Tom did not remember doing that. It surprised him that his father had locked that memory away.
“He used to fold bits of paper into airplanes and try to fly them from the top of that maple tree out front. He was always good at making up his own toys.”
Tom’s throat had suddenly gotten so tight he had to clear it in order to speak. “Is that Tobias you’re talking about?”
“Jab.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a son by that name.” His heart was in his mouth as he waited for the answer. Could there possibly be something redemptive his father might say about him?
“Tobias ran off when he was seventeen.”
Tom decided to step carefully around the next question, but he had to know. “I heard a rumor that your son had been banned from your home.”
“He was,” Jeremiah said. “We were instructed by our bishop to have nothing to do with him—not even to eat with him or take a cup of coffee from his hand.” The old man looked straight at Tom and spoke the words that shattered his heart. “That didn’t mean I didn’t care about him. I never stopped loving my boy or worrying about him. There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t pray for my Tobias.”
The words brought a lump to Tom’s throat so huge he could barely swallow. It was all he could do to keep from breaking down completely and confessing everything to his father. But the stakes had gotten too high. He wanted more time with this man, but if his father knew who he was, he would be obligated to kick him out unless he promised to live a faithful life from that point on.
A faithful life, by their definition, was being a Swartzentruber. Returning to the Swartzentruber faith would mean taking on the full regalia of legalistic dos and don’ts, in addition to never being allowed to fly again under any circumstance.
It was too great a sacrifice to contemplate.
Hearing his father say that he loved and prayed for him every day was a balm to his soul that he would cherish for the rest of his life. Those words alone had been worth this entire trip. Someday soon, he would tell his father and accept the consequences, but not now. For now, he wanted to savor the unexpected gift of this evening.
While life-giving water pelted the sturdy old house, they talked of many things. As a pacifist, Jeremiah was not interested in hearing about the military. Instead, he wanted to hear stories about the countries Tom had traveled to and the various customs he had witnessed. The time passed so quickly, Tom was surprised when the old windup clock struck eight o’clock. He glanced at his watch, then back at his father’s wall clock.
“My watch says it’s nine o’clock,” he said. “Is your clock slow or is my watch wrong?”
“Our people do not observe the world’s ‘fast time.’ ”
He’d forgotten that the Swartzentrubers refused to accept daylight saving time. Everyone else in the United States might be “springing forward” in the spring and “falling back” in the fall, but not his father’s people. The Swartzentrubers plodded on, keeping the same time all year long, never adjusting to anyone else’s frivolous notions of moving time around.
“It is getting late.” Jeremiah yawned and picked up a kerosene lantern from a side table where it had made flickering shadows on the wall all evening. “I will go to bed now. Milking time comes early.”
“I know.” He well remembered getting up at four in the morning, even on school days, to help his father milk.
“You have knowledge of milking?”
“I used to help my father.”
“Four o’clock is early, ja?” Jeremiah’s voice sounded almost hopeful.
“I don’t know anymore. I seldom sleep that long. My dreams bother me.”
“You have seen much battle?”
“Too much.”
“So that is how it is, then.” Jeremiah looked at him, as though weighing something in his mind. “You are welcome to come milk whenever your dreams awaken you early. All those early-morning hours should not be wasted.”
“I appreciate that, Jeremiah,” Tom said. “I’ll probably take you up on it.”
“Good. Milking is sometimes tiresome, but it has never given me bad dreams.” Jeremiah picked up the lantern. “I will walk you to your car. You Englisch are not used to the darkness.”
The hard rain had stopped.
“The crops will grow good, now,” Jeremiah said as Tom got into his car. “You be careful out there on the road. There are many fast cars these days.”
Tom waited, illuminating his father’s path to the house before he backed out of the driveway. He watched until he saw the lantern light glowing through the window of his father’s bedroom. There were no secondary lights at this farm, no porch lights outside, no city streetlights. When it was dark, it was dark, unless the moon and stars were out. Tonight, they were not.
It was at that point that he rolled down the windows, turned off the motor, laid his head back against the headrest, and absorbed the intense darkness and quiet of his father’s farm.
Tonight had been as healing to his soul as the rain had been to the parched ground.
• • •
By the time Tom got back from his father’s, his leg was acting up. Getting up the stairs was an effort. When he got inside, he went into the bathroom, shook two pain meds capsules into his hand, thought better of it, and put one back in the bottle. He had come close to becoming dependent on these things before and would not allow that to happen again.
There was an inviting weathered Amish rocker out on the small upstairs porch. Tom decided to sit outside until the medication kicked in enough for him to sleep.
His father loved him, and he had no idea what to do about it.
Jeremiah Troyer was no lightweight when it came to obedience. If Tom went to him and confessed who he was, Jeremiah would feel honor bound to tell the bishop of the return of his erring son. If the bishop instructed him to have nothing to do with him, his father would respect the bishop’s wishes. Jeremiah was not Claire. He would never leave his church in order to have fellowship with him.
The only way Tom could see his way clear to spending time with his father again was to continue to pretend he was someone else. He could lie and be part of his father’s life or tell the truth and lose the small bit of contact he had.
