His expression became inquisitive, but he made no reply.
I could not filter the anger from my voice as I described the encounter with Robbie in Sam’s office, and then the next therapy session. I went on to describe Robbie’s confession. Sometime during my tirade I launched myself from the bench, frightening away the robins, and began to pace in front of Bishop Beiler. My volume rose until I was nearly shouting.
When I reached the end of the story, where I stormed away from the sobbing young man, I fell silent. The bishop’s expression had remained attentive, though it had grown more somber as I talked.
He spoke in a quiet voice. “Is that when you broke your hand?”
I had forgotten to mention that part. I ducked my head. “Ya. I punched the car window.”
The confession of yet another display of temper brought an assault of shame. I returned to the bench, propped my elbows on my thighs, and dropped my head into my hands. “After we visited Laura King, you told me that such anger is not pleasing to God.”
“That is still true today.”
“I know.” My head snapped up, frustration again giving my words volume. “But what am I to do with an emotion I cannot control?”
He replied mildly. “What did the counselor say?”
“He spoke of the power of forgiveness, and said forgiveness is not a feeling. But I am not going back there. He is more concerned with Robbie’s well-being than mine.”
“Why do you say that?”
I set my teeth together. “It’s obvious. A friend who has seen many therapists said he should have refused to see me as soon as he realized who I was. He did not.”
He fingered his beard for a moment. “Or perhaps he felt he could be of more help to you because he already knew something of your past. As long as he did not share your confidences, or the Englisch boy’s, I see no unethical act.”
“Why did he urge me to forgive the Englisch teenagers responsible for the accident on the same day he knew Robbie would confess? That proves he felt more concern for Robbie than me.”
The bishop nodded slowly. “That is one conclusion. Another may be that he hoped to prepare you for the coming blow.”
That reason had not occurred to me. I would give it thought later, when I could concentrate without anger boiling inside me.
“He is right about forgiveness.” Bishop Beiler leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “About its power to heal, and that it is not a feeling. Forgiveness begins by speaking the words.”
“But anger is a feeling!” I knew I was shouting again, but I didn’t care. “How can I combat a feeling with words only?”
“With prayer, Seth. With much prayer.” Compassion softened his features. “Think of the Happening.”
The mention sobered me. Every Amish person knew the term referred to an event we did not care to discuss, the time when a disturbed Englisch man held Amish girls hostage in a schoolhouse in Nickel Mines and shot them before killing himself. The Happening had taken place not fifteen miles from where we sat.
“You know as well as any that we forgave. Many of us attended the man’s funeral and reached out to his family.” He held my eyes in a direct gaze. “Do you think the parents of those girls felt forgiveness in the first days after the Happening?”
I shook my head. How could they?
“But they forgave anyway because that is what our Lord asks of us. They prayed. And the next day they forgave again, and they prayed again. Every time they felt the anguish of their loss, they forgave again and they prayed again.” He shook his head. “Forgiveness is not a wand to wave and make everything right. It is an action that must be blended with prayer, and it must occur over and over.”
“And is their anguish gone, after more than ten years of forgiving and praying?” I sounded like Leah at her most bitter.
He did not take offense but answered truthfully. “Probably not, but they have something better.” He straightened. “They have the peace that only comes from living a life of obedience to Gott.”
The idea of forgiving Robbie soured my stomach. I slumped forward. “I am not as good as those parents. I cannot forgive the boy who killed my Hannah. The words would choke me.”
“Do not underestimate our Gott, Seth. When He commands us to do a hard thing, He also gives us the ability to accomplish it.” When I did not reply, he continued. “I have a feeling that forgiving the boy is not the most difficult thing Gott would have you do. There is someone else you need to forgive.”
I looked up to find him watching me closely. “Who?”
He smiled and said softly, “He will tell you when the time is right.”
Bishop Beiler stood and waited for me to do the same. Apparently, our meeting was over, and I still had not talked to him about Leah. I realized I didn’t want to. He had already warned me about developing feelings for her. What else could he say on the matter? Besides, I had enough to ponder from this conversation already.
TWENTY-THREE
I intended to go to my former home from the Beilers’, but with the conversation still playing itself over in my mind, I couldn’t inflict my sour mood on my family. Instead, I gave Orion his head. We traveled east on PA-23 toward Lancaster. Perhaps if I paid a visit to the hospital they would allow me to see baby Rachel again. If the sight of that tiny infant did not calm my anger, nothing would.
Best to steer clear of thoughts about forgiving Robbie. I had banished him from my life and preferred to do the same with my thoughts. Instead, I considered the bishop’s comments about Sam.
Had he truly acted unethically, as Leah said? During our first session he did offer me the opportunity to see another counselor, and I declined. At the time I liked the fact that he displayed sensitivity to both my feelings and Robbie’s. If I had known of Robbie’s past, as he did, I would have felt differently. I would have insisted on talking to the other Mennonite therapist—the one I had seen in the waiting room.
Sometimes my ninety-minute buggy ride seemed to last an eternity. Not so today. I was still debating whether or not Sam had acted unethically when I looked up with a start and realized we had entered Eden. The road where the Barkers lived lay less than a mile away. We would pass it in a matter of minutes.
