“Ja. There is, a big problem.”
Naomi listened horrified as Joseph explained that the writer leasing the farm, the Ian McMillan they’d all been thanking Gott for, was actually the person writing the script for the movie about his parents’ murders.
“Oh, no.” She sank into a chair, clasping her sticky hands together. “That is . . . upsetting.”
“Ja, well. I’m afraid we’ve even more trouble than that.” His throat flexed as he swallowed. “Turns out we can’t move to Ohio after all.”
“Why not?”
“It was my doing. I needed a forwarding address on the paperwork, and I foolishly put down Melvin’s. And of course, that was on Ian McMillan’s copy of the lease.”
Naomi sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, Joseph!”
Joseph circled his hat restlessly through his fingers. “I went to the store to call Emma, but there was a message from her waiting on the machine. Some reporters have already come around the farm, pestering, taking pictures. She can barely set foot outside. They’ve trespassed all over the dairy and upset my kossin Henry. They’ve got the whole community unsettled. It’s a quiet town, no tourism to speak of, and they aren’t used to such things. It’s been very upsetting to everyone, and they’ve little idea how to handle it. If we move there, it’s likely to get worse, so their bishop told Melvin that he thought it best if we stayed put, at least for the time being.”
“I’m so sorry, Joseph! I’m the one who suggested you go to Mona about leasing out the farm. I feel this is partly my fault.”
“It isn’t.” Joseph’s denial came quick. “You did nothing wrong, and you weren’t mistaken about Mona. She meant well, and putting that address on the paper was my mistake.” He squared his shoulders. “This change in plans is just something we must accept. Gott opens and shuts doors as He sees fit, and it seems that Ohio is not His will for us.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Ich vays naett,” Joseph admitted quietly. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s wise to stay here in Johns Mill, but I don’t know where to go, if not to my uncle’s. I must pray and think about it before I decide. One thing, though, is certain. Even if we do move, it will not be so soon as I’d hoped, so it’s no longer necessary for us to rush into a marriage.” He paused, then added, “That is what you wanted, ain’t so?”
Naomi clenched her fingers together under the veiling tablecloth before she answered him. “Ja,” she agreed in a voice that sounded surprisingly normal. “That is what I wanted.”
He crossed to the table and sat, placing his hat on the cloth next to the stockpot of gently steaming apples. He looked at Naomi directly, and she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Naomi, it seems there’s another wave of trouble coming in my family’s direction. It may be God’s will that I stand here to face it, although I’m not certain I can stay on the farm. I’m going to try to get out of the lease, but there’s no telling if that’ll be possible.”
“Mona should never have allowed that man to lease your farm in the first place. Isn’t there anything she can do?”
“It seems not. I’m not blaming her. Daed always said, when you do business, inside the faith or out of it, treat others as fair as you can, but make sure you look to your own good, too. I didn’t check the details as close as I should have, and the trouble I’ve ended up with is more my fault than anyone else’s.” Joseph cleared his throat. “With that in mind, there’s something I’d like to say to you.”
“All right.”
“Given the situation I’m in, I’ve not much good to offer you as your husband, and it may be a while before that changes.” He paused. “I’ve no place for sure to live, no work that could support a family, and most likely more trouble coming from this movie situation. You made it clear enough earlier that you were having some doubts, and I think maybe I sweet-talked you into just postponing the wedding instead of calling it off altogether. Selfishly, I still want to marry you, Naomi, but the truth is, right now I can’t see my way clear to take care of a wife. And I’d guess any doubts you had about marrying me before are multiplying like spring rabbits.” He lifted his chin. “If you’d rather we break off our engagement altogether, I will understand.”
A silence fell, punctuated by the drips of applesauce falling from the idle mill into the pot it was perched on. She knew Joseph was waiting for her answer, but she remained silent, tussling hard with her conscience.
She knew from the look on his face the answer he was hoping for, and more than anything, she wanted to give it. But she sat silently as wave after wave of guilty thoughts, sharp as splinters of glass, washed over her.
