The Amish Widower

by Virginia Smith

  I fell back into my old routine with no effort. Little had changed in my absence—a fact I found comforting. True, Mamm and Daed no longer ate every meal at the big house, but they still spent much of the day with the rest of us, cooking and working and reading as they always had.

  Rachel’s homecoming was a joyous occasion. I asked Robbie to drive her and Saloma home, and my heart warmed to hear the joy in his voice as he accepted. When they arrived in Amanda’s Lexus, the whole family lined up to welcome them. I had two causes for rejoicing that day. First, that my young friend looked healthy and happy, grinning widely as he opened the door and helped Saloma out.

  The second was the bundle Saloma carried. Though still the tiniest baby I’d ever seen, she had filled out considerably from the day Leah and I watched her through the nursery window. Holding her became a favorite occupation for all of us, even the children. I relished my time in the rocking chair, gazing down into her perfectly formed features. Leah’s words returned to me often. You’re besotted. I was—and not ashamed of the fact.

  My thoughts centered on Leah more often than I wished, and that didn’t diminish as the weeks passed. May became June, and still I awoke to find her on my mind. I discussed my distress with no one but Sam, to whom I had returned at Bishop Beiler’s urging. Sam listened, ever attentive, but he offered no solution. Because he respected the Plain ways, he knew as well as I that there could never be a relationship between us.

  Mamm and I were weeding the garden the day Leah arrived at my house.

  “Who is that?” On her knees before the bean plants, Mamm straightened and looked over my head.

  When I turned and spotted the car rolling down our driveway, my heart stuttered. Mouth dry, I managed to say, “That is Leah, Elias Beachy’s granddaughter.”

  She climbed to her feet. “Then I had best tell Saloma to put on coffee. I wonder if she has any cobbler left from last night.” Leaving her kneeling pad on the ground, she left the garden.

  I did not move.

  Leah’s car pulled to a stop, and I heard Mamm invite her inside. I couldn’t make out the reply, but Mamm waved toward me before entering the house. Leah started in my direction, her gaze locking on to mine.

  She looked almost Plain today, with her hair pulled back into a proper bun and in a dress that fell below her knees. With the addition of an apron and kapp, she could be mistaken for an Amish woman. I drank in the sight of her, glad when I saw the ghost of a smile on her lips instead of a scowl.

  “Hello,” she said as she drew near.

  I don’t know what possessed me, but I replied in Dietsch. “Guder mariye.”

  She acknowledged the greeting with a breathy laugh. “If that was to remind me that you’re Amish, you shouldn’t have bothered.” She gestured at my Plain clothing. “You look every bit the part, as always.”

  Was that a jab at my faith? I detected no sarcasm in her tone, so I decided to take the comment at face value. “Ya, well, that is what I am.”

  Her expression sobered. “I know.”

  I climbed to my feet and dusted the dirt from my hands. “Your groosseldre are well?” I almost cringed at my continued use of Dietsch. “Your grandparents.”

  “I know the word. They’re fine. They miss you, though.”

  “And I them.”

  “I hope it’s okay that I came.” She half turned toward the house. “Will your family mind?”

  Instead of answering, I crossed the rows of carrots and radishes until I stood before her. She raised her chin to look up at me.

  “Why did you come, Leah?” When her name left my tongue, my stomach fluttered.

  “To talk to you.” For a long moment we stared into each other’s eyes, but then she looked down. “And to show you something.”

  I had not noticed until then that she held a folded paper in her hand. I started to reach for it, but she jerked it away.

  “First, we talk.” Her head turned as she glanced around our yard, but we had no benches or chairs as Bishop Beiler did.

  “Would you like to go inside so we can sit?”

  She shook her head. “I…I’d rather talk privately.”

  Was that a tremble in her voice? Could it be that the strong, tough woman before me suffered from an attack of nerves?

  Compassion washed over me, and I said in a soft voice, “Follow me.”

