For Sure & Certain (27 page)

“I’ll be there.” Abel smiled, after everything this summer, he had friends. Three of them. And even though they thought Marigold was all wrong for him, they didn’t press him anymore about it. They held onto the idea that everything would change when school started back up in the fall, and in a year they’d all return to Jamestown and be together, again.

They just had to ace the final.

Marigold

Holding baby Abe filled Marigold with an utterly unexpected feeling of contentment. She kissed his soft baby curls, inhaling his clean skin, kissed with lavender and oatmeal lotion. He’d just been given him a bath, though he didn’t need one. Still only five weeks old he didn’t need much beside clean diapers and Sarah’s milk.

Marigold found herself sneaking over pies and casseroles, whenever she closed the shop for the day. Often Bekah or Mrs. Miller came with, no one able to resist a chance to snuggle with the youngest Miller boy. Jakey suddenly seemed so big, his clothes so long when they hung to dry, his appetite so substantial when they sat down to eat. And compared to his nephew, he was. Marigold had learned two years makes the world of difference when you’re a child.

“Are you looking forward to going home tomorrow?” Sarah asked as Marigold sat gazing at the baby in her arms.

“To be honest, in some ways I really am.” She hesitated, wanting to formulate her thoughts accurately, especially with Bekah sitting next to her.

“You’ll come back to visit, won’t you?” Sarah asked with her brows knit together. “I mean, you’re like family now. And look how well Abe responds to you.” She smiled, her eyes warm towards Marigold, looking like a wise, older friend, even though she was only a few years Marigold’s senior.

“Well, he’s sleeping now,” Marigold argued. “And he never fusses with anyone. But Sarah, I could never leave for good….” She didn’t add that she planned on having a very thorough conversation with her parents when she returned home.

A conversation she’d already had with Mr. and Mrs. Miller, details of which she wanted to keep under wraps until she had a chance to come clean with her own parents. She trusted Sarah, but didn’t need to spread excitement or concern through the community if it wasn’t meant to be.

Bekah squeezed Marigold’s knee, knowing some of the details. After all, Marigold had spent a lot of time thinking about this idea over the past few weeks, and Bekah had been there to answer questions any time Marigold had a new worry or fear. The biggest one’s revolving around her religious beliefs, but somehow it didn’t hang her up as much as she thought it would.

Being with the Millers had taught her a few things. The biggest being that faith, when boiled down, was about love. Love of others, along with tolerance and believing in something bigger than oneself. Of course many of the congregates within the community were much more strict in their beliefs, but the Millers weren’t showy with their convictions.

They weren’t exactly on the outs with the community, but they were progressive in some ways that Marigold knew other Amish weren’t. For starters, they let Marigold stay with them, not pressuring her to be anything other than the girl she was and they allowed Bekah to openly court Joshua, without fear of what others may say.

Now they had given her permission to begin the process of becoming a baptized member of the Amish faith.

Fear fluttered in her heart, but she knew she wanted this, an opportunity to stay in this world forever. She handed Abe to Sarah, who began to nurse him discreetly.

“And Abel, will you see him this weekend?” Sarah asked.

“Um, I’m not entirely sure. He knows I’ll be home, but his program ends this week too. He might be returning any day, but no ones heard from him.” Marigold didn’t add anymore.

She didn’t say they hadn’t spoke since he left a day early rolling off the Miller farm in a taxi, tires crunching the gravel, her heart crushed under it’s weight. She didn’t say she’d spent the past four weeks trying to focus on her life here, with the Millers, on her business in the yarn shop, instead of on the boy whose empty bedroom was right down the hall from her guest room. Whose straw hat had been left on the hook in the farmhouse entryway as he’d strode away angry, leaving her in the wake of the demons he still need to fight.

“I hope you can make amends,” said Sarah tenderly.

“We all do,” Bekah whispered, having been awfully quiet all day. Marigold knew why. Bekah was terrified Marigold’s parents would refuse to let her return.

“But she’s eighteen already,”
Bekah had argued to her parents.

“It doesn’t matter, we can’t let her stay here if it is against her parents’ wishes. It doesn’t feel right,”
Mr. Miller had explained.

In theory Marigold understood, and she’d saved up more than enough over the summer to rent a room for herself somewhere else in Lancaster, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else. She wanted to be with the people she considered her family. She’d changed too much over the course of the summer to ever return to the girl she’d been in D.C.

***

The next morning the Millers stood in the driveway, no one wanting to say good-bye.

“Can I come too, Goldie?” Ruthie asked.

Marigold bent down to her young shop assistant. “Your home is here, sweet tart.”

“But your home’s here too!” she said tugging on Marigold’s apron. Marigold had put on her regular clothing this morning, leaving her plain dresses hanging on hooks in the guest bedroom. She’d paired a cream tiered knee-length dress with ruffled socks and brown boots, a floral apron with lacy trim on the upper hem. Not the most practical apron of course, but Marigold had enjoyed putting one of her favorite outfits back on, knowing that once home she wouldn’t be tending to dirty dishes or sweeping the floor. She left her hair in a long braid down her back, tucking a wild flower behind her ear, wanting to take a small piece of the Millers’ farm with her back to the city.

“Marigold.” Mr. Miller came forward to offer a hug. “We’re family now. We’ll always be right here, our feet firmly planted in Lancaster soil.”

“Travel safe, sweetie,” said Mrs. Miller before kissing Marigold’s cheek.

“And if something happens, you know, to change your plans, write and tell me. I can’t bear to be left guessing.” Bekah’s hands flew to her face, covering the tears on her cheeks.

“I know, Bekah,” she said, not really believing she was saying goodbye, not really remembering why she was going at all.

