A Promise of Hope (13 page)

“I was afraid it was too much for you at the hospital.”

He stood, his eyebrows raised in question. “What do you mean?”

“You seemed so emotional at the hospital when you held Seth. I was afraid the
bopplin
scared you off.”

“Are you joking?” He stepped toward her. “You couldn’t beat me away with a two-by-four. I want to be a part of their lives.”

“Supper’s ready,”
Mamm
said from the doorway. “Robert’s here for the girls, and he’s going to join us.”

Sarah followed her
mamm
into the kitchen, where they served the meal to the guests. While they ate, Sarah was aware of Luke studying her, and she wondered if he’d always been so observant of her or if she’d only just noticed it.

After supper, Robert and the girls headed home. Sarah excused herself to her bedroom, and her parents helped her carry the babies and cradles upstairs, where she fed and rocked the babies until they fell asleep.

Returning to the living room, she found Luke chatting with her parents. She sat on the couch with
Mamm
and joined in the easy conversation. She again found Luke’s eyes honed in on her. What surprised her the most was that she enjoyed the conversation and the attention from Luke.

What was wrong with her? She didn’t feel this awareness or excitement when she was with Norman. What was different about Luke Troyer?

And why did she like it so much?

Sarah didn’t know the answers to those questions, but she knew one thing for certain—she hoped Luke would visit again soon and often.

Luke said good night to Eli and Elizabeth and thanked them for supper before they disappeared upstairs.

Turning to Sarah, he found her standing by the kitchen doorway with a comfortable smile on her face, and his heart turned over in his chest. She was different tonight—more at ease and more intent on him. He wondered where the change came from. Had giving birth to the children released stress for her?

He wasn’t sure what had made her different, but he knew that he couldn’t take his eyes off her tonight. Although she’d been beautiful when she was pregnant, she was even more stunning now. Her body was petite, and her eyes seemed brighter. And when their hands touched, something had ignited between them. Had she felt it too?

“I had a nice time tonight,” she said.

“Me too.” He rose and crossed the room. “I reckon I should get on home, and you should get to bed.”

She sighed.
“Ya.
Those
bopplin
will have me up most of the night, so I might as well get some sleep while I can.”

He studied her, wishing he could read her thoughts. “Your nieces are helping you during the day,
ya?”

She nodded as they walked to the kitchen. “Robert brings Nancy and Katie by every morning, and they stay all day.
Mamm
is only opening the bakery every other day, so she’s here too. It’s nice to have help. I can nap a little during the day since I don’t sleep much at night.”

“That’s
gut.”
He glanced out the dark window and remembered a question he’d wanted to ask. “I saw a buggy leaving when I was walking over. Who visited here earlier?”

“Norman came by to see the babies.” She yawned, cupping a hand to her pretty face. “Oh, excuse me. It’s not the company making me yawn. It’s lack of sleep that’s tiring me out.”

Jealousy twisted his gut at the mention of Norman’s name. Why was he jealous of her friend? “I better let you get some sleep. I’ve taken enough of your time.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” she said. “You’re family.”

“Danki.”

He felt an insatiable need to touch her. No, more than that, he found himself resisting the urge to kiss her forehead.

“Gut nacht,
Sarah Rose.” Snatching his coat from the peg by the door, he slipped his arms into it.

“Gut nacht.
I hope you’ll come back again soon.” She opened the back door and handed him a lantern. “You best not stay away too long next time.”

He smiled, stepping onto the porch and shivering in the whipping wind. “I promise I’ll see you again before the week’s out.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Glancing across the field, her eyes widened. “Is that snow?”

Luke held his hand out and smiled when large, fat flurries danced over his fingers.
“Ya,
it is. You better get inside before you catch a cold.”

“You hurry home too.”

“Stay warm.” He hopped down the porch steps and rushed through the wind toward the house.

Glancing up, he smiled as the flurries kissed his face. The evening had been like a dream, spending time with Sarah, her parents, and her precious children—his niece and nephew, his only living link to his only brother.

For the first time since his
mamm
died, Luke felt like a part of a family, a real family. He understood why Peter had stayed in Bird-in-Hand—he had been surrounded by people who loved him. Luke wanted that too. Being with the Kauffmans was a dream come true.

Life was pretty close to perfect.

