18
Not Faxon’s Farm
December 11, 1763
All during the sermon, Tessa had been unable to stop thinking about the little diary she’d found in Betsy’s cupboard. About that two lines her eyes happened upon:
How is it possible to love such a man? Yet my soul is bound to him in a way I’ve never known before.
Was Betsy describing her feelings about Hans? But if she were describing Hans, why would Betsy sound so distressed? No, this mystery man couldn’t be Hans, she was sure of it. Betsy Zook loved another man.
And then, as her father was giving the benediction, a face popped into Tessa’s mind and she realized whom Betsy was writing about—the blue-eyed Indian. Of course.
Colliding thoughts filled her mind—what would happen if Hans were to find out about him? Yet it wasn’t her business. And it was wrong of her to read the diary. She should stay out of it. Yet on the other hand, it wasn’t right for Betsy to keep this from him. He should know! And how could he know if Tessa didn’t tell him?
Her mother had a saying: Thoughts might come for a visit, but you need not invite them in for a meal.
But Tessa did just that. That awful thought floated through her mind and she invited it in for a long stay, long enough to spin a scheme, a terrible scheme. During the fellowship meal, she slipped Betsy’s diary into Hans’s coat pocket. No sooner had the meal ended—and it was a bitter meal to swallow because Maria had burned the bean soup—but regret stabbed Tessa’s conscience, and she hurried to retrieve it. Both Hans and his jacket were nowhere to be found.
She went to find her mother in the kitchen with the other women. “Where’s Hans? Where did he go?”
“Betsy left for Beacon Hollow before the meal was served. He left to catch up with her as soon as he finished eating.”
Maria looked up from washing dishes in a hot kettle. “You’d best redirect your heart elsewhere, Tessa.”
Tessa snapped her mouth shut and felt her face turn a half-dozen shades of red.
Maria puckered her mouth. “Oh, don’t look so found out. You’ve never been able to hide your feelings for Hans Bauer.” She pointed a soapy finger at her. “Mind you, Betsy and Hans are destined for each other. No doubt we’ll be planning a wedding before long.” She was suddenly in front of Tessa, peering at her. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve swallowed snakeroot.”
Tessa was hardly aware of Maria’s scrutiny. What had she done? What had she done to Betsy out of jealousy? Out of spite? Suddenly, she was desperate to be outside, someplace where she could draw cold air into her lungs. “Your burned soup. The smell is making me sick. I need some fresh air.” She grabbed her cloak out of the pile and rushed out the door to avoid Maria’s indignant sputtering.
Snow had started to fall again, in large, wet disks. She pulled up her hood and walked toward the woods, taking in great swallows of icy air. What kind of person was she becoming? She had just made one of the gravest mistakes in her life. Betsy Zook had done nothing to her. It wasn’t Betsy’s fault that Hans was devoted to her. Tessa’s stomach churned in a way that she thought she might actually get sick, and it had nothing to do with Maria’s awful burned soup.
“Tessa?”
She spun around to see Martin Gingerich walking toward her. “What are you doing here?”
“I attended your church today.”
He did? She hadn’t even noticed. That was more than a little embarrassing to admit because it was a very small church. Besides, her mind was muddled. She was muddled. No . . . muddied was a better word. She had muddied her soul with sin.
“I saw you slip out the door. You’re not ill, are you?” He came closer. She could see his face—the kind smile, the sparkling eyes. Although Martin was in no way handsome, this was not the first time she’d noticed his eyes. Why was he always so happy? And where was his hat!
“No.” She shook her head and tried to smile back, a weak attempt, but she doubted he could see her face beneath her hood. “I needed fresh air. Maria burned the soup badly and . . . the smoke seemed to fill my mind.”
He nodded. “I wondered why it tasted funny.” He grinned and looked up at the sky. “Being outdoors always helps clear my mind too. Helps me focus.”
She didn’t need her mind focused. She was far too focused as it was. She glanced at him and found him watching her with concern. “I’m all right,” she assured him.
