A Rose Revealed (12 page)

Jake looked at me without moving, a strange look on his face.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “You aren’t an Amishman anymore. You’re allowed to help in the kitchen. It’s good for you. Remember I was the one out for half the night last night.”

“No, that’s not it,” he said as he collected our dishes. “I don’t mind helping you. It just struck me that you’re the first person who’s asked me to help around the house since I came home.”

I looked at him. “You can’t mean that you sit like a lump all day while people wait on you.”

He took the jar of pickled eggs, the bologna and cheese, and rolled to the propane refrigerator. “I don’t mean that at all. I do all kinds of things. I’ve got weights and an exercise machine for my legs. I take ‘walks’ up and down the road. I pick up my place and work on my van. Now I’ve got college. But no one
asks
me to do anything.”

I rinsed off the plates I’d washed in hot water heated on the cook stove. “They should have you doing all sorts of jobs if you ask me. It should be part of your rehabilitation, just seeing how much you can do.”

“Father and Elam have had me working some, and I helped paint the fences and porch before my sister’s wedding. But no one asks me to do anything inside.”

“And you never noticed until today?”

“I didn’t.” He was as surprised as I. “I think it’s cultural. Men don’t help around the house because they do so much outside. Women care for the house. It never occurred to me that Mom and Esther were caring too much for me.”

“Coddling you, you mean,” I said as I handed him a wet cloth. “Here. Wipe off the table.”

“Interersting, interesting.” He rolled across the kitchen.

“Interesting nothing,” I said. “You need to do all those caring things for yourself, like dishes and laundry. Get one of those compact washer/dryer units like they have in apartments.”

“Mom’ll never let me. I know her. She’s convinced my rebellion’s going to send me to hell, but she’s going to make my life here as comfortable as possible.”

I watched him as he wiped the table, missing a half dozen spots in the process. Clearly he needed practice. “How do you like college?”

He looked up in surprise. “I was sure you’d jump on my send-me-to-hell comment.”

“Another time,” I said. “Right now I want to know how you like college.”

He grinned, his black eyes sparkling. “I do. I like it very much. I like the learning. I like the questions everyone asks. I like the lectures and the library. I even like the quizzes. Is that nuts or what!”

“It’s nuts,” I agreed, but I understood. I’d always loved learning things too. “What made you decide to go? I mean, why are you going?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s something to do.”

I rinsed out the sink and dried my hands. “I guess that’s a better answer than saying ‘I have no idea,’ but not much.”

“It’s the best I can do at the moment.”

“You should have some goals, some plans.”

“I know.”

“But you don’t.”

He shrugged. “Eventually.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twenty-six.”

I looked at him for a few minutes. “And you don’t know why you’re spending all this money to go to school?” I tried not to sound accusatory, but I wasn’t completely successful. I noticed my fisted hands were planted on my hips. I lowered them and took a deep breath. At least I didn’t have my finger shaking under his nose.

He tightened his jaw. “No, I don’t know why I’m spending all this money.” He balled the cloth he’d wiped the table with and threw it in the sink. “I’m reinventing my life here, Rose, in case you haven’t noticed, and I haven’t got it all figured out yet.” His voice was cold. “Is that okay with you?”

“Only if you truly are trying to figure it out.”

“Hey!” He was quietly and justifiably angry. “A year ago I was a junior-high dropout, a product of the Amish school system. Now I have a GED, I’ve proved myself at Millersville on a conditional acceptance, and I’m a full-time college student. I’d say that wasn’t bad for one year.”

I held up my hand, feeling somewhat embarrassed. What he did with his life wasn’t mine to argue. “You’re absolutely right. In fact it’s quite commendable for one year. I apologize.”

“I’ll get there, Rose. I will.”

“I’m sure you will.” I looked at him and prayed that was so.

“I’ve gotten a taste of using my mind, and I like it. It sure beats riveting together trailer shells.”

“Trailer shells?”

He nodded. “That’s what I used to do. My only complaint is that I had to lose my legs to learn about learning.”

I winced. There was no denying that he’d paid a very heavy price for his new direction.

He looked me right in the eye. “Not everyone’s as driven to prove things as you, Rose.”