In his heart, he knew he longed to be more than a friend to Sarah, but those thoughts were inappropriate. His brother hadn’t been gone a year, and it was disrespectful to even consider courting Sarah.

Aside from that, coveting his brother’s widow was a sin in itself. However, even if he could never be more than a friend to Sarah, he would be satisfied. Just knowing her and the twins was a gift from God after losing his parents and brother.

What happens when she finds out you’re her brother-in-law and not her husband’s cousin? How will that knowledge change her feelings for you? Will she ever trust you again?

The questions came from deep within his heart and slammed him back to reality. He didn’t know the answers, and he dreaded the day when she found out the truth.

Loping up the front steps of the house, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a light burning in Elizabeth’s kitchen. He wondered if Sarah was watching him walk home. He hoped she would remember this evening with as much happiness as he did.

The wind shifted, and his teeth chattered as the air sent a frosty shudder through him. The snowflakes picked up, and he glanced up at the sky, feeling the very air around him changing, as if a big storm was coming to Bird-in-Hand.

15

S
arah awoke with a start after a night of jumbled dreams and nightmares. She’d dreamed she was sitting on a stool in the kitchen of the bakery and telling Peter about the twins. Then she was in a strange house in Ohio, and Luke was telling her about Peter’s past. Next she was in the nursery of her former home rocking one of the twins to sleep while Luke stood at the window overlooking the pasture, holding the other baby.

When she sat up in bed, she felt a burning desire to go to her other home and sort through Peter’s clothes. She couldn’t explain why, but she needed to hold one of his shirts and inhale his scent—if any remained on his clothes. Perhaps his scent would make her feel close to him again.

Nancy and Katie had planned to come by today to help Sarah while her parents kept to their Saturday routine of running errands and visiting the market. Sarah fed the babies and then dressed. She was gathering up the babies’ supplies when the girls appeared in the doorway, eager to help. Together, they brought the twins and their things downstairs and then ate breakfast while the children rested in their cradles.

Once the girls were settled with the children, Sarah asked them if they were comfortable staying alone with them while she ran to her house to get a few things. They both told Sarah to take her time and not worry about the children.

Slipping on her cloak, Sarah hurried down the gravel lane to her former home. The dream was still vivid in her mind, and her heart thumped in her rib cage as she climbed the front steps to the porch. The brisk February wind soaked through her shawl, and she shuddered.

Taking a deep breath, she wrenched open the front door, wondering if she’d find Luke at home. She’d seen him nearly every day for the past three weeks when he’d stopped by after work to hold the twins and visit.

“Hello?” she called, her voice echoing throughout the downstairs. “Luke? Are you home?” The floorboards creaked beneath her shoes as she wandered through the living room, laundry room, pantry, kitchen, and bathroom. Finding them all empty, she gripped the banister and headed to the second floor.

“Luke?” she called. “Are you here? Hello?” Sarah stuck her head into her former bedroom, sewing room, and nursery. Again, each was empty.

Standing before the closed spare bedroom door, her pulse skipped at the idea of finding Luke asleep in bed. What would she say to explain an awkward situation such as that? Lifting a trembling hand, she gingerly knocked on the door.

“Luke?” Her voice quavered with embarrassment. “Luke? Are you here?” After waiting a brief moment, she turned the knob and the door creaked open. The room was quiet, and the bed was made. No sign of Luke.

“I guess you got an early start this morning too,” she muttered.

She crossed the room and peered down at a pile of his clothes. The dark-colored trousers and shirts lay neatly folded and piled on the hope chest by the window. A spare pair of boots sat in the corner, lined up symmetrically like corn in
Dat’s
field.

Looking at Luke’s clothing brought back thoughts of how Peter kept his personal belongings. Sarah’s lips curled in a melancholy smile. A love for the neat and orderly ran in the Troyer family. Peter used to get frustrated if the cans weren’t lined up perfectly in the pantry—labels all facing the same way.

She smiled at the memory before padding back down the hallway to her former bedroom. Her stomach flip-flopped with anticipation when she opened the doors to Peter’s armoire. Although a part of her had hoped to see Luke, she was also relieved to have privacy while delving into Peter’s things for the first time since his death. Shaking her head, she tried to fathom the nine-month period since he’d died. Where had the time gone?

