Summer of Secrets

by Charlotte Hubbard

  What would she do if he renounced his Amish ways? Forgot his promises to her? While she hadn’t yet whispered to her friends that she was working on wedding plans, folks in these parts knew she and Micah had been sweet on each other for years. How would she stand it if he backed out on her now? How would she endure the humiliation of facing her friends ... going to singings and hoping, like a sixteen-year-old, that a nice fellow from around these parts would drive her home?

  I’m too old for that now. What if I end up a maidel like Eva Schrock ... grim and unsmilin’, peckin’ away at everyone like a biddy hen?

  The stark image made her walk so fast her leg muscles ached, yet she needed this release. Along the dark highway she strode, ducking behind the bushes at the intersection of the Brennemans’ lane when she heard laughter and young voices coming from an approaching buggy. Never mind who it was! They mustn’t see her walking alone. Once the courting couple had passed, Rachel headed for the large farmhouse up ahead, beyond the small orchard where pears and apples glowed in the moonlight. Suited her fine that the lights were all out: she’d simply park herself on the front porch, so’s not to miss Micah’s homecoming.

  But when she was within earshot of the two-story house, a familiar voice called to her in the darkness. “That you, Rachel? What’re ya doin’ out and about at this hour?”

  Naomi. And now that her eyes were adjusting to the shadows beneath the overhang of the porch roof, Rachel saw the shape of Ezra’s wheelchair, too. No way to act as though she hadn’t heard the question, so she countered it with one of her own. “Micah home?”

  “Why, no, dear. Thought he’d gone with you and the others to the social in—”

  “Well, he never showed up.” It wasn’t the time to spew her suspicions about where Micah had spent the evening, but there was no turning around and heading home, either. “Not like he didn’t know I made his favorite cookies and a new dress—”

  “He’s been mighty quiet this week. Tuckered out, I’m thinkin’,” Naomi remarked. “The boys’ve been workin’ on a big job east of New Haven. Tables and chairs for a lodge conference center and—”

  “Glad for the business, too,” Ezra cut in. He leaned forward in his wheelchair to peer at her from the shadows. “So ya didn’t bring any of them cookies?”

  “I should think not! Micah’s got some explainin’ to do before I feed him treats!”

  Ezra grunted but then raised his head to look toward the road. “Looks like you’re about to get your wish, missy. Try not to whittle him down with that tongue of yours. Took us this long to see him baptized into the church—”

  “Ezra! We’re goin’ inside so—”

  “—so I don’t wanna hear about him jumpin’ the fence to live amongst outsiders if ya scare him off!”

  Rachel clapped her mouth shut. It was always hard to tell when Micah’s dat was teasing, even as Naomi grabbed the handles of his chair to wheel him inside. Did the Brennemans know their boy had gone to visit Tiffany, or was Ezra pulling her leg? She’d hoped not to bring this sensitive subject to light in front of anyone else, so she turned to watch the approach of the courting buggy.

  Her heart pounded. She hated nagging him ... would rather not pick a fight at this late hour. But didn’t she have a right to Micah’s reasons for leaving her behind tonight? After all, if he’d been visiting her sister on the up-and-up, why hadn’t he asked her to go? Rachel stood a few feet in front of the deserted porch, watching him: Micah handled the reins and Rosie with such expertise, he appeared not to be driving at all but merely along for the ride.

  He stopped about ten feet in front of her, with his mare between them. “Rachel,” he said with a nod.

  “So ya still recognize me. Des gut.”

  He grimaced. “I owe ya an apology, jah. And I’m hopin’ what I learned tonight will prove why I love ya even more than—”

  “How’d your clothes get so rumpled, Micah?”

  “—before! And it’s lookin’ gut for your mamm’s relationship with Rebecca, I’ll have ya know!”

  There it was, like that imaginary elephant in the front room folks avoided instead of talking about. She fought back a sob, wrung out from this endless evening of having her highest hopes dashed. “Seems to me you’re the one workin’ on that relationship. Am I right, Micah?” she blurted. “That’s where you’ve been, ain’t so?”