I swallowed hard.

“And prove them today.” His voice was quiet but it echoed wildly inside my head.

I sat down in Mary’s rocker and stared at my knees. When Jake wheeled beside me, I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. I was ashamed of myself. I’d done it again, taking something that was precious from someone who was special. It wasn’t my mother’s husband and daughter today. It was Jake’s self-respect and a sense of accomplishment. And in the process, I had been cruel.

It was time to collect my duffel and go home.

I got up and started for the stairs. Jake caught my hand as I walked past. “Where are you going?”

“To get my things. It’s time to go home. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“No, no, Tiger.” He pointed to his mother’s chair. “Sit back down a minute. I have something to talk to you about.”

Short of making a scene by pulling my arm from his grasp, I had no choice. I sat.

“Do you like your apartment?” he asked.

I looked at him, disconcerted by the subject change. I was still wallowing in self-inflicted guilt over my inappropriate accusations.

“It’s okay, I guess. Small and dark, but sufficient.” I shrugged. “It came furnished, ugly stuff, but at least I didn’t have to buy much when I moved in. I always plan to replace all the depressing things, but I seem to get a call every time I plan to shop.”

“Would you miss the place if you left it?”

I frowned. “No. Unless it was to go back to Mom’s. I’d miss anything if it was to go back there, even a prison cell.”

Jake grinned. “Then how about renting these rooms?” He waved his hand toward the upstairs apartment.

“Move here?” An emotion I couldn’t define unfurled painfully in my chest at the suggestion. “Here?”

He nodded. “You do like the rooms, don’t you?”

I did. I felt cozy up there, comfortable, at ease in spite of my nightmare. And I felt included down here. It hurt me to acknowledge it, but I’d felt more concern from Mary and Esther—and Jake—over my Friday night tears than I’d felt from my mother in years.

And that, I told myself, was exactly the trouble. I could like it here too much. What would happen when I became a burden to them like I was to my mother? How could I stand the pain of their tolerance?

I was appalled at the piercing shaft of agony and desire that exploded in my chest at the thought of living here. I hadn’t known that I was that needy. I had always prided myself on my independence, my ability to cope in spite of the hard things in my life. But let a family show me a little affection, and I wanted to wallow in it like a pig in slops. I wanted Mary to hover and Esther to make me tea and Jake to—. I stopped that thought before it got away from me.

And if this craving to be part of the Zooks was this strong after only two days, what would it become over a longer period of time?

Jake was still trying to sell me on the apartment. “Just think. You could talk with Mom and Esther all you wanted. They’d like you to stay.”

My heart warmed. “Really? Are you sure?”

“And you’d be close enough to keep an eye on Becky and the baby. You know how concerned you are about them.”

The emotion in my chest kept expanding, pressing against my ribs, my lungs, my spine until I could barely stand the anguished pleasure. I recognized it with a jolt as hope, hope that there might be people who actually liked me, who actually cared about me even when I acted foolishly and was unlovely.

And I was sore afraid. I swallowed hard, trying to curb my disproportionate reaction to a conversation about an apartment.

How could I move from my safe place just because of people? I’d always done things for sound reasons like getting better trained or preventing someone’s death. But to do something based on emotion, especially emotional need—how foolish was that! It was terrifying and so very attractive at the same time.

Unconsciously I began rubbing the ache in my chest. I decided that hope was this painful because it was so new and because I didn’t know what to do with it.

“Besides,” Jake finished with a smile, “I need the rent money.”

Rent money! I grabbed at the idea. I could deal with something so practical, so real, so un-hope-ish.

“You need the money, huh?” I eyed him like the money was the only reason I’d consider his apartment.

He nodded, looking optimistic. He must have seen something in my face that gave him reason to expect an affirmative answer.

“Then I’ll take the rooms. I do like it here, and I like your family. And I certainly want you to have the money for next semester’s tuition. I just hadn’t been expecting to make such a large contribution.”

“Good!” He seemed to release some pent-up tension and relax. “Mom and Esther will be delighted.”

And you, I wondered. Are you pleased for any reason other than the rent?

