Christmas in Apple Ridge (16 page)

Amos blinked, looking too stunned to move. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Your timing stinks. She was so close to …” He stopped. Nothing that had happened was Amos’s fault.

“Close to what?”

“Screaming, yelling, being honest.”

“If that’s what you’ve been looking for all these years, you’ve got strange taste in women.” Amos sighed. “Well. If you want to provoke her, go after her.”

The sensible part of him wanted to let her go. She deserved time to adjust and let the weight of her response settle. But if he let her go, would they talk later, or would her freshly poured cement wall have hardened? Guessing the answer, he worked his way down the steps and across the yard, leaning heavily on his cane.

Beth stood at the foot of his grandmother’s steps, telling her good-bye as the driver descended the stairs.

With dead leaves scattering as he walked, she had to hear the unique scrape of his cane as he approached, but she didn’t turn around. He stopped right behind her.

“You’re being guarded and evasive, and that has its place. But we’ll both be better off if you’d share what you’re thinking.”

She spun toward him. “Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Haven’t I suffered enough humiliation without you asking for more?”

“Just take a walk with me, and we’ll talk.”

“Oh, I’ve shared plenty with you already, thanks.”

He stood within inches of her, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever been farther from anyone in his life. “Beth, I know you’re not intentionally being cold—”

“Cold?” Her voice showed the first hint of real desire to lose control, and she leaned in even closer. “A piece of advice—never underestimate how cold I can be.”

Jonah leaned back as if slapped. “I guess I’m learning that.”

“And now we’re leaving.”

“Beth, don’t go like this. I went to the hayride …”

She shot him a look of bitterness. “I’m done.”

“I’m not. Come on, Beth. I went to the hayride to figure out what was going on. When I had the chance to tell you, it felt wrong to blurt it out. I needed more time to explain everything.”

“It would’ve taken you thirty seconds to say your name clearly.”

“You seemed content enough not to know it. Why is that?”

“Fine. You’re completely in the right, and I’m completely in the wrong. I’ll send no more letters, and I’ll receive no more from you. Is that clear?” Her poised indifference was unsettling. “Gloria, please unlock the van door.”

“You can hide behind black for the rest of your life.” He stayed in
step with her as she moved to the vehicle. “Others may not see what you’re hiding, but you have to look into that darkness every day.”

The anger and fight drained from her, and he didn’t know how to move her in the opposite direction.

Without so much as a glance, she got into the van.

G
loria kept her eyes on the road and asked nothing as Beth sobbed. As the miles passed, her embarrassment faded, and memories of the night Henry died began to haunt her. She’d been so stubborn, so unkind. He’d begged for another chance, promises flowed from his lips, but she fought herself free and left—never to see him alive again.

“Gloria, go back.”

Her eyes were large. “You sure?”

“Yes.” But how could she face Jonah? He’d tricked her, and he knew too much. “No … keep going.”

Visions of holding Henry’s soaked, cold body against her own and her desperation for the nightmare to end engulfed her. She couldn’t carry the weight of leaving like this. Not again.

“Go back.”

Gloria glanced from the road to her but slowed the van. Soon they were in the Kinsinger driveway again.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Beth said. “I need to find peace between him and me before I can go.”

Gloria pulled the vehicle directly in front of Jonah’s place this time instead of his grandmother’s. “I’ll wait here.”

“Denki.”

“You’re welcome.”

Beth got out, but before she closed the door, Gloria called to her. Beth bent to look through the window.

“Are you sure he’s safe?” she asked.

Thinking someone should have asked that question about Henry, Beth nodded. “I’m sure of it.”

She moved to the front door and knocked.

“Kumm,” Jonah’s voice called.

Easing inside, she spotted him at the kitchen sink, his back to her as he filled the percolator with water.

“I’m fine.” His voice filled the room with warmth. “I’m not hungry right now, but thanks. And I told you she was unusual. I know I shouldn’t have pursued her when she was so mad, so don’t even say it.” He turned slightly and glanced toward the door. All of his movements stopped.

“Unusual?” She tried smiling but couldn’t manage it. He knew so much about her. She felt as though she stood before him without her hair pulled under her prayer Kapp. “Is that the Ohio Amish way of saying ‘troubled’?”

It was his turn to be startled. “I can’t believe you came back. Did you leave something?”

She shook her head, all her words lost for a moment, and watched him set the coffeepot on the stove and light a flame under it.

His movements were as tranquil as crystal water flowing down a lazy stream. His back and shoulders looked strong, and she could envision him fighting the terrain and elements to pull that log out. She wondered if he was the man he appeared to be, the man he sounded like in his letters. She knew most men weren’t like Henry, but she’d been attracted to him when they began their relationship, and she didn’t know if she could trust the power of what she felt for Jonah.

She smoothed her apron. “You don’t seem bothered by the clash we had, so if you’re okay with things between us, I probably should head on home. I just … I was worried, but … you’re fine. I’m fine.”

He smiled. “Up to you, but I make really great coffee.”

“I can’t be here that long.”

“Man, what is it about my coffee that makes everyone feel that way?”

The emptiness inside her eased a bit. He knew part of her secret, and she hadn’t been destroyed by it. “Jonah, I came back because I need us to end peacefully, okay?”

“I admire that, Beth, and I understand. But I see no reason for our friendship to end, even if peacefully.”

Her skin tingled from the awkwardness she felt. “There’s no chance you didn’t get my last letter, is there?”

He slung a dishtowel across his shoulder and shook his head. “I got it.”

She shuddered. “Great.”

Why did I share so much?
From now on she had to do a better job of controlling and hiding her loneliness.

A tender smile crossed his face as he pulled two mugs from the cabinet. “So you thought I was cute, huh?”