As we approached, I acted on a whim. With pressure on the reins, I turned Orion onto the Barkers’ street. The lawns were greener than they had been on my visit at the end of March. Flowers bloomed in many well-tended gardens, and the trees had leafed out. To my left, a handful of golfers took advantage of the sunny afternoon.
Though we rode through pleasant surroundings, pressure built in my chest the closer we got to the Barker home. What was I doing here? To forgive the reckless act that had killed my wife? I was not prepared to speak the words Bishop Beiler urged. I did not mean them, would never mean them, so to speak them would be a lie.
Yet when we approached the house, I steered Orion into the circular driveway. Perhaps if I confronted him again, I could at least put to rest my questions about Sam. I saw no evidence of Robbie’s red car, but the doors were closed on the huge garage.
Invisible bands tightened around my chest, and blood pounded in my ears. I couldn’t do this. I flicked the reins, directing Orion to continue all the way around the circle and take me away from this place.
The double front doors opened, and Amanda stepped onto the porch. Our eyes met, and then her expression crumpled into tears. When she began descending the steps toward me, what could I do? Drive away and leave her crying in the yard? I pulled the reins and applied the brake, and Orion came to a halt.
Amanda approached the buggy and stood there, her arms wrapped around her middle and tears streaming down her face. Though I could barely force breath into my lungs, I opened the door and climbed down.
“Oh, Seth.” The pain in her tone moved me, but I ignored a wave of pity. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I want to apologize. I should have told you that night you came to dinner.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “I-I just couldn�
��t. It needed to come from Robbie.”
I nodded agreement but remained silent.
“I know how upset you are. Robbie told me about the other day. I wish I could tell you how sorry I am.” She hugged her waist tighter, choking back a sob. “But please don’t think I was trying to buy forgiveness for my son. Every piece I bought was because I loved it. And I’ve sent my friends there because your work is beautiful and unique.”
My words, shouted in anger, came back to me. I’d forgotten the accusation. Looking at her now, crying in front of me, I believed her.
“I am sorry for saying that. I shouldn’t have insulted your kindness. I was…upset.”
“You had every right to be.” She wiped her eyes, leaving black makeup smeared across her face. “Did you come to talk to Robbie?” Hope radiated from the face turned up to mine.
“I…” My throat closed. “I do not know why I am here.”
“Please.” She placed both hands on my arm. “I am so worried about him. He’s improved so much since he started driving for you, but now…” She glanced over her shoulder, and lowered her voice. “He said yesterday he didn’t deserve to live. We’re afraid to leave him alone.”
I couldn’t have been more shocked if she had slapped me. Would Robbie consider harming himself? The image of him as I’d seen him last rose in my mind’s eye. The anguish of his sobs, his pleading as I stomped away. Yes, a tormented person might wish to take his own life. As angry as I was with him, I would never wish that. What purpose would Robbie’s death serve? It wouldn’t bring back Hannah but would only add another tragedy to the already unbearable weight of her death.
“I’ll talk to him.” Though what I would say, or how I would speak through the tightness of my throat, I didn’t know.
A fresh wave of tears ran down her face. “Thank you. He’s inside.”
She already had a grip on my arm, and now she tugged me toward the house. A man stood in the open doorway. How long had he been watching us?
Amanda didn’t release my arm until I stood before him. “Seth, this is my husband, Michael.”
I shook the hand he extended.
“I’m glad to finally meet you.” He searched my face. “Though I’m sorrier for the circumstances than I can say. Please come inside.”
Stepping aside, he gestured for me to precede him into the house.
“Should we do something for your horse?” From the perplexed expression on Amanda’s face as she stared at Orion, I guessed she didn’t often have Amish visitors.
I glanced at him standing calmly, no doubt tired from the trip. There was no place to tether him, and though I knew he would wait for me, I spared a hope that he would not eat their lawn. “He would appreciate a bucket of water if you have one.”
“I’ll take care of that.” Michael left and headed around the side of the house.
I followed Amanda inside and noted in passing that my vase now stood in the center of the glass dining table.
“Robbie is upstairs in his bedroom,” she explained as she led me to the large great room where we had eaten dinner. “Have a seat and I’ll get him.”
When she left, I stood in the center of the room. This place did nothing to put me at ease, with its Englisch furnishings and photographs nearly covering one wall. How could people find the mishmash of items comfortable? Objects covered the surface of every table—remote control units and magazines and figurines. A large cabinet in the corner held more things—painted plates and fancy statuettes and gleaming crystal miniatures. I selected a chair covered in deep red leather and perched on the edge, the knots in my stomach so tight I feared they might never untangle.
I hadn’t noticed the wall of photos on my last visit. A glance revealed Robbie at various stages of his life—a baby with a thick shock of dark hair sitting in the center of a blanket, a skinny boy smiling with a gaptoothed grin, a young man who looked more like the one I knew, dressed in a suit and tie.
A huge clock on the wall ticked in the silence, and the sound grated across my nerves. What was taking so long? Perhaps Robbie no longer wished to see me. The idea ignited the familiar anger. What right had he to refuse a visit from me? I had to exert an effort not to leave the house.