He heard a noise and realized that one of Claire’s upstairs windows was slowly opening. A small flashlight shone in the window for a second, then switched off. Even though it was dark, he could see a slim figure climb out of the window, shimmy down a tree, and then sprint off across a field.
It had to be Maddy. There was no one else in Claire’s house it could be. She was exactly the right age to be sneaking out. He wondered where the party was being held tonight, because undoubtedly there was a party somewhere. There were so many isolated barns around the countryside to drink beer in, and there were always a few Amish parents willing to turn a blind eye if that’s what it took to keep their children at home instead of running off to become Englisch.
She would grow out of it. Most of them did. Claire might even know where she was headed. Some parents kept closer tabs on their children than the kids realized.
He realized that his leg wasn’t aching quite as badly now. The pain pill had kicked in, and it was a perfect evening and a perfect place to savor the amazing fact that his father loved him and prayed for him. Every day.
Jeremiah was no liar. If he said he prayed for his Tobias every day, that’s exactly what he did.
Tom wondered how many near misses there had been over his lifetime because of his father’s prayers.
chapter SIXTEEN
That night, Tom was hopeful that perhaps this reconciliation of sorts with his father signaled the end of the worst nightmare of all, but he was wrong. His subconscious had a world of its own, and its own agenda.
• • •
Someone was tossing handfuls of pebbles at their bedroom window. The sound was as startling as buckshot in the deep stillness of the night.
“Who is it?”
His older brother, Matthew, propped himself up on one elbow as Tobias threw off a quilt, padded over to the window, and opened it.
It was to be their last night of sleeping in the same room. Tomorrow, by noon, Matthew would be a married man.
“Come down,” a voice called up to their open window; the man stood in the shadows beneath. “I want to show you something.”
“It’s Henry,” Tobias said.
“What time is it?”
Tobias lit a lamp and checked the windup clock on the wall. “One thirty.”
He heard a muttered oath as Matthew flopped back onto the bed they shared. “Doesn’t he realize I have to be up in a few hours to go to Claire’s? I need to help her family finish preparing for the wedding.”
Tobias leaned out the window. Swartzentrubers did not use window screens, which annoyed him a great deal in the summertime when his choices were suffocating in an airless bedroom or being inundated with flies. There were always plenty of flies on a working farm.
“What do you want?” he called down.
He had to admit, he was curious. Henry was his first cousin on his mother’s side, and enjoyed fast cars a little too much to join the church yet.
“Just come down,” Henry said. “I can’t tell you, I have to show you.”
The night was warm for late October, and there was a headiness in the air—almost as though the earth itself was rejoicing over the abundance of rich crops filling the barns and silos.
“What’s so important that you need wake us up in the middle of the night?”
Henry grinned up at him. “I got something sweet to show you.”
“When did you get home?” Tobias knew his cousin’s father had been saving for years to improve their stock. Henry’s father’s dream was to breed foals valuable enough to support their family. It was an unusual dream for a Swartzentruber man—but Henry’s father was not a particularly good farmer. His great love was horses. The bishop had given him permission to try his hand at this new venture as long as he gave everything beyond a modest living back to the church. Having a slightly different occupation could be tolerated if it kept the family on the farm, where God intended man to live. “We got home a couple of hours ago,” Henry said. “Do you want to see what we got down there in bluegrass country?”
Tobias was now wide awake and curious. “I’ll be right down.”
“Henry’s dad brought a new horse from Lexington,” he told his brother. “I’m going to go see it.”
Tobias jerked on some clothes. He decided he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight anyway, so he might as well go see his cousin’s new horse.
“You aren’t going without me.” Matthew jumped out of bed, pulled on his pants, and hitched up his suspenders. “Not if there is a horse involved.”
Tobias enjoyed the drive through the October air in Henry’s car with the windows open and rock music blaring. It felt wild and free, and soothed some of the ache in his heart over losing Claire to Matthew.
Not that he resented his brother. Matthew was a better person than he in every way, and Claire deserved the best.
Henry slid open the barn door as soon as they got to his parents’ farm. “Here he is.”
All three of them went in and hung over the stall’s gate, but with only a lantern for illumination, it was hard to see the black Thoroughbred standing in the shadows.
“I thought you were going down there to buy two horses, a stud and a mare,” Matthew said.
“The mare’s over there. She has good bloodlines, but Ebony Sky is a prize. When Daed saw the horse, he had to have him, even if Ebony did cost every dime we have. He’s past his prime as a racer, but he has some champions in his lineage.” Henry unlatched the stall. “Here, let me take him out where you can see him better.”
The sleek, black horse that Henry led out was like nothing Tobias had ever seen up close. There was speed written in every line of that animal’s body. He whistled softly. “Man, I don’t care if he is past his prime. An animal like this didn’t come cheap.”
“We were in luck. The horse farm was in financial trouble. Bad management. They needed to sell some stock off fast. We were at the right place at the right time, and Daed had cash.”
“I wonder how fast he can go,” Matthew said.
“I’ll bet he’s still got some speed in him.” Henry dredged a flask out of his back pocket and took a long swig, then remembered his manners. “You want some?” he asked, holding out the flask.