This kindhearted man wasn’t so selfish as to ask her to stand by him during this fresh set of troubles, even though he wanted to. Couldn’t she do at least as much for him?
Naomi had struggled with many faults in her life, but she’d never thought of herself as a selfish woman. Yet right now, with her heart laid plain alongside Joseph’s, she clearly was more self-centered than she’d ever imagined.
She tightened her hands until her short nails bit into her skin. “I’m not having doubts about you, Joseph. You’d make any woman a fine husband. But—” She stopped. This was very hard. “This does seem a real poor season to be thinking of marriage.” She had to pause and swallow, but then she ploughed ahead. “It might be wisest to go back to the way things used to be, don’t you think? I will continue to come over and help with Miriam and the housekeeping, and you and I will be gut friends, just like we always were.”
Joseph’s face tightened, but when he spoke his voice was gentle—and sad. “Is that what you want, Naomi? For you and I to be only . . . gut friends?”
Naomi struggled to find a way to answer him honestly. In the end, she sidestepped the question. “It seems the sensible thing. It’s settled then. Things between us will go back to the way they were, ja?”
She stood, even though her knees were quaking, and reached for the big, slotted cooking spoon resting against the side of the stockpot. She ladled another load of soft apple chunks into her mill and turned the handle.
She could feel Joseph’s eyes on her, but she didn’t dare look at him. If she saw even a hint of pleading in his brown eyes, even the whisper of a wish that she would still agree to be his wife, she’d never be able to hold to this course.
Joseph cleared his throat raggedly. Even so, when he spoke, his voice was raspy. “Denki, Naomi. It comforts Miriam very much to have you here, so long as it suits you to keep coming.” He got to his feet. “I’ll speak to Isaac and let him know that . . .” He trailed off. “I’ll let him know,” he finished finally.
“Working here suits me well enough for now.” She gave him a determined smile. “I won’t be staying in Johns Mill much longer, likely, but until I head back to Kentucky, I’ll be along every morning, same as always.”
Looking up was a mistake. Their eyes caught, and just as she’d feared, what she saw glimmering in his eyes hit her hard in the pit of her stomach. Hurt and sorrow, and a tired resignation that made her queasy.
She looked back at the apple mush she was pushing through the mill. “Supper will be simple tonight. Just leftover roast sandwiches and some soup. These apples are going to take most of my kitchen time today. I will call you in from your workshop when it’s time to eat.”
There was another short silence, except for the grinder squeaking its protest with every turn.
“Denki, Naomi,” Joseph repeated quietly. Then he clapped his hat back on his head and was out the door in another blast of wintry air.
Naomi paused to watch him striding hunch-shouldered across the barren lawn toward the cold sanctuary of his woodshop. He walked like a man two decades older than he was, and in that she recognized something she’d been too shy, too unsure of herself, to fully believe until now, when it was too late.
Joseph had trul
y cared for her.
The truth of it crashed over her, and she dropped into her chair, breathing half-breaths, her heart pounding crazily. This gut, gentle man had cared for her, and she’d just broken his heart.
Naomi had known plenty of pain. She’d suffered with her illness, she’d buried her parents, and one terrible summer morning she’d stood beside the grave of a five-year-old nephew who’d fallen to his death from her brother’s barn loft.
She had known pain, ja. But she had never known, not in her whole life, any pain worse than this—worse than hurting this man she loved—and who, as hard as it was for her to believe, loved her back.
More than anything, she longed to follow him, to hurry into his arms and tell him she’d changed her mind. But the situation she faced was still just as unyielding as it had been before. This pain was awful, but it changed nothing.
If she didn’t hurt Joseph now, she would only hurt him worse later. Herself, too, because she would have to watch him pit the remains of his strength against the financial and physical hardships that mounted ahead of her, like a moth senselessly beating itself to death against the globe of a burning lamp. She didn’t think he could win, but she would have to watch him lose everything he had left trying, knowing she was the cause of it all.
