by Tricia Goyer
“You can join me if you’d like.” Ben scooted over on the log, moving closer to the gnarled roots. “I warmed it for you.”
She shook her head. “Uh, no thanks.” She curled her toes in her boots. “Don’t want to stay out too long. Jest . . .” She tried to think of an excuse, but none seemed to work. She couldn’t confess that the pounding of her heartbeat would increase the nearer she got to him. “I just better head back.”
Ben nodded and stood, nearing her. An ache filled her chest as she imagined taking up his offer and sitting next to him. It ached even more to see him striding toward her. She’d pushed him away time and time again, but he’d never lost that small smile that played on his lips—or the intense care in his gaze—whenever he saw her.
“Let me walk you back, then.” He swooped his arm wide, as if directing her to lead the way. Even though she gave no evidence of her returned affection, though it was obvious they couldn’t be anything more than friends, Ben made it clear he’d take what he could get.
“Have you settled back in?”
She knew he referred to the return trip to Indiana—the one she’d abandoned. “Oh, yes, weeks ago.”
“And do you still think coming back here was the right choice?”
His questions were so direct. She cleared her throat. “I believe so. Dat says he couldn’t imagine what the house would be like without me.”
“So are you going back in the spring?”
She paused, and Trapper stopped at her side. Marianna placed a hand on her hip. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Ben chuckled. “Just the opposite, Marianna. I just wanted to know how long the sun would be hanging around. My days always seem brighter with you in it. Even on cloudy days like today.”
She nodded but didn’t respond. She continued her pace, slower than normal. She should be spending as little time with him as possible, but something inside urged her to linger.
As they walked, the only sounds were the dry brush scraping against their clothes and the crunching of frozen grass. When the roof of her house came into view, Marianna paused.
“I like to hear you say things like that, Ben, but I tell myself I shouldn’t. Amish folks don’t talk in such a manner. We focus on humility.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She lifted a hand, halting his words. “Do not worry. You jest don’t know these things. Unless you were one of us, you couldn’t know.”
Ben nodded and fixed his eyes forward. If she wasn’t mistaken, his shoulders slumped.
Marianna’s heart ached as if she’d slapped him in the face. She could see the sting of rejection in his gaze, but what else could she do? She couldn’t allow him to continue such nonsense. Marianna trudged on. They emerged from the woods behind her parents’ house. From the corner of her eye she saw movement from the back cabin window, but when she looked again, there was only a slight fluttering of the curtain.
She considered inviting Ben in. If he were any other neighbor—Amish or Englisch—she would have. People were like that around here, friendly, sociable. But Marianna cared for Ben in a different way than she cared for others in the community. Deep, romantic notions refused to be locked away. If she invited Ben inside, Mem no doubt would see through her act of “just being neighborly.” It would bring up too many questions. And concerns.
So she glanced down the road as if looking for a way out from this conversation.
“Have you seen my uncle? I’ve heard he’s preparing his buggy for winter. I imagine—”
“I saw him yesterday, Mari.” Ben’s voice quieted. He studied her face and she could tell he understood. They must say good-bye. His lips turned down, and he brushed something off his pants leg—though nothing was there.
“Speaking of your Uncle Ike, I need to drop by his place. He wanted to talk to me about some deliveries I need to make tomorrow.”
“That’s fine. Trapper will make sure I get all the way home. Surely we won’t get lost.” She forced a small laugh but it sounded as dull as the chilled world around her.
“See you later, then?” He picked up the pace and veered the direction of the road. She continued toward their log house. Her lip trembled as she watched him go, then she lifted her chin and told herself to stay strong.
“It’s how things have to work, Trapper.” She spoke to the dog trotting by her side, but her eyes were still fixed on Ben’s departing form. “I suppose someday we’ll both be comfortable just being friends.”
