Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (23 page)

"Did you see that?" A woman spoke. "Walking in with her chin held up like that. The nerve."

"You'd think she'd consider what she'd done and not act like she was living right."

"Her parents should talk to her."

"
Ja
, I do agree."

They continued on and Marianna held her breath, telling herself not to make the slightest noise. Not to give her presence away. Bad enough these women were talking about Naomi like this. It would be most awkward if they found her there!

The more they talked, the more she recognized their voices. Mrs. Klees and Mrs. John, who were part of their community,. Marianna didn't talk to them much but she saw them at church.

She pulled her feet back, tucking them to the sides of the toilet.
Please, don't let them notice the door to the last stall is closed.
As she listened, the queasy feeling she had a moment before evaporated like dew under the sun. Instead a new feeling rose up in her.

Anger.

How
dare
they talk about Naomi that way—as if she were the only Amish girl to find herself in this situation.

If Marianna were brave, she'd confront them—point out their poisonous tongues. But she was anything but brave.

"I feel so bad for her parents." Mrs. John's tone dripped with self-righteous pity. "The poor Sommer family has already faced so much. Imagine if it were your daughter, trouncing around talking about God in such a prideful way. A shame."

Their words hit like a fist to her gut.
Her? They were talking about her?

Marianna blinked back tears. What was she was doing here? She hadn't tried to be difficult. She was trying to share hope and joy in God—what was so bad about that?

The women left, and she waited another few minutes before she exited. She kept her head lowered as she walked to the table and sunk into the booth.

Naomi sipped on a glass of water, but from the look on her face it was clear she wasn't comfortable either.

Marianna reached out and touched her hand. "Why don't we head home and make our own lunch? The food isn't that good here from what I heard, and we don't need to waste money on that."

Naomi nodded and a relief crossed her face. They hurried out, eyes fixed on the door. Let people say what they want . . . Marianna knew that God saw things differently. He loved Naomi's child, too, even though in the world's eyes it was more of a topic of gossip than a celebration of life.

But right then and there Marianna decided to change that. They could talk about her. They could point fingers at Naomi. But as much as Marianna was able, she would make certain this child felt special and loved.

Aaron woke up in the night and sat up in the bed. A child's cry had woken him, and it wasn't until he'd jumped out of bed that he realized it had been a dream. The cry, that is, not the child.

The child was anything but a dream.

From the first time he heard about Naomi's pregnancy, he'd wondered. Yet when Levi's note to Marianna said he and Naomi were getting married Aaron assumed—was even relieved—the baby wasn't his.

Out of nowhere came a hot fist of anger. Aaron turned and punched his pillow. Why hadn't Naomi told him? Fear plowed through his brain, and he felt as if his whole world had been tipped to his side.
What if Marianna finds out?

He couldn't let that happen. He replayed the moment she entered the small room he'd built at their cabin. He'd imagined their child there—his and Marianna's. And now?

Should he pretend nothing had changed?

Would it be possible to let another man raise his son or daughter?

What if Naomi is lying? How did she know for sure the child was his instead of Levi's? Most importantly, did Levi think it was his child?

Aaron didn't know what to think or what to do. He lay back in the bed and pulled his covers to his chin.

Hurt replaced the anger. Worried tagged along next. If Marianna hadn't moved, none of this would have happened. He just hoped this wouldn't ruin everything.

He closed his eyes and knew that he would do what he had to do. Nothing would keep him from the woman he couldn't live without. And if holding on to Mari meant ignoring the fact that the baby Naomi carried was his . . .

So be it.

B
en rose and noticed the tour bus wasn't moving. It must have stopped somewhere in the night. Where were they? He didn't have a clue. His head was foggy, and he stumbled toward the front in search of the coffee he smelled.

Greg Jackson, his backup guitarist, held out a cup of Starbucks.

Ben nodded, taking the cup. It was French roast with a bit of cream and sugar, just how he liked it. He took a sip and though it hit the spot, it couldn't compare to coffee back at the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery. Memories, memories, they stung his heart as he swallowed, then sat on the sofa next to Greg.

The morning light hit the man's face, highlighting dark circles.

Ben took another sip. "You're up awfully early."

Greg chuckled. "Man, are you kidding? Out late."

Ben's eyes widened.

"Yeah, missed the bus but my date gave me a ride. Thankfully we only went seventy miles last night."

Maybe he should talk to the man, tell him it wasn't cool how he messed with women's emotions at every stop, how he took advantage of them and left them emptier than before. It wouldn't matter, though. Ben had given the same lecture a dozen times. He'd even talked to Roy about it. Roy had talked to the guys but it did little good.

