The Thorn (41 page)

"Nick would want me to look after ya," she was saying.

He was struck by her remarkable tenderness. Why hadn't he comprehended it before? Had he been too distracted by Nick's fondness for Rose to pay close attention to Rose Ann herself?

With a great sigh, she stopped what she was doing and leaned over to caress the horse's mane, crying softly now. It startled him to witness such raw emotion, no doubt intended for a fellow who wasn't worth giving the time of day. As we now know ...

Solomon's bearded chin quivered suddenly. The last thing he wanted was for Rose to notice him there, struggling to keep his own feelings in check. Turning silently, he headed back toward the barn door and shoved it open again. He stepped into a shower of the sun's dusty rays and made his way to the big farmhouse where ungrateful Nick had put his feet under the bishop's table ... and heard the Good Book read each night. Where he learned about almighty God at the knee of our bishop, thought Sol, shaking his head in dismay. But what he learned just never took.

Thus Solomon consigned the worldly young man to the judgment he seemingly deserved.

Rose was perched on her bed that early November night, still wearing her brown choring dress as she tatted a doily - a birthday gift for a cousin. Suddenly she was startled by a light whirling over the window glass.

Could it be ... ?

She hastened to open the window, almost expecting to see Nick there. Peering down, she saw Silas below. Her heart fluttered in unexpected wistfulness. It wasn't her old friend after all.

"Hullo, Silas," she said softly.

"Will ya meet me downstairs?" His voice was restrained.

She nodded, her heart beating ever so fast. "I'll be down in a jiffy." When she greeted him at the back door, Silas asked if everyone was asleep.

"All but me," she whispered, scarcely able to speak.

"Gut, then," he said, stepping inside. Together, they made their way to the woodstove, where the metal box stored a few chopped logs. He leaned down to add another couple pieces of wood, then waited for the fire to brighten.

They sat side by side on the long kitchen bench, making small talk for a while - about the weather and the youth activities centered around the numerous weddings to come.

After a time, Silas rose to stir up the fire again before returning to her side. "I've been waitin' a long time for this day," he said, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "This night ..."

She listened intently, memorizing every word.

He reached for her hand, and the feel of it made Rose's pulse leap.

"Will ya have me, Rose Ann," he asked, "as your husband?"

She did not hesitate, not even for a moment. She said, "I'd be pleased to marry you, Silas."

He leaned forward, eyes searching hers as if to see whether she'd permit him to come so close. Then, with great tenderness, he kissed her cheek. "You've made me mighty happy, Rose."

She knew she must be simply beaming. "And me, too," she whispered.

"We'll wait till our wedding day to lip-kiss," he said, his gaze fixed on her mouth, then her eyes, and back to her lips.

"Probably should, ain't?" she said, now holding her breath, dying to know what it would feel like - his lips on hers.

Pulling back, he drew a long breath. "Jah," he said, though reluctantly, and raised her hand to his lips instead. "We best be waiting."

Rose smiled, enjoying this surge of pure delight.

"My father asked me to take over his dairy farm," Silas added. "He'll likely be ready for us to live in the main house, once we tie the knot, possibly next wedding season."

Such wonderful-gut news! To think, in a year we might be wed. Oh, how bright and happy her future looked now. Silas squeezed her hand again, and Rose smiled into his handsome face.

Later, after he bade her a sweet and lingering farewell, Rose tiptoed back upstairs. When she'd put on her nightgown and let her hair down, she slipped beneath her mother's beautiful quilts. There, in the moonlit room, she whispered, "Sleep well, Silas ... and when you dream, dream of me, my dear beau."

The flame of suspicion about Nick's role in Christian's death - whatever it may have been - has slowly burned out in me, turning to ashes at my feet. And I am left with a deep Zeitlang - longing - to go on foot down Bridle Path Lane on this unseasonably warm November day.

Indian summer, Dat calls it....

And it's the official start of the wedding season. Esther Kauffman, my first cousin, just stopped by to whisper her appeal to me: "Please, perty please, be one of my wedding attendants." Since she asked me before Cousin Lydiann, I happily agreed.

Just maybe it was observing the alluring blush on Esther's cheeks that got me thinking about Nick again. He's been gone now for almost a month and no one's heard a word from him. The police questioned the bishop and his family shortly after Christian's death, but as is our way, no charges were pressed. There was simply not enough evidence anyway.

Even so, when Mamm and I sit and read together afternoons, sometimes she'll look deep into my eyes and say, "If you're ever tempted to feel sorry for that boy, Rosie ... don't. And remember he was never really Amish."