  He gazed down at her from the buggy seat, daring to smile kindly at her. “Wait’ll ya hear about what I saw on her little computer gadget! Somethin’ so perfect for the little nook Rhoda and your mamm’ll have above the smithy—”

  “Well, hoop-de-do! I’m hearin’ everyone’s name but mine, Micah!” Rachel scowled, detesting that selfish whine in her voice. She sounded like she was six years old, having a hissy fit over not getting her way. And she certainly hadn’t been raised to expect her way from the man she would marry! Yet the fellow in that buggy had the nerve to babble on about—

  “—so when we get hitched, we can—”

  “Ya sure about that, Micah Brenneman?” Like steam building up in a teakettle, she felt herself ready to blow, and there was no holding it back now. “I’ll be twenty-one in a couple months!” she spouted. “Most of my life, I’ve been waitin’ for ya to get established in your family’s business! That’s happened now, jah? But I’ve been waitin’ for ya to latch on to property, too, so’s you could build us a home—except the way I understand it, Mamma’s givin’ ya full run of our place!”

  She stepped backward, blinking rapidly. Powerless against the rant that bubbled over like pie filling in a hot oven. “How long do I have to wait before ya see this Tiffany’s nothin’ but trouble, Micah?” she continued in a terse whisper. “The bishop’s warned ya—twice now! The property and the house don’t mean a thing if the People bring the ban down on ya for spendin’ more time alone with that Englisher who wears all the makeup and that skull tattoo!”

  Still Micah sat there, watching her. Waiting for her to run out of steam ... to unwind and fall silent, like a top whirling at full speed eventually slows and topples over. “I understand why you’d feel this way, Rache, and I—”

  “You understand nothin’ of the sort!” she cried. “Sometimes I think ya just enjoy windin’ me up and watchin’ me spin this way. Ya knew how I was lookin’ forward to the ice-cream social—with you—and yet ... and yet ya left me alone all night without so much as a fare-thee-well.”

  He glanced at the house behind her and then patted the buggy seat. “Got an audience,” he murmured. “Let’s take this somewhere else, Rachel, on account of how I want to share so much more than what I learned at Rebecca’s—”

  “And what might a man like you learn from a girl wearin’ chains and witch-black hair?” she challenged.

  Micah leaned down, beckoning her forward with a bent finger. “All I saw in her fridge was beer, Rache. Not that she could cook if she had any food—and she admitted as much.” He tried to rest a hand on her shoulder, and smiled again when she jerked away. “And I learned how precious you are to me, with your Plain ways and your sweet, clean face. We’re travelin’ through this world at the same pace, you and I, and I want it to be you I travel with from here on out, honey-girl.” Again he patted the buggy seat. “Please? It’s you I love, Rachel Lantz. Even if your sister looked just like ya, I could never care for her serious-like.”

  Was he wearing her down? Or was she finally ready to listen to what this handsome, if rumpled, man had to say to her? With a sigh, Rachel clambered up into the buggy and sat beside him, leaving a conspicuous space between them.

  Micah cocked his hat farther back on his head, smiling now. He clapped the reins lightly against Rosie’s back and waited until they were halfway down the lane before he spoke again. “Have I ever mistreated ya, Rache? Or forsaken ya? Or lied to ya—except for this visit to Tiffany’s tonight?”

  Rachel stared warily at him in the darkness. The buggy swayed over rough spots in the road, making her bump into him now and again. “
We ... we’ve been sayin’ for weeks we’d be goin’ to the social—”

  “And it was wrong of me to keep my intentions to myself, after your sister invited me last week to see her again tonight. I knew you’d feel betrayed—anybody would,” he added with a heavy sigh. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with ya, Rachel. Knew it was the wrong thing to do, even if I told myself I was seein’ her for the right reasons.”

  He steered the mare into a right turn at the county road, away from her house. “But all week, while I was thinkin’ about why Tiffany dresses and acts that way, that Bible verse from Micah reminded me about how the Lord requires us to love mercy, do justice, and walk humbly with our God. I maybe wear that out, on account of how I was named for that prophet,” he admitted, “but those words spell it right out—how we’re supposed to treat other people even if they’re not our People. And even if they don’t treat us the way we’d like to be treated.”

