Secret, The (25 page)
Heather leaned close to the laptop screen, trying to make sense of what she was reading. She gathered her hair in a high ponytail and sighed. “So Devon
wasn’t
really sick.”
She should’ve suspected something like this. Deep in her psyche, hadn’t she feared this very thing? She read the email again, shaking her head repeatedly.
How could I have been such an idiot?
Reliving even their slightest disagreements now, she could not come up with a single issue that would have pointed to this. Why had she been so naïve, trusting him with her feelings? How could she have so completely missed who Devon Powers was?
Obviously, he wasn’t the man of her dreams after all. In the blink of an eye, he’d found someone new—
someone from my
unit. We didn’t plan this—it just happened. It’s unbelievable how
much we have in common,
he wrote.
“Yeah, I’ll bet!” She wanted to throw something. “So now I’m chopped sushi?”
She wanted to leap through the computer screen. “This is what I get for being loyal?”
I really hate to hit you with this, but face it, Heather . . . I’m
halfway around the world, and we haven’t seen each other in months.
It’s not like your life will change.
He signed off with nothing more than his name.
She closed her laptop. “You can have your soldier girl,” she whispered.
She’d heard enough sob stories from her sorority sisters to know this was how things went for some people—a never-ending rotation of new relationships and breakups. For some, it was actually the thrill of starting up a relationship that did it for them.
But
she’d
wanted a long and committed love. None of the casual boy-meets-girl stuff of the campus scene.
And here I thought I’d found it. . . .
She clicked on her phone, needing a tune. The louder and more teeth rattling the better—anything to get through the first night. She marched through the house, a fitting angry-girls-who-hate- guys band cranked up.
She forced a laugh. Devon was a total jerk.
“I messed up,” she whispered through tears, realizing there wasn’t a single shoulder to cry on. No one she felt like telling. Devon had been her best friend, her first and only true boyfriend. That kind of relationship was hard to come by, at least for her.
It was definitely time to get away.
Great timing, Devon,
Heather thought angrily.
If only you
knew . . .
D
espite her heart-to-heart talk with Adam over root beer, Grace could not shake off her inner concerns about a fall wedding. Watching her father slowly unravel over Mamma’s absence fed her worries. Was it just the timing of her engagement to Henry, or was it the idea of marriage itself that made her shiver?
She pondered this all through the fast songs at Singing as she sat among the girls on one side of the long stretch of tables. Nearly as many fellows mirrored them on the opposite side.
Henry sat directly across from her, as if sending an uncharacteristically bold signal to the other fellows that he’d made his choice. Interestingly, Adam never once sat near Priscilla at Singings . . . and wasn’t tonight, either. Rather, her brother had planted himself across from Mandy and was making faces at her, no doubt trying to cheer her up.
Maybe
that’s
why.
Priscilla Stahl was seated farther down, surrounded by her close-in-age sisters and girl cousins. Becky Riehl sat next to Grace, leaning near every so often, as if to show her care. Grace treasured Becky’s devoted presence.
Yonnie Bontrager kept to himself at the far right end of the boys’ side of the table, sporting a broad smile at no one in particular. She hoped Becky wouldn’t be hurt by this young man and his unusual ways.
She glanced at her friend, not surprised at all that Yonnie, or any boy, would like her. Becky was, after all, a spontaneous and fun-loving young woman.
Turning, she saw Henry staring at her. She felt surprised by his noticeable attention and quickly looked away.
What must be going through his mind?
While her courting-age grandchildren sang in unison with the other youth in the old bank barn, Adah sat on the front porch with Jakob and Judah, enjoying the voices drifting their way. Adah recalled having gone down to talk straight to Marian Riehl this afternoon, once the house cleared out from Preaching. She’d felt the need to speak her mind about Lettie to her neighbor, dear as any friend she’d ever had. Not surprisingly, Marian had looked askance, but not for long. And Adah had made her attempt to put a stop to the senseless rumor.
At least that one,
she thought now.
Jakob’s head bobbed to the melody, and his upper torso swayed now and then as he obviously enjoyed the sound of music coming from the upper level of the barn built into the side of a hill.
“Sounds right
gut,
” Jakob commented, looking at Judah, who nodded.
“First time we’ve had us a Singing in a while,” Adah mentioned, hoping to get her son-in-law talking.
“Do ya think young Joe’s out there, too, even though he ain’t courting age just yet?” Jakob ran his long fingers through his graying hair.
Adah waited to see if Judah might bite. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Joe’s hidin’ away somewheres, observing high in the haymow.” She paused—goodness’ sakes, Judah was quieter than usual.
To be expected, I guess.
“Joe idolizes Adam, ya know.”
Jakob nodded several times, as though deep in thought. “Both fine boys, I’ll say.”
Sighing, Adah felt the familiar frustration of trying to carry on a conversation with Judah—one reason for Lettie’s own frequent irritation. “Grace has a mind to go lookin’ for Lettie,” she said. “What do you think of that, Judah?”
He planted his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. “All this talk about Lettie has me ill,” he said. “That’s what I think.”
She folded her arms, peering over her glasses at him.
And there you have it.
