts. She had no earthly idea what his trials had been like. Feeling somewhat at a loss, she said the first thing on her mind. “Luckily, we Amish don’t believe in looking glasses.”
He turned his head and stared at her strangely, then he grinned. “There is that.”
“Are you ready to eat?”
“I am. I’m anxious to snack on our picnic lunch then lie about and be lazy. What about you?”
“I feel the same way.” She was anxious to run her hands in the cool water, too. Anxious to feel even a little bit of his bliss.
Fourteen
The Remembrance
THE NEXT MORNING, John found himself back near the barn. He wasn’t sure if their outing the day before had rejuvenated his spirit or brought him even more sorrow . He was inclined to think of the latter.
All his life he’d ached to belong. And now, in a strange, unnatural way, he felt that he did belong to Sarah. As he walked around the outside perimeter of the barn early that morning, he tried to imagine what he was going to feel when he discovered the money and gave it to her.
Relief, probably. And maybe a sense of completion. Something to hold tight in his soul whenever he realized that he was basically just a worthless ex-soldier. At least once in his life, he’d tried to do something worthwhile.
Remembering yet again all his conversations with Daniel, he eyed the rough planks on the outside of the barn. Wondering again why he was having such a difficult time finding something that had to look so obvious.
As he ran his hand along the wood, he let his mind drift. He stopped attempting to recall every conversation in its entirety. Instead, he allowed himself to recall mere phrases. Parts of conversations.
When he felt a pinch, he lifted his hand and noticed a sizable splinter had wedged itself along one of his knuckles. Carefully, he pulled it out, somewhat taken aback that his scarred hand could feel anything at all.
And then he recalled the last time he’d pulled out such a splinter. He’d been complaining to Daniel about the rotten wood they were burning . . . complaining that it was infested with vermin. Daniel had merely laughed and called him a weakling. “Never thought I’d see the day when our lieutenant let a few hornets and splinters get the best of him.”
“They’ve hardly gotten the best of me. I just don’t have a need to get scratched and stung. We’ve got enough problems with the Johnny Rebs.”
Daniel had remained unimpressed. “You’re acting as childish as my wife.”
“And why is that?” he’d asked, somewhat bored. If there was anything Daniel had liked to do, it was talk. And talk he did, mostly about how smart he was . . . and how good he was at ordering his wife about. The more John listened, the less he’d wanted to hear. Actually, the longer he’d been in Daniel’s company, the more he’d ached to be done with him. There was so much in the man that John had found fault with.
While it was true that they both had brown hair and eyes, and that they were much of the same height and build, those were their only similarities. Though Daniel might have had money to save and was a landowner, at least John hadn’t spent the last several years being mean to a woman.
“You’re acting like my wife because she’s scared to death of bees.” Daniel’s voice had been almost gleeful. “She got stung real bad by an angry swarm when she was a little girl. The midwife even had to come over and help her mamm pull out stingers. She told me once it was her worst and earliest memory. Anyway, that old oak has a real good-sized hive in it. When we first got married, Sarah asked me to get rid of it, but I wasn’t having any of her complaining. I told her that we were going to keep it and that was final. And that, you see, is why I ended up hiding my money near that tree. Why, I could have tied banknotes to the branches and she wouldn’t have gone near them!”
John had been so sickened by Daniel’s bragging, knowing that he’d willingly kept something nearby because it scared his wife, that he’d stood up and moved away from him.
And then, mere moments later, the sparks had flown and the fire had come. The whole conversation had been forgotten.
Until right this minute.
Feeling a strange combination of both dread and anticipation, John walked around the barn again. But this time, instead of merely looking at the barn’s planks, he scanned the trees that surrounded it.
After another two or three minutes, John located the beehive. It wasn’t real big but it was definitely populated with enough buzzing residents to give most anyone pause.
He imagined Sarah would have been terrified, given her aversion to honey and honeybees.
Then he began to pat the wall. Slowly, looking for loose boards, uneven cuts. Holes that didn’t look quite right.
