Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  When Leo dropped her and Matthew off, he’d said he would be back. So far, he hadn’t shown. Did she want him to come? She kept telling herself no. Yet her entire body ached in the emptiness of her house. The image of Leo’s hands—carpenter hands—touching her cheek, her arm, or fingers entwined with hers, enveloped her. He had strong arms with muscles honed by years of manual labor. The thought of those arms around her waist made her shiver.

  Grown women shouldn’t act like teenagers. Plain women didn’t act like this. Did they? She had no experience beyond Atlee and look where that had taken her. She let the curtain drop and headed for the stairs. Wise people slept at night.

  You can never trust your instincts.

  What about Gott’s instincts? O ye of little faith?

  The sound of buggy wheels squeaking and horse hooves on the road penetrated the silence. She spun around and darted across the floor to lift the curtain once more. She couldn’t see the driver at first. He hopped from the buggy and tied the reins to the hitching post. Broad shoulders, not too tall. A dark shadow against the moon and stars.

  He started up the steps two at a time.

  Jennie’s heart banged in her chest. He had said he would come.

  Leo was here.

  Before he could rap on the door, she tugged it open. “You came.”

  “You’re awake.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He ducked his head. “Sorry I’m so late.”

  “You weren’t going to come.”

  “I was . . . Then I wasn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s take a ride.”

  “I can’t take a ride.”

  “The kinner are sleeping. You don’t want to leave them alone.” He shifted his feet, his hand on the door as if he feared she would shut it. “Still, we could take a walk down the road and back.”

  She studied his face, half hidden in the shadow of his hat. He’d come all this way. After all this time. For some reason, she couldn’t bear to disappoint him. He’d had his share of hurt in his life. “Jah.”

  His face broke into a smile. The smile looked good on him. “Come on then.”

  “Let me get my shoes.”

  “Gut idea.”

  Jennie made quick work of it and then they strolled side by side along the dirt road, grasshoppers popping out of the grass that lined it as if they’d disturbed their sleep. Cicadas serenaded them. Bullfrogs added their two cents’ worth. The silence between them was nothing like the one on that buggy ride so long ago. It felt comfortable. Light.

  “I’m sorry about the store.” Leo’s voice dropped another notch, so gruff she could hardly hear him. “I know you were trying to make a new start of it there.”

  “You too, I reckon.”

  “I’ve realized something. Making a new start is up to me.” He smiled. “I can have it anywhere.”

  “What are we talking about, exactly?”

  “I’m sorry everyone put so much time and effort into making a butcher shop into Amish Treasures, and now it’ll be something else.” He stopped at the corral fence and propped his arms on the top rail. “And we’ll lose this way of earning money that everyone worked so hard for, but I’m still a carpenter. You’re still good at sewing and making jams and such. We can start over somewhere else. Simple as that.”

  “Is Gott trying to tell us something, then?”

  “More likely Lazarus is trying to tell us something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like greedy human beings will go to great lengths to get their way no matter who it hurts.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Maybe you and I are right to be so distrusting of people.”

  “I can’t speak for you.” Jennie settled in next to him. She watched the leaves of a massive oak tree dance in the moonlight. She tried to order her thoughts. They wouldn’t have light conversation. It wasn’t his way. “My experience is that most people are kind, but somehow it’s the not-so-kind I remember.”

  “Human nature.”

  “I suppose. But it shows a lack of faith in people that shames me. Most are not like Lazarus.”

  Or Atlee.

  “You have your reasons, I reckon.”

  He didn’t know, but somehow he understood. His massive hand moved. His fingers wrapped around hers and squeezed. Heat flooded her from head to toe. Then his fingers were gone again. He gazed straight ahead. Fighting to catch her breath, she glanced sideways at his profile, trying to read that impassive face. She saw something. A want. A question. A hope.

  Like he must see in her.

  She blinked against the tears that burned her eyes. “It’s no excuse. People are good, for the most part. None of us is perfect.”

