Arms of Love (39 page)

A
stange pair of bedfellows, is what I say,” Ruth commented with hands on hips as she finished her ministrations to the two men. Samuel had insisted that they use the master bedroom, and now Joseph and Adam Wyse lay next to each other, well bandaged and topped off with draughts of hard cider.

“
Fater
and
sohn
,” Lena murmured from the edge of the bed, near Adam.

“
Ya
,” Ellen Wyse said. “But so very different.”

“Mebbe not,” Ruth declared, reaching to gather some bloodstained cloths. “They was both mumbling about forgiveness and love, both out of their heads, while I saw to them at one point.”

“Joseph was?” Ellen asked, clearly amazed.

“Yep . . . and if you think on it—from what I could see of their eyes, they’re a match in some ways. Eyes of gold and them what’s silverish . . . two things worth the mining for, if you think on it a bit. Now that’s a father and son for ya.” She caught up a blanket in her arms. “Well, I’d best be tending to the babes. You both stop worryin’ now. They’ll come through all right. I’ve tended to animal bites and scratches before, and the trick is to keep any poison from spreading to the blood, keep the wounds clean and clear. We’ll do just that.”

She started for the door, then glanced at Lena. Clearly the girl wanted to have a few moments with the man of her choosing, even with his father present.

“Uh, Missus Wyse . . . Ellen . . . would you help me reheat the soups?

I expect that everyone will be a mite hungry after all the goings-on.”

“
Ach
, certainly. Let me do that.” Ellen rose, placed a hand on her husband’s bandaged wrist for a moment, then followed Ruth out the door.

When Ruth and Ellen had gone, Lena hastened to kneel down on the floor next to Adam. She bent her head over his uninjured hand and started to pray, when she felt his fingers move. She looked up to see his golden eyes, fever bright, watching her.

He gave her a lopsided grin when she kissed his hand.

“Going after a panther, alone, with only a knife,” she said.

He gestured with his chin toward his father. “And a
gut
thing too.”

She squeezed his hand. “Adam . . .
ach
, Adam. I pray now that you will no longer be plagued by bad dreams. What you told me out there . . . such a little boy. I am so sorry.”

He squeezed her fingers and nodded. Then she noticed Joseph begin to stir and got to her feet. “I will send the bishop in to you both.

He has been waiting to pray over you.”

She let go of the strong-boned hand reluctantly, then went to the door, pausing once to turn and drink her fill of him with both her eyes and heart.

A heaviness lay on Joseph’s chest, the burden of guilt, but tempered now with the knowledge of release. But the silence in which he waited under the bishop’s penetrating gaze wore upon him, and he wished the man would simply call for the proper authorities and have done with it.

And then there was Adam . . . lying wounded beside him. Wounded in so many ways, and all because of him.

“I cannot pretend to understand the weight that both of you have carried all of these years,” Bishop Mast finally said, easing back in his chair beside the bed. “But I understand the passions that drive men, and I know that sin is sin before the Living God. Not that I am minimizing a murder . . . I suppose, though, Joseph, that there is more that I do not understand.”

Joseph felt his heart begin to pound, unsure if he could relate the details again. It had been so painful the first time, but he swallowed and nodded. “What more can I tell you?”

“Tell me about your life growing up.”

Joseph stared into the calm, wise eyes of the older man and could not find his voice for a moment.
My life growing up
. . .

“A strange question, perhaps,” Adam said.

“Perhaps,” the bishop conceded. “But I have found that the intensity that drives most men with earthly desire—passion, lust, even murder— the root of that feeling often lies far back in that person’s growing time.

It is a curious thing.”

Joseph felt the silence of the room hang heavy upon him.
Where can I begin
? He wet his lips. “My father was . . . evil, you might say.”

The bishop nodded, and Joseph felt Adam’s gaze upon him as he continued. “Evil in frightful ways, but mostly toward my mother. She— she had blond hair, much like Ellen’s, long and beautiful. She always seemed very young to me, joyful even, despite my father.”

“Does she live yet?” the bishop asked.