“Sure,” Tobias answered. Drinking alcohol was not against their Ordnung, but he had not drunk anything stronger than cider. He took a big swallow and it burned its way down his throat.
Matthew didn’t even bother to acknowledge the offer. His eyes were drinking in something much more intoxicating to him—Ebony Sky. Matthew had never seen a piece of horseflesh that he didn’t want to touch or couldn’t ride.
“You are a beauty.” Matthew ran his hand over the horse’s glossy coat. Ebony Sky shied away at first, but Matthews’s reassuring words soon calmed the horse to the point that it was practically leaning toward him. Tobias didn’t blame the horse—Matthew had that effect on every living thing he touched.
“You want to ride him?” Henry swayed ever so slightly as he handed the flask back to Tobias. It was then that Tobias realized his cousin had crossed over the line to being drunk.
He decided that he didn’t mind joining him and took another gulp of the noxious liquid, hoping it would take the edge off his dread of having to pretend that his heart wasn’t breaking at tomorrow’s wedding.
“Only professional jockeys ride horses like this,” Matthew said.
“Aw, come on, you know you want to,” Henry said. “I bet you twenty dollars you can’t stay on him.”
Tobias saw a light in Matthew’s eyes and he knew that there was nothing his brother wanted more than to climb upon the back of that horse.
“What do you think, Tobias?” Matthew said. “Should I try?”
Tobias thought was there probably was no horse alive that Matthew couldn’t ride.
It was at that moment that he spoke the words he would regret for the rest of his life. “I’ll take that twenty-dollar bet, Henry. My brother can ride anything.”
Matthew didn’t bother with a saddle. He simply took the reins from Henry’s hands and led Ebony Sky out beneath the night sky, walking the horse around in circles, talking to him, calming him, the horse’s black coat glistening in the moonlight. Then suddenly, before either he or Henry knew what was happening, Matthew was upon the horse’s back.
“I’ll take that twenty now,” Tobias said.
“Nope, the bet was for riding him, not just sitting on his back. I tell you what . . .” Henry frowned. “The road crew just got done grading this road and there isn’t a pothole for two miles. Let’s see how fast Ebony can go.”
“Are you up for that?” Tobias asked his brother.
“I don’t know . . .” Matthew stroked the horse’s mane as he sat astride him bareback.
“Hey,” Henry said, “give it a try. I want to see him in action, find out if we got our money’s worth.”
“Maybe just a quarter of a mile,” Matthew said. There was longing in his voice.
Barefoot, shirtless, perfect in physical form, he looked magnificent in the moonlight astride that great horse. Tobias had never been prouder of his brother—or more envious. No wonder Claire preferred Matthew to him. Compared to his brother, Tobias knew he would always come in a poor second.
“You’ll need some light,” Henry said. “We’ll follow you with the headlights on.”
“You shouldn’t be driving,” Tobias cautioned as Henry stumbled toward the car.
Henry, who was always good-natured, laughed and tossed him the keys. “Yeah, I’m pretty wasted. Daed and I picked up some Kentucky bourbon on the way home to celebrate. Here, you take over.”
Tobias had been behind the wheel of Henry’s car only once before, but he knew even a Thoroughbred couldn’
t go much past thirty miles per hour. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep control of a car going that slow.
He started the engine while Matthew got the horse into position. When Henry said, “Go!” Ebony Sky took off like a shot.
Watching his brother leaning low, clinging to that horse like a burr as he rode flat out, was one of the proudest moments of his life. He pressed down on the accelerator to keep up.
“Check it out!” he shouted to Henry as the speedometer hit thirty, then thirty-two, and finally thirty-five miles per hour. “That’s good riding! You owe me twenty dollars!”
Matthew had ridden a full mile at top speed and was starting to slow down when a huge, antlered deer darted across the road right in front of the car.
“Look out!” Henry yelled and grabbed the steering wheel.
Tobias managed to swerve and miss it, but lost control of the car when the wheels hit the loose gravel at the side of the road. Neither he nor Henry had bothered with seat belts. Buggies didn’t have seat belts.
He missed the buck, managed to jerk the car back onto the road, overcompensated, attempted to hit the brakes, misjudged, accidentally stomped on the accelerator, and rammed an electric pole head-on. The last thing he remembered was Henry flying through the windshield and Ebony Sky rearing up as broken electric lines flashed in the sky.
The police said later that it was a miracle that he and Henry lived through the accident. The doctors said it was amazing that Tobias, with a fractured leg, had managed to walk to the nearest house where an elderly Englisch widow lived. He had collapsed on the porch, while she dialed the sheriff’s department.
None of the boys had any ID on them. It was several hours before things got sorted out enough to contact their families.
When Tobias woke up, he was informed that his brother had died, electrocuted by the wires that had fallen upon him and the horse.
Some kind souls whispered that it was a blessing the brothers’ mother was not alive to face such heartache. Some tsked over the boys’ foolishness that had caused such a tragedy. Others bemoaned the fact that Henry’s father had lost a prize stallion for which he had saved a lifetime to own.
Hidden Mercies Page 14
