Once again Aaron dropped the backpack. In the grip of an emotion too fierce to resist, he raced toward his uncle. Zeb’s strong, wiry arms went around him, his beard, gray now, brushing Aaron’s cheek. The tears in his uncle’s eyes made him ashamed—ashamed not of leaving, but of failing to let them know where he was for such a long time. Onkel Zeb, at least, would have worried and wondered.
“Ach, it’s sehr gut to see you.” Onkel Zeb took a step back, but still held him by the shoulders. “We’ve been hoping... Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? We’d have been ready to give you a fine wilkom.”
“This is a fine enough wilkom for me.” Aaron blinked rapidly, forcing down emotion. He’d learned, out in the world, not to show his feelings too quickly. It gave the other person an edge, he’d learned. “How are you, Onkel Zeb?”
“Fine, fine. Nothing keeps me down as long as there’s work to do. And there’s always work on a dairy farm.”
“I saw the herd. Looks like Caleb has been doing well.” Aaron welcomed the return to a more casual topic. “Still dealing with the same dairy?”
“Yah, that doesn’t change. Lots more rules and regulations and paperwork now, but we keep up. But komm, schnell. The others will want to see you.” He marched to the bell that hung where it always had next to the back door. Reaching up, he gave it a hearty yank, making it peal across the farm.
They’d all come running when they heard the bell at such an odd time, Aaron knew. He retrieved his backpack, just as glad to hide his face for a moment from Onkel Zeb’s keen eyes. His uncle never missed anything, and he’d know the apprehension Aaron felt about coming back.
Zeb had become more of a father than an uncle to the three of them after their mother left. Their own daad seemed to lose heart once Mamm went away, and it was Onkel Zeb who’d stepped in, Onkel Zeb who’d had the raising of them. When Daad passed away they’d grieved him, for sure, but not much had changed. Onkel Zeb was still there.
Aaron straightened. It would have been Onkel Zeb to be hurt the most when he’d run off, he felt sure. Since his uncle seemed more than ready to forgive and move on, he could indulge in the hope that the others might feel the same.
The house door opened almost immediately, and a woman emerged, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “What’s wrong? Onkel Zeb, are you—” She stopped abruptly at the sight of him. She stared for a moment, and suddenly her expression blossomed into a smile. “Ach, you must be Aaron. Wilkom home!”
“Denke. And you must be Jessie, Caleb’s wife.”
And Caleb’s wife was shortly to produce a new baby, it seemed. Obvious as it was to the most casual glance, no one would mention the expected newcomer in mixed company until the babe was safe in its cradle. Things were different in the outside world, but now that he was here, it behooved him to keep Amish customs, so he kept his gaze firmly on Jessie’s face.
“Your brothers will be so happy to see you.” Seizing the bell, she gave it a few more loud clangs. “If only you’d told me, I’d have had something fancier planned than the chicken potpie we’re having.”
He grinned at the predictable words. Every Amish woman, it seemed, was born wanting to feed people. “You couldn’t have anything I’d want more than genuine Amish potpie,” he said. “There’s nothing like it where I’ve been living.”
The worry left Jessie’s face and she smiled, her hand moving probably unconsciously over her stomach. “That’s gut, then. We’ll have to feed you up now that we have a chance.”
There was a thunder of small feet behind her, and a little boy bolted onto the porch, then stopped short at the sight of a stranger. He was followed a second later by a slightly bigger girl. The boy had to be Timothy, the nephew he hadn’t met—straight, silky blond hair, blue eyes that were wide with wondering who he was. The boy was five, from what Onkel Zeb said in his letters. And Becky, at seven looking enough like her brother to be his twin, would be one of Sally’s scholars, he guessed.
“Hi, Timothy. Becky.” It sounded awkward, and that was how it felt. How did he talk to the niece and nephew he’d never met?
“Mammi?” Timothy clutched Jessie’s skirt, and both kinder looked up at her.
“It’s all right. This is your onkel Aaron, Daadi’s brother. You’ve heard us speak of him.”
The boy nodded, looking at him with those big eyes. “Onkel Aaron,” he repeated, but he didn’t let go of his mother’s skirt. The girl, a bit braver, actually came closer. “Wilkom, Onkel Aaron.”
“Wilkom.” Another voice repeated the word with a slight edge.
Aaron turned to face his oldest brother, Caleb. He was the one who’d spoken. Close behind Caleb was Daniel, beaming as if it were Christmas. It was Daniel who moved first, throwing an arm across Aaron’s shoulders.
“Ach, about time you were getting here. They were all starting to think I’d imagined finding you.” He gave Aaron a quick shake. “It’s wonderful gut to have you home. Ain’t so, Caleb?”
“Yah, for sure.” The tiniest of reservations colored Caleb’s voice. “Wilkom,” he said again. There was a small, awkward pause before he went on. “So, Aaron, tell us. Are you home to stay? Are you ready to be Amish again?”
There it was, the last question he wanted to answer, and the first one anyone asked. Are you ready to be Amish again?
He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.
Copyright © 2019 by Martha P. Johnson
ISBN-13: 9781488042676
The Marriage Bargain
Copyright © 2019 by Stephanie Newton
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