Marianna entered the house. David and Josiah were at school. Charlie—his leg still bandaged from being burned in an accident over a month ago—read a book on the couch. Both Ellie and Joy napped. She could hear her father’s heavy footsteps upstairs as he worked on one project or another. He finished up a building project at Kootenai Log Homes yesterday and would start another tomorrow. Today was his day to take care of things around their house, and Marianna had to admit she enjoyed seeing his smile and hearing him whistle as he worked.
Life here was so different from life in Indiana.
She glanced to her mother in the kitchen as she took off her coat. Mem was busy washing dishes and didn’t look Marianna’s way. Something about Mem’s slouched posture and lowered head made the hairs on the back of Marianna’s neck stand on end.
Nearing, she noticed silent tears streaming down Mem’s face. Her mother pulled a hand out of the dishwater, wiping them away and leaving small, bubbly suds on her cheek.
Marianna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Mem, what is it?”
“Maybe you were right, Mari. Maybe we shouldn’t have come here. Who knows, you could be planning a wedding by now.” She spoke in a low whisper. “You were so determined when we left, and Aaron had worked so hard on the cabin . . .”
Marianna rinsed off the last of the dishes in the basin of water, then placed them in the dish strainer. Her chest felt heavy, as if each of Mem’s words was a brick, piling on top of it. Her mother no doubt had seen her and Ben walking outside. She’d also probably noticed Marianna had written less frequently to Aaron. How could she tell her mother things had changed? That she had changed. It took all her energy to keep her feelings for Ben at bay. She didn’t have the emotional strength to communicate with Aaron or consider what possibility there was for a relationship with him.
Marianna looked to Mem again. Her face had grown pale. With frantic motions, Mem scrubbed a pan that already looked clean. There had to be something more. Something else bothering her.
Marianna took her time drying the dishes, waiting.
“I got a letter from an old school friend.” Mem said it as if trying to make Marianna believe she was switching topics, but the look in Mem’s eye told Marianna different.
“Really? Good news?”
“Ja, ja, yet another grandchild. It makes eight. Eight grandchildren. And to think we went to school together, are the same age.”
Marianna picked up the dishtowel. Had her sisters lived, they would have made their mother a grandmother many times over by now. Had her older brother Levi joined the church and married Naomi, then they could’ve had a baby by this time too.
A few rays of sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, but the gray clouds made it impossible for any warmth to break through. Her heart ached for Mem’s losses—unfulfilled dreams—but a new emotion stirred too. Anger. Why did this pressure have to fall on her? She had enough to worry about. Now she had to carry Mem’s burden too?
God, it doesn’t seem fair. Couldn’t You have made it easier? Help me here. She waited for His peace to come, but instead the glass pane of the window radiated more cold.
“I . . . I didn’t say I would never consider marrying Aaron. It’s jest I’d like some time to think some more. Maybe whenever I do go back, I can see him and we can talk about things.”
Was it just her imagination or did Mem’s shoulders straighten a bit?
“Yes, gut, but don’t wait too long. There are other young women . . .” Mem let her voi
ce trail off. “There are rumors.”
“Rumors?”
“That Aaron was in a relationship. Or at least it appeared as such.”
Mem didn’t mention Naomi’s name. Marianna wouldn’t either, but they both knew. She thought back to the letters from her friends talking about how close Aaron and Naomi seemed to be at Clara’s wedding.
“I’ve heard the same, but you know rumors.”
“Don’t break his heart, Mari.” Mem’s whispers sounded like a low hiss. “He has yet another woman who’d give her heart to him. And where would that leave you? Don’t walk away from your dream and live with regrets for the rest of your life. Don’t let your heart get caught up in what it ought not.”
“Mem, you don’t understand—”
Mem turned to her. “Really? Do you honestly believe that? Do you not think I was young once?”
“Of course, I know you were—”
Mem raised her hand. “Don’t believe yer the only one whose eyes have turned to a handsome Englischman, Marianna Sommer. There was a time I—”
Dat’s steps sounded, and Marianna turned toward his approach.
“Ruth.” Dat walked into the kitchen. “Do you have any more clean rags? I’d like to change the dressing on Charlie’s wounds.”
