The Bridge of Peace (8 page)

Jonathan ran his hands down Rosie’s shoulder and slowly moved past her fetlock, looking for other signs of injury.

“Ya. I guess.”

Jonathan turned to face her. “If Rosie could talk, even she’d sound more confident than that.”

She shrugged, trying to keep tears at bay.

He moved closer. “You want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to say that you don’t already know.”

He lifted her chin, making her look him in the eyes. “We go way back, Deborah. I’d guess I realized you weren’t so bad when I was in eighth grade and put a frog in your dress at school. You must’ve been in third grade at the time, just a little kid, and you didn’t even tell the teacher on me.”

“Ya.” She remembered feeling the creature wriggle against her back, and she’d run out of the classroom without permission and danced around outside until that frog fell to the ground.

“Of course”—Jonathan folded his arms—“the day before, you’d used the backside of my homework to draw a picture on.”

“You’re the one who put it on my desk.”

“I was busy and just set it down.”

“And I made it more beautiful with swirly things and hearts and rainbows.”

“Just what I wanted while standing in front of the class reading the report—the part facing them filled with girly stuff.” He laughed, but she only shrugged. “Come on, Little Debbie. That image is worth a chuckle.”

“How can I laugh about anything? All of me
believed
that Mahlon loved me. I thought he wanted a life with me … and every bit of that was a lie.”

He rubbed his fingers across his shaven face, making a light sandpaper noise as he did. “Like you, I’ve known Mahlon my whole life. He loved you. You’ve got to know that’s true. He was just … too immature and confused to deal with life.”

When she didn’t answer, he began fastening the rigging to his horse. That odd sensation washed over her again. She went to the sidewalk and studied the old town.

Across the street, more than a block away, a man stood watching her.

Is it possible?

The hair on her arms and neck stood up.
Mahlon?

Emotions pounded at her like hoofs from a dozen horses. What should she do? What did she want to do? Was it even him?

If it was …

Silence fell inside her, and emotions waited on the edge for an answer. Her own soul wanted to know, if it was him, then what?

When he left her, she quickly moved from beloved fiancée to the “humiliated one,” and now she understood something about herself—she’d slipped from shock and mourning into a really bad place. And she had to fight her way free before she gave Mahlon the power to destroy even more of her life than he already had.

Jonathan peered in the direction she was staring. “What are we looking at?”

I have no idea
. Even if the man was Mahlon, she still wouldn’t know who she was seeing. “A creation of my imagination.”

The man took a few steps toward her, and Deborah’s heart went crazy. If it was Mahlon, she didn’t want to face him. Not today. Not while she was a walking heap of … of … failure. He strode toward her, but his walk didn’t look like Mahlon’s slow, easy gait. Still, it could be him.

Whether or not the man she was looking at was Mahlon, he would return one day—probably with a wife and children. And he’d eventually walk right onto the porch of Ada’s house and wait until they invited him in. When he did, she intended for her and Ada to own a very successful business. Somehow.

Jonathan brought his horse alongside her. The man was still too far away to know if it was Mahlon. A car pulled up in front of him and tooted the horn. The man seemed to be staring at her, but then he got into the vehicle.

“You ready to get moving?” Jonathan asked.

The car drove out of sight before she managed to look up at Jonathan.

“Actually … I think I am.”

Seven

With Ivan perched on his shoulders and a basket of fish in one hand and poles in the other, Grey walked toward home. He heard a woman saying one-syllable words—“Got ya,” “No way,” “I win,” “I don’t think so”—but he couldn’t see her. He was on the road beside the Kauffman house, and by the sounds of it, Lennie was somewhere nearby, probably in the side yard or under a shade tree, playing a board game with her Daed. He kept walking, but still he didn’t see either of them.

Ivan laughed.

“
Was iss es
?” Grey waited, expecting his son to point or tell him what he was laughing at, but the boy broke into a long cackle. A little concerned he might fall, Grey dropped the basket of fish and his poles and steadied his son’s shaking body. He glanced around the yard and saw what his son was watching.

Lennie and her dog. Nicky was facing her, squatting low. When Lennie made a playful step toward Nicky, the dog ran in huge circles before stopping. Nicky then squatted again, ready to lunge toward or run from. Lennie ran toward her. The dog took off, but not before Lennie touched her side. “Ha, I won.”

The dog barked like mad, as if arguing with Lennie’s announcement of victory. Nicky ran several circles and squatted low on her front legs, her tail lifted high in the air, wagging. Lennie danced around, her fists taut as she made circles with them in rhythm. “Oh no. I won. Game done.”

Nicky ran at her, stopped abruptly, barked, and then took off. While teasing the dog and hopping around, Lennie caught a glimpse of Grey. The victory dance ended midstep. Her eyes grew large, and something between embarrassment and amusement played across her face.

“Teacher Lena.” Grey nodded once. “What are you doing?”

She gained control over her surprise. “
Wie bischt du Heit
?” She straightened, asking Ivan how he was today.

“
Hund
!” Ivan chirped loudly.

“
Ya, en verhuddelder Hund
.”

Ivan laughed at Lennie saying she had a confused dog.

Before he’d married, Grey raised dogs, and one year Lennie’s Daed had asked Grey to keep an eye out for a particularly good dog for her, one that matched a whole list of things she would like in a pet. By the time Nicky was eight weeks old, Grey knew she’d make a perfect dog for Lennie. Grey thought Nicky was the best kind of dog—a mixed breed. She had a little Chow, Labrador retriever, and Australian Shepherd in her, and weighed about fifty pounds fully mature.

Lennie dusted off her hands. “Any news from the board I need to know about?”

“No. We got it all settled.”

She nodded, crossed the yard, and held out her hand for Ivan’s. He placed his inside hers. She talked to him in Pennsylvania Dutch, telling him that he was growing fast and that he’d be in her class, ready to learn how to read and write, by this time next year.

