A Love Made New (27 page)

“Abigail.” Joanna touched her sister's shoulder. “You're not a failure. Remember, I left
mei
husband standing at the proverbial altar.”

“
Ya
, but you two worked it out.”

“And you and Asa will work things out too.”

“But what if we're not supposed to?” She looked at Joanna. “I thought I loved Joel. I think I love Asa. But I haven't given myself any time to . . .”

“To what?”

Tears fell from her eyes. “To breathe. To grieve for
Mamm
and
Daed
. To figure out what God wants me to do.”

“Then take that time,” Joanna said. “
Nee
one's pushing you.” She frowned. “Except Asa.”

Abigail shook her head. “He's not pushing me. He only dropped by once this week.”

“Then he knows you need some space.”

“
Ya
. Space.” She stared at her coffee cup. Where would she find space in a small community like Birch Creek? She straightened. “I'm going to Middlefield.”

Joanna's brow lifted. “What?”

“I'm sure cousin Mary won't mind if I stay with her for a little while. She's always said we have an open invitation.”

“Abigail, you don't have to leave—”

“
Ya
, I do. For a little while.” She took Joanna's hand. “Just until I figure things out.”

“Figure what out?” Sadie asked as she walked into the kitchen.

“Abigail's going to Middlefield,” Joanna said. “Help me talk her out of it.”

But Sadie didn't say anything as she sat down. Abigail wiped her eyes as she looked at her older sister. Finally Sadie asked, “Is this what you really need to do?”

“
Ya
.” And it was. She stayed with her cousin while Joanna was in the rehabilitation center. All she had to do was make a phone call and Mary would welcome her with open arms. For the first time in weeks she felt a spark of confidence. This was the right decision, at least for the time being.

“Then we'll miss you.” Sadie got up and hugged Abigail's shoulders. “And we'll be waiting for you when you come back.”

W
hen Asa came home from work Monday night, he was exhausted. Not just physically, but drained to the core. He hadn't wanted to be at Barton Plastics. He was starting to detest the job that bored him. Before, he would have dealt with it, talked himself into being content with what he had, shoving down his real interests and dreams in order not to make waves. But that was before God had gotten his attention and shaken him loose. Before he fell in love with Abigail and sparked to life.

He was about to open the front door when he heard a buggy pull into his driveway. He recognized the driver and stilled. Abigail. His heart leapt in his chest. He'd tried to see her this week, only to have Sadie turn him away. He wasn't surprised, but he'd been disappointed. Okay, more than disappointed. But he wouldn't force Abigail to see him. And although it had been hard to stay away, he thought he'd made the right decision. Now that was confirmed. She was here. His patience had yielded reward.

He walked toward her, trying not to rush his steps or act like a little kid on Christmas. As he reached her, she pulled on the reins and halted her horse. “Abigail,” he said, smiling.

“Hi.” She looked down at the reins in her hand. “I . . . I hope it's okay that I came over.”

Everything was okay now, he wanted to say. Instead he nodded and reached for the reins. “I can take
yer
horse back to the barn for you.”

She shook her head. “I won't be here that long.”

His smile faded, and dread churned in his stomach as she climbed out of the buggy. She stood in front of him, and he sensed something different about her. Yes, she was still beautiful, and her sweet spirit called to his heart. Yet there was something else, something he couldn't define but his soul sensed. And then he knew . . . she wasn't here for him.

“I'm sorry,” she said, as if he'd said his thoughts out loud. “I'm leaving for Middlefield in the morning.”

Middlefield? She was leaving Birch Creek? “Abigail, don't. We can work things out. Start over. I'll do anything—”

“But that's just it,” she said. “It doesn't matter what you do. You might be able to fix us . . . but you can't fix me.”

“You don't need fixing.”

She nodded. “
Ya
, I do. I need to get back to who I am, Asa. To put God at the center of
mei
life so I can be true to him, to me, and to the people I love.” She looked up at him. “That includes you.”

“You love me?”