He was silent for a moment, studying her intently, as if his eyes could read her mind. But when he spoke, it had nothing to do with what she was thinking. It came out of the blue. “I’m considering getting baptized in your church.”
Tessa’s eyes went wide. “I would think your father would heartily object.”
Martin lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “His bark is worse than his bite.”
“But why would you want to leave your church?”
“It’s not so much leaving my church. It’s joining yours.”
“Mine?” Oh. Mine. Now she understood.
Something caught at Tessa’s chest. “Martin—”
“I’m not worthy of you, I know that. I’ve always known that.”
Not worthy of her? That would mean he was pretty low on the worthy scale, because right now she considered herself the lowest human being on earth.
“Would it make a difference to you? If I joined your church?”
She felt a wave of shame. “Martin . . .”
“You used to call me Marty. Back when you hated me. I sort of liked it.”
She sighed. “Marty . . . this may shock you to hear me say this”—it shocked her to say it—“but you deserve so much better than me.”
Marty stared at her, an odd expression on his face that Tessa couldn’t discern. “That is just not possible.”
Tessa’s eyes filled with tears. That wasn’t at all what she expected him to say. Not at all. She expected him to agree with her. Couldn’t he see how depraved she was? How deceitful and underhanded?
She wasn’t sure how she felt about rumpled Marty—he didn’t tease her the way he used to, and she didn’t feel quite as annoyed with him as she usually did, plus he was surprisingly easy to talk to. His blue eyes—they were quite nice blue eyes. But her feelings were nothing like the ones she had for Hans. Not even close. “Marty, what do you do when you’ve made a mistake?”
“A mistake?”
“Yes. A terrible, terrible mistake.” She kept her eyes fixed on her shoes.
“How terrible?”
“Sinfully terrible. It was a sin. A dark, horrible sin.” There. That should shock him senseless. His feelings for her would melt and dissolve like the snowflakes that were landing on his hatless head.
“I see. I happen to have plenty of experience in that particular area.”
She glanced up and was surprised to see a big grin on his face.
“So here’s what I do.” He leaned close to whisper to her. “Repent. Confess. Then make it right.”
Near Beacon Hollow
Caleb stood a rod away, watching Betsy. For a moment neither of them moved. She felt an overpowering impulse to reach out and lean against his chest, to feel his arms around her, to breathe deeply of his scent, to touch him and make sure he was real. She wondered if he felt the same longing for her. She might never have known until she took a step or two closer, and at that very moment he held out his hand to prevent her from coming closer. Why would he resist her touch if it had no effect on him?
“I thought you’d left Stoney Ridge,” she said. “I thought you’d gone away without saying goodbye.”
“I left, but only for a short time. I came back to bring you a present. A goodbye gift.”
She couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him again. “Where will you go?”
He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “I am Indian. No Indian can be in one place for too long.”
Now she was the one to plead with him, the way he once pled with her to remain among the villagers on the Monongahela River.
“Couldn’t you try to stay in Stoney Ridge? For my sake?”
“We belong to different worlds, you and I.”
“You’re wrong, Caleb. We’re not so very different. You are half white. I have become half Indian.”
He laughed at that. “Go. To your house. The gift is waiting for you.” He started to move past her, but she touched his arm.
“Come with me. The Bauers will be home soon. Please, Caleb. I want them to meet you. Please. They’re not like others.”
He hesitated, uncertainty in his eyes, before giving a brief nod. She walked ahead of him on the narrow trail, feeling his gaze on her back. She wished that she could think of something fitting to say, but no words came to mind. She slowly realized that no words were necessary with Caleb—that somehow he always knew and understood her heart.
When they came to the clearing, she saw a huddled figure sitting on the stoop.
She stopped so abruptly that Caleb nearly bumped into her. “Who—” she gasped, and it was a gasp, for she could hardly breathe. Her heart started to pound. She spun around and looked at Caleb, eyes wide, as if she had seen a ghost.
Johnny!