Her hands shaking like dandelions in a spring breeze, she pulled out Peter’s favorite dark-blue shirt. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the fabric as if it were the oxygen her lungs needed to sustain her life. A faint whiff of his scent filled her soul. He’d always smelled like wood, stain, and a hint of earth.

Tears of mourning began to sting her eyes, and she was dragged back in time to their last conversation on the morning of his death. He’d kissed her lips on the porch and told her to have a good day. She’d held onto him and asked him to wait a few more minutes since she’d wanted to clear the air between them. He’d been cool and withdrawn toward her for a week, and she couldn’t take it any longer. She’d needed to know what was on his mind.

Her hopes of a meaningful talk were derailed when his ride pulled into the driveway. Before trotting off to the car, he promised they’d talk later.

However, later never came.

Looking back on that time, she wondered again if Peter’s cold behavior had something to do with the lies he’d told her. She dug deep into her memories, searching for other signs of his deception. When they’d first met, she’d ask him about his family, and he’d give quick, evasive answers and then change the subject. Perhaps the signs had been there all along, and she’d chosen to ignore them because she was so consumed with love.

She pushed her thoughts away, leaving them in the past where they belonged. Wiping her eyes, she set the shirt down on the end of her bed and ran her fingers over the sleeve while studying the garment. It served no purpose keeping the clothing in the armoire. She wondered if Luke would want to pick out a few pieces to keep and then she could give the rest to her nephew Samuel. He was growing up so quickly and would wear them soon enough. She would also hold a few shirts back for Seth, who would want to know about his father when he was older.

With memories raining down on her, Sarah sorted through the remaining shirts in the top of the armoire. Finally she stood before the armoire, ready to conquer the drawers of socks, underwear, and suspenders. When she leaned down to open the drawer, she spotted what looked like a long, flat wooden box stuck in the back of the emptied shelf. She fetched it and sank down onto the chair next to the bed.

The box was stained a deep cherry, and the hinges were simple but elegant—no doubt Peter’s work. She flipped the tiny latch on the front and lifted the top, revealing stacks of letters, all addressed to Peter in beautiful handwriting accented with flourishes—obviously written by a woman. The return address on each letter was “D. Maloney” in Middlefield, Ohio.

Sarah bit her lip, and her stomach tightened as questions swirled through her mind. She’d never heard of a person named D. Maloney, and she had never known of Peter keeping in touch with someone in Middlefield, Ohio. Who from Ohio had been writing to Peter, and why would he keep this secret from Sarah?

Her stomach roiled, and she groaned.
Oh no! More lies!

Sucking in a deep breath, Sarah examined the top envelope. The postmark was from ten months ago, a month before he died. Pulling out the letter, guilt nipped at her. She felt as if she were invading his privacy, but the question rang through her mind: why had he kept this from her?

Holding her breath, she read the letter.

Dear Peter,

I hope you and Sarah are doing well. Congratulations on your news! You must be so excited to be expecting a baby. Cody is doing well and is excited to be finishing up first grade. In fact, he’s counting the days until summer break. I’m enclosing a snapshot of him in his soccer uniform. Thank you for the check. It will help pay his summer camp tuition.

Take care,

DeLana

Sarah’s brow furrowed while she reread the letter, wondering who Cody was. From the letter, she deduced he was English. She’d never heard of an Amish boy named Cody, and Amish children didn’t go to summer camp. Why would Peter secretly send money to a strange English child?

Sarah fished the photo from the envelope and studied it. A boy with light-brown hair and bright hazel eyes, clad in a blue shirt and matching shorts, grinned while holding a soccer ball. The shape of his face, his smile, his eyes, and the color of his hair were all very familiar.

Then it hit her.

She gasped.

No, it couldn’t be.

But it was.

He looked like Peter.

“No, no, no.” Her voice croaked with worry and hurt. This child couldn’t be Peter’s son. There was no way! Peter would’ve told her.

Would he have?

Could her husband have been so deceitful?

Yes, he could have. He lied about his childhood.

One by one Sarah pulled out the letters and read them; each was similar to the previous. This mysterious DeLana wrote short, one-page notes, telling Peter how Cody was doing in school, including that he excelled in math but abhorred reading and that he loved to play sports, especially soccer. She would always wish Peter and Sarah well and end with thanking him for the check.

The checks.

Money Peter and Sarah had earned for their own family.

