Living in Harmony (39 page)

Amy left her conversation with John with a singular purpose in mind—to get as far away from him as one house, in one small town, would permit. What a conniving, controlling, duplicitous man he was! She would not shed a single tear over her broken engagement. As her
mamm
used to say, any woman who married a schemer must have rocks in her head.

What would
mamm
say about this sudden turn of events? Good riddance to bad medicine? Better now than later?

Yet by the time Amy reached the porch she found herself checking to see if the despicable letter-burner had trailed after her. She had half a notion to call the postmaster general and have John
arrested. Destroying mail that didn't belong to you was a federal offense, punishable by a fine or time in prison. Perhaps solitary confinement with a steady diet of bread and water would do him some good.

But John hadn't followed her. He remained at the pasture fence with his back bent and his forehead resting against a post. She hoped he would remain there until dark, sparing her the ordeal of seeing his face. She entered Sally's kitchen, toed off her muddy shoes, and hung up her cloak. Her cup was exactly where she'd left it on the table. Refilling it with coffee, Amy carried it to the front room. Thomas had stoked the woodstove, making the room toasty warm.

While her iron heated atop the stove, Amy planned her day. She would iron every garment in the laundry basket and then sew until bedtime. But the embroidered pillowcases and sheets seemed pointless now that she was no longer a bride-to-be. Perhaps reading would offer more diversion, although she could skip the bishop's assignment of First Corinthians. Instructions to husbands and wives no longer had bearing on her life. She needed to figure out her future.
If the wedding is off, how can I continue living with Thomas and Sally?
Amy pressed the first shirt zealously.
Should I catch the bus to Bangor and then another to Portland where I can board the train?
The dull ache between her eyes soon spread across her whole head.

“Amy?” asked a soft voice. “May I join you, or would you rather be alone?”

She glanced up to find a bedraggled Nora standing in the doorway.

“
Jah
, come in. Why are you wet? Never mind. You were obviously out walking. Go stand by the fire until you dry.” Amy turned her attention back to the shirt.

Nora crept into the room and took a position by the woodstove. “Sally said you and John had a horrible spat.”

Amy didn't look up from her ironing. “That is true.” She volunteered nothing more than three flat words.

“She told me he burned Aunt Prudence's letters.”

Amy bit the inside of her cheek. “If it's just the same,
schwester,
I'd rather not rehash the details right now. I'm trying to control my anger, not fan the flames.”

“That would be wise.” Nora held her hands above the stove. “You need to consider your options here.”

Amy set down the iron to reheat. “And what options would those be? I…we…have no choice but to return to Lancaster. I can't very well stay if the wedding is off, especially as Harmony is a small town. I would run into a Detweiler every time I turned around.” She hissed the words under her breath, not wishing to be overheard.

Nora sneezed repeatedly into her tissues. “Oh, dear, this is even worse than I imagined.”

Amy glowered at her. “What are you talking about? You're the one who didn't want me rushing into marriage. I thought you would be pleased that I broke my engagement.”

“Not at all. I don't want you making rash decisions, and that appears to be what you're still doing.”

Amy was in no mood for an enigmatic sister. “This was no garden-variety disagreement. John's actions uncovered a major character flaw. It's better that I found out now rather than later on.” She walked to the front window, where rain pelted the glass, underscoring the prevalent mood in the room.

“A character flaw?” Nora blew her nose. “I'm sure you're over-reacting. You're about to make an important decision—one you shouldn't make without serious consideration and plenty of prayer.”

Amy's patience began to fray. “You're a fine one to advise—”

“Hear me out,” interrupted Nora. “I know I'm dispensing medicine I don't usually take, but that doesn't make it less worthwhile. You don't really want to move back to Pennsylvania and neither do
I. But I will if that's your decision,” she added hastily. “Why not give this a little time to see if you feel differently? Let's say a week.”

“A week? You want me to live here and try to avoid John for seven days? Don't you think that might be uncomfortable?”

“It might be, but if you explain this is a seven-day cooling-off period, he'll probably cut you a wide swath.”

Amy shook her head mulishly, but she had lost the desire to continue arguing. Her confrontational side was plum worn out for one day. “I suppose I can wait that long.”

Nora's expression turned victorious. “One week. Then we'll pack up and head to the bus depot. You'll have the rest of your life to hate his guts.”

Amy had always loathed that expression. “I could never hate John, no matter what final choice I make.”

“All the more reason not to go off half-cocked.”

“Where are all these English phrases coming from?” asked Amy, grateful for a change in subject.

“I ran into Elam on my walk in the rain. You know he's more English than Amish these days.” Nora flashed a toothy smile. “You finish the ironing while I scrub the bathroom and kitchen floor. I have much to atone for, and I heard hard work goes a long way… especially in Maine.” In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Amy put her sister's odd comments out of mind. She had more to contemplate than any sane woman could handle at the moment.