Her smile was bitter. “
Ya
, Asa. I do love you. And I'm sorry—”

“
Nee
more apologizing!” He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but sudden anger overtook him. “Susanna said she talked to you.
She even told you to give me another chance. And you're still saying
nee
?”

She nodded, and he exploded.

“I don't believe this!” He glared at her, the pain in his heart stoking his anger. “You mean everything to me, Abigail. You're the reason I came back to Birch Creek.”

“I thought God was the reason.”

He stilled. “He was—is.” Now confusion overtook him. “But God sent me here for you.”

“I believe part of that is true. I also think he sent you here to help me see the truth. Not about us, but about myself.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I'd ignored God for so long, Asa. I didn't have him first in
mei
life. I put
mei
faith in Joel, and then in you. I can't do that anymore.”

Asa dropped his hands from his waist. How could he argue with this? Yet he wanted to. She could have him and God.

No, she can't. Not yet.

A knot formed in Asa's throat. Now God decided to speak? He looked at Abigail, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I thought I was supposed to fight for her. Wasn't that the lesson here, Lord? That life isn't easy, that I have to work for what's important?

Wait.

He heard that one word clearer than he'd heard any of God's other instructions. And it cut him to the core. To wait, he'd have to say good-bye. And there was no deadline, no time given for how long he'd have to wait, or even what he was waiting for.

She took his hands in hers. “
Danki
, Asa.
Danki
for showing me the truth, and for loving me.”

“What do we do now?”

Turning from him, she said, “We move on.” She released his hands and climbed back in the buggy.

Asa turned away, unable to watch her go. He didn't want her to see how upset he was, how hard he was fighting his tears.
Wait.
What did that mean? Would he and Abigail find their way back to each other? If they didn't, he didn't know how he could survive it.

You have me. That is enough.

He took in a deep breath, feeling God's presence as dusk surrounded him. God was enough. He had been when Asa left Shipshewana and arrived in Birch Creek with nothing. And although he had rebuilt his life and fallen in love, that fact hadn't changed. God was enough, whether he had plenty or nothing. That was the lesson he had to learn. Perhaps Abigail had to learn it too.

The next morning Abigail waited outside for the taxi to pick her up to take her to Middlefield. She had already told Sadie and Aden good-bye, and they were working in the store. They had assured her that between the two of them they could handle running the store and getting Aden's beekeeping business going. Abigail believed it. They were two determined people, and as a team, they were unbeatable.

She smiled as she saw two blue jays chase after each other in the warm sunshine. This time her smile was genuine, coming from her soul. There were still small aches in her heart for her parents and for Asa, but she knew she was making the right decision. God was leading her away from Birch Creek for a time. He would lead her back when he wanted her to return.

A buggy pulled into the driveway, and for a moment her peace evaporated. Surely Asa wasn't here to talk her out of
leaving? She didn't think she had the strength for another confrontation with him. Her heart dipped as she remembered the sadness in his beautiful gray eyes. But she'd also seen grudging acceptance. They both knew the time wasn't right for them to be together—if they were supposed to be together at all. Then she saw who was in the driver's seat and froze. Joel.

She stared at him as he got out of the buggy, long and lean and blond and as handsome as ever. Nothing compared to Asa, though. Her heart didn't skip a single beat as he approached her.

“Abigail, can I talk to you for a moment?” His brow flattened, his eyes taking on a serious expression. Whatever was on his mind was weighing heavily on him. She nodded. There was no reason to be uncomfortable around him anymore. “Sure.”

He looked around the yard. “In private?”

“
Nee
one's here.”

Joel looked at Abigail's suitcase, which was on the ground next to her. “I heard you were going back to Middlefield.”

“How—”

“You know the grapevine works fast around here.” His frown deepened. “You're not leaving because . . . because of me?”

She almost laughed. Of course he would think that. He was selfish enough to date someone else while she had been helping her sister heal, so why wouldn't he think the world revolved around him? “
Nee.
I'm not leaving because of you.”

Relief crossed his face. “
Gut
.”

“Does Rebecca know you're here?” she asked.

He shook his head. “
Nee.
She doesn't.”