And then, there, a mere foot above the ground, he found what he’d been looking for. Heart pounding, he knelt down, fingered the board. Grabbed the edge and pulled on it slightly. Just to see if there was any give.
There was.
Repositioning his fingers, he grasped the edge again, pulled hard with one forceful yank, and watched the board fall to the ground.
As he leaned down, he told himself a dozen things. Prepared himself to be disappointed. Cautioned himself that Daniel could have very well have lied about everything.
But there, nestled in the cubby, was a small jar with a rusted lid. And inside looked to be a rather large collection of silver coins.
It seemed that for all his bluffing and posturing, Daniel Ropp had not been a rich man after all. The coins were many, and would surely add up to a good amount, but they were in no way the fortune than John had been led to believe was there.
John reached into the cavity, pulled out the jar, and scrambled to his feet. And then did the only thing that was fitting.
He acted far more excited than he was.
Pasting a happy smile on his face, he darted around the corner of the barn and called out her name. “Sarah! Sarah, where are you?”
He found her in the same place he’d left her hours before, standing in the sunlight, carefully pinning articles of clothing on the line.
When she saw what he was holding, the shirt in her hands fluttered down onto the ground. “John, is that what I think it is?”
He nodded. He held up the jar like it was grand prize at a fair. “Can you even believe it?”
She shook her head slowly. “Nee, I cannot,” she uttered, her voice shaky. “John, I must admit that a part of me thought this was a fool’s errand. I didn’t think it really existed.”
“I promise, there was many a time when I thought the same exact thing. And then, when I got to know you, and learned that Daniel could be so very manipulative, I began to imagine that he’d merely been playing a joke on me.” Then he smiled. “But I was wrong.”
Slowly, happiness lit her eyes. “This is wunderbaar,” she whispered as she rushed to his side.
The moment she was in his reach, he tossed the jar on the ground, picked her up by the waist, and twirled her around. And then because it felt so good, he twirled her around a second time.
She rested her hands on his arms and laughed. “I canna believe it!”
With care, he set her back on her feet, then grasped her hand and began to pull her into the house. “I can hardly believe it myself.”
“Where was it? I thought you were outside?”
“I was. I was walking around the barn, trying to think of what I had missed—and then it came to me.”
“What did?”
“A conversation I’d had with Daniel right before the explosion. He told me that he’d hidden the jar outside near the oak tree.”
Her eyes widened as they entered the kitchen. “Is that where it was? Near the bee tree?”
“There was a loose plank near the ground. It didn’t look quite right so I gave it a little pull and the thing came right out.”
She shook her head in wonder. “I wonder why he would have chosen that spot. He knows how afraid—” She stopped herself just as a look of dismay crossed her features. “That is why he hid it there. Ain’t so?”
“Yes.” He didn’t want to lie to her. But he sure hadn’t wanted her to ever know just why Daniel had planted the jar in such a place.
Wearily, she sat down. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. John, he did so many things with the intent to hurt me.”
“He was like that with many people, Sarah. He was a selfish man. And, at times, a cruel one.”
“I don’t know why. That’s not our way. It’s against everything we are.”
He chose his words with care. He didn’t want to make her memories of Daniel Ropp any worse than they were and he didn’t want to offend her religion in any way, either. “When I was on the battlefield, I saw a great many men from all walks of life, Sarah,” he began quietly. “Some were wealthy landowners, some were poor men who came from fishing villages on the New England coast. All of us united for one reason: to fight for a cause we believed in. It was easy to make all Southerners into villains. You’re not going to like hearing this, but it made it easier to kill with that mindset.”
He paused when she winced, but didn’t apologize for his words. War was bloody and painful. It was hard to kill another man, and having to find the wherewithal to do it meant sacrificing a bit of one’s humanity.
“Sarah, I’m only telling you this because one day, at the end of a skirmish with a small band of Confederates, I got a pretty good cut on my calf. It had been bleeding something awful, and because of that, I was slow getting up. And that was why I realized that I’d somehow ended up next to an injured Johnny Reb. He was hurt worse than me. He was bleeding from a couple of places. But he was staring at me.”
Redemption Page 11