And that . . . that was the only thing she could imagine that would be worse than this.
Chapter Thirty
“You must not be discouraged, Joseph.” Isaac pitched his voice low as they walked down the busy sidewalk toward the bakery’s parking area. “We drive ourselves into confusing places when we take the reins of our lives into our own hands. It is Gott’s job to guide us in whatever direction He deems best. Ours is to follow willingly, even when the path doesn’t lie along a road we ourselves would choose.”
Joseph smothered a sigh. He’d hoped to keep this uncomfortable meeting brief, but after he’d explained that the wedding was off, the bishop had insisted on walking him back to the buggy. Isaac meant well, but Joseph wasn’t in the mood to listen to a sermon.
“Ja,” he agreed shortly. “It seems marriage isn’t in Gott’s plans for me.”
They rounded the corner revealing Titus standing patiently in front of the Hochstedler buggy. The bishop stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. Joseph halted, too, out of politeness, relieved that this painful discussion was nearly over.
Isaac held up a finger, as he often did when preaching. “Nee, Joseph. You should not let this disappointment put you off marriage altogether. A fraw and kinder, these are blessings that every man should hope for. In time, you will find the one Gott has set aside for you.”
Joseph nodded, but he wasn’t so sure Isaac was right. He couldn’t imagine ever loving another woman, not the way he loved Naomi. Could be Gott meant for some men to stay single.
“I’d best get on,” he murmured politely. “I have another appointment here in town to keep yet.”
“Of course. Mach’s gut, Joseph. I will be praying for you.”
“Denki,” Joseph answered. As the bishop walked back to the bakery, Joseph unhitched Titus and hoisted himself into the buggy.
Well, the wedding was officially off, and at least he should feel relieved the unpleasant meeting with Isaac wasn’t still hanging over his head. He didn’t, though. He couldn’t seem to feel anything but miserable. Ever since his conversation with Naomi, his heart felt as if it had been dragged over gravel.
Yesterday, when Naomi had looked at him across the kitchen table and had so quickly agreed that their marriage be canceled, it had knocked him to his knees. In spite of the unsettling news he’d brought home, he’d half expected her to reassure him in that quiet, steadfast way she had. He’d wanted her to say that whatever challenges he faced, she would face alongside him. He’d no right to ask her for such a thing, but he’d secretly hoped she’d offer it.
It was what he would have done, had the tables been turned, and he’d truly believed that Naomi cared for him as he cared for her. Or that she was beginning to.
Instead she’d shrugged off their marriage plans like an unwanted shawl. It stung, that. In the end, he’d been wrong about Naomi, just as he had been about Rhoda. Ja, he was a pretty poor scholar when it came to understanding women.
Joseph shifted restlessly on the buggy seat. He needed to push this out of his mind for the time being. He had the rest of his life to learn to live with his misery. Today he was meeting with Stephen Abbott, and any Amish fellow meeting with an Englisch lawyer had best keep his wits about him.
Abbott’s law office was located in an elegant old home on the outskirts of town. Joseph was temporarily flummoxed as he pulled to a stop in the yard. Unlike most businesses in Johns Mill, there was no hitching rail here. Not surprising, since Plain folks rarely dealt with attorneys, but it posed a problem.
After considering his options, Joseph tied Titus to the lowest limb on the stately oak tree in the middle of the front lawn. He winced as the horse began to crop at the short grass, strangely green for the middle of winter. He’d just have to hope this meeting was over before Titus did too much damage.
He retrieved the folder Mona had given him from the buggy seat. As he turned toward the white-columned house, a sheriff’s car slowed on the road and turned into the drive, stopping beside him.
Sheriff Townsend hoisted himself out of the tan cruiser. He mumbled into the radio clipped to his shoulder, then crossed in front of the idling car to where Joseph waited.
“Joseph.” The older man threw a thoughtful glance at the building behind them. “I’d appreciate a word with you if you’ve got a minute.”
“A minute only, I’m afraid. I have an appointment with Stephen Abbott.”