“So let’s go get your stuff.”

“Now? This very minute?”

“Sure. Why not? Why should you go back there to sleep if you like it here?”

Why indeed.

“You’re going to help me?” I asked.

He nodded. “I’ll drive.”

“That’s it?”

He looked at me blankly.

“You don’t get off that easily,” I said. “I’ll bring everything down to the porch. You’ll take it to the van. It’s called cooperation.”

He looked at me, his black eyes thoughtful. “You’re good for me, you know that?“

It was my turn to be pleased, very pleased. Too pleased? I ran upstairs for my coat before I could reconsider my decision.

Jake and I were out front when Esther walked into the drive. Her eyes were fixed on the ground.

“Hey, Esther,” I called. “Guess what? I’m moving in for good. I’m renting the apartment.”

She jumped and looked up. “That’s wonderful,” she said without enthusiasm. She had her arms wrapped tightly across her body as if she were in pain. It would be hard to imagine an Esther more unlike the spirited competitor of last night.

“Are you all right?” I asked, moving to her side. I was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

“Is Elam here?” She looked at the house.

“In his room,” Jake said.

Her eyes shifted to the window in the far right corner. “He left right after service without eating or anything.”

“Mary Clare?” Jake asked softly.

A tear fell onto her lovely cheek. “Yes. And Young Joe Lapp. They marry in two weeks.”

“Go talk with him,” Jake said. “Maybe he’ll finally see what’s right in front of his nose.”

“I don’t know,” Esther said. “I’ve been talking to myself the whole way up the road. Should I? Shouldn’t I? What is right? And I don’t know. I’ve prayed and prayed and I still don’t know.”

“I wish I knew what to tell you,” I said, my heart aching for her.

“I wish I knew what to tell him.” She turned bleak eyes to me. “But what can I say to a man whose heart has just been broken?”

Neither Jake nor I spoke. Finally she sighed.

“I can say nothing.” And she turned and began to walk disconsolately back toward the Stoltzfus farm. Suddenly she turned and broke into a run and rushed into the barn.

I started to go after her but Jake caught my arm.

“Let her alone,” he said. “She needs to cry, and she needs to do it in private.”

I nodded. “Can I go kick Elam in the shins?”

Jake smiled but his eyes were sad. “I think he’s as distraught as she is. Maybe you should have a bit of sympathy for him too.”

“Probably. But she’s such a wonderful girl!”

“You can’t control who people love. Come on. Let’s go.”

I watched him lock his chair onto the van’s lift.
You sure can’t
.

Chapter 7

W
hen I opened the door to my apartment, I was greeted with the stale smell that comes from a house being closed up too long. Not that this odor was new to me. It greeted me every day when I returned from work or even if I just walked downstairs to check the mailbox.

I had decided it was the nasty orange shag rug left over from the ’60s. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years, though I rented one of those rug machines at the grocery store not long after I moved in. I discovered that a wet rug smells much worse than a dry rug, whatever’s hidden in it. I gave up trying to clean the thing and made it a point never to go barefooted anywhere in the place, not even in the shower.

I wrinkled my nose as I walked across to my desk. I would not miss that odor any more than I’d miss the rusting refrigerator, the avocado green sink, the unbelievably ugly kitchen linoleum, and the lumpy sofa.

In fact, I wouldn’t miss anything but the proximity to the Squad, which was why I took the place to begin with and why I stayed here. And the rent. It was by far the cheapest place I’d ever looked at, including the farm.

But enough was enough. It was time to move on. The farm wasn’t all that far from the Squad, maybe three minutes farther. I bet I’d still beat Harry. And my rooms there were light and open and clean. The rug there was a lovely hand-braided oval and there wasn’t an avocado appliance on the premises.

I glanced at my answering machine, which sat on the corner of the desk, and saw the message light blinking. I had ten messages, it said. As I reached to hit the play button, I tried to imagine ten people who wanted to talk to me. I couldn’t.

The first message was from Lem Huber, the Lancaster cop. “Please call.” He gave his number, and I wrote it down. As I stuffed the paper in my pocket, my mother’s voice broke the silence with all the gentleness of a pneumatic drill.