Peace (14 page)

Pulling his hat farther down on his head in a weak attempt to block the wind, Jacob walked along the empty expanse of the far fields of the Millers' farm.

As he walked along, taking faint notice of the fresh snow underfoot and the bare branches in the woods beyond, nestled in between bright green spruce trees, he shook his head.

The Millers' farm had always been an intriguing spot. The Millers had never liked folks traipsing across the land, but for as long as he could remember, everyone he knew had done it anyway.

He even recalled his parents saying that they used to cut across the land on their way to each other's houses when they were teenagers.

Some things never changed, he guessed.

The Millers' land lay right in between the store and half of the town. Whether a person was in a hurry, or just too lazy to walk around, the option of walking across the empty land was almost too tempting to ignore.

Lately, Mr. and Mrs. Miller had stopped protesting quite so much about all of the trespassing. They, as much as anyone, he supposed, had begun to realize that enforcing their wishes was futile.

And, well, it wasn't like they'd used the land in decades. Instead it had lain empty.

Of course, lately it had also been the center of scandal in their community. Abby Anderson had discovered Perry Borntrager's body in an abandoned well when she'd been smoking near it with two other
Englischer
girls.

Perry had taken to hanging around there, and had even met Frannie there a time or two when they'd briefly dated.

And, of course, the last time he'd been there with Frannie they'd argued. Which had led to Frannie crying and Jacob going after Perry to talk some sense into him.

The rest was history. He'd argued with Perry, which had led to a fistfight. Perry hit his head on the side of the abandoned well and passed out.

Which was where Jacob's father had found him . . . and then had ended up hiding Perry's body in the abandoned well.

Just a few months ago, the Millers had filled the well with cement and laid a plaque on the top. All it said was
Hope
.

As a whole, their community had thought the sentiment was well placed.

Now, as he stood before it on Christmas Eve, running his palm along the carved letters, Jacob thought it was especially meaningful.

It was now obvious that holding on to bitterness, regret, and pain wasn't doing him any good. The negative emotions, combined with the true ache he felt for Perry's passing and his father's incarceration, were threatening to change the person he was.

If he wasn't careful, Jacob knew he was on the verge of becoming just as bitter and alone as Perry had been.

He believed in Deborah, and believed in her strength and common sense. He knew it was time to finally take a step forward and see his father. He needed to reach out to his father even if it took everything he had.

It was the right thing to do. But a voice inside him was urging for more. He needed to do more than grudgingly visit his father . . . he needed to forgive him.

After laying his hand on the plaque again, he closed his eyes and said a small prayer. For Perry. And for Deborah and Perry's parents.

And, finally, for his parents and himself. He had so much to be grateful for. All he needed to do now was decide how he wanted his life to be. Either filled with hope and peace—or filled with anger and despair.

Put that way, there really was only one clear choice.

It was time to visit his father. It was time to reach out to him again.

The Christmas Eve supper had been as awkward and strained as Jacob had imagined it would be. Though Deborah promised her parents no longer held him responsible for Perry's death, he wondered if that was actually the case.

Not that he blamed them. If he were in their shoes, he had a feeling he would respond the same way. After all, it was Jacob's father who had ultimately killed their son Perry, though some would say that Perry had long since brought much of the pain on himself.

And still others would say that Jacob had a part in Perry's demise as well.

But though he tried to see their point of view, they seemed intent on only remembering Perry's best qualities.

And Jacob, not feeling like he could defend his
daed
, simply sat there. It was not his place to speak ill of Perry. And it certainly wasn't his place to excuse his father's actions.

But it made for a long evening.

At the moment, he was sitting in the
sitzschtupp
, the formal living room, with Mr. Borntrager. Deborah and her mother were in the kitchen cleaning up. Of course, they'd refused his offer to help.

Men did not do dishes in the Borntrager household.

So Jacob and Mr. Borntrager sat in silence staring at each other. Even on Christmas Eve.

Jacob looked out the window and wished the snow would start falling again. If the weather turned worse, they could make their excuses and leave and the agonizing evening would finally be over.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Deborah's father asked, breaking the silence.

“Not too much.” There was no way he was going to tell him they were going to the prison to see his father.

“Your mother didn't want to see you?”

“She is in Ohio, in Holmes County. We both agreed that it would be best if she didn't try to travel back and forth this week. It's not a quick journey, you know.”

Mainly for something to say, he added, “I can't go too far, either. The store will reopen on the twenty-sixth.”

Mr. Borntrager's stare was piercing. “I haven't been into your store in ages. Does anyone still shop there?”

“Some.”

“Hmmph.”

Jacob silently willed Deborah to leave the kitchen. His jaw was starting to ache from clenching his teeth and keeping his silence.

At last, she entered the room, carrying a tray filled with four cups of hot coffee. Her mother followed carrying a tasty-looking apple pie and four dishes with small scoops of vanilla ice cream.

Jacob jumped to his feet. “Deborah, let me help you.”

“I've got it.”

Still yearning for a lifeline, he said, “Beth Anne, may I help you?”

“Of course, Jacob.” She smiled at him, but it was as strained as the conversation had been. Jacob took the tray and set it on the coffee table.

After a brief word of thanks, coffee and pie were passed around and quietly consumed.

Sitting beside him, Deborah glanced his way worriedly.

