Arms of Love (19 page)

“Lena . . . a
gut
morn to you.”

She looked up into his dark eyes and nodded. “And to you.”

“I brought you fresh venison. I’ve been hunting since dawn. I hate it, actually, but
Fater
insists. Here.” He held out the package to her, and she hesitated before taking it. To be honest, she did not like to deal with fresh meat herself; she much favored the preparing of breads and vegetables. But she smiled just the same, hoping none of the blood would drip through the paper onto her dress.

“
Danki
, Isaac. I will take it into Ruth Stone and see if she might roast it for a meal today.” She turned to go, and he caught her arm.

“Wait, Lena. I would . . . I mean . . . you look so beautiful today.”

She glanced down at his hand on her arm, and he let her go. She sighed to herself, wondering what Isaac was about—it was unlike him to waste time on compliments or gifts.

“Thank you again, Isaac. Would you . . . like some refreshment before you leave?”

“I would indeed.” He gave her a bright smile, as if she’d just given the proper answer to some unspoken question, and she turned once more to lead him to the house. She eyed her washing, wondering how long he would stay, and decided she would let her father visit with him while she did her many chores. Maybe they could speak of the Bible together.
Fater
had always favored Isaac’s thoughts, in any case.

“I would like refreshment, Lena, but I would speak to you first.”

She stopped near her wash bucket, turned to him, and shuddered at the coolness of the package in her arms. “What is it?” She squinted in the bright sun.

“This meat I’ve brought you . . . I would that it would be a symbol, a token, really, of the longing I have to provide for you, to give sustenance to your body and mind . . . and your soul, of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured faintly, wondering where he was headed.

He stepped nearer, and she couldn’t resist comparing him to Adam. He didn’t have his
bruder’s
charged strength, though there was latent power in his broad shoulders and he had the same dark hair.

Still, the vitality of spirit was lacking, for all of his professed spirituality, while Adam could simply stand near her and she would feel the electric current of storm and sea.

She choked on her thoughts and nodded to Isaac. “I appreciate your concern for my well-being. It is more than gracious, and I—I would return the goodwill. ”

“Would you, Lena?” he asked. “Would you return what I have to offer?”

She squeezed the venison tighter. “I mean that I would again extend the goodwill of refreshment to you.”

“
Ach
, well, then . . . um, nee, thank you. I have recalled another thing I must attend to. I will bid you farewell.”

She was surprised by his sudden turn of thought and the distinct look of a certain awareness about him, as if he had gained an insight into something . . . into her.

She shrugged off the annoying thought and smiled at him. “Farewell, Isaac. Thank you for the meat.”

He gave her an intent look, then turned and sauntered off.

She turned, relieved, to climb the steps of the porch when she saw her father sitting in the shadows in a bentwood rocker. She wondered how long ago he had come silently to his place, well within earshot of her conversation with Isaac. He knew her well, and while he had always favored Isaac over Adam, he knew that she did not.

She felt a heavy burden in her heart to know that her words to Isaac would likely not bring him peace of spirit, even though she had not been forthright. She sat down in the opposite rocker, still holding the meat, and glanced at her father’s reserved expression. Not knowing what to say, she sat in silence for a few minutes, then rose to go into the house.

“So you still hunger after one whom you know does not live by honor but by instinct? One who would leave you in an instant, leave his faith as well?”

Her father’s voice cut with gentle force into her thoughts of escaping the discussion. She lifted her chin and wet her lips.

“
Fater, sei se gut
, are honor and instinct so far apart then?”

His eyes looked weary, and she wished she had not pressed the matter. “You do not understand, my daughter. Perhaps you do not even understand war for what it is.”

She thought of the morning her mother died, and spoke with slow deliberation. “I understand enough of what it means to stand between life and death and to have both won and lost. Is that not war?”

He reached to brush her arm with tender fingers. “
Ya
, that is war in truth. But men do not fight by truths; they fight by instinct. And man’s instinct is to wound, even to kill. Honor bids us to do something else, something beyond ourselves . . . something that glorifies
Derr Herr
.

And I do not believe that Adam Wyse lives by such honor. There is something dark in him that calls. I do not know its source, but I know it is there—this dark instinct. Think. Search within yourself, and you know it to be true as well. And I do not mean to say that instinct does not bring appeal, Lena. I do not think it so easy for you to choose.”