  His voice wafted over her like the night breeze. It wasn’t her favorite thing, to hear Micah talk about how well such a brazen intruder should be treated ... and Bishop Knepp disagreed with this way of applying that Bible verse to outsiders. If the brethren heard Micah had gone to see Rebecca again, she fully expected them to discuss a shunning—as much because he’d disobeyed the bishop’s dictates as for chasing after the likes of Tiffany Oliveri. Rachel tried to formulate an answer as he pulled the buggy off the road into a little grove where they’d often sat talking in the moonlight.

  “I won’t be goin’ back, Rachel,” he said firmly. “Truth be told, she paid more attention to her iPad and a phone contraption clipped to her ear than she did to me.”

  “Ah! None of that second-fiddle stuff for you, jah?” she blurted. “So how’d it feel to be ignored, Mr. Brenneman? And ya still haven’t told me how your clothes got so rumpled. A girl could get ideas about that, ya know!”

  “Got caught in the downpour on the way to Morning Star. Sat around in the apartment she’s sharin’ with her best friend and that gal’s boyfriend ... wearin’ the boyfriend’s jeans and T-shirt while my clothes were in the dryer.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I know that sounds mighty suspicious. But I hope you’ll believe me when I say your sister’s got a lotta important pieces missin’, far as what I want and need in a wife, Rachel. Coulda had whatever I wanted—more than pizza—on account of that’s what she was offerin’. She laughed at me when I said I was savin’ all that for marriage. For you.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Was there such a thing as too much honesty? As Micah described his evening, the pictures in her mind were anything but flattering, yet ... his voice and his tone sounded sincere. Weary of the outside world after just two visits with Tiffany.

  “I love ya, Rachel,” he murmured. “Will ya still give me the rest of our lives to prove that to ya, every single day?”

  She closed her eyes, wanting to believe such sweet words from the man who sat beside her. So many fellows went wild with women during their rumspringa, yet Micah had not. So many of her friends, married for a few years and balancing babies on their hips now, acted as though the romance they’d known during their courting days had evaporated like morning dew ...

  After tonight’s episode, she had a lot to consider about things she’d naively taken for granted, lost in the haze of new love. Never before had she doubted Micah’s intentions. It didn’t feel good, assuming the worst about where he’d been and what he’d done this evening while she fumed at home in her new dress with her tray of cookies.

  Micah gently lifted her chin with his finger. He scooted closer and draped an arm loosely behind her, on the seat. “You’re not much on hearin’ about this, I know, but Tiffany—Rebecca—has a lot in common with you and Rhoda right now. She’s not only lost a parent, she’s learned that some mighty disturbin’ secrets were kept by the people she trusted most. Gotta be tough, findin’ out you’re not who ya always thought ya were.”

  Rachel gazed into the eyes that were focused on hers. “Not easy findin’ out that Mamm and Dat kept that secret, either, ya know.”

  “I suspect the brethren had a say in that. Since your dat was a deacon and all.” He cleared his throat, thinking. “I’m guessin’ it’s takin’ a toll on your mamm, too, havin’ to bear the brunt of this alone. She’s looked a little worn around the edges this week, even though she’s wantin’ to catch up to her lost daughter.”

  “The bishop’s got ideas about that, too.” Rachel made a face in the darkness as she recalled Hiram Knepp’s stern reprimands when he’d cornered the two of them in the smithy the other night ... not to mention how upset Mamma had been after he’d left.

  Micah smiled gently. He ran a tender fingertip alongside her face. “I’ve got ideas, Rache,” he whispered, “and they’ve got nothin’ to do with anybody but you and me. Know what I mean?”

  A little shimmer went through her and she dropped her gaze.

  “If you’re wantin’ me to kiss and make up with ya, honey-love, ya better give me the go-ahead,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna take somethin’ ya don’t wanna give me, just because I want it so bad. Your forgiveness, that is. And then your kisses.”

  Rachel gazed into his handsome face. Where would her dreams be if the brethren banned Micah from speaking and eating with his family and friends in the church—and her? What would happen to their anticipated wedding day? And what would happen if she didn’t forgive him right now? Would he look for someone else on the outside?