  I took her to the barn and set the milking stool in the center of the open doorway, where we could be seen by anyone looking our way but overheard by no one. Then I upended an empty milk can and perched on it.

  Once settled on the stool, she fidgeted with the paper for a moment. “I’ve thought about you a lot.” My pulse sped up. Did I haunt her thoughts, as she did mine? As though she’d startled herself, her gaze flew up to mine. “I mean, about our conversation. The one about forgiveness.”

  Disappointment stabbed at me, unreasonable though it was. I managed to reply calmly. “What have you thought?”

  “Oh, a gazillion things.” She heaved a laugh. “First, how infuriating you were. And how you didn’t understand anything about what I’ve been through.” The laughter faded. “But then I realized how self-centered that was because you’ve been through some terrible things too.”

  “I should not have said that. I lost my temper.”

  Her gaze flickered upward. “I am self-centered, Seth. In so many ways. And once I realized you were right about that, I thought maybe you were right about a few other things too. And…well…”

  She extended the paper toward me. I took it and unfolded it. At the top was a name and address at the Ohio State Penitentiary. No salutation or date followed, merely two lines in her neat script.

  I forgive you.

  Leah Beachy

  I refolded the paper and returned it to her. “Will you mail it?”

  “I haven’t decided.” She stood and went to lean against the door frame. “I thought writing it would make me feel better, like you said. Instead, I feel sick. Will that creep think I’m saying what he did is okay?”

  “Does it matter what he thinks?”

  Her mouth opened to make a quick reply. Then she shook her head. “No. What he thinks doesn’t matter at all.”

  How I wished Bishop Beiler were there. He could speak to these things so much better than I. But she had not come to the bishop. I formed a quick prayer.

  “I do not think forgiving means the sin was okay.” I spoke slowly, articulating thoughts as they occurred to me. “I think forgiving is what we do when we can no longer stand the pain of not forgiving.”

  Her head tilted sideways. “That’s pretty profound.”

  Actually, I thought so myself and whispered a prayer of thanks.

  “You know what I hate?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “I hate thinking about it all the time. I hate the way that day haunts me, and depresses me, and makes me want to scream. It’s like he’s still hurting me, you know?”

  I said nothing, but my mind was a flurry of prayers. I had no answers for her. Only Gott could heal a tortured heart.

  She straightened and slapped the letter against the palm of her hand. “Yes. I’m going to mail it.” A tense smile curved her lips. “And then I’ll probably throw up, but I’m going to mail it.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “I will pray that you do not throw up, but that you’ll find peace instead.”

  A look of longing settled on her features. “Seth, will you come back? Daadi and Grossmammi miss you a lot.” Her voice became husky. “And so do I.”

  Which was precisely the reason I could not return. My heart ached so that I feared it might stop beating altogether as I shook my head.

  “I cannot,” I whispered.

  I offered no explanation. Did she guess the reason? That I could not face her every day, listening for her voice, relishing her rare laughter, sharing the companionship of family meals?

  If so, she gave no indication other than a nod. Though her eyes were downcast, I saw a tear slide down her cheek in
the second before she walked away.

  I followed her to the car, where she cleared her throat and spoke without looking up.

  “Please tell your family I appreciate the offer of hospitality, but I need to get back to the shop.”

  My family. They had been unusually absent. Not even the children had come out to see our visitor. Had they sensed our need for a private conversation? I glanced at the house to find four faces watching us through the kitchen window. They quickly drew back.

  “I will tell them.”

  When her car turned onto the road, I returned to the garden. There were weeds to pull. Perhaps ripping them from the ground would help to calm my raging thoughts.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Dear Leah,

  I carry a burden in my heart, and the peace I’ve felt since forgiving Robbie is out of reach until I share it. I think you already guess the reason I cannot return to the shop. You and I cannot be friends. It is not proper for an Amish man to have such feelings for an Englisch woman as I have for you.