  “I’m not, that’s for certain.” He turned to face her. “I should’ve tried harder.”

  “We were too young to know better.”

  “I missed all those years.” His hand came up and he traced the line of her jaw with one finger. “I don’t know what happened between you and Atlee, but I see hurt and distrust in your face. I’m sorry for whatever you went through. It makes me want to make it better for you.”

  She was caught by his touch, immobilized by the fear that he would stop. She wanted that touch. His touch. Not just any man’s. Leo’s. After years of being afraid, her want of him exceeded her fear. How could he have that effect on her? The thought released her. She caught his hand in hers, entwining her fingers in his just as she had imagined. His skin was warm, his fingers strong, his skin callused. He had a strong grip, but no anger or hurt lurked there.

  He leaned down and caught her in a kiss that seared her to the bone. His lips warmed every inch of her body. She ceased to breathe. Her free hand slid up his chest and touched his neck. His pulse pounded. Everything cold and hard in her melted. She’d longed for this, missed this, needed this.

  Nee. Don’t be caught in the trap.

  Don’t be a fool. Not again.

  The memory of a raised hand and a raised voice sucked the light from the moon. Darkness descended. This would only lead to hurt and heartache. Pain that had nothing to do with a physical blow. Letting go would lead to an agony of uncertainty day in and day out. She jerked away and stumbled back. “I can’t.” Her hand went to her lips. They trembled. “Don’t.”

  “Why? You don’t like it? Like me?” Anguish stained his words. He raised his hands as if in surrender. “I’m sorry if I did something—”

  “It’s not you.” The words came in a rush. He didn’t deserve to be hurt. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Then what? Did Atlee do something to you?”

  “What makes you think he did something to me?”

  “Some things Matthew said. The way you act around me, like you’re scared.”

  She covered burning cheeks with her hands. She’d spent years not talking about this. Now she had to do it or lose this chance—lose Leo and everything he represented. The words stumbled over themselves, trying to escape. “Atlee wasn’t a nice man.”

  Leo frowned. “He could be mean-spirited.”

  “It was more than that. Sometimes he hurt me. Mostly with ugly words, but sometimes with a raised hand. Sometimes his punishment of the kinner was too much. More than their transgressions deserved.”

  Staring up at the stars, marveling at the beauty of the night sky, she told him her story, her voice barely a whisper. The fear, the pain, the ugliness, the endless nights, the words that left scars.

  He didn’t interrupt, but his grip on the wood tightened until his knuckles were white. His expressions ran the gamut from shock to horror to fierce anger.

  Finally, she stopped talking. Night sounds filled the sudden silence.

  Leo straightened and wheeled around, as if looking for the object of his fury. “If I had known—”

  Jennie caught his arm. Shaking his head, he eased around, shock mingled with sadness in his face. “There would’ve been nothing you could do. I married him. I spok
e the vows.”

  “I promise you I would’ve set him straight about how a man treats a woman. It would’ve ended or I would’ve ended him.”

  For a Plain man to make such a statement spoke of the depth of his feelings. A shudder ran through Jennie’s body. It was better for him that he hadn’t known. The Gmay wouldn’t allow one man to interfere in another’s marriage. “I believe you.”

  “I’m sorry you suffered through that for all those years.” He inched closer. His fingers moved on the wooden railing but didn’t quite touch hers. His gaze sought hers, his expression begging for permission. “I would never hurt you.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “I struggle to trust too.”

  She fought the urge to lean into him, to lay her forehead on his chest, and allow him to hold her up, if only for a few seconds. “To trust Gott?”

  “Jah.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. He pulled her forward. His arms wrapped around her in a tight hug that far exceeded her imagination.

  She leaned into it. His chin rested on her head. He did indeed hold her. The fiery heat of a few moments earlier simmered just below the surface. She ached for another kiss. His lips brushed her cheek. “You have to trust Him first. We both do.”