“Then maybe it's not a
gut
idea for us to talk.”

“But we need to. At least I do.” He rubbed his cheek with the flat of his hand. “I need to apologize to you, Abigail. I should
have done this a long time ago. But I was selfish. I wasn't thinking about you, only about myself.”

“And Rebecca,” Abigail couldn't help but add.

“
Ya.
And Rebecca.”

Abigail could see his beard was already growing in. He and Rebecca had been married less than a month. She waited for jealousy to rear its head. She was basically in the same place she'd been when he'd broken up with her—alone. But no, she wasn't alone. She had her family. She also had God, and a new path stretched in front of her.

“Forgive me?” he asked, looking earnest, and more than a little worried. “Forgive me for how I treated you when we were together. For breaking up with you the way I did. For cheating on you.” He looked at the ground. “I treated you poorly. You deserved so much better.”

She'd been waiting to hear those words from him, although she'd never expected to. “I forgive you.”

He let out a relieved breath. “
Danki
. I really am sorry.”

“I know.” She smirked. “I can tell.”

“And I know you won't believe this, but I did care about you. I still wish you well, Abigail.”

“And I wish you well, Joel.” Nothing had worked out the way she had expected with him. But she knew in her heart it wouldn't have. She hadn't been ready to marry Joel, just like she wasn't ready to have a relationship with Asa. “Just make sure you treat Rebecca the way she deserves.”

“I plan to.” He looked down at her. “You really are special, Abigail. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” she said with a lift of her chin. As he walked away, she whispered again, “I really do.”

He left, and she hugged her arms around her body. Special. He'd never said that when they were together. She let out a short laugh. How ironic.

She lifted her face to the warming sunshine. Spring was finally here, and with it, a new beginning—and she was looking forward to it.

Y
ou don't know what you're getting into . . .

The words reverberated in Bartholomew's mind as he sat in the warehouse parking lot in his beat-up junker of a car. Two weeks after he and Mike had talked, he was now waiting for Wes Trickey to show up. Mike had been right about Wes's desperation and Bartholomew had been right about the kid's lack of street smarts. It hadn't taken long for word to get to Wes that Bartholomew Beiler was looking to get back in the drug trade. Now he was waiting for Wes's phone call to direct him where they were going to meet. He tapped the top of his cell phone, a burner the feds had given to him, along with the wire he wore on his chest.

He knew he should be scared to death. Over the past week he had been given access to Wes's information, what he'd been up to the past twelve years, and the depths he had sunk to since his family had cut him off. Armed and dangerous was what Mike had said. Bartholomew was taking his life in his hands by doing this. He knew it.

But instead of panic he felt calm. He'd been truthful when he told Mike that his life meant nothing now that he was completely cut off from Naomi and his children. And he had spent hours in prayer, asking for courage. That and thinking of Naomi and his family kept his heartbeat at a steady rate. He rolled down the window slightly and the scent of the ocean wafted to him. He hadn't been in Sarasota for over a decade. The ocean breeze brought back memories, but some of them good ones, like meeting and marrying Naomi. He remembered how much Irene liked to watch the seagulls.

The phone rang and he answered it. “Beiler,” he said.

“You alone?” the scratchy voice on the other end said.

“Yeah.” They sounded like a bad cop television show. “Enough with the cloak-and-dagger, Wes. Are we gonna meet up or not? I can find someone else to work with me on this. Plenty of dealers out there. Don't waste my time.”

Wes's breathing was heavy over the speaker. “I got questions.”

“Let's meet face-to-face so I can answer them.”

“Is this close enough?”

Bartholomew heard a tap on the driver's side window. He jumped and turned to see Wes standing outside his car, a gun pointed at Bartholomew's head. He gulped. Although there were several marshals in strategic hiding places in the area, they were little comfort now. All Wes had to do was pull the trigger . . .

“Get out,” Wes snapped.

Bartholomew opened the door as Wes stepped away, the gun still pointed at him. Gathering his calm, Bartholomew said, “The gun's not necessary.”

