Treasuring Emma (14 page)

Emma shot up from the hay bale. “And you figured that out in a few days? Maybe if you’d been around longer, you would know more about what’s going on.”

“Do you know something? If you do, you’d better tell me.”

She shook her head. “
Nee
. But if
mei grossmammi
thinks something is wrong, then I believe her.”

She heard movement behind her. Felt the heat of his body as he stopped, inches away. But he didn’t touch her.

And after all that had happened between them, she still wanted him to.

“I am sorry, Emma. About everything that’s happened.”

“So am I. But being sorry doesn’t change anything.”

“I know. I can’t change it either. I can only do what you’ll let me. And right now, other than taking care of Dill’s foot, that isn’t much.”

She heard his fancy tennis shoes shuffle across the straw and dirt of the floor. When she thought he had left, she turned around. He was standing in the doorway, looking at her.

“When the time comes, Emma, let me know what I can do. I’m sure you don’t believe this, but I miss you. I don’t think I realized how much until now.”

Creak. Creak. Creak
.

Mark pushed the toe of his boot against Peter’s back porch. The swing moved back and forth. He stared at the small yard. Grass turning brown. Two rows of dry cornstalks edging a dying garden in the corner. A wooden sandbox, covered. Beyond the warped wire fence, a herd of black-and-white cows grazed on the last stubble of edible grass.

Not Peter’s cows, or his pasture. He couldn’t afford that much land and livestock. The lowing of the herd interspersed with the twitter of birds, the chirp of crickets, the beat of a horse’s hooves on Bundysburg Road.

Creak. Creak. Creak
.

Peter was inside. No doubt trying to talk to Clara, who was probably ignoring him. Maybe even arguing. The two of them did that a lot. Mark had noticed Clara watching him during church. At the fellowship gathering after the service. But most of all, he saw the spark of envy and confusion in her eyes when he asked about Emma.

Emma. His prospects were getting better by the day. He’d had no trouble winning over Clara, and it would be even easier with Emma. Single. Homely. Fat.

But Emma’s looks didn’t matter. Neither did her feelings. All that mattered was what she had to offer. What she could give him. She ought to kiss his feet and thank him for even noticing her.

Creak. Creak. Creak
.

The back screen door banged shut. Junior ran out carrying a baseball and two gloves. “Wanna play catch,
Onkel
Mark?”

“Sure.” Mark hopped up from the swing and took one of the gloves from Junior. “I can’t think of anything I’d like to do more.”

Adam walked out of the barn. He didn’t want to leave Emma alone, but what else could he do? Dill’s problems paled next to Emma’s, and Adam figured he didn’t know the half of it.

He slapped his hands against the legs of his jeans as he walked toward the house. Barn dust and the smell of horse rose in a cloud from the fabric. His father had taught him the skill of horse shoeing when Adam was very young. It felt good to work with a horse again. He’d missed that while living in Michigan. But it wasn’t enough to make him come home. Definitely not enough to make him stay.

Adam went inside the house. He wasn’t used to quietness, and the silence nearly overwhelmed him. It hadn’t taken long for him to become accustomed to constant sound once he’d moved away. Appliances humming, televisions blaring, cell phones ringing. He thought he was used to it, didn’t even register the noise anymore. But his soul welcomed the calm quiet of his parents’ empty home.

The back door creaked open. His mother came in alone—his father probably unhitching their horse and settling the animals in for the evening.

Basic care of stock was the only work they could do on Sunday. Adam had broken that rule by driving his truck, buying supplies, shoeing the horse. Would his father be surprised, or angry? Adam shrugged. Like it mattered what his dad thought.

He went upstairs, put on a less dirty pair of jeans and a wrinkled shirt, and tossed his dirty stuff into a corner of the bedroom, just the way he did at his apartment. Then he reprimanded himself. He wasn’t a two-year-old. He shouldn’t be depending on his mother to pick up after him. And besides, he’d better go ahead and wash them, or he’d have to resort to wearing the Amish clothing hanging in his closet.

He grabbed the dirty clothes and took them downstairs. As he passed by the living room on his way to the basement, he saw his mother sitting on the couch. Heard her sniff. He stuffed the clothes underneath his arm and went to sit down next to her. “Something wrong?”

She shook her head. Wiped her eye with the heel of her hand. “
Nix
, Adam. Just missing Mary.”

But his mother didn’t look at him when she spoke. Instead her gaze drifted to the left and fixed on the wall. There was nothing to look at; no decorations of any kind in the house, other than a couple of plain white candles that were rarely used. Still she stared at the blankness.

Adam studied her. Her eyes were wet, despite the reassurance that everything was okay. He didn’t doubt she missed Emma’s mother. The funeral had been less than a week ago. Yet there was something else. He sensed it.

He set his clothes on the floor next to his feet. “You’re not telling me everything, are you?”

She rose from the couch, smoothed the skirt of her blue church dress, and looked down at him. “There are some things a
mudder
doesn’t share with her
sohn
. Or anyone else.” She went upstairs. The door to her bedroom closed.