She bowed her head, images of Adam coming to her like shooting stars in a midnight sky. Perhaps her father was right; perhaps all that was between Adam and her was appeal—passion, and that was more than worldly. But could she ever bring herself to choose someone like Isaac? He was so pious and . . .
gut
. She smiled wryly to herself as her eyes filled with tears. Who was she to decide that gut was boring or something to be endured? She wanted to bring her
fater
peace and knew that her choice had the power to do so. And with Fater and Ruth at home, there would be no need for the other
kinner
to face Joseph Wyse and his strange disposition. She could do so alone— with God’s help.

He spoke, staring into the distance. “My dear one, perhaps you do not consider in all your musings that you may yet help to save Adam Wyse’s soul by teaching him denial and restraint, that he might come to trust in the Lord fully, not in himself alone, and thus gain his heavenly reward through our Savior.”

Her
fater’s
words caught in her vulnerable soul with all the ripping damage of hooks in linen. Suppose her choice could lead Adam to a deeper faith? After all, what was an earthly lifetime with Isaac compared to an eternity for Adam? Surely Gott would look upon such a sacrifice with grace and answer the prayer of her heart—that the wildness, the darkness in Adam would cease and he could walk fully in the light of God’s love.

She lifted her head with solemn resoluteness, and her father turned to meet her eyes. “I—have never thought of Ad—of things that way.” She lifted her chin with determination born of a sudden clarity.

“I will try,
Fater
. I will try to choose someone like Isaac, perhaps even Isaac himself, and to choose honor.”

He smiled at her. “Blessings on you, my
dochder
. You will see that the Lord will bring good out of this.”

She nodded and tried to ignore the feeling in her heart that she was rowing far from land into a strange and tempestuous sea where the concept of self no longer mattered.
But this is submission in its purest form
. She tried to reason with the rising wall in her throat.
And submission will bring freedom from earthly desires
, she decided, ignoring the prick of conscience that said no teaching had ever told her this.

“You struggle, Lena.”

He must have read the fleet of feelings that swam across her face.

“You struggle, but the Lord struggles with you—to do what is right. Together—the struggle can be won.”

Lena nodded, wondering if she would regret telling him that she would try. Yet the look of peace on his countenance silenced her doubts, and she knew that she would keep her promise . . .

Adam found his way to the Yoder farm with easy steps that afternoon, making little of the mile distance. He could not help himself; he had to check to make sure that all was well at the Yoder home. It was a habit of his, and he did not think that Mary Yoder would begrudge him this.

No one was readily about when he arrived, but instinct called him to one of his and Lena’s favorite haunts down by the shadowed creek.

He came upon her presence with drawn intent, like one who moves with gentle awe so as not to disturb a sleeping fawn in the weeds. She stood poised, staring into the waters of the creek.

“Lena.” He kept his voice low, without the pressure of tenor or warmth. Yet she turned and looked at him with an expression of desperate flight, as though he were a wild predator and she the helpless deer.

He stopped still, afraid she’d move, until the only sound was the soothing gurgle of the creek cascading over moss-covered stones. “Lena, what is it?”

She shook her head, her fingers tangled in the unbound curl that so often fell with delicate grace against her cheek. “Nothing . . . It is nothing, Adam. But you shouldn’t be here, not with me alone. I—I don’t understand you. First you say that it is over between us, that you might enlist. Then you kiss me . . . and now you are here.”

He took a step nearer, undeterred by her words. “ ’Tis all true, and I am sorry if I have hurt you.”

She dropped her head with a sob. “Hurt me? You have done far more than hurt me, Adam. You have robbed my very soul.” She turned to stare at him, tears glistening in her eyes. “But you should know the truth, Adam. I have given my word to my father, the promise of my
hartz
, to try and love Isaac, to give favor to him. To love honor.”

Adam could not help himself; he laughed. He watched her whirl away with a look of frustration, her hands fisted at her sides.

“Isaac? And honor? I suppose he could give a proper definition of the word if the case warranted, but as to exercising that noble quality

. . . well, I doubt that he has ever had need to rouse himself—to put it kindly.”

“He does not desire to make war.”

Adam felt his laughter drift away and he moved toward her with purpose. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” She spoke over her shoulder.

He came up behind her and let his hands trail down to stroke her clenched fingers. “Look at me, Lena. Let us have this out once and for all. I cannot believe that you could ever be serious about my
bruder
.” He struggled to keep the edge of urgency from his voice, as he contemplated what it would be like to let her go once more, this time forever.

She turned with slow grace, allowing her fingers to open into his, and he felt a surge of hope, until he looked into her eyes. They were dead steady calm, the still blue depths of cold ocean and windless sea.