He knew she was concerned about him. She didn't like it when her father got on one of his high horses and began blaming Jacob and his family for everything.

But luckily, that hadn't happened yet.

At last, they were finished and he and Deborah got to their feet. “It is time for us to go,” she said. “Thank you for having us over for supper, Mamm.”

“We are glad you came. Aren't we, Abraham?” Beth Anne asked, giving her husband more than a subtle nudge.

“We wanted to see how Deborah was getting on,” he said.

Deborah looked like she was about to start crying, and Jacob took a deep breath, trying to remind himself that they were still suffering the loss of their son. Of course it would be hard.

“I brought you both something,” Deborah said, scurrying over to her neatly wrapped gift. “Merry Christmas.”

Her mother took it. “
Danke
, Deborah. We will open it tomorrow.”

“Oh. All right. Yes, please do that.”

They stood there awkwardly for another second, while Deborah realized that they had no gift for her, that they weren't even going to wish them a Merry Christmas. Seeing the hurt on her face, Jacob couldn't remain another moment.

Not caring what her parents thought, he wrapped a reassuring arm around Deborah's shoulders and guided her to the back door. Then, as she visibly held off her tears, he helped her fasten her cloak and handed her the rest of her things.

Then he opened the door, and walked her to the barn.

Their horse was in one of the stalls. He wasn't happy to be leaving the warm barn and pile of hay to get hitched to the buggy. But with a bit of prodding, he went easily enough.

And though it wasn't Christian, Jacob found himself cursing under his breath. His wife was so sweet, and only wanted to be accepted and loved. None of what had happened to her brother was her fault.

Over and over she hoped and prayed that her parents would one day remember that they still had her, even though they'd lost a son.

But time and again Deborah was disappointed.

When the horse was hitched, Jacob lit the portable heater and shook out the wool blanket for them to place over their laps. Only then did he walk to the barn, take her arm, and help her into the buggy.

When they were snug and at last driving on the road back home, Deborah's tears started to fall.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm so sorry.”

“I can't do this anymore.”

“You can't do what?”

“I can't go on pretending that things will get better. They aren't going to get better. Not ever.”

Her sudden loss of hope had the opposite effect on him. “They might,” he said, fairly amazed that he could sound so optimistic.

“They won't.” She swiped at a tear. “It's not like things have ever been that good, though. And that hurts, too.”

“I know it does.”

“Jacob, more than ever, I'm glad we're seeing your father tomorrow.”

If he hadn't been holding the horse's reins he would have flinched.

“In spite of everything, I love your father. I want to see him, Jacob. I feel like we've already lost my parents. We can't lose your parents, too.”

“Listen,” he said, turning toward her. “Please don't expect too much from one visit.”

“No, you listen,” she interrupted quickly, her voice hard and urgent. “I know going to the prison to see your father will be hard. I know it will be difficult to talk to him face-to-face. But these visits to my parents have been hard for me, too. If I can do this over and over, you can go to see your father on Christmas Day. And you can try to be optimistic about it, too. Please?”

Maybe if she hadn't been crying, he might have fought back. But right now, she was the only family he had, and he wanted her to feel safe and secure with him, at the very least.

“All right,” he said at last.

In the dark of the buggy, she wrapped her hands around his right arm and hugged him tight. “
Danke
, Jacob.”

And then, to his surprise, he felt himself smiling as a curious sense of relief filled him.

And a bit hopeful, too. It had been the most difficult year of his life. But it had also been the most miraculous. Having the love and support of a woman like Deborah was like the North Star in the sky, forever guiding him home.

Chapter 14

I never learned to cook; I never wanted to take the time. My mother said I would regret that one day. She was right, of course.

B
ETH
B
YLER

Their supper had been edible, Beth mused. She supposed that was something, at the very least. But since neither of them knew what they were doing, it had been a case of the blind leading the blind. The potatoes were still cold in the center. And the pork?

It had been so well-done, a knife could hardly get through it.

Actually, the only thing that had turned out well was the chocolate cake. It, now, was a thing of beauty. And if the sneaks of cake batter and frosting were any indication, it was going to be delicious.

Glancing over at Chris, she had to stifle a smile. He was currently washing their dinner dishes. Next to him was a stack of bowls and measuring cups. Spoons and spatulas. They'd made quite a mess.

“I'm grateful for your help cleaning up,” she said.

He raised a brow. “Beth, it's the least I could do. We have to be the two worst cooks ever to grace this kitchen.”

“You may be right,” she said as she grabbed a dishcloth and started drying one of the bowls. “You'd think it would be easier for us to clean up after ourselves.”

“I'm surprised we didn't burn the place down.”

She chuckled. “I'm excited to try out our cake, though.”

He smiled right back at her. “Me, too.”

He looked so content, having his hands in hot soapy water, the tension for once gone from his body, she gave in to temptation and touched his arm. “I had fun, though.”

“Oh, Beth, so did I. At the risk of sounding pretty pathetic, I have to say that this has been one of the best nights I've had in a long time.”

His words fairly broke her heart. “Things have been that bad?”

He loosened the plug on the sink and let the water drain. She could tell he was attempting to weigh his words. Finally, he spoke. “Yeah. Things have been that bad.”

She admired the way he usually tried to gloss over his pain. Whether it was emotional or physical, he always seemed to want to shield her from the worst of it.