“Do you, now.” The officer’s gaze sharpened, and he reared up on the toes of his boots to peer into the empty buggy. “You here by yourself?”
“I am alone, ja. Is there some problem, Sheriff?”
“Well, I don’t know if there is or not.” Townsend scratched at his chin. “You ain’t heard nothing from that brother of yours lately, have you?”
“I have not. Why?”
“I thought maybe that’s why you were here. I had a complaint about him from Mr. Abbott just the other day. Seems your brother’s been doing some jackleg investigating. Caleb’s contacted some of the Abbotts’ friends, trying to get a bead on where Trevor might be holed up.”
“I see.” Joseph wasn’t surprised. Caleb didn’t change course easily once he’d set his mind on something. “Is he breaking the law by doing this?”
“Not technically, but he’s skirting it. If he does get in touch with you, now, you be sure and tell him he’d best leave the detective work to the authorities. All right? He’s stirring up an anthill that would be better left alone. So far Stephen Abbott’s cooperating with law enforcement, but he’s not willing to stand by and see his son clobbered from behind in some dark alley.”
Joseph recalled what Caleb had said about the Abbotts using their money to keep Trevor out of sight. How much cooperation was really going on, he wondered? Then he shut the thought down. If he allowed that question to take root in his mind, especially after what had just happened with Naomi, he’d soon find himself traveling down the same road Caleb had taken.
“My brother’s looking only for justice. Trevor is in no danger from Caleb. That isn’t our way.”
The sheriff lifted an eyebrow. “That photographer he punched might see things a little differently. Caleb’s gone rogue, Joseph. How can you know for sure what he will or won’t do?”
An uneasy chill snaked its way up Joseph’s backbone. Townsend had a point. Caleb had stepped well beyond the restraints of their faith. There was no telling what he might do in the heat of his temper and his grief.
“Like I said,” Townsend continued, “if you do talk to Caleb, do your best to make him see reason.” The sheriff nodded toward the stately old house. “And
watch yourself in there, all right? Just between us, Stephen Abbott’s got deep pockets, powerful friends, and a real flexible conscience. He’s also got a wife who’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and his son’s accused of murder. You annoy him right now, it’d be like poking a rabid raccoon with a short stick.” The officer let his advice sink in before adding, “I’ll let you get on to your meeting. Won’t help you any to keep Abbott waiting. You be sure to let me know if you hear from Caleb, now.”
Townsend waited for Joseph’s nod before lumbering back to his car. Joseph watched the sheriff drive away, then he headed up the curving walkway to Abbott’s law office.
The dark green front door opened into an echoing, high-ceiling space, smelling strongly of lemon furniture polish. A severe-looking secretary was tapping on a computer. She glanced up, one eyebrow arched, but Joseph didn’t have time to offer his name before Stephen Abbott appeared in a doorway on the right side of the hall.
Joseph hadn’t seen Abbott since the day of Mamm and Daed’s funeral. The man in front of him bore only a passing resemblance to the shaken Englischer who had stumbled up his driveway, one arm around his trembling wife. He had some color in his face now, and he stood a good deal straighter. Abbott smiled and held out his hand.
“Joseph! Good to see you. Come on into my office. Eileen, hold my calls, please.”
Joseph shook the attorney’s hand, which felt oddly greasy, as if it had recently been oiled. He fought the urge to wipe his palm on his pants as Abbott led the way into a spacious office. Motioning Joseph into a red wing chair, the lawyer settled on the opposite side of an immense desk.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Hot tea?”
“No, please. I don’t need anything.” With difficulty, Joseph dragged his eyes away from the elaborate carvings trailing up the sides of the desk. Impressive work, but too showy for his tastes. “I thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Abbott. How is your wife?”
“A little better.” A shadow crossed the other man’s ruddy face. “Thanks for asking. She’s under the care of an excellent doctor, and he’s got her on some medication that seems to be helping. Of course, until all this business with Trevor is settled . . .” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “You said on the phone that there was something I could help you with?”
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