Mem brushed a strand of hair back from her face and patted her kapp. Then she forced a smile. “Ja, of course. I washed some and have them hung to dry upstairs. I’ll fetch them.”
“I can do it—”
“Nah.” Mem raised a hand. “I should check on Joy. She hasn’t eaten in a while.”
Mem rushed from the room. Dat seemed oblivious to the pain on her face, but Marianna hadn’t missed her mother’s furrowed brow, red cheeks. Anger and something else . . . shame?
Who was this Englischman Mem spoke of?
CHAPTER THREE
Whitefish, Montana, next stop!”
The conductor’s voice echoed through the car as he strode by. Aaron straightened in his seat and looked out at the town coming into view, at the mountains stretching into the sky. He’d never seen such mountains! They were beautiful, but their sharp peaks and jagged cliffs reminded him he was far from home. Give him a field and a dozen cattle any day. Give him lumber and some nails. Those he could control. Here?
Nothing seemed in control.
Maybe he should have let Mrs. Sommer tell Marianna he was on his way. For the first hundred miles on the train he pictured Marianna’s smile as she saw him. But the closer he got, the more he questioned if that would be the case. Had the distance ruined any chance of the love he’d once counted on?
First he felt a shudder, then the grinding of wheels locking up. Finally a loud clanging sounded as the train slowed to a stop. Aaron adjusted his straw hat and grabbed his suitcase, eager to leave behind the movement of the train that caused his stomach to rumble as if it were filled with a hundred bees.
Descending the train steps, he scanned the old-fashioned platform. The crisp, cold Montana air hit him and his stomach ached. People moved about, unloading and loading, all of them Englisch. He’d been the only Amishman on the train, and it looked like he was the only one here, too. If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Sommer’s letter, talking about the small Amish community in West Kootenai, he would have thought he was getting off at the wrong stop.
A steady snow fell. Large white flakes landed on the wet ground with a plop.
Aaron carried his small suitcase onto the platform and scanned the faces. Was one of these folks his driver? A few people gazed at him, but none approached. Maybe he’s inside. His chest felt hollow. He’d never felt so alone.
Aaron entered the station and looked at the rows of wooden benches and the ticket desk. Everything within him told him to go back. To get on that train and head home—back to everything he knew.
But his longing for home paled in comparison to his longing for Marianna. He had to know if she still loved him.
The air was warm in the station. People filled the space. A television mounted overhead gave a weather report—more snow coming. Most people sat with computers on their laps and music devices attached to their ears. A girl sitting tugged her mother’s arm and pointed at him. Others eyed him, their curiosity evident in their widened eyes. One teen took a photograph.
His chest tightened, and he found it hard to breathe. All confidence in who he was and what he stood for had been left behind on the train platform in Indiana. He was nothing here—worse than nothing. A spectacle.
“Hey there.” A voice sounded behind him, and Aaron turned to see an older man staring at him with a gapped-tooth smile. “Are you the Amish guy who needs a ride up to Rexford?”
“Sir, it’s West Kootenai, but yes, I do need a ride.”
“Rexford, West Kootenai—it’s close enough. Do you need help with your things?”
Aaron glanced down at his one suitcase. “I think I got it.”
The man wore a thick fleece jacket and an even thicker beard. He seemed tired, jittery. He rubbed his eyes. “Yes, well, I suppose you do. We best get hurrying now. I need to make it up the hill afore supper. There ain’t nothing worth missing supper for.” He strode off with quick steps. Aaron had no choice but to follow. Just outside the train station the man climbed into a white van parked in a no-parking zone. The filthy, dented van had seen better years.
Aaron climbed in. The snow fell faster now and a layer of slush covered the road. As soon as Aaron’s door slammed shut, the man started up the van and gunned it. The van moaned and slid onto the road, the vehicle’s back end wiggling like the tail of a fish.
Go back! his mind shouted to him again. He fumbled for the seatbelt and snapped it in place. He looked around them. They were the only ones on the road. If Aaron needed help, he’d only have the man driving this van to turn to.