“Oh, I think it's necessary.” Wes sniffed, and in the yellow light of the warehouse lot Bartholomew could see shadowed pock
marks on Wes's face. He smelled like urine, and Bartholomew knew he'd been making meth, if not using it.

But a stronger emotion than fear slammed into him. He was face-to-face with what could have been his future if he hadn't been arrested and put into protection. God had saved him from this, he realized. The past twelve years had been hard, but he was alive. He had been in contact with Naomi. He was healthy. He wasn't a skin-and-bones mess desperate for money and another fix. God had made sure Bartholomew paid for his mistakes, but he had also shown him mercy. The deep truth of that fact hadn't hit him until now.

“What are you staring at?” Wes wiped his nose with his sleeve.

“You're holding a gun on me. Of course I'm going to stare.” Bartholomew held up his hands. “I'm not armed.”

“How do I know that?” Wes's arm grew unsteady as his speech sped up. His gaze darted around. “How do I know you're alone?”

“Do you see anyone else here?”

“Those cops, they're sneaky, you know.” Wes started to shift on his feet. “I guess we can talk here. Tell me the plan.”

“Plan?”

“Yeah. You've got a plan, right? How we're getting back in the game?” Wes gripped the gun tighter. “And it better be more than homemade meth labs and selling to country-club kids.” He aimed the gun at Bartholomew's chest. “You better tell me you have a plan, Beiler. One to make a big score. One that will make the Mexicans sorry they left me alone in the wind.”

Bartholomew's mind scrambled. Were the feds hearing this? Wasn't it enough for them to arrest Wes? Bartholomew didn't have a plan, at least not one Wes would buy. He'd spent years
regretting ever going near drugs. Now he had to think about how he and the thin, pathetic man in front of him were going to take over the drug world.

“You got three seconds to start talking or I put a bullet in your heart.” Wes raised the gun. “Or your brain. I don't care what I hit.”

“Wes, don't do anything stupid. Don't add murder to your crimes.”

Wes grinned, and Bartholomew could see he was missing teeth. “Too late. Been there, done that.”

Bartholomew's blood ran cold. Where was Mike?

“I'm waiting, Beiler. You got three seconds.”

“Wait,” Bartholomew said, backing up against the car. Cold sweat dripped down his face. “Don't—”

“Three . . . two . . .”

“One.”

Bartholomew sagged with relief as he saw Mike coming toward Wes, gun drawn. “Put down the weapon, Trickey, or you'll be the one with a hole in the head.” When Wes hesitated, Mike yelled, “Drop it!”

Wes put down the gun, his grin shifting to a glare as several officers came out from behind barrels and stacks of cargo. Mike slid his gun into his holster, then grabbed Wes's arms and shoved them behind his back.

“Doesn't matter, I'll be out on bail in a few hours,” Wes sneered, his gaze remaining on Bartholomew.

“You threatened to kill someone,” Mike said. “The only place you're going to be is in prison for a very long time. And before you squawk about lack of proof, we have you on tape.” He shoved Wes toward another officer, who took Wes away.

Bartholomew leaned against the car, willing his speeding
pulse to return to normal. Mike came up and put his hand on Bartholomew's shoulder. “You okay?”

“I will be . . . eventually.” He looked to see the officer and Wes disappear behind a stack of oil drums.

“Good.” Mike released his grip. He leaned against the car next to Bartholomew and put his hands in his pockets. “We would have got to him someday,” he said. “Trickey's not that smart.”

“He never was.” Bartholomew straightened as he blew out a long breath. “Yeah. I see why you drink now.”

“Not often,” Mike said. “But sometimes . . .” He shrugged. “Anyway, thanks for your help. You did good, Beiler. And you've more than made up for what you did all those years ago.” He moved to stand in front of Bartholomew. “Go home. Go see your family.”

As Mike walked away, tears welled in Bartholomew's eyes. Home. Family. In a day or two he would see Naomi, Irene, and Andrew again. He couldn't help but sink to his knees, thanking God that he would finally be whole again.