D
ampness seeped through the leather soles of Thomas's work boots. Time to buy a new pair on his next trip to the Harmony co-op. Last night's surprise blizzard brought more harm than cold feet and sloppy pastures. An ancient, dying sycamore had split down the middle as wet snow clung to the heavily laden branches. Half the tree fell into the cornfield, leaving a deep furrow between the rows, while the other half brought down a section of pasture fence. Fortunately, his cows had chosen the barn to spend the night in due to the storm and hadn't yet discovered their path to freedom. Shielding his eyes as the sun rose higher than the eastern treetops, Thomas spotted the approach of his brother.

John's head was bent low. He was either watching for pockets of icy water hidden under the fresh snow, or miserable from an unhappy encounter with Amy that had already spoiled his morning. When he reached the stump, his pinched face told the story. Thomas felt a jab of compassion for the man, who often emulated a confused moose blundering into town.

“What happened?” asked John. “Did the storm knock down a tree?”

Considering the presence of an ax, chainsaw, and bail of wire, along with snippers and the flatbed wagon, the question seemed superfluous. Thomas answered him with courtesy anyway. “
Jah
, but by noon most of the snow will be gone. It's supposed to be sunny today. We'll have time to get the wood moved down to the house.”

Without a word, John started the chainsaw and began cutting the fallen tree into stove-sized pieces as Thomas returned to fence repair. The two men worked at least thirty minutes before his brother, perspiring and red faced, set down his tools.

Thomas picked up the signal that his brother was ready to talk. “More trouble with Nora?” he asked.

“No, I can't shift the blame this time. Amy broke our engagement this morning for something she'd found out about me.” He sat down on the stump used as a chopping block with a grim expression.

“She canceled her plans to buy the house and marry you?” Thomas dropped the wire cutters into the toolbox and devoted his full attention to his brother.

“She can never marry a man she cannot trust.”

“Maybe you should start at the beginning and tell me the whole story.”

John recounted the events factually, with little emotion, but as soon as he was finished he began to cry. Thomas hadn't heard his brother cry in many years. The sound broke his heart, yet at the same time it stirred a sense of hope. A man never changes until forced to, until he's brought to his knees. John had fallen from the straight and narrow path. This could be his first step back. Thomas let his brother weep until he had exhausted his sorrow and self-loathing. Finally John wiped his face with his handkerchief, blew his nose, and straightened his back.

Thomas closed his eyes to recollect a passage of Scripture. “In
James chapter five, verse sixteen, we find good advice. ‘Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.' You have confessed your sins to the Lord and to Amy, so now your healing can begin.”

“Perhaps God will forgive me, but Amy never will. She won't forget my pride and arrogance and judgmental behavior. I condemned her aunt and her sister as though my hands were clean. I maneuvered to keep Amy and her aunt apart, fearing I would lose control. And in so doing I destroyed our life together.” John locked eyes with Thomas. “You're my minister and my brother and my only friend. Please help me change my ways. I don't want to live another day in my skin.”

Thomas had never heard his brother so vulnerable and penitent. “Pray daily—no, hourly—for deliverance. Let the Holy Spirit fill your heart, give you strength, and guide you. Your future will be revealed in due time, but for now put Amy out of your mind. You're allowing her to monopolize your every thought. Dwelling on your missteps, no matter how onerous, won't help the situation.” He placed a hand on John's shoulder. “In the meantime, you're not finished making amends. You need to confess what you've done to Prudence and apologize to Nora. Those two acts will go a long way in your healing.”

John rose to his feet. “You're right. I will do this and pray it will be enough.”

“A contrite heart will be sufficient to the Lord, but Amy must arrive at her own conclusions. Many things said during heated arguments are later regretted. Give her space and time. If your hearts are true, there are few obstacles that cannot be overcome. But if you do part ways, this union was never meant to be.”

“
Danki, bruder
.”

“
Gern gschehne
,” murmured Thomas. “Before you go to bed, turn in your Bible to the third chapter of First John, verses nineteen and twenty. Start there for help.” He reached out his hand to John. They
shook heartily and returned to their tasks. Within a couple of hours the fence had been repaired, the tree cut into manageable lengths, and the branches cleaned up. John loaded the firewood onto the flatbed wagon to be split another day. The dead sycamore would provide warm nights next winter. The hard physical labor distracted John from his woes, which is exactly what Thomas had in mind.

Later that night, when John retreated to his room, weary from a day of backbreaking work, he discovered two things that would help him sleep a bit easier. Amy had written a note and slipped it under his door. With shaking fingers he unfolded the single sheet and began to read:

Amelia—all these years he'd never known her formal given name. Now the word tumbled around his head like a beautiful melody, constricting his heart with unbearable melancholy.
Amelia, what have I done?
Dropping into the rocking chair, handmade long ago by his
grossdawdi,
John turned to the passage in First John that Thomas had suggested and read aloud words to change his life.