Gay Amish 03 - A Way Home (13 page)

David was struck by a thought of Eve and the apple, and how once bitten, there was no going back. There was only the future, and a whole world of God’s creation to explore with Isaac. He swallowed a swell of emotion. “I can’t ever live here again, but wherever I go, you and your sisters will always have a place there.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Sarah mumbled, her tears damp on his shirt.

“I wish I could take you with me.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his stomach clenched. Was it fair to say such a thing? Was it right? Was he encouraging Sarah to want to leave her family?

“Then why don’t you?”

“Oh, my Sarah.” He wished he could explain how much he wanted to take her and the girls away and give them a world with more freedom. But they weren’t his children to take. David tried to smile instead and remember some of the beautiful things in Sarah’s life. “Think of how much you’d miss Mother and our sisters. All your friends from school. How you’d miss the frolics and weddings, and swimming in the pond come summer. Running through the damp grass and trying to catch fireflies. Sitting by the stove in winter and roasting chestnuts while Mary reads out loud.”

“Then take us with you, and we can do those things somewhere else. Why can’t we all be together again?”

David swallowed hard. “Because you’re Amish, and I’m not anymore.”

She lifted her tearstained face. “But
why
? Don’t you like it here with us?”

“It’s not because of you or your sisters, or Mother. I swear.” He brushed at her damp cheeks. She was so small and vulnerable in his arms, and he ached for her. “I hope one day you’ll be able to understand why. But I’ll always be your brother, no matter how far away I am. This is a good place for some people. It just can’t be for me.”

But he and Isaac could have something like it in the world. A simple, good life. As he rocked his sister, he murmured an old lullaby, the German a comfort to him as well. “
Schlof, bubeli, schlof
…”

“Sarah!” Elizabeth’s voice carried upstairs. “Come peel the potatoes.”

David set her on her feet and wiped her cheeks again. “All right now. Go be a good girl.” He kissed her forehead. It wasn’t like them to talk openly of their feelings, but he didn’t hesitate. “Remember I love you. I’ll always be there for you.”

“I’ll never forget,” she whispered, and ran from the room.

#

When David could collect himself enough, he went downstairs. He’d changed into fresh clothes, and carried his felt hat. He’d never felt more like an imposter. As he reached the foot of the stairs, he realized guests had just arrived. He’d been so lost in his own world that he hadn’t heard the buggy or knock, and now he stood frozen in the face of Deacon Stoltzfus and his wife, who regarded him with a mix of curiosity and distaste.

She was a stout woman with worn lines around her eyes, and he couldn’t imagine her ever being young, or carefree. She’d once been a child, of course, but David couldn’t imagine her or the deacon without the heaviness that hung over them.

“Hello, Deacon. Mrs. Stoltzfus. How are you?” It was the most he’d said to the woman perhaps ever. After Joshua had gotten her daughter, Martha, killed with drugs and recklessness, the Stoltzfuses had of course immediately offered their forgiveness, but David had never been sure they meant it. The family of Rachel, the other girl that had drowned that terrible night, had stayed in Red Hills, and David had been relieved not to have to face them and see their grief.

She nodded, but didn’t smile. “Well, thank you.” She lifted a basket and addressed Mother. “Miriam, I made too many muffins.”

“Come, come.” Mother waved her into the kitchen, glaring at the girls to follow. Anna and Mary had appeared, and they gave David a little wave before following.

Now it was only Eli, David, and the Deacon, whose bushy eyebrows gave him a thunderous appearance as usual as he stared at David. Martha had been a pretty thing, and Joshua’s voice echoed in David’s mind.

“She can’t stand her father. Can you imagine what he’s like at home? I’ve never seen him laugh, not once. I think Martha might leave with me when the time is right.”

He’d never know if she would have left, or if Joshua really would have either. Looking at the deacon now with his sausage fingers and slumped shoulders, David felt a pang of sadness, and hoped that Martha had loved her father more than she’d said.

“Why don’t we sit?” Eli waved the deacon toward one of the rocking chairs.