Go back!
He pushed the voice away. He had to do this. Had to see her. But what if he’d come all this way and Marianna didn’t want him there?
What if he’d come this far for nothing?
The snow and fog filling the Montana sky outside the van window made Aaron feel like he was in a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. His hand gripped the handle of the passenger side door.
How long had they been on the road? It seemed like forever, though they’d left town only thirty minutes before. And the man’s driving was only getting worse. Why hadn’t Aaron told the driver to stop when he still had the chance? He couldn’t tell him to pull over now. Fields and forests stretched out on either side of the road, and beyond unfamiliar mountains mocked him, reminding Aaron he didn’t belong.
When he decided to leave Indiana, the only thing on his mind was Marianna. He’d thought of her every day as he built a home for her. He’d thought about her when she was gone. Even those days he’d spent with Naomi, Marianna had never been far from his thoughts. He tried to come up with the perfect thing to say when he saw Marianna again, but he’d yet to come up with anything good.
Go back.
He removed his hand from the door handle and crossed his arms over his chest. The heater groaned on high, but it did little good.
His eyes darted to the majestic mountain ranges, but he barely saw them. Instead he looked to his rimmed hat resting on his knee. He ran his hand down his face. The smoothness of the skin on his cheek mocked him. Fear caused his heart to thud in his chest. Fear that he’d come all this way and not see the love in her eyes he desired. For many years he believed in her love just as he believed the sun would rise the next day. But now?
The driver fiddled with the radio dial, then turned to Aaron.
“You talk English?”
Aaron’s head darted up.
“Ja. I mean, yes, uh, sir.”
“That’s funny. I was wondering. You haven’t said more than two words since you loaded up.”
Aaron shrugged. “Got a lot on my mind.”
“Ever been to the West Kootenai before?”
“No, sir.”
“What’s yer reason for comi
ng?” The man took a sip from a thermos of coffee.
“Mrs. Sommer didna tell you?” Aaron eyed the man. His jeans looked like they hadn’t been washed in a week. A large mustache covered his lip and wiggled like a trapped animal when he talked.
“Na. She just sent a mess—”
For a moment it seemed the van floated off the pavement. Aaron’s stomach lifted, like it did when he pumped his legs on the old tire swing back home. His eyes darted to the driver, and the man’s eyes grew wide. The driver’s hands were fixed on the steering wheel, unmoving, but it was as if an outside force had caught hold of the vehicle. The man’s mouth opened in a silent scream. The road, black, shiny and glazed with snow, continued straight, but the van spun toward the opposite lane, heading straight for an oncoming car.
No! Aaron leaned hard against the passenger side door as if his weight alone could push the van back into its lane.
Then, as if hit in the side by a large hammer, the van jolted and spun the other direction, gliding toward a cluster of tall trees.
“Hold on!”
Aaron’s vision sharpened as he focused on the large row of pines on the shoulder of the road. As if in slow motion, the van slid toward trees. Aaron braced his hands on the dashboard, his nails digging in. The tree trunks neared, and then—
The front corner of the van hit, causing a deafening crunch. Then, still in motion, the van spun and turned. Aaron’s door hit first and the sound of bending metal and shattering glass filled his ears. The crushed metal opened, like some monster widening its jaws, and closed around his leg. His breath caught as the tree before him quivered and then snapped, falling, falling. Aaron heard a terrified scream. Only when he felt tears wetting his face did he realize . . .
. . . it was his own voice.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ben crested the hill, newly fallen snow crunching under the tires of his old truck. The tools he’d loaded up in the back for Marianna’s dad, Abe, and her Uncle Ike did a good job weighing down the back. He was taking the tools up to the old Meberg place. Folks had moved into the area a few years ago and started an ambitious building project during that summer. Then winter hit and the snow piled high. They’d abandoned the house half-finished then headed back to a milder climate. Abe and Ike were part of the crew now finishing the job.