She broke into a run. Flat-out, arms and feet spinning like a windmill. Her bonnet fell off, her cloak came loose, and still she raced toward the house. Her brother stood when he saw her coming and met her in the yard, arms opened wide. She threw herself at him, embracing him shamelessly, saying his name over and over. When she finally released him, she took his shoulders to look into his eyes, pressing her fingers deep into the blanket that wrapped around his shoulders. Tears ran down her face and dripped off her chin. He was thin, so thin, and taller than she remembered. His face was filthy with grime and soot and who knows what else, but he was smiling.
She turned to Caleb, astonished. “So this is where you have been these last few weeks? You went to get Johnny and bring him to me.” She turned to Johnny. “To us! For our brother Willie is here.”
Johnny’s eyes went wide. “He did not perish?”
“No!” Didn’t Caleb tell him? But then . . . how would he know? “Willie escaped—the night of the attack. He’s been here, with the Bauers, for months and months. Safe and sound.” There were a thousand things she wanted to ask Johnny, to say to him, but talk could wait. She couldn’t stop smiling, nor could she stop touching her brother—sliding the palm of her hand down his cheek, patting his shoulder, fussing with his hair, reassuring herself it was truly him. “Caleb, Johnny, come inside. I’ll fix you something to eat as we wait for the Bauers to return from church.”
Her heart overflowed in a way she had not thought possible.
Beacon Hollow
Tessa had promised Felix she would help clean up after church, but as soon as the last cup was rinsed, she left Not Faxon’s Farm to head home to Beacon Hollow. Willie wanted to stay and play with Benjo and Dannie, so her parents remained to visit with Dorothea.
As Tessa crossed the yard to the house, she saw smoke rising from the chimney. Betsy was home, which meant Hans would be there too. She took a deep breath as she pulled the latchstring and went into the kitchen. She was startled by the sight of a young white boy in Indian clothes who sat at the table. He was strongly in need of a bath.
Betsy was glowing, fairly dancing around the room in her excitement. “Look, Tessa! Look whom God has returned to us. My brother, Johnny!” Standing behind him, she put her hands on his shoulders, as if to pin him down. “I feel . . . aflame with wonder!”
Tessa felt aflame too . . . first with amazement and then with shame as soon as she realized Hans sat at the far end of the table, arms folded against his chest. She tried to recover her composure quickly. “Welcome, Johnny. You might not remember me, but my name is Tessa.” There was no doubt he was Betsy’s brother. He had the same thick curly blond hair as hers, the same beautiful eyes.
Tessa hung her cloak on the wall peg, her mind spinning. Hans’s coat was hanging on a peg too. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed the book in his pocket. Perhaps it wasn’t too late and he hadn’t read it yet. She felt her spirits lighten. Surely she could wait for a moment when everyone was distracted and quietly retrieve the book. She let her hands drop down along Hans’s coat, hoping for a bump to know which coat pocket the book was in. She felt nothing. “I see Betsy has given you bread and milk. My parents will soon be here.”
“And Willie,” Betsy said. “He’ll be here soon. He’ll be overjoyed to see you, Johnny.”
“I am still unclear how Johnny has been restored to us,” Hans said.
Johnny looked up from mopping his bread in milk. “Caleb came to the village in the night and helped me escape. I couldn’t have survived without him. He brought me all the way here, just like he did for Betsy.”
“Caleb?” Tessa’s voice was a squeak. The blue-eyed Indian?
Johnny pointed to the stairs. Tessa spun around and saw Caleb sitting on the bottom step, long legs stretched in front of him. He sat in the shadows, so silently she hadn’t even noticed he was in the room. She hadn’t even noticed.
Caleb’s eyes searched hers, and she realized he was going to let her decide if she was going to acknowledge that they had previously met.
Tessa chanced a look at Hans. His back was as straight as a plank. There was a tautness, a tension inside of him that almost seemed to hum with vibration. “And tell me again, who is Caleb?” he said. He spoke as if Caleb were not in the same room.
Betsy turned and lifted a palm toward Caleb. “He was in my village. I told you.”