Panic bubbled up in David. “I’ll leave you to discuss your business.” Before Eli could say a word, David rushed past them and out the front door, leaving his boots behind. It was still cold to be running around in bare feet with no jacket, but he hurried to the barn, not looking back, and breathing in and out the way Jen taught him.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been studiously sweeping out the stalls when footfalls echoed into the rafters. David’s head was bent as he worked, and beyond the brim of his hat he could see the tips of a man’s boots.
Please be Eli.
He forced himself to smile, and it was likely more of a grimace. He gripped the broom as he looked up. “Deacon.”

“David Lantz.” The deacon regarded him evenly. “I’m glad to see you returned. Back where you belong.”

David blinked, certain he was hearing things. “I…thank you. But I…”

“We welcome back all who return and commit themselves to the Lord. Who repent for their sins. It is not too late for you.”

He tried to think of something—anything—to say. But any kind of small talk felt wrong. It was the Amish way to get to the heart of the matter and not dance around it. “You’d really welcome me back?” David swept at a stray piece of hay. “I thought you’d be relieved I was gone.”

The deacon’s bushy brows drew together. “Relieved that one of our flock was lost?”

“Not if it was someone else, but with me…”

He still frowned. “What?”

“I just never thought you liked me much. I thought maybe…” David’s heart thumped. “Do I look like him? Like Joshua?” The name hung in the musty air, and he wished he could call it back. It sounded like a silly question, but he honestly didn’t know. His memories of Joshua were faded and shrouded in the shadows of loss. He could imagine the sharpness of his smile, but not the color of his eyes. Without any photographs, he wasn’t sure if he’d grown to resemble him or not.

For the first time David could remember, the deacon appeared flustered, and his voice rose. “What? Why?”

“I thought perhaps that’s why you didn’t like me. Because I reminded you of him.”

The deacon opened and closed his mouth before inhaling and exhaling slowly. He shook his head solemnly, speaking in his low tones once more. “You are not responsible for your brother’s sins, which we forgave long ago.”

It was the same kind of platitudes David had heard for years. This time, he pressed for more. “But have you?” The questions he’d wanted to ask for years tumbled off his tongue. “How? How can you forgive him after what he did?” He thought of his brother naked in the river, the girls barely dressed, all with drugs poisoning them. It had been a sordid end. “Your daughter—”

“We will speak no more of my daughter. It is the past. It has no bearing on you. On your choice to turn your back on God, and your community. There is only one way to salvation. Take it. Come home where you belong.”

“I…”

“Think of your poor mother. Must she lose two sons? What a terrible burden that would be.”

“I know. I wish it could be different. I wish—”

“Wishes are for children and fools. Not for men.”

It was true enough. “It pains me to leave my family. But this is the path I choose.”

“There is always another way. The way of the righteous. There is nothing that cannot be overcome when we stand together.”

“But you’re the ones who insist it has to be this way. That you must be separate. With no compromise. To live the life I want, I have to sacrifice my family. That’s not the way it would be if it were up to me. You’re good people, and you think you’re doing what’s right.” His heart pounded. “But I’m good too, and I have to choose what’s right for me.”

“It is never too late to repent,” the deacon insisted, his jaw set. Then his face softened, and his gruff growl of a voice was little more than a whisper. “Let me help you. It’s not too late.”

All these years the deacon had done little but glower at him, and David thought he must be dreaming to see the tenderness in the man’s eyes, to hear the pleading in his voice. He couldn’t find a single word in response.

“It’s not too late,” Deacon Stoltzfus repeated, and then shuffled away, his boots echoing once more.

“This is delicious, Katie.” Isaac took another bite of the chicken pot pie, the flaky crust buttery on his tongue.

Across the table, she beamed. “Thanks, Isaac.”

Heavy silence settled over them again, chewing and the clinks of cutlery the only sounds. Nathan’s empty place beside him felt cavernous. There was so much to say to each other, and part of him wanted to shake his parents so the words would come out. He’d rather they yelled at him. But this was their way—the Amish way. They might be pacifists, but silence was their weapon.

Joseph tentatively asked, “Do they have carpenters in the city?”

Isaac glanced at his parents’ pinched expressions before answering. “Yep. David has his own business, and I help him sometimes.”

