Gay Amish 03 - A Way Home (27 page)

“Hey, boy.” He stroked Kaffi’s head. “I wish I could take you with me.”

Kaffi’s ear twitched and he butted David with his nose. When David held out the carrot, Kaffi took a huge bite. Yes, one day David wanted this. Maybe a piece of land where he could build a barn to house his workshop and a few animals. The thought of working that way again filled him with a warm sense of peace.

He gazed around the barn, which was similar enough to his old one. David went to the lantern and traced the loop of the metal handle, breathing in the faint whiff of gas. Wood creaked under his sneakers, and the smell of hay and horse hung over everything as if it was a filmy layer of grease he could run his finger through. It was so achingly familiar, and for a moment he didn’t want to leave.

But this time he would do it properly. When he and Isaac had bolted the first time, there had barely been time to scrawl a note to his mother. Now, even though Eli Helmuth’s farm hadn’t been his home, he could take his time and soak in the little pieces of Amish life around him. Eli’s tools hung from hooks on the wall in the corner, and David touched them reverently. There was a little table there, one of its legs splintered. David crouched down to examine it.

Soon he’d hung up his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt as he sanded a new piece of wood that had been set by the table, clearly for a new leg. Eli had a small worktable set up, and David leaned over it. The dampness in the air outside had turned to rain, and it poured in a steady drone beyond the open barn door. As he fashioned the new leg, he hummed to himself. He wasn’t sure what the song was—something English. He worked as the rain fell, the rush of it like a lullaby, blocking out everything else.

When the door creaked, David saw movement from the corner of his eye as he leaned in and carefully put a screw to the new leg. “I didn’t hear the car. Say, what is this song?” He hummed it again. “Oh, is it from that show on TV? With the questions and the man named Alex?”

When Isaac didn’t answer, David looked over. The peace evaporated, and his heart skipped a beat as he stared at Deacon Stoltzfus standing inside the doorway, rain dripping from his felt hat. David forced a smile. “Deacon. Hello. I was just—”

“I know what you’re doing.” The deacon’s voice was as flat as his expression.

“The table was broken.” He held up the new leg awkwardly.

Standing completely still, the deacon watched him. The rain still fell, blocking out the world beyond the barn.

“I should go. I suppose Eli can finish this.” David carefully put down the table leg. “I’m leaving, and I won’t be back this time. I think we can agree it’s best for everyone that way.”

“You think it’s best to turn away from the Lord?”

David bit back a sigh. Another lecture was the last thing he needed. “It’s the way it has to be.”

“You could have been saved.”

“I appreciate your concern, Deacon. I truly do. But I have to go.”

“Isaac Byler could have been saved.”

Defensiveness flared through David. “Don’t talk about Isaac.”

Deacon Stoltzfus stepped closer. “You ruined him, just as your brother did my Martha.”

Memories of Joshua and familiar guilt sank through him. “I…” There was no sense in arguing—the deacon would never understand.

“You were right.”

He took this in, waiting for the deacon to say more.

“You look like him. The same hair. Same eyes. You stand the same way. Sometimes I’d see you from the corner of my eye and think it was him. Think maybe I’d see my Martha too.”

David could only imagine the pain of losing a child. “I’m sorry. I wish I could change it.”

“I knew you were just like him. A rot. A cancer.” He clenched his fists. “I could see it in you all along.”

The hair on David’s neck stood up. “Then it’s best if I go.”

The deacon’s face creased. “When you ran from church, I thought I’d been right all along. But then you returned, and I saw that God had given you another chance. I prayed, and I realized it wasn’t too late. That if you could come back and join the church, it wouldn’t be for nothing. There would still be hope. You could be saved.”

“I…I wish I could.”

“Wishes are for children and fools.” He wheezed, a kind of laugh, and his eyes were intent. “And I’m the biggest fool of them all. I thought you were different after all. I wanted you to be different.”

“Deacon…” He wished he could help the man’s pain.

The deacon kept talking as if David hadn’t spoken. “Isaac was an innocent. Just like my Martha. She should never have been out that night. She was supposed to be in bed.”