“
Haldscht Schul fer die Handikap
?” Ivan asked.

Startled, Grey found it hard to catch his breath.
Did she teach at a school for the handicapped?
He was sure his eyes mirrored the same confusion as Lennie’s.

She looked at Ivan and told him no.

“
Ich geh in die Handikap Schul
,” Ivan said.

Grey couldn’t believe his son’s words. What made him think he would go to the handicap school?

Lennie searched Grey’s eyes for a moment. Feeling insulted by whoever had told his son that, Grey lifted him off his shoulders and held him. His son was small for his age and missing part of an arm, and if Grey dared to be painfully honest, Ivan was a good bit less mature than most five-year-olds, but none of that qualified him to attend a school for the handicapped. Speaking in Pennsylvania Dutch, Grey asked who’d told him he was going to the handicap school.

“Mamm.”

Anger—years of it—swooped through Grey. Their son was missing part of one arm. What would possess his wife to tell him he needed to go to a school for the handicapped?

Silently fighting offense as he never had before, he felt displaced, as if he weren’t really there. Yet he noticed every movement and heard every word. Lennie held out her arms for Ivan, asking if he wanted to pet the doggy. Ivan went to her. She gently commanded Nicky to lie down. The dog obeyed, and Lennie knelt beside Ivan while they petted the dog and talked about her fur being soft, like a rabbit’s.

When Grey regained his ability to move, he picked up the basket. “He’ll go to our local school.”

Lennie stood. “I … I’m sure she’s only thinking of his best interest.”

“Oh, ya, sure.” Grey doubted that his effort to conceal his frame of mind hid anything at all.

Lennie shrugged. “It’s nearly a year away yet.”

“Ya.” Grey motioned for Ivan. “
Kumm mol, loss uns geh
.” As soon as Grey said,
Come on, let’s go
, his little boy hurried to him, telling Lennie bye.

He put Ivan on his shoulders again. Lena grabbed the poles off the ground and passed them to him. He mumbled his thanks and started walking. Hard. Fast. Unforgiving.

The closer he got to his house, the more resentment woke inside him. When he came to the sidewalk that led to his front door, he walked straight past it. He didn’t trust what he might say … or how he’d say it.

He and Elsie were fragile. Although he was hard-pressed to imagine how they could be more distant than they already were, he didn’t doubt it was possible. Ignoring his intense desire to set her straight about their son, he took Ivan with him and kept walking.

“Daed?
Heem geh
?” Ivan asked.

Needing to answer his son’s question about where they were going, Grey quickly decided on his destination. He told him they were going to the cabinetry shop. They often went there on Saturday afternoons, and Ivan enjoyed it. With Grey’s long strides and his taking shortcuts through several fields, he was soon on Mast property.

As he approached the shop, he heard the air compressor running, followed by bursts of noise as nails were shot into wood. When he crossed the threshold, he saw Ephraim inside a frame of what would eventually be a standing pantry. He’d like to talk to Ephraim, but he wouldn’t. His burdens were between him and Elsie.

Ephraim glanced up and gave a nod before continuing with his work.

A few moments later Ephraim walked to the generator and turned off the compressor. “Been to the pond, huh?”

Grey set the fishing tackle on the concrete floor. “Ya.” He took Ivan off his shoulders. His son went to the barrel of scraps and pulled out blocks of wood to build with.

“Grab that crown molding for me, will ya?” Ephraim asked.

Grey brought four sections to him.

Ephraim passed him a piece of sandpaper. “The Wertzes want this same molding to run along the wall from the top of the pantry to the floor. It works in spite of the wave that’s in the Wertzes’ walls, but I could use your help coping these inside corners to fit against the pantry. I was at their place earlier, so I’ve already measured and marked everything accordingly.”

Grey gave a nod, and they began sanding the wood.

“I appreciate you coming in on Saturdays and helping here and there.”

Grey didn’t want to admit that he was using this time today to avoid going home, so he nodded again.

“If you ever have something you want to tell me …”

He shook his head. “Can’t. But thanks.”

The two worked in silence for a while.

Then Ephraim laid the wood to the side. “Cara didn’t trust me at all at first. Did you know that?”

“No.”

The sound of Ivan smacking wood against the concrete floor echoed through the room.

Ephraim rested against the workbench. “All I remember thinking about her at first was that I wanted her out of Dry Lake before anyone else could catch wind of who she was. When I had to step up and speak to the police to keep her and Lori from being separated, I realized she wasn’t just an inconvenience who had showed up in my life at the worst time ever. She was a real person who hadn’t been given a break in a really long time.” Ephraim shrugged. “I think the only reason I recognized that in her is because I’d seen it in you time and again.”

The weight around him grew stronger, pressing in like he was caught under deep water. “I … we need help,” Grey whispered, releasing years of hidden truth. “I … can’t imagine going on like this, and there is no way out. You know that.” Grey’s eyes burned, and he glanced across the room at his son. Ivan had surrounded himself with blocks of scrap wood and was stacking them as high as he could. “We’ve been in separate rooms for years. She refuses to talk about anything. How can I make that work?”

“Separate.…” The look on Ephraim’s face and the tone of his voice held alarm and distress, and Grey found comfort in it. With that one awful word, Ephraim understood Grey’s isolation and the impassable cinder-block wall surrounding him and Elsie. “Why?”

“I don’t know, at least not the real reason. There are times when I’m not sure I care anymore.” Grey clasped his hands around his head. “Maybe I’m pushing her away.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It …” He lowered his hands and walked to the doublewide open door. Gazing out over the fields, he tried to find the courage to confess. “The regret began without my permission.… I’d wake at night, or maybe it woke me, but I wish we’d never married.”