Sarah blinked back tears, and a lump swelled in her throat. How could Peter send their money to another family every month and not tell her?

How could he have a child and not tell Sarah!

The realization of the growing web of his deceit drowned her in a deluge, and she couldn’t fight the hurt anymore. Hugging the letters to her chest, Sarah dissolved into tears as sobs wracked her body and soul.

As she succumbed to the emotion rioting within her, one question echoed through her mind:

Had she known her husband at all?

Luke’s boots scraped the porch steps to Peter’s home, a counterpoint to the conversation from the morning that replayed in his mind. He tried in vain to suppress the excitement coursing through his veins. It seemed too good to be true, but he had asked the farmer to repeat the offer to him twice, and the price for the house and twenty acres was only half of what the developer had offered Luke for his farm in Ohio seven months ago.

If the offer still stood, he could sell his farm in Ohio and move to Bird-in-Hand with money in his pocket to start a cabinet-making business in town. The farm was about a mile up the road; therefore, Luke would be close to Sarah and the twins.

Entering the living room, Luke tossed his hat onto the peg by the door and then shucked his coat and hung it next to the hat. He ambled toward the kitchen, but stopped dead in his tracks, thinking he’d heard a voice coming from upstairs. He listened, and again he heard the sound of a moan, or perhaps a sob.

“Hello?” he called. He waited for an answer and then ascended the stairs, his boots clomping up the hardwood. The sound of the voice grew louder when he reached the hall. It was a woman crying.

“Hello? Are you all right?” Luke called. “Who’s there?”

He stepped into the master bedroom and sucked in a breath at the sight of Sarah slouched in a chair and crying while holding a stack of crumpled envelopes. A pile of men’s shirts littered the bed.

He shook his head. Memories of Peter must have shattered her.

“Sarah!” Crossing quickly, he crouched before her and took her hands in his. “Are you all right?”

Meeting his gaze, she threw herself into his arms, sobbing on his shoulder. He leaned forward to balance his weight on the chair while he rubbed her back. The warm, sweet scent of her hair reminded him of vanilla mixed with hyacinth, and his pulse quickened. Holding her was almost too much for him; it felt like a sin. But she needed him. How could he push her away?

“Sarah Rose,” he whispered. “It’s okay. The hurt will get better. I promise. I know he’s gone, but your heart will heal. You have to be strong for your
zwillingbopplin.
You can show them all of the love that Peter gave you.”

Her body trembled against his, and his throat tightened. Despite the exhilaration of holding her close, he concentrated on consoling her.

Suddenly, she pulled back, and fire flashed in her blue eyes. “He has a son. How could he not tell me?” Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me, Luke? Why did
you
lie to me?” She smacked his arm, and he jumped back with a start. “You’re just as bad as he is!”

Shaking his head with shock, he stood. “Cody,” he whispered.

“Yes, Cody! I was going through Peter’s clothes, and I was going to offer you some of his shirts as a memory of him. I found a box hidden behind the clothes, and it contained these letters.” She shook the envelopes in front of his face for emphasis.

Standing, she marched across the room, pacing. “I guess the Troyer family is full of liars! He was sending her money without telling me.”

She threw the letters onto the bed. “I trusted you, Luke. I trusted you to tell me everything. I knew all along you were holding something back. But I thought you were my friend.” Her voice trembled. “I really trusted you.” The tears overtook her again, and she wilted against the wall, sobbing, her hand at her mouth.

“Sarah Rose.” He gathered her into his arms, and she wrapped herself around him. “I’m so sorry. I thought it would hurt you if I told you, but finding out this way was much worse than I ever imagined.”

“Oh, Luke,” she whispered, her voice quavering along with her body. “I don’t know who my husband was. I’m so confused. How could he keep this from me?”

“I think he was afraid of losing you.” Stepping back, he placed his finger under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. He wiped a stray tear from her soft cheek and suppressed the urge to kiss the sadness away. “Why don’t I make you some tea and we’ll talk? I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “I’d like that.”

Sarah sat across from Luke at the kitchen table and cradled the warm teacup in her hand. Biting her bottom lip, she tried to mentally sort through the letters she’d read, but she couldn’t grasp the idea that Peter had withheld from her the fact he had a son he was supporting in Ohio.

Her eyes fell on the small wooden box full of letters and her mouth trembled. “I just don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Peter has a child?”