He knew it, too. I guess it does all boil down to faith. But for Nick's and my friendship, it was truly something else. Something ever so precious and free. I can't begin to describe it.

Hen continues to cling to her renewed walk with the Lord now more than ever. And here lately, Brandon's been writing her letters. He's apologized for showing Mattie Sue the puppy dog, then taking him away. Hen's actually thinking of taking Mattie Sue to see him - and Wiggles, of course. Far as I know, Brandon hasn't darkened the door of Hen's house since that supper she made for him, but she expects to meet him again for coffee sometime soon. So my sister's not giving up on their love ... or on swaying her husband toward God. And I am filled with a gnawing angst over the seeming loss of their storybook romance. Still, my parents say Hen belongs at home with Brandon, regardless of his spiritual leanings. Honestly, I look for Dat to impose a time limit on her stay here, and very soon.

Hen says Rachel Glick, her employer, has read between the lines, encouraging Hen to trust God to quicken a desire in Brandon for a peaceable Christian life. I think, as with Nick, Hen must realize it's up to her to relinquish her will - and Brandon - to the sovereignty of God. Because where God's presence is, all good things abound. I must remind myself of this daily ... especially where Nick's concerned.

Turning onto Bridle Path Lane, I walked along the dirt road, then picked my way cautiously down the side of the ravine, once I passed Jeb's shanty. Carefully I inched over the steepest outcroppings, trying to avoid the brambles and thorns at every step. It would never do to slip and fall when no one knows where I've come this sunshiny day - so similar to the sun-dappled afternoon Nick brought me here.

Dozens of birds sang and flitted in the canopy of trees as I made my way to the bottom of the gulch. I was after one particular boulder, and I walked right to it, eager to find Mamm's tin money box once again. Reaching into the crevice, I pulled it out and opened the corroded lid. I was surprised to see a note tucked inside atop the money.

Dear Rosie,

I hoped you'd come here one day and find this note.

It's only right that you should hear this from me. I was stupid to go riding with Christian that day. And now, because of me, he's dead. I say let your God be the judge.

We never got the chance to talk one last time. It haunts me. But no matter what you must think of me now, dear Rosie, I will always miss you.

Your friend, Nick

P.S. Will you look after Pepper for me?

Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks as I folded the note and placed it in my dress pocket. I rejected the visions of Nick shoving Christian off his horse - striking back as he sometimes did. Knowing Nick as I had all these years, I wondered how such a thing could've happened ... if it did. How will I ever know for sure? How will any of us?

I pressed the lid down on the tin box, a strange longing making me wish I could write a note back to him to tuck inside. But such a note would be seen only by God, down here in this deserted ravine.

Returning the tin to its muddy crypt, I covered it with the leaves of eleven autumns, a way to say good-bye to the past. "Help Nick find forgiveness, 0 Lord," I prayed, "but most of all, help him to find you...."

I struggled back up the small canyon, fighting back tears for what might have been ... if Nick had joined church. And for all the lost years of Nick's life with the People, for his rejection of the Lord, too.

I marched straight home and burned Nick's shocking letter in the woodstove. There was nothing I could do now to help save Nick. That was up to God alone.

Forcing my thoughts away from the past, I looked toward the future - the wedding attendant's dress I will sew and the many dried-corn casseroles I plan to bake for Silas. This is to be the very last winter of my singleness, and there is much to do to prepare for setting up my own household. So, quite happily, I look forward to becoming Mrs. Silas Good one year from tomorrow, on Thursday, November twentieth. The dear Lord willing.

I was delighted to discover Salem Road and the overall setting for this series just southeast of Quarryville, Pennsylvania, in the autumn of 2009, while visiting my mother's family - and thanks to the kindly suggestion of one of my dear Strasburg friends. My husband, Dave, and I enjoyed exploring the oldest graveyard in all of Lancaster County during that visit, as well, and I stumbled upon the strikingly beautiful name of Rose Ann, as well as the Amish nickname of Hen, while doing my research.

But it was the picturesque and rugged ravine below Bridle Path Lane that enthralled me most, and I remember getting out of the car and creeping over several boulders to peer down the heavily treed slope to the narrow creek below.

Dave snapped many pictures while I had my little adventure. My imagination soared as the setting for Emma Kauffman's mysterious horse and buggy accident sprang to life. The secluded area would also become the spot where Nick reveals his true intentions toward dear Rose Ann.