“I’m sorry.” David shook his head. “I wish I could change it. I wish she hadn’t died. I wish none of them had. But this isn’t the same. I should go.” He went to the wall for his jacket, and when he turned back, the deacon had closed the distance between them. David sidestepped toward Kaffi’s stall, and when the deacon came closer still with his wild gaze, David tripped backwards, landing on his backside on the hay-strewn boards.

Deacon Stoltzfus loomed over him. Lifting his hand, he stared at his meaty, trembling fingers. He drew his fingers into a fist before flattening them out again, watching as if he’d never seen his hand before and wasn’t sure what it was doing on the end of his arm. Water dripped from the end of his nose, falling into his long beard. A voice in the back of his mind ordered David to get up, but his limbs didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

“I want to strike you.” His voice was eerily calm. “That is not our way, but I feel it all the same. Coursing through me. Hatred. I hate your brother. For years I’ve tried to deny it. Bury it deep down. But I can’t. I hate him. I hate him for taking my sweet girl away.”

David stared up at him. He kept his voice low. “It’s all right, Deacon. I understand. I don’t blame you.”

The deacon still stared as his own hand. “It was supposed to be different here. We founded Zebulon to keep the sin out. To protect our children. So my Martha didn’t die for nothing.”

“David?” Isaac’s voice rose sharply. “David!” He raced toward them, stopping a few feet away. Isaac stared at David sprawled on the floor, and then at the deacon. “Did you…did you
hurt
him?”

“No.” David got to his feet. “I tripped. That’s all.” He edged around the deacon and kept Isaac safely behind him.

But Deacon Stoltzfus made no move toward Isaac. He lowered his arm with a slap against his wet coat.

Isaac whispered, “David? What’s happening?”

“It’s okay,” he muttered. “We’re going now.”

Bishop Yoder and Eli came into the barn. The deacon was still standing like a statue, the tremor in his body the only movement he made. He blinked at them, dazed. “He said he’d pray. Not right. A sinner. Martha wasn’t. But he’s like his brother after all. Unclean. A sinner of the world.” Deacon Stoltzfus shook his head, muttering almost to himself. “We’ve worked so hard to make Zebulon holy and pure. A better place.”

Bishop Yoder stepped closer, his eyes darting from Isaac and David to Deacon Stoltzfus. “We have, Jeremiah. This is a better place.”

“He ruined it.”

The bishop spoke gruffly. “Jeremiah, we forgave Joshua his sins, and—”

“No!” Deacon Stoltzfus’s shout echoed in the rafters, and a nesting bird flapped its wings high above. “I tried. But I don’t forgive. I can’t. I was supposed to swallow my anger and forgive all, but it has only grown stronger inside me. Grown into hatred. I choke on it each day.”

David spoke quietly. “I’m sorry for what my brother did. For your loss.”

Now Deacon Stoltzfus focused on David and Isaac again. “And now you are doing the same. Isaac Byler was a good boy. And you might as well have killed him. He will be lost to his family just as my Martha was. As Rachel was.” His heavy brow creased. “It was supposed to be different here. It was supposed to be better.”

“Come now, Jeremiah.” Bishop Yoder’s tone brooked no argument. “This is not our way. We must forgive, and pray for our troubled youngies.” He turned to David and Isaac. “If you show true repentance, we will always forgive and welcome you in Zebulon once more. Find the Lord in your hearts. Be obedient and turn away from this sin. We pray you will find your way home.”

Bishop Yoder turned away, and the deacon shuffled after him with his head low. David wished there was something he could say to make it better, knowing he never could.

His face creased with sadness, Eli said, “I don’t think you should come back, David. Not unless you change your path. I will pray for you.”

Isaac took David’s hand. “Jen’s waiting in the car.”

David followed him from the barn.
This is it. I’m really leaving. This is the end.
David waited for the panic to hit him—for the terrible drowning sensation to seize his lungs and bring him to his knees in the muck. For the pain in his head to spread like a landslide and wash him away with terror and guilt that he was leaving his family once and for all. Yet it didn’t come. He held Isaac’s hand, their steps sure.

David realized Mary and Anna were outside near the house, and he could see Elizabeth, Rebecca, and sweet little Sarah with their noses pressed against the glass of the kitchen window. Mother was nowhere in sight, and he swallowed thickly over the thought that he’d already seen her for the last time.