Truth was, all their finagling to get Lettie and Judah together—mostly Jakob’s doing—had returned to haunt them.
Judah excused himself and headed into the house, going directly to the hallway stairs. Adam would see to extinguishing all the lanterns and latching the barn door once Singing ended. Judah feebly made his way to his bedroom, still exhausted from the previous night.
The day had been a long one—too long. The endless stares, the worried looks on the faces of so many womenfolk.
Out of the blue, he remembered an especially carefree moment when his wife’s eyes had lit up with delight as they rode home from visiting one Sunday afternoon not long ago. Lettie had spotted their Englischer neighbors, the Spanglers, outdoors with two of their toddler-age nephews, all of them laughing and playing fetch with their golden Labrador retriever.
Are her eyes filled with sadness or joy right now?
he wondered.
He recalled the lovely way Lettie’s unpinned hair fell around her shoulders in blond waves after being done up all day in the unyielding bun. He’d never felt the need to say much with his wife. Her presence in the house was nearly enough to bring him contentment.
Not so for her, it seems. . . .
He looked out the window, still able to make out the tall, pointed shadows of the windbreak of trees. Shaking his head, he found it annoying how Lettie’s mother had pried shamelessly on the porch tonight, trying every which way to snoop enough to get him talking. He hadn’t refused out of stubbornness, though it may have seemed that way. Honestly, he had felt he might keel over from the aching in his head and neck. It had been weeks since he’d slept through a single night. The way he saw it, rest was a gift from God’s own hand, just as the Psalms stated:
He giveth his beloved sleep
.
Quickly closing the door, Judah went to the dresser and pulled out his pajamas. Once changed, he drew back the covers and slipped in. He stared at Lettie’s pillow, then reached for it to clench it to his chest, the sound of youthful singing still wending its way from the barn to his open window.
After Singing, Grace accepted Henry’s invitation to go riding in his fine black buggy. The old stone wall and the fields across the road were still visible in the fading light. As the crescent moon rose on the thin horizon line to the far east, its light cast an eerie stream across the now-silvery fields.
She got into the open carriage and sat to his left. She’d worn her best maroon dress, nearly violet in color, with Mammi Adah’s birthday hankie tucked into the pocket. So far the night was only slightly chilly, but she’d brought along her woolen shawl, just in case.
Henry’s flashlight lay on the seat between them, the very light that had brought their relationship to this point. How swiftly she’d forgotten the excitement of seeing him standing outside last Wednesday night.
Four long days ago!
Henry reached for her hand as soon as they were on their way. Since they rarely made more than a little small talk, enjoying the quiet of each other’s company instead, this night was much the same as all the others.
The moon had moved above the row of pin oaks on the east side of the road, near where the Amish schoolhouse sat silhouetted on Gibbons Road.
Out of the blue, Henry steered the horse onto the shoulder of the road and parked in front of the schoolyard where they’d both attended all eight grades. Was he feeling sentimental, even romantic? She found it hard to believe this of Henry. Maybe he
did
have an impractical side.
He helped her down, and they walked toward the little one-room school together, side by side. All around the perimeter, they strolled in silence.
After a time, they made their way to the area where they’d played baseball as children, though, not being much of a tomboy, Grace had preferred to jump rope or, when she was younger, play with her faceless cloth doll.
When it seemed as if Henry had in mind only to walk in a pleasant setting, she could hold back no longer. “You must’ve heard ’bout my mother,” she ventured to say.
“I did.”
“Then you understand why things are so
verkehrt
these days. For me . . . for my family?”
He barely nodded.
“It’s downright upsetting.” She sighed, frustrated. “Everything’s all jumbled up.”
He looked at her. “But life keeps on going, jah?”
She shivered. Was that all he could say?
“You’re shearin’ sheep, birthing lambs, ain’t?” he said unexpectedly.
“Keepin’ mighty busy, jah.”
They walked over near the swings. “No word from her?” he asked.
“Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll hear soon.” She moved to sit on one of the swings, and Henry did the same. “I don’t know how you feel ’bout this,” she said, “but I wonder if we shouldn’t postpone things. For now.”
“Why?”
“Till all this is past,” she explained.
“Ain’t necessary, is it?” Henry’s quick reply surprised her. “Surely your mother will return in time for the wedding. November is seven months away yet.”
So he doesn’t think ill of me. . . .
The thought brought her a measure of reassurance as she pulled her shawl around her, then clutched the chains of the swing. “All right, then, we’ll leave things be.”
He paused, turning in the swing next to her, his expression hard to make out in the dimness. “Remember, you’re not like your mother, Grace.”
She let out a little gasp, not knowing what to think. If he’d meant to compliment her, he was certainly going about it all wrong.
Perhaps sensing something was amiss, Henry quickly rose and went to her, reaching for her hand to help her from the swing. “We should head home,” he said. And that was that.
Grace noticed a light still burning in her grandparents’ front room after Henry dropped her off. She longed to visit with Mammi Adah, wanted to curl up in her loving arms and be rocked to sleep like a young child.
But she was a grown woman, and she must weather this storm. Even so, she might glean some wisdom—perhaps even some comfort—from Mammi Adah tonight.
If she’s the one up.