Leona had been right, and so had Emma. Something was wrong with his
mamm
, and if he’d been here instead of in Michigan, he would know what was going on. Maybe even have stopped it from happening. Instead he had no idea why his mother was upset, or what he could do about it.

When he came back to Middlefield at Leona’s urging, he had thought his mother might be sick. But she didn’t seem physically ill. It had to be something else. Something deeper.

He had to find out. And the only place to start was with his father.

He found his
daed
leaning against the white fence surrounding the pasture. The fence he and his father had made out of thick, heavy oak and painted with milk paint. Adam could practically feel the sweat dripping down his back and the sides of his face as he recalled weeks on end during that blistering August, digging post holes by hand. All he could think about was how easy and quick it would have been if they could have used a tractor with an auger attachment. They could have done the entire job in less than a week. The Amish way, it took almost a month.

Adam used to look at that fence with contempt, a reminder of time and effort wasted. Now, seven years later, it stood as straight and sturdy as it had the day they had pounded the last nail. And this evening, as the sun streaked the sky with purple, pink, and orange hues of dusk, a sense of pride and accomplishment coursed through him. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Adam moved to stand next to his father. “There’s something wrong with
Mamm
.”

His father didn’t say anything. He stared at the pasture, his forearms resting on the edge of the top oak beam, his expression iron-hard.

“Did you hear me? I said something is wrong with
Mamm
.”

“I heard you. Your
mudder’s
fine.”

“If she’s fine, then why is she inside the
haus
crying?”

A muscle twitched on his father’s cheek, but he didn’t look at Adam. “Women cry. It’s their nature.”

“What if she’s sick?”

“She’s not sick. You would know that if you still lived here.”

Adam clenched his fists. “Sounds like you don’t care why she’s upset.”

His father slowly turned and stared at him. “Never tell me how I should feel about
mei fraa
.” His tone was low, flat. “You are a stranger to us. You don’t belong here anymore.”

Adam had spoken those same words to his parents many times before he left, but hearing them echoed back to him from his father felt like a punch in the gut. “I may not belong here, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“If you cared, you wouldn’t have left.”

“I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t stand it here anymore. You know that.”

His father’s rough, wrinkled hands curled around the fence. “All I know is that
mei sohn
rejects his
familye
. He rejects his faith.”

“
Nee!
That’s not what I’m doing. I reject the rules. The limits on what I can and cannot do.”

“We are doing just fine without you here, Adam.” His
daed
released his hold on the fence. “As I see you are doing just fine without us.”

Anger built up in Adam. His father remained cold. Emotionless. Never raised his voice. Never yelled. For once Adam wanted him to show some shred of emotion. Even raw fury would be preferable to talking to a wall.

“That doesn’t sound like forgiveness,
Vadder
. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Forgive me? Try to make me stay?”

“When there is no repentance, there can be no forgiveness.”

Adam knew that wasn’t true. Scripture taught, and the Amish believed, that forgiveness was to be offered whether a person was repentant or not. Adam would have to repent in front of the church if he ever wanted to rejoin, but that didn’t mean his father should withhold mercy. “You never wanted to understand me,” Adam said. “You never tried.”

“I can say the same for you.” His father turned around. “I’m going inside.” He walked away with his usual slow, measured steps. As if their conversation had never taken place.

Adam gripped the fence so hard that a splinter of wood dug into his skin and drew blood. Maybe he should leave. No one wanted him here. Not his father. Definitely not Emma. Only his mother seemed happy he’d returned. Maybe Leona too.

Then again, what did he expect?

C
HAPTER
13

“Here you
geh, maedel
.” Emma coaxed Dill into eating a carrot from her palm. She stroked the horse’s nose. Her appetite seemed off this morning. Emma wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because Dill had spent several days in the barn, when she was used to getting exercise and working.

“Is that it? Do you need fresh air?”

She held on to Dill’s bridle and opened the door to the stall. She led Dill outside. The horse whinnied and pranced a few steps. Then she settled down and allowed Emma to tether her in the backyard.

Emma whistled for Rodney, Archie, and Molly. One by one, with Molly moving the slowest, they came up to her. She sat down on the ground and pulled a couple of dog treats out of the pocket of her jacket. The dogs gobbled the treats, surrounding Emma as she petted and gave special attention to each one.

The eggs needed collecting, the kitchen cleaning, the porch sweeping. She had a pile of clothes to wash, and today was the day she baked bread for the week. She ticked off the tasks in her mind, but ignored them. All she wanted was the unconditional love of her dogs, and to hear Dill grazing behind her. For the first time in days, her spirit felt lighter.

Emma’s balloon deflated with the sound of a buggy coming up the driveway. Probably Clara. Emma had avoided her yesterday. She hadn’t wanted to talk about the fabric shop; in fact, she had managed to put it out of her mind completely. Now the thought of it made her stomach turn.