David almost let go of Isaac’s hand. But Isaac was so solid and secure at his side, and instead of shame,
pride
surged through him, and a final clarity.
This is who we are. Who we were meant to be. This really is how God made us.
He wanted to say a prayer of thanks right there.

Mary watched them with her arms wrapped around her middle, her face pale. “David.”

They stopped, and David gripped Isaac’s hand. “Yes?” He glanced at Anna, who watched Mary with concern.

“Don’t forget us.”

“Never.” His eyes stung with tears.

“Be safe.” She hesitated. “Both of you.”

“Back inside now, girls.” Eli herded Mary and Anna toward the house, and Anna flashed a hopeful smile over her shoulder.

“Goodbye, Mary,” Isaac said. Then he blurted, “We’ll write to you. If you’ll let us.”

At the door, Mary glanced back. She stared for a few heartbeats, her chin wobbling. Then she nodded, and was gone.

“Eli,” David called. “Thank you. Take care of them. Please.”

Eli nodded. “Always.” He shut the door behind him.

The bishop and deacon were riding away in their buggy, and Jen stepped out of the rental car. “You guys okay?”

David took a last look, and lifted his hand to his little sisters at the window. They waved, and Sarah pressed her palm to the glass, and then her mouth. David blew her a kiss, and then blinked back his tears and turned to the car.

“We’re okay,” Isaac answered as he climbed into the backseat and tugged David in beside him, still clutching his hand. David didn’t want to let go either, and leaned against him.

Jen got behind the wheel and started the short drive to June’s. As they turned onto the road, the lights cutting the night and reflecting off the yellow stripes on the road, he wished they could drive all the way back to San Francisco now. He breathed deeply, and although he mourned leaving his family behind, he felt lighter than he could ever remember.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Isaac peered at him with concern.

“Uh-huh.”

“But you’re smiling.”

David laughed, and it felt
so good
. “I am, aren’t I? We belong together, Isaac. I don’t think we’ll go to hell for it. There is another way to heaven. Not just the Amish way. We don’t have to feel guilty ever again.”

Isaac’s lower lip trembled. Then he rolled his eyes with false bravado. “
Duh
. Glad you finally got the…what’s that word, Jen?”

“Memo.” Her voice had a smile in it.

“No more guilt,” Isaac said. “No more.”

David watched the dark countryside fly by as they made their way. Still smiling, he stole a kiss from Isaac, knowing they were finally free.

This is my last day in Zebulon.

Murmuring, David smacked his lips and stretched out on his belly, his arm flopping over Isaac and almost hitting him in the chin before resting across his collar bones. On his back in the morning light, Isaac chuckled to himself. The thick Amish quilt on June’s guest bed, checked with red and pink and green, had slipped down to their waists in the night, but it was quite warm enough with the early sun beaming over the trees and through the window beside them. They slept naked, and Isaac had woken hard, but it had faded now.

The faint smell of coffee wafted up from downstairs, and Isaac could hear the odd murmur of breakfast conversation between Aaron, Jen, and June. He knew he should wake David to go down, but he was content to watch the rise and fall of David’s back, and the way his eyelashes fluttered, his lips parted as he slept on. Isaac felt like David had months of sleep to catch up on.

We’re leaving.
He knew it wasn’t the same as that Sunday in January that had ended on a Greyhound bus speeding into the night. At June’s they weren’t really in Zebulon, and more importantly—they were together. Isaac feathered the tips of his fingers across David’s arm, which lay heavy and solid over him.

It had been four days since they’d come out. Four days since Isaac had spoken to his parents. He’d made sure to visit Nathan when they weren’t there, and he’d been afraid they’d forbid it. But they hadn’t, and he’d sat by Nathan’s bed and watched game shows with him, not worrying anymore if he was a bad influence. If Nathan got the chance to grow up, he’d make his own choice when the time came.

The thought of returning to San Francisco with its hills and salty air sent excitement zipping through Isaac. It seemed like he’d been gone for months, but it wasn’t even two weeks. His teachers had sent kind emails and assured him he wasn’t in trouble for missing school. He’d get to see Lola, Derek, and Chris again—and this time David could meet them properly. He was going to meet David’s friend Gary as well.

His eyes still closed, David moaned softly as he shifted. “Is it time to get up?”