The click of Amanda’s heels descending the stairs reached me, though I heard nothing else. Was she returning to tell me Robbie would not come down?
Then he entered the room behind his mother, barefoot. At first sight of the boy, I rose from my chair, my gaze glued on him. The change in the past five days shocked me. I’d wondered on Tuesday if he’d lost weight; today I was sure of it. His cheeks appeared sunken, his jaw sharply angled and clearly visible beneath a thin layer of skin. Beneath a thin T-shirt, his collarbones protruded sharply. His hair had not been combed in several days, I suspected. He watched me through dull eyes.
No wonder the Barkers were worried about their son.
Amanda gave us both a nervous smile. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, or a Dr Pepper?”
Robbie made no response, as if he had not heard the question. He stood as still as one of the statues in the corner cabinet, his stare fixed on me.
“No, thank you,” I told Amanda.
“Okay. Well, then. I’ll step outside and help Mike with that water for your horse.”
When she’d gone, neither of us moved. The clock marked the passing of many seconds.
Finally, when I could no longer stand the silence, I voiced the thought at the front of my mind. “You look terrible.”
Surprise flashed onto his face, replaced by a bitter scowl. “Yeah, well at least my outsides match my insides.”
When another silence threatened, I said, “I would like to sit.”
He dropped onto the sofa, also of red leather, while I returned to my chair.
“Did you do that on my car window?” He pointed toward my splinted hand.
“Ya.” I considered apologizing for breaking his window but decided against it. I was not ready to apologize to this young man for losing my temper. Maybe I never would be.
“Why are you here?” He sat rigid, his arms stiff at his sides. “Do you want to break the other windows? You can, you know. Or my jaw, if you want.” He gulped several times. “You have the right.”
I drew in a deep breath against the anger that threatened to darken my vision. How dare he make a flippant comment? Though when I looked closer, I knew he meant the words literally.
I didn’t deny his claim. In his world, an injury deserved retribution. But not in my world.
“I don’t want to break your windows or your jaw. I want to talk about the day my Hannah died.”
He couldn’t meet my gaze. “I’ve already told you what happened. It was totally my fault. I…” More gulping. “I killed her.”
Though the words shot through me like a flaming arrow, I kept my tone even. “And afterward you felt remorse.”
“Well, yeah. Wouldn’t you?” He glanced up for a second.
“What of your friend? The one who shouted out the window?”
“Justin?” His lip curled. “He didn’t feel remorse if that’s what you’re asking. He said the whole thing was an accident, and we didn’t want anybody to die, so we shouldn’t feel guilty.” He snorted. “He’s at Penn State this year, but I heard he’s about to flunk out because he’s spending too much time partying and not enough studying.”
So the other boy took no responsibility. He continued with his wild ways.
Robbie straightened, planted his feet on the floor, and clasped his hands between his knees. He looked me directly in the eye. “We should have gone to the police and reported what happened. I’ve almost done it, like, a million times. At first nobody knew except me and Justin. I figured you told the police what happened, and they were probably looking for an old green Chevy. For weeks I expected the cops to show up at the door and arrest me.”
I shook my head. “The police came, but no one told them the car was a Chevy. I don’t know much about car models.”
“I’ll still confess if you want me to.” An earnest gaze fixed on me. “I don’t know what they’d do to me, but I’ll go to jail if that’s what you want.”
“What good would that do? Would that bring my Hannah back?” When he would look away, I ducked my head to hold his eye. “Amish believe in the justice of God more than the justice of man.”
“Yeah, that’s what Sam said too.”
Now that he had brought up the counselor, I could ask a question that had disturbed me since my talk with the bishop. “Did Sam know you planned to confess to me that day?”
“No. I didn’t know myself.”
I sat back. So my assumption that Sam urged me to forgive Robbie because he knew what was coming was not correct. Did that mean I was wrong about Sam’s intentions toward me as well?
Robbie kept talking. “I’ve been practicing with Sam for months. You know, planning out what to say when the right time came. But I just couldn’t do it anymore, you know? Drive you around, pretending like that day never happened. It was okay when I first started, and you were just an Amish dude I’d hurt. But then…then I started thinking of you as a friend. It was, like, eating at me. I had to get it out in the open.”
“Did Sam suggest that you drive me?”
“Are you kidding? He tried to talk me out of it.” He lunged off the sofa and paced to the window. “I’ve been going to him for months, every week, and all we do is talk. I was sick of talking. It wasn’t getting me anywhere, you know? And for a while I thought I was right. Helping you made me feel better. My parents understood. They were proud of me for trying to make up for my mistake, even if it was just a little.” He faced me. “I mean, I know nothing can make up for causing that accident. But I had to do something, didn’t I?” His shoulders slumped. “Turns out Sam was right. I was trying to make myself feel better, but I wasn’t being straight with you, so I made everything worse.”
He returned to his seat, folded his arms, and buried his face. His words fanned the ever-present fury in my soul. I wanted to shout at him, Yes, you did make everything worse! To twist the knife of guilt so he would know the pain his actions had caused.
The Amish Widower Page 28