“Today is the first I have heard of him. You had not mentioned that he had helped you to escape.” Hans’s tone surprised everyone with its force. Even Johnny stopped eating to look between Betsy and Hans. “How well did you know this . . . half blood?”
Betsy’s happiness dimmed. “Caleb has shown me great kindness, Hans. He has been a good friend. He is responsible for bringing Johnny and me, both of us, to Beacon Hollow.”
“Shown you kindness,” Hans repeated.
“Yes. Many, many times.”
There was a long and heavy silence. Then Hans’s gaze shifted toward Caleb, bright with suspicion.
He’d found it. He’d read it. Surely Hans had read Betsy’s diary.
Beacon Hollow
The snow that began on Sunday morning did not let up. The temperature continued dropping as Anna and Bairn and Willie returned home in the wagon, late in the day. Bairn had told Anna he would drop them off at Beacon Hollow and then head over to Faxon Gingerich’s. He would try to find out more information about the sister who had been taken captive by the Indians so long ago, but he cautioned Anna to not assume this young man was Faxon’s nephew—and to not let Betsy know—not until they had more information.
But if it were true . . . what a wonder! Only God could have orchestrated such a miracle of restoration. Anna was eager to meet this young man, eager to tell him that he had family nearby.
“Keep in mind,” Bairn warned her in English so that Willie would not realize what was being said, “there’s no guarantee that Faxon would consider the Indian to be kin.”
“Surely, he would,” Anna said. “His own sister’s son? To have a legacy left from her? Surely he would welcome him into his home and regard him with affection.”
“Nae, darlin’. ’Tis a lovely thought, but nae certain at all.” Bairn shook his head. “I ken nae what Faxon will think.”
“Just because this young man was reared among Indians doesn’t mean he isn’t a child of God. Are we not all bound together as one family in the sight of God?”
“I believe so. You believe so. But that dinnae mean others do.”
Bairn pulled the horse and wagon as close to the front door of the house as possible, so that Anna and Willie could hurry in.
No sooner had Anna crossed the threshold into the warm kitchen than she realized they had a visitor. Her first thought was the stranger who sat at the kitchen table must be the Indian who had rescued Betsy—he was dressed in animal skins, his long h
air was gathered in a queue, but it was . . . light-colored hair. And then she saw his face and there was no mistaking who this boy was—he was a slightly older edition of Willie, a male version of Betsy.
Coming around Anna at the door, Willie skidded to a dead stop. His eyes grew wide and his shoulders hunched. Then he screamed “Johnny!” and charged across the room to greet his long-lost brother, nearly toppling him over. Zeeb barked at the two boys, locked in a tight embrace, until Betsy shushed him and wrapped her arms around her brothers. A circle, completed at last.
Laughing, Anna watched the family reunion, soaking up the merriment, tears prickling her eyes. All three Zook children shared similar physical traits—large and trusting bright eyes, flushed cheeks, thick blond hair, all three small in stature with delicate facial features. They sat together at one end of the table, taking turns listening to each other. Despite his ordeal, Johnny’s health seemed good, his spirits were cheerful, his mind was not disordered. Unlike Betsy on her first day back, he did not seem bewildered. Instantly, he engaged with Willie the way brothers teased and laughed with each other, even standing back-to-back to see who was taller.
Like Betsy, Johnny was quite thin. Tonight he would receive a hot bath and a change of clothes.
Clothes! She would have to send Tessa over to Not Faxon’s Farm to borrow shirts and trousers from Felix’s twins. Tomorrow, first thing, she would sew new clothes for this boy. She had noticed Willie was already outgrowing his shirts—he would need new clothes soon too.
She was filled with awe. She had never thought she would be sewing clothes for little boys. Was there any limit to the wonders of God’s providence?
Across the room, something moved, catching Anna’s eye. Not something—someone. An Indian. She hadn’t even seen him until now. He was leaning against the roughly hewn boards of the wall, hidden in the shadows of the slanting sun. From his gentle demeanor, Anna discerned his identity immediately. She walked toward him and held out her hand. “So you must be Caleb.”
The Return Page 21