“What do you do the rest of the time?” Joseph frowned. “What do people do when they don’t have cows to milk or chores to do?”

“I’ve been going to school.”

Joseph’s frown deepened. “But you finished school a long time ago.”

“I know.” He glanced at his parents, who were like statues, their mouths pressed into thin lines. “But the English go to school until they’re much older. High school doesn’t end until they’re eighteen, and then some of them go to college. I’m studying so I can get my GED. It’s a high school diploma but you don’t have to take years of classes.”

“What do you do with that?” Katie asked.

“Anything I want.” Isaac stuck a creamy pea with the tine of his fork.

Father grumbled something under his breath.

A flare of frustration lit up Isaac. “What did you say?” Ephraim shot him an incredulous glance, but Isaac plowed on. “Go on. Tell me.”

“The English don’t know what’s important. Hard work and family. Community. Obeying the Lord. They waste time with all these other vain, useless things.” Father scooped up a piece of pie and shoved it in his mouth like an exclamation point.

“It’s not a waste of time. I’m learning. It may not be important to you, but it is to me. I’ve made friends there too.”

“What are their names?” Katie asked.

“Chris, Derek, and Lola.”

Father grumbled. “Lola? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s…I don’t know. But it suits her.”

Katie’s eyes lit up. “Is she your girlfriend? Do you drive her home?” She frowned. “Although I guess you don’t have a buggy.”

“Is she really your girlfriend?” Ephraim asked eagerly.

Joseph scrunched up his face. “Eww.”

Isaac almost laughed, thinking to himself that his reaction to a girlfriend would be similar to little Joseph’s. But his parents were rigid, staring at him, clutching their knives and forks. “No. Lola’s just a friend. I don’t have a girlfriend.” He swallowed a bite of pie so he wouldn’t have to say anything else.

Joseph asked, “Do you have a nice teacher like Miss Schrock?”

“Uh-huh. I have a few teachers, and they’re all really nice. They’ve been to college and they know a lot.”

“Do they know about planting soybeans? Mr. Yoder has a new patch of land. Maybe you could help him,” Joseph suggested.

Isaac laughed uneasily. His parents were still on edge, but had gone back to eating. “No. They don’t know anything about farming.”

“So what do they know?” Katie tilted her head. “Do they know about science?”

“Uh-huh. And geography, and history, and art, and music, and math, and English.”

“What do you do when you know those things?” Joseph scraped his fork on the bottom of his bowl.

“Nothing useful,” Father answered. “This is why we farm. This is all we need to know to please God.”

“There are lots of things to do in the world.” Isaac couldn’t help himself. “Lots of ways to please God. I might go to college someday.”

“What would you study?” Katie asked.

“Enough of this.” Father swiped his mouth with a napkin. “We live off the land. No need to fill our minds with all that worldly nonsense.”

“Just because it’s English doesn’t mean it’s nonsense.” Isaac kept his tone even. “I’ve learned a lot. There are so many things that have happened that we never even hear about.”

“What kinds of things, hmm?” Father asked. “War? Famine? More war?”

“Well, some of it. Yes, there have been a lot of wars.”

“All that violence and killing. And for what?” Father shook his head wearily. “Such a waste.”

“Yes. But there are good things too.” His mind whirled. “Like how scientists have cured diseases. Diabetes used to kill all kinds of people, but a man discovered insulin, and now people live. There are wonderful inventions that help people. That make their lives better.”

Father took another bite of chicken, grunting. Mother kept her gaze on her plate. “We trust in the Lord to keep us healthy.”

“But what about Nathan?” Ephraim blurted. “He’s not healthy.”

“And he’s getting English medicine,” Isaac added. “Why is that okay?”

Father glared now, and his fist thumped the table, rattling the dishes. “Because the Ordnung permits it in times of grave injury or illness.”

And that was that.

After they finished dinner in silence, Isaac hurried to the outhouse, eager for a few minutes alone. He wished he had his phone to text David, but at least he’d see him soon. The moon was rising, and it looked like the night would be clear.

As he walked back to the house, Isaac found his mother by the laundry line. “Can I help?”

She glanced at him sharply. “This is women’s work.”