  Is that somethin’ you really want to find out?

  Rachel nipped her lip. Micah had explained and was apologizing, after all. He’d been very calm and compassionate—about her feelings and Tiffany’s, as well. Where most men would expect her to go along with their own wishes—or wouldn’t have admitted going to see Tiffany at all—Micah had confessed even the questionable details of his situation. He’d tended to business he felt was far more important than an ice-cream social ... and wasn’t it, after all? Hadn’t her sister’s appearance changed all their lives, whether they liked it or not?

  He’s takin’ the high road here. Are you gonna walk it with him, or get left behind?

  Rachel smiled and cupped his jaw. “How do ya put up with my whinin’, Micah?” she whispered with a sigh. “Sometimes I get so wound up, I—well, your dat irritated me right off by sayin’ not to whittle ya down too far—”

  She stopped there. No need to go into Ezra Brenneman’s rant, because this moment was just between her and Micah. Softly she kissed him, and felt the sweet relief of his affection easing away the tension of this entire evening. Why had she doubted him? As he wrapped his strong arms around her, settling in for the kind of kissing they both so enjoyed, Rachel smiled inside. Mamma was right: Micah was steadfast and gentle, a man with a plan for taking care of her for all their lives. A man who could rise above her petty remarks and excuses for not being the best woman she could be. He deserved a wife who would support his ideas and believe in him ... believe he had the best of intentions, no matter how things might look on the surface.

  Rachel sighed as he held her close. Being in love felt so much better than fearing she’d been left out of it.

  Chapter 14

  Miriam smiled as she drove the wagonload of Mason jars and canning supplies to the back entrance of the café. The Sweet Seasons had done a brisk lunch business for a summer Monday, and after they’d gone home for dinner with their families, she and Naomi were returning to hold a canning frolic. What with the larger cookstoves here, the commercial dishwasher, and the tables and chairs in the dining room, the café was the perfect place for the women of Willow Ridge to put up large quantities of vegetables from their gardens, which were now in their peak season.

  It pleased her to offer her friends a place where this work would be easier, a way to repay their many favors since Jesse had passed. The evening wasn’t as humid as usual, and with the long, late rays of the sun illuminating the trees after a gentle rain, Miriam felt
as shiny as the green leaves all around her. Maybe it was this recent reuniting with her Rebecca, or maybe time had finally eased her grieving heart: she felt good again. Happy. At peace with her situation, and confident God would show her what came next when the time was right.

  “And here we are again, dearie.” Naomi smiled as she came through the doorway holding a tub of fresh watermelon slices for their break. Mammi Brenneman entered with her, carrying deep baskets of canning lids and rings. “I hear tell we’ve got bushels and bushels of tomatoes comin’ tonight. My Hannah corralled the younger Zook kids, and they picked and snapped string beans all day long. Hope we’ve got lots of pressure cookers comin’.”

  Miriam looked up from the first load of hot, shiny jars she’d run through the dishwasher. “Mighty gut to see ya, Adah!” she said, greeting her best friend’s mother-in-law. “Probably best to do tomatoes on one stove and beans on the other. Maybe keep the tomato mess here by the sinks whilst we pack beans into their jars over by the serving window.”

  “Jah. Did that last year, as I recall. Worked out wonderful-gut.” Naomi’s brown eyes sparkled as she set her watermelon in the refrigerator. “Micah said he and Aaron had some weldin’ to do tonight for a special project. You wouldn’t know anythin’ about that, would ya?”

  “Can’t say as I do. Just glad Rachel was in a good mood this mornin’,” Miriam replied with a chuckle. “She was fit to be tied when Micah didn’t show Saturday night.”

  “Jah, he heard about that from his dat and me, too. It’s one thing to reach out and be kind to your Rebecca,” her friend said with a nod, “but he’s invitin’ another kinda trouble altogether, gettin’ mixed up with sisters. Especially considerin’ ... well—”

  “You can say it out loud, Naomi. She’s not the same Rebecca that Jesse and I woulda raised, but it’s mighty fine to see her alive, ain’t so?” Miriam grinned and then nodded toward the window. “Grab the door, will ya? Leah’s got an armload of tomatoes!”