Joseph felt a gnawing in his stomach and a racked sensation in his brain, but forced himself to go on. “
Nee
.”

“How did she die?” Adam asked. “You have never said.”

Joseph turned his head on the pillow to meet the golden eyes he had once both despised and loved. “He killed her. My father killed her.” His voice was thick with tears—strange things to him, and he felt he might not breathe again normally. “She was on the staircase. He struck her, and she fell . . . The banister gave way. I had just come in from fishing, and I saw her fall. I was eleven.”

Joseph closed his eyes and felt his son reach a hand over to touch his shoulder. “I am so sorry,
Fater
.”

“As am I,” the bishop said.

Joseph opened his eyes; he had nearly forgotten the presence of the other man.

“Such brutality for a child to carry . . . for two children to carry.

I tell you both that my heart convicts me. I cannot speak of what you have told me in this room to anyone again. I will not. Joseph Wyse, you have suffered consequences for what you did, even though I understand it better now. And, to be truthful, it is only the Lord who can free you from the memories and loss.”

“God is revolutionary,” Adam said.

“What’s that?” Joseph asked.

“Yes, what did you say?” The bishop leaned forward.

Adam shrugged. “It is something a friend told me. He told me I was chained by the past, and that God is the One to free me. That it is He . . . God, not war, that is revolutionary. I did not fully understand that until now, but,
Fater
, I believe
Gott
can set us both free from the past. I no longer have the desire to lift arms against another. I will let
Gott
do the fighting for us.”

Joseph nodded, feeling a peace descend on his soul as he drank in his son’s words.

The bishop cleared his throat and blew his nose. “Shall we pray together then?”

Chapter 36

I
saved it for you, from your vest pocket,” Isaac said, handing over the folded and now bloodstained page from the Bible.

Adam smiled his thanks and leaned forward in the chair on the front porch to take it from him.

It was a good two weeks since the panther attack, and the Wyse family had all but taken up residence at the Yoder farm, due to the recovery of the two men. Isaac would go back and forth and do chores with John. Bishop Mast was also staying on, to heal up himself and to perform the wedding ceremonies the next day. And then Isaac would be leaving for a full year or more.

Adam fingered the thin page. “I feel as though I should read it now, for some reason.”

Isaac shrugged. “Go ahead, if you feel called. It might mean something more now, with the attack and all.”

Adam carefully unfolded the page, so significantly spotted with blood that reminded him of the cross. Then he saw the mark his
bruder
had made with a lead pencil next to a certain verse. He read it aloud. “Zephaniah 3:17. ‘The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing.’”

“It is a blessing for you . . . and Lena. And I imagine that before long, I will become an uncle as well. So for your
kinner
. . .”

Isaac drifted off in his speaking, and Adam reached for his hand.

“
Danki, bruder
. I will memorize this blessing and take it to heart. But thank you also for the way that you have understood about Lena. It cannot have been easy.”

Isaac grinned. “I will not let you go so easily as to say that it has not been hard, but truly, my heart hungers after the travel with the bishop and the training. I have no time for a wife.”

“Then beware, for that is when they tend to find you,” Adam warned, and they laughed together, a sound that was becoming more and more natural to Adam’s ears.

He looked up as a wagon pulled along the road that led to the house. “We have visitors, it seems. Looks like Caleb King. I wonder if they’ve heard about
Fater
and the cat? You remember he told us about the meetinghouse site?”

Isaac nodded and rose to his full height. “
Ya
. I will tell Fater they are here, though I find them nothing but meddlesome troublemakers.”

Adam laughed. “You had better get your bishoplike dignity on about you,
bruder
. Judge not . . .”

Isaac sighed as he made for the door. “ ’Tis sadly true at that.”

It turned out that the crew of men with Caleb King had come to pay their respects to his father and to ask forgiveness of both him and the bishop. It was no small thing to survive a panther attack, and Adam couldn’t help but wonder whether their innate superstitions were what really drew them to the house. Surely, they may have thought a man who survived an attack by a mountain lion must be touched by
Gott
. . .

Yet his father was visibly relieved as he limped back into the house.