  She wanted to trust, but fear trapped her on the other side of a deep void. “How?”

  “I don’t know.” Leo’s arms tightened. “But I think this is the first step.”

  “I want to trust Him. I want to leave all the ugliness behind.”

  “Refined by the fire.”

  “Healed.”

  Leo’s hands slid down to her waist. They stayed that way, not moving, not speaking, for a long time.

  “I have to ask you something.”

  His tone warned her. She inhaled his woodsy scent one last time and tugged from his grip. Their gazes locked. She longed for a breeze to dispel a heat that had nothing to do with summer in Missouri. “The thing that kept you from coming tonight. What was it?”

  “Nathan.”

  On the ride home, she’d asked Leo what Nathan wanted with him at Freeman’s. He said nothing important, but his expression said differently. “What about him?”

  “He said he was throwing his hat into the ring. For you. He wanted me to know.”

  “I’m not a prize to be won.” The words came out sharper than she intended. “He has let it be known that he’s interested. I told him I would never leave my faith or my community—not for anyone.”

  “Do you have feelings for him?”

  She could simply say no and enjoy this moment. Keep it whole and hopeful for a memory box that didn’t hold many like it. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  She gripped her hands in front of her until her fingers ached. Nathan was a gentle man who didn’t rock her with feelings that left her vulnerable to new hurt, new pain. “I don’t trust my feelings about anything. Not when it comes to men.”

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t care for him.” The space between them grew. “Why did you come out here with me?”

  “To find out.”

  “Find out what?”

  “If I have feelings for you.”

  “Do you?”

  “Do you think I let just anyone . . . get so close?”

  “Do you think I do?” His voice brimmed with despair. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” He whirled and strode toward his buggy.

  “Leo, wait.”

  He kept walking.

  “When I was married, I learned that love isn’t always kind. It isn’t always patient. It isn’t always gentle. A person doesn’t heal from a deep wound like that with a few hugs and kisses.”

  “It wasn’t love. A man who would do such a thing to a woman or a child isn’t capable of real love.” His voice deepened, strained with feeling. His face radiated with all the kindness, all the patience, all the gentleness she could ever hope for. “I can wait. Until you stop being afraid. But you have to decide. There’s only room for two in love.”

  Then he was gone. And Jennie was alone again. She stood at the corral fence for a long time, waiting for the feel of his hands on her to fade. It didn’t. It stayed with her as the clouds wafted across the sky, revealing the light of the moon and stars that shone more brightly than they had the night before. Could she trust the feelings—sensations—that ran through her white hot? Her response to Nathan was nothing like what Leo made her feel. Nathan was simple, sweet, gentle, a pond with only an occasional ripple. Leo was a riptide, full of fierce passion at one moment, and gentleness the next. Like her feelings for Atlee had been.

  How could she trust that?

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. The old saying kept running through Leo’s head. He pulled on the reins and stopped in front of the tavern. This would be Matthew’s one chance. Jennie had entrusted Leo with her oldest son, and he didn’t intend to let her down. He’d felt Matthew’s absence the second he arrived home from his visit to Jennie’s farm. After living alone for so long, he was acutely aware of a presence—or lack thereof—in his house. Only Beau’s dog snores broke the silence. His mistake had been trusting the boy to stay put.

  The ride into town had been more time for Leo to think and feel, neither of which he had a hankering to do. He could still feel Jennie’s skin under his, her lips, and her warmth. After years of being alone, getting that close to her was almost unbearable. Better to never experience it than to have that one tiny glimpse of happiness, only to have it slip beyond his reach again.

  The grapevine in the Gmay had rippled with stories, but he never knew for sure what went on between Atlee and Jennie. She had been hurt. She was scared. She was confused. Thanks to her dead husband. Her feelings were understandable.