Ben picked up his Bible and headed to the back where his bed was. With each step he felt it coming—the thick throat, blurry eyes. The emotions welled up and he sat on his bed and pulled his knees to his chest.

God, what am I doing here? I'm not doing anyone any good. I feel my soul being stripped away.

He opened his Bible to read, but the tears blurred on the page. Then the tears came and with it a heavy sob that was so loud it probably woke up the rest of the guys.

He was alone.

Useless.

He wanted out, but for some reason he felt God telling him to stay.

God . . . I don't want this life any more. Can't You put me somewhere else? Anywhere else?

He laid back in bed, telling himself it wouldn't hurt to be twenty minutes late to rehearsal for once. And then he just lay there and prayed. He prayed for himself and the other band members. He prayed for his friends back in Montana. He prayed for Marianna, that she would continue to seek God wherever she was. That's what really mattered.

He also prayed that if God's plan was for her to be with Aaron, that God would bless that union. Bless them.

That prayer stung the most.

His prayers carried him through the day. The concert was a joy that night. And he was still smiling when he went out for hamburgers with the guys after the concert.

They went to one of those chain restaurants that was a mix between Denny's and the local bar. He glanced at the wall lined with old junk—a child's tricycle, an old baseball mitt, a watercolor of Elvis. Who was the genius was who turned garage sale finds into decorations? He smiled to himself when he realized God did that—turned the useless into a good find.

The other guys had joined him. Not one had headed off with a pretty girl at his side. That was something to celebrate. They ordered hamburgers and talked about what they were going to buy with all their cash once the gig was up. It was hard to imagine his songs—mostly one song—could support a dozen people on the road.

"Babe alert." Joe Smink poked Ben's rib cage.

Ben turned to see what Joe was talking about, even though deep down he knew he shouldn't.

The woman's long-legged stride, knowing smile and eyes fixed on him, telling Ben she'd been at the concert. He always knew when woman were. They approached with fixed gazes that made him feel as though the price of their admittance also paid for his heart—at least for one night.

Ben squirmed in his seat wishing he'd just gone back to the bus.

The other band members' hungry eyes scanned the woman, from her low-cut top to her pointed heals. Still, her eyes fixed on him.

"Hey, can I join you?" The woman slid in to the vinyl booth before Ben had a chance to respond. "I was at the concert. It was great. I heard you before, Ben Stone, years ago, but I have to say I enjoyed you even more this time."

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows. "I can't believe you paid to see me . . . twice."

The woman laughed and extended her hand. "I'm Tasha."

Ben took her hand, soft, warm. Her long fingernails were painted red. The first thing Ben thought of was that the woman hadn't worked a day in her life—not Amish work anyway. Things like cooking, baking, sweeping, washing. He missed Marianna's trimmed nails and calloused hands.

"Listen. I was wondering if you were up for going for a drive? I don't live far from here."

One of the guys wolf-whistled, and heat rose up Ben's cheeks. The strength he'd gained from this morning was still with him. He could see through her. See that she had a hole the size of Texas in her heart and was hoping for him to fill it. Or at least try.

He smiled at her. "You're a nice girl, but I'm really not interested. If you want to have dinner with us I'll buy you a burger."

Snickers sounded around the table and this time it was the woman's face turning red.

She lifted her nose and narrowed her gaze. "No thanks, Ben Stone." She spit his name. "Sorry I bothered you."

The woman rose, turned, and strode away. The band members' laughter followed her.

Instead of feeling good about what he'd done, Ben felt horrible. The way he acted wasn't kind or godly. He lowered his head, wishing he could rewind and try that again. "Man, that was dumb."

Greg turned to him. "Change your mind?"

"Yeah, that was dumb." Joe added in. "You might want to run after that."

Ben slid from the booth and rose. "I know I did the right thing, but I should have treated her better." He could see the woman striding across the parking lot with long strides. Her head was lowered. She paused by the side of a sports car with her hands dangling at her sides. Without looking back at the restaurant she got in the car and drove away.

How many lonely people had been in the audience tonight? How many had walked away with no more hope than they'd walked in with?

He tucked his hands into his jean pockets. "I'm heading back to the bus. I'll catch you guys later."

"What about your hamburger?" Greg pointed to the waitress who carried a full tray their direction.

Ben pulled out a twenty from his wallet and tossed it onto the table. "One of you guys can have it. I'm not hungry anymore."