  There is a deeper reason. I have loved two women in my life, and both have died. I will never marry again. I no longer think that I caused their deaths, though I did for a long time. But I cannot risk another loss. I am certain I would not survive it.

  You once told me if you received a letter like the one I wrote Laura King, you might have returned home. Maybe you did not say that exactly, but I remember your expression. I have tried to think of ways to convince you to return to the Amish. Not because of me, but because I do believe you will be happier living the Plain life you were raised in. Then I realized that what I said to Laura is as true for you as for her. This is a decision you must make on your own. I will pray that you make the right decision for you.

  Seth

  I read my letter a dozen times by the light of the candle on my bedside table. Would mailing it finally put an end to the longings that plagued me? Just writing the words and laying out the reasons that a relationship between us would never be possible brought me a remnant of the peace I so desperately needed. Every word was true. I did want Leah to return to the Amish for her own good. Though she gave every indication of embracing her Englisch life, why would she remain fascinated with reading books about the Amish? She told me herself she liked them because they reminded her of her peaceful childhood. I wanted that for her again.

  The part about losing my wives…well, that was true too. Though my struggle against the guilt that I was responsible for their deaths continued to be prominent in my daily prayers, I knew I had made the best decisions I could at the time. Would I change them given the choice? Of course. But Leah’s words in the barn had resonated in my heart. Dwelling on my past mistakes gave them the power to continue to torture me. I was tired of living a tortured life.

  After one final review, I picked up the pen and added a line.

  P.S. After I mail this letter, I will probably throw up.

  Satisfied, I slid the letter into an envelope, addressed the front, and then blew out my candle.

  A tail whipped across my cheek, the sting so sharp even through my beard that I cried out. Mark and Luke, watching me milk Delilah from the safety of the barn doorway, both giggled.

  I raised my head from her side and rubbed my cheek. “Do you see why I call her Devilish Delilah?”

  At the mention of her name, the cow turned her head to look at me. Was it my imagination, or did a smirk lurk in those chocolate eyes?

  The sound of an engine reached me.

  “A car is coming,” Luke announced.

  An Englisch visitor? Though an hour of daylight remained, visitors rarely arrived in the evening.

  “It’s a blue car,” Mark added, proud that he knew the color.

  My lungs snatched a breath and held it. Though my instinct was to leap up and run to the barn door to see the car, I forced myself to stand calmly, remove the half-full milk pail from beneath Delilah’s udder, and set it safely out of reach of her hooves. Only when I had retrieved my hat and placed it on my head did I stride through the straw toward the entrance.

  When the boys and I emerged from the barn, Leah was already standing beside her car. She caught sight of me. Even across the distance, her eyes drew mine like magnets.

  “Boys, go in the house.”

  My voice, husky with emotion, must have held enough of a command that they did not argue. The door opened before they reached it, and Saloma appeared to take them inside. Somewhere in the back of my mind I spared a thought of gratitude that she didn’t come outside to greet our guest, as manners dictated, but followed her sons into the house and shut the door.

  I couldn’t take my eyes from Leah as I walked toward her. She again wore the modest dress and had pinned up her hair in the Amish way. Was she here because of my letter, mailed a week ago?

  She met me halfway across the distance, halting a few feet in front of me. Her eyes moved as she searched my face, and then her gaze returned to mine.

  A smile quirked the corners of her mouth. “Gut’n owed.”

  She greeted me in Dietsch? My surprise must have showed because she laughed. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”

  My shoulders heaved with an answering laugh. “No, I did not.”

  Questions spun in my mind. Why would Leah, who scorned all things Amish, speak in our native language? Was she here in response to my letter? A possible answer to both lay at the edges of thought, but I refused to hope it was true.

  Instead, I asked the safest question I could. “Elias and Lily are well, I hope?”

  “They are, though they still miss you.”

  “And I still miss them. The business goes well?”

  She nodded. “We’ve sold all of your pieces. You received the check for them?”

  “Ya, I did.”