“You need to do this part, Marigold,” said Mr. Miller, seeing her eyes flash with doubt. “You can do this part.”

Marigold nodded, holding back her own tears for when she got in the taxi, for when she drove away. “And if you see my son, tell him he’s needed at home.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, instead she flung her arms around Bekah for one last hug, kissed Jakey’s cheeks, and climbed in the taxi, knowing the weekend would be excruciatingly long. Knowing she needed to come back here come Monday.

Abel

            
 
They nailed the final. When they went back to check the final grades posted outside Trape’s door the next morning, he saw an A next to the names of his study group partners. The four point O next to it. He scrolled his finger down the rest of the cohort’s grades, and none were higher than theirs. They’d earned the recommendation, and if the meeting later this morning with the dean went well, he could be a freshman college student here, starting in a week.

“You did it, man,” Lacey said clapping him on the back.

“
We
did it,” Abel corrected him.

“Right, we all know how we aced that final. We lucked out by being in a group with you. Abel, you’re so effing bad ass,” Jenna said, offering a compliment the only way she knew how. “The dean’s gonna be all over you.”

“Ja, seems so.” Abel’s lips moved into a slow smile, and he shook his head suddenly embarrassed. “We all did well.” He pointed to the grade sheet. “Not bad for our rocky start.”

Most of the kids from their class had arrived by now to see the final grades. Kiera straightened her black frames as she peered at the grades. Smirking she said, “Seriously impressive, Abel.” She gave him a punch in the shoulder, before joining her friends she added, “If you’re ever in New York and wanna hang, give me a call, k?”

“What was that about?” Lily asked.

“Abel’s hot shit now.” Jenna covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

“You’re gonna give Marigold such a run for her money, she won’t even know what to do with you now that all the girls wanna piece,” said Lacey, confirming what they all knew: Abel was going to see if Marigold was still waiting. If she still loved him.

“Right, because everyone wants a piece of this.” Abel didn’t know what to do with the words swirling around him. Classmates were busy giving hugs and overextending themselves for future breaks from school, making promises … and also congratulating their group on a job well done.

“Next year, all of us will be here. It’s gonna be unreal,” said Lacey.

“Yeah, if Abel still wants to hang with us lowly freshman.” Jenna gave an exaggerated pout.

“Regardless what year we are … we’re doing it. All of us. Here, one year form now.” Lily pulled them in for a group hug. Cheesy or not, Abel didn’t hold back. He was going to miss his friends.

“Lacey and I are going to get coffee, wanna come with?” Jenna asked Lily and Abel, once they left the hall where they had congregated outside Trape’s classroom. Everyone had begun to disperse, back to the dorms to pack up and say good-bye. Lily was game, but Abel bowed out.

“I have my meeting with the dean.”

“Oh, duh. Okay, stop by the dorm after, we’ll be there,” Jenna said. “We have to be cleared out by noon, though hopefully you’ll get to stay right where you are.

Abel hoped so too, knowing it would be a really awkward night at Lily’s house if he didn’t have a place on campus. Lacey and Jenna were crashing with the Asher’s tonight, and the four of them would go to Comicon in the morning before everyone headed their separate ways.

“Good luck, Abel,” Lily said. “Knock ‘em dead.”

Dead wasn’t exactly what he was going for, but he did want to impress the dean. He’d submitted his application atrociously late. He’d figured out how to take the GED himself, and with the recommendation from Trape, he hoped they would give him a late acceptance.

If they didn’t, he didn’t know what he’d do. Return to Lancaster for year? If he went back would he ever really be able to leave again?

The idea felt foreign and removed. He couldn’t go back there now, even if his family was expecting him. Expectation. The word carried too much significance.  He pushed the heavy thought away, and walked into the dean’s office.

“Welcome, again, Abel,” Dean Larsen said, wearing another suit this time, still a size too large.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Sit, and tell me about your time this summer. We had such high hopes two months ago, how do you feel it panned out?”

Abel was surprised by the question, assuming Larsen would have the answer if he read the application essay, but he went ahead, hoping it was just a friendly question.

“The summer exceeded my expectations.” There was that word again,
expectation
. “In every sense of the word, this program opened my eyes to possibilities I never seriously allowed myself to consider.”

Larsen took Abel in thoughtfully, as if carefully considering each word. “And not returning to Lancaster, how does that impact you?”

“Well, greatly, but it’s worth the sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice of family is no small thing, Abel. I want to be honest with you here; your application and essay were stellar, truly. Test scores phenomenal, as you know, and then considering the recommendation Trape handed me this morning, clearly you deserve to be a student at Jamestown.”

“But?” Worry grew in Abel’s chest, not liking the direction of the conversation.

“I’m nervous for you. Scared, even. Your choice to be here is not like the other incoming freshman. Sure, they’ll leave home for the first time, and there’s a learning curve in that, but you’re making a permanent life decision.”

“I appreciate your concern, Dean, but my choice to apply was not taken lightly.”

Dean Larsen leaned in to listen, to truly hear Abel. This was the very reason he wanted to be at Jamestown. To be heard, understood. The worry loosened it’s grip as Abel’s resolve strengthened.

“I belong here. Respectfully, I ask you see me as you would any other student applying. I want no special privileges, just the courtesy of being taken seriously, as an adult making decisions with a sound mind and good judgment. There’s no other place I want to be right now.”

Larsen stood, smiling. “It’s good to hear, Abel. You’re exactly the sort of student we pride ourselves with enrolling. I heartily welcome you to Jamestown as a freshman for the class of 2020, starting next week. George, down in admissions, has your scholarship information ready, and the other paperwork waiting for you, and he can help work out a dorm room.”