Mortified, heat rushed through her body. Of the many things she’d written about, describing the reaction she’d had when she saw the nameless man at Pete’s Antiques might have been the most frivolous. Then, like a teenager with a first crush, she’d expounded in her letter on the impression “the stranger” left on her when he came to Lizzy’s supper and hayride event. “Well … not so much anymore.”

His laughter eased the tension between them, and even with her lingering embarrassment, she knew she’d done the right thing in coming back. The aroma of coffee began to permeate the room, making the place feel warm and welcoming.

“How’d the mix-up happen?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Lizzy was the linchpin between them since her visit. She had to be in the center of it all.

He shook his head and said nothing. Leaning back against the counter, he set his cane next to him. For the first time she noticed he was missing two fingers. He had an appealing ruggedness about him, a presence that pulled on her. When she lifted her eyes, he seemed to look straight into her soul. She couldn’t imagine what he must think of her.

He looked from her to his hand. “A sleighing accident.”

She nodded. “The reason we have opposite feelings toward sleigh rides.”

“That’d be it. At first I was a self-conscious teen who tried to hide my hand. As time passed, I realized everyone is damaged in one way or another.”

“Some of us more than others.” She lowered her eyes to the countertop, unable to look him in the eye. “And we all have to learn to get by with the limitations we’re left with.”

“That’s only partially true, Beth. When I was injured physically, I went through surgeries and physical therapy. All of it was painful, but if I’d refused to have the operations and hadn’t fought to regain use of my leg and arm, I’d be in constant pain and truly crippled, not just reliant on a cane.”

She tried to comprehend, but her divided emotions still battled inside her. His pain was different from hers. But what she did understand slipped past her barriers and felt like a soothing balm on a painful burn. Maybe there was freedom to be found, even for her. Had she allowed her injury to do more damage to her than it should have?

The answer scraped away the freshly applied salve. When it came to Henry’s death, she was no innocent casualty.

“I … I’m glad you got the help you needed, Jonah.” She wanted to shake his hand, thank him for being gracious, and leave, but she couldn’t make herself budge.

“Beth, healing isn’t some special gift designed just for me.”

His gentle warmth felt hauntingly familiar. He clutched his cane, went to the stove, and turned off the eye under the coffeepot. It seemed no time had passed since she’d walked back into his home, but since the coffee had finished percolating, she realized they must have been talking for fifteen minutes or more.

Jonah turned back to her. “In that sleighing incident … I was the only one who got physically hurt. But for a long time, my siblings suffered emotional trauma because of my injuries. It’s been thirteen years
since the accident. Shame or regret still crops up in Amos or one of the others. We talk it out, get some perspective, apply fresh forgiveness where needed, and keep moving on.”

His words made her ache for that kind of openness with someone. When she thought she was coming to see the old man she’d been writing to, she’d planned to tell him about the night Henry died—not all of it, but maybe enough to lift some of the weight. Easing the solitude of her secret might help, even if she knew a pardon didn’t exist for her. “For everything you know about me, there’s much, much more that you don’t.”

“Beth.” His gentle voice circulated through her blood, reminding her of a hundred dreams she once imagined for her life. “That day at Pete’s, when we saw each other, I felt it too. I’ve thought of you so many times since then. Are you going to close me out because I don’t know you when you’re the one not giving me that chance?”

She went to the kitchen table and picked up the letter she’d tossed there earlier. She always carried letters with her when traveling, an old habit in case she needed to reference some information or address a question. But in Jonah’s case, she’d kept them with her because she enjoyed rereading them. Walking back to where he stood, she pulled it out of its envelope and opened it. “Did you mark out this line?”

He took the letter from her, studied it for a few moments, and then laid it on the counter in front of her. Without giving an answer, he opened two small tin canisters, added a spoon to each, and slid them her way. One contained sugar and the other powdered cream. “You’re changing the subject. We were talking about you, about us.”

She picked up the letter and lightly shook it. “You want honesty from me, but you can’t give it?”

He took two mugs from the cabinet and moved to the stove. “Your aunt knew we needed each other’s friendship. She saw that in both of us, but we agree she went about it completely wrong.” He held out a mug of steaming coffee to her.

She didn’t take it. Instead she nudged the letter toward him again. “What did the line she marked out say?”

He set the cup on the counter in front of her. “I think it said that your voice on paper sounded much different than you sounded in person. I noticed it in the first letter from you, but I thought maybe that’s why you asked for us to write.”

Beth’s throat ached from the effort of bottling emotions she didn’t want. Without meeting her, Jonah sensed more of who she was from a letter than others she had known since childhood did. Tears choked her, and she wished she hadn’t asked about the marked-out line. “I should go.”

He met her eyes but said nothing for a moment. She felt so transparent and couldn’t sort out if it thrilled her or frightened her.

“I understand. You know what I’d like, but it’s ultimately your choice.” The finality in his voice dug deeper into the canyon of doubt inside her. He took a sip of his drink. “I’ll miss hearing from you, Beth.”

She stared at the black liquid in her cup, not wanting to see the message in his face again. “If you were an old man, I’d be a nice girl to write to, one who could help you earn money selling your carvings.
But you’re not old, and I can’t chance what might happen if I don’t walk away. There are boundaries I can’t cross.”

“That’s how you’ve been coping, I know, but I don’t believe that’s who you want to be.”

A sob escaped her, and she turned her back to him. To her right stood a set of french doors, framing a view of rolling pastures, sprawling oaks, and a huge moon, highlighting the work of a God larger than her pain. “I felt drawn to a man once before.” She whispered, but she knew by Jonah’s silence that he’d heard her. “Only a little compared to … us. But it dug two graves—his and mine.”