  Meaningless talk. Impatience danced in my stomach. I noticed then that her hands were clasped at her waist, fingers entwined but fidgeting. Was that a display of nerves? The idea gave me the confidence to voice the question that burned to be asked.

  “Why have you come, Leah?”

  She lowered her gaze. “That was a good letter. Thank you. Or rather—” She flashed a grin up at me. “Danke.”

  Hope rose in my heart. Another Dietsch word could mean only one thing. I could not stop the slow spread of a grin. “You are returning to the Amish.”

  Her smile nearly blinded me. “I am. I’ve already met with the bishop, and he’ll announce my intentions to the congregation on Sunday. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask if you will come to church with us. I…I’d like you to be there.”

  “Ya, gladly.” My feet threatened to bounce like Mark’s and Luke’s when they were excited. Leah was coming home! “What made you decide?”

  “You, of course.”

  The impact of her words struck me. Joy drained from me as quickly as it had arisen, and I took a backward step. “A decision as important as this cannot be made for someone else.”

  “Oh, stop it.” A shade of her former scorn surfaced. “I don’t mean I’m coming back for you but because of you. I thought a lot about what you said. And…prayed about it too.” She leaned against the car and looked out over the fields beyond our house. “I haven’t been happy since I went Englisch. A lot of that had to do with forgiving the man who hurt me, but once I mailed that letter I realized there was so much more. I was raised to be Plain. That’s where I feel—” She drew in a breath, her gaze focusing once again on me. “That’s where I feel the peace you’re always talking about. God’s peace.” A smile once again appeared. “That’s so much better than a microwave.”

  As she spoke, relief flooded me. This was not a decision she had made lightly. She was returning to the Plain life for the right reasons.

  “So it’s a good thing you moved out of Daadi’s house…because I moved in today.” She patted the hood of her car. “I figured it was only fitting that the last time I drive, I come here.”

  “I’m glad.” Such an understatement for the joy that swe
lled in my chest.

  She cocked her head sideways. “So does this mean we can be friends again?”

  I studied her. Did the question hold more meaning than the words implied? I answered cautiously. “Ya, we can be friends.”

  Heaving an exasperated sigh, Leah shoved herself off the hood of the car and planted herself in front of me, hands on her hips. “Seth Hostetler, you listen to me. That whole thing about losing a third wife is just, pardon the pun, plain stupid.”

  My war with anger was far from over, and at her words the familiar spark flared. “My feelings are not stupid.”

  “Of course they aren’t. But some feelings are stronger than others.”

  How well I knew that.

  Even if I’d been able to speak, she didn’t give me the chance. “I read your letter over and over, and I know what you didn’t say. You love me, but you’re afraid you’ll be hurt if something happens to me.” The scar on her cheek turned pink, and her lips quivered. “Ask your bishop what die Bibel has to say about love.” She stepped closer, her gaze holding mine. All the sass left her voice, which lowered to a whisper. “It’s stronger than fear, Seth. Between the two of us, we can overcome your fear.”

  Warmth spread from my chest like a wave throughout my body. Was she saying what I thought? “Do you love me?”

  Her eyes softened, and tears glistened in them. “Of course I do. Now are you going to kiss me or not?”

  I was not sure who kissed who, but in the next moment our mouths met. Emotion jolted through my body as my lips caressed hers, lingering over the place where the scar marred one corner. She would always bear the mark of the tragedy, but only on the outside. God had healed her heart, and though I hardly dared to believe it, that heart beat for me.

  The door to the main house burst open, and Mammi flew down the porch stairs, waving her arms and shouting. “Ach! Vas in der velt? Vas duhscht? Get away!”

  At her shouts of What in the world? and What are you doing? guilt shafted through me, and we jerked apart. My grossmammi descended on us like a lion defending her cub. In a flash I knew what had happened. My family, spying through the kitchen window, assumed I was being seduced by an Englisch woman. Though I knew Mammi would never harm a soul, I stepped in front of Leah to provide a protective shield.