  Nathan was no help at all. If the man truly cared for her, he would bow out. He would leave. He would recognize their differences were insurmountable. If Leo had the opportunity, he would tell Nathan as much.

  And then he would wait. As much as it pained him, he would wait for her to be ready.

  In the meantime, he had to make good on his promise to straighten out Matthew. Jennie’s son would either come back to the house with Leo or take his chances before Freeman, Cyrus, and Solomon. Leo shoved through the tavern’s door and stopped for a second to let his eyes adjust to the low lights. A few tables situated near the bar were occupied by people he didn’t recognize. Likely tourists who’d waited too long to eat supper and found themselves with two options—eat at the tavern or head out on the highway to Chillicothe. The smell of hamburgers and deep-fried onion rings hung in the air. The chatter of folks seated at the long bar mingled with the noise of a huge, flat-screen TV that hung on the wall over it.

  Leo waved at Sam Tate, who nodded, slung a towel over his shoulder, and went back to tending the bar. The owner’s bald spot shone in the overhead lamp. His sparse white hair had become even sparser since Leo’s last visit. Matthew wasn’t among the patrons at the bar. That didn’t surprise him. The real draw was the pool tables in the back where the kids on their rumspringas congregated.

  Gritting his teeth, he forged ahead. It had been years since his own rumspringa. This had been one of the few places they could go in such a small town. Sam tolerated it as long as they didn’t try to sneak a beer or make a ruckus.

  Sure enough. Matthew leaned against the wall, a cue stick in one hand, his gaze fixed on a TV from which blared music that sounded like birds shrieking. He looked up when Leo entered the room. His boot dropped from his spot on the wall. He straightened and leaned his pool stick against the table. His expression didn’t change.

  Leo exchanged greetings with the other kids. None looked happy to see him, but neither did they scatter. They knew he would say nothing. They also knew their parents were aware of their activities. Jamesport was a small town. And this was rumspringa territory.

  Matthew had no business in this territory.

  �
�Let’s go.”

  Matthew picked up a pop glass, wet with condensation. He took a sip and settled it back on a round high-top table. “Nee, I don’t want to go.”

  Leo leaned in close. He kept his voice low, despite the TV’s incessant blare. “You want a big scene?”

  “I want to be left alone.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re seeking something you can’t find.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  Leo gripped the boy’s arm and cocked his head toward the door. “Outside. I can’t hear myself think in here.”

  Matthew’s entire body stiffened. A fierce red blush scurried across his face and enveloped his neck. His scowl reminded Leo of the one he’d seen on Atlee’s face when the man came across Leo talking to Jennie at a singing. It hadn’t intimidated him then. It certainly didn’t intimidate him coming from a fourteen-year-old boy who didn’t know his head from a hole in the ground.

  “Hey.” Elijah Weaver made as if to approach. “Why not have a pop—?”

  Leo fixed him with a stare. “I reckon one of you gave Matthew a ride here. You know better.” Tightening his grip, he focused on Matthew. “Now.”

  Matthew shook loose of Leo’s grip and shuffled past his friends.

  A chorus of “Bye, Matthew” floated from the girls seated in a circle of chairs arranged so they could watch the boys play pool. Matthew ducked his head and plowed forward.

  Outside on the street, Leo sucked in air, glad to be out of the smoky, damp air and the noise.

  Matthew whirled and faced him. “Why did you have to go and do that? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  “There’s too much riding on it.”

  “You afraid Mudder won’t like you if you don’t make good on your promise.” Matthew sneered. “You won’t get to take her for a ride, give her a smack on the lips?”

  Leo forced his hands to remain loose at his sides. He counted silently to ten, then back to one. “It’s something much bigger than that.” Fury at such insolence burned through him. Counting to twenty wouldn’t assuage it. Gott, tell me what to do. How to reach him.

  The sound of a car engine rumbled down the street. Seconds ticked away. His hands fisted, Matthew planted his feet, legs wide apart. Everything about him spoke of challenge.