Irene turned her face toward the sunshine as she rode next to Sol in the buggy. It was mid-April, the warmest day yet that month. Spring was in the air, and she could see signs of it—daffodils and jonquil leaves pushing through the earth, the sound of birds twittering, and most of all the sun. It felt good to enjoy the warmth after a long winter.

It felt even better sitting next to Sol.

Since that afternoon more than two weeks ago when he had prayed for her and her family, they had fallen into an easy
friendship. He was more relaxed around her now, quicker to smile and crack a joke. But he kept a physical distance between them and she wondered if it had something to do with her kissing him on the cheek. It had been forward of her, but she had been so filled with peace after his prayer that she couldn't contain herself. Since then
Mamm
had been quiet and hadn't mentioned
Daed
's letter, but she wasn't as upset as she'd been when she'd come home from the post office. Irene still didn't know what was going on between her parents, and she couldn't ask. It was frustrating, but working and being with Sol helped divert her thoughts. She enjoyed painting the birdhouses, but looked forward to seeing Sol even more.

Life was good, with one exception. She missed Abigail. She'd received one letter from her friend since she left for Middlefield, and while it was friendly, it was also vague. She'd been a little hurt that Abigail hadn't told her good-bye, but she also understood. After everything that happened with her parents, Joel, and then Asa, Irene wouldn't begrudge Abigail her space or question her decisions. She just hoped she would return to Birch Creek soon.

She glanced at Sol, who was staring straight ahead as he drove the buggy. When he offered to take her home after they finished working Saturday afternoon, she'd eagerly accepted. Since the day had been mild she had walked to his house, and she wouldn't have minded walking home . . . but it was much better riding with Sol. “
Danki
for the ride,” she said, turning to him. “That's kind of you.”

“I don't mind.” He didn't look at her, just stared straight ahead. “It's the least I can do after you've painted so many birdhouses.”

“Which you paid me for.”

“I should have paid you more. The painted ones are selling better than the plain ones.”

She was pleased to hear that, but she kept it to herself, not wanting to appear boastful. A car moved past them, driving slowly and considerately as it passed the buggy. There wasn't much traffic on this road, but she imagined since it was a beautiful day people might be out going for a ride. She waited for him to say something else, but after a lengthy silence she looked out the buggy again, breathing in the fresh air.

“Irene,” he said, pulling a bit on the reins and slowing down his horse. “I . . .” He shook his head. “This is going to sound stupid.”

“Sol, I hope you know by now you can say anything to me.”

“I do.” He turned and looked at her for a brief moment. “And I'm glad for it. I don't have many friends, Irene. Jalon's still hung in there with me. But not everyone trusts me, and I know it will take time for me to earn that trust. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate our . . . friendship.”

She couldn't help but feel a little disappointed by that word, and the memory of her kissing his cheek made her face heat. Sure, she was glad they were friends. But she wanted more. Her mother had told her to follow her heart, and it was leading her to Solomon Troyer. But that didn't mean he reciprocated the feeling. The thought of that disappointed her. But friendship was better than nothing. “I'm glad you feel comfortable with me.”

“I do.” He paused. “Very.”

This husky tone made her glance at him. He wasn't looking at her anymore. He was staring ahead, his cheeks slightly colored. She looked at the reins he held in his hand. His knuckles were white. Something was going on with him, which had her a little worried.

She frowned when he turned the buggy down an unfamiliar road. “I thought you were taking me home.”

He continued to drive, not answering her, his knuckles still gripping the reins with an almost deathly tightness. It wasn't until they went down another road, then to a dead end nearby, and he pulled the buggy to a standstill, that he looked at her.

She looked around and saw they were alone. “Why did you bring me here?”

His gaze was more intense than she'd ever seen it. “I care about you, Irene. I care about you a lot.”

Her heart thumped in her chest. Finally, she could admit her feelings to him. “I care about you, too, Sol.”

“Because I care, I need to be completely honest with you. And I haven't been.” He put his hand on her shoulder, holding her still. “I haven't told you everything. And once I do . . . you might change
yer
mind about me.”