A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel (2 page)

“You want to stay away longer,” he said. “And I should have returned years ago.”

“You think so?” She turned to him, curious about his story. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Adam.” He removed the cap and raked back thick, dark hair. “Adam King.”

Remy tried not to stare, though Adam was getting better looking by the minute. “I’m Remy McCallister,” she said, holding for a second to see if he responded to the McCallister name. When nothing seemed to register, she let out her breath and plunged ahead. “So anyway, I’m headed home to the cranky father who wants to run my life. And you? Sounds like you’ve stayed away too long.”

He stared at the newspaper, his lips twisting. “I need to get home.”

“So you live in Philly?”

“West of the city. Lancaster County. I have been living in Providence.” He leaned back, staring off in the distance. “But not anymore.”

Remy sensed his resistance, so she took a lighter tack. “Dude … toss me some details,” she teased.

“Maybe later.” He looked down the aisle, stood up. “I’m going to the snack car. Want something?”

As she shook her head, Adam crumpled up the empty wrappers from the seat backs in front of them and headed down the aisle.

Definitely avoiding the topic. Remy wondered at the forces driving Adam’s turmoil. Or maybe he was just one of those naturally intense guys. She supposed everyone had a personal burden to bear. Every person on this train was dragging something around, the proverbial baggage. It was kind of shallow to think that her issues were any worse than anyone else’s. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. Within minutes the rocking motion of the train lulled her to sleep.

Somewhere at the edge of her consciousness she felt his return: his weight in the seat beside her, his warmth. When Remy shifted and opened her eyes, Adam sat beside her, staring at the front page of her newspaper once again.

There was something warm and intimate about this proximity. Another inch and she would be leaning on his shoulder, nuzzling up to the soft, warm flannel of his shirt. She studied him through the twilight slits of her eyes. This was a thoughtful guy, a man with a profound, heavy aura. Was it caused by some sort of pain? A broken heart, maybe? She was dying to know if he had a girlfriend.

No ring on his finger.

Could she get his email or phone number without making a complete jerk of herself?

He turned to her.

Caught, she hugged her arms close and yawned.

“I brought you hot chocolate.” He touched one of the paper cups on the tray in front of him and nodded. “Still warm. It can’t pay back the Nancy’s bar you gave me, but I tried.”

“That’s awfully nice of you. Thanks.” In a world of fancy latte drinks, Remy couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a cup of cocoa. Warmth soaked through her palms as she took a sip. “And you’re still glued to the front page of the newspaper.”

His lips mashed together as he folded the newspaper. “Caught me.”

“So you owe me a story,” Remy said, daring to push the issue. “You never did tell me what brings you back home to Philadelphia.”

“It’s my family. They need me now.”

“Need you, like … for a weekend or a hundred years?”

“For good. I’m heading home to run the family farm and take care of my younger siblings.” He looked away, his jaw clenched. “My parents died this week.”

Remy felt her mouth drop open. That explained a lot. “Oh, Adam, I am so sorry.” Instinctively she squeezed his arm, solid bone and muscle beneath the flannel of his shirt. Ordinarily it would
have been taboo to touch a stranger, but she sensed that they had already moved past the bounds of etiquette to a place where two people could reach out to each other. “I had no idea.”

The emotion in his dark eyes was hard to decipher as he nodded.

“What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

He rubbed his jaw, his eyes flashing on a point in the distance. “I’m not really sure. The details are not clear yet. But the important thing is to move ahead and take care of the little ones. I’m the oldest of eleven.”

“Eleven kids? Wow.” She swallowed back a swell of emotion, imagining the pain of eleven children who had lost their parents. Remy had been just seven when her mother died, and some days she still felt a tug of loss. “Your brothers and sisters must really need you now. Do you have any other family close by?”

He nodded. “Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. The Amish stay close to their families.”

Remy tilted her head, trying not to stare at him as images of horse and buggy, broad-brimmed hats, and Pennsylvania Dutch pretzels swam through her mind. “Not to perpetuate a stereotype, but you don’t look Amish.”

“I’ve been away for years.” He rubbed his chin. “But I’ll be shaving this off when I get home. I’ll be back to my black pants and suspenders.”

“Were you away for that trial period?” Growing up in Philly, Remy knew some of the customs from nearby Lancaster County. “When young people are allowed to check out the rest of the world?”

“
Rumspringa
, yes. But that’s over now. I’m sorry I didn’t end it much sooner. I was planning to return earlier, but I made a business. I build furniture from wood.”

“Handmade furniture …” She nodded. “People must have loved that.”

“It was successful. But I got stuck in my own … 
Hochmut
. Pride, you call it.”

“Caught in your own success,” she said.

“Like a fish on a hook.” He rubbed his jaw, his face pale with sadness. “It took this terrible thing to cut me loose.”

“But you’re so honest about it all,” Remy said. “That’s an unusual quality these days.”

He shook his head. “I know no other way to be.”

“What were your parents like?” Remy asked. In her experience, talking was the thing that helped you work through the bad times.

They talked for the rest of the trip, details about their parents spilling forth as the train sped through the night. Occasionally the conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, a resting place they both respected before illuminating other anecdotes from the past. Adam painted a picture of his father, Levi, as a man of peace, an easygoing farmer who plowed his fields to the symphony of bird-song, a man who maintained his farm as a sanctuary for all living things. He recalled his mother, Esther, as a steady beacon of faith and joy within their home, an apt teacher and a good listener who never seemed to tire of maintaining a home for her family. And his brothers and sisters! Remy couldn’t keep track of them all, though Adam pulled out some anecdotes worthy of a TV sitcom.

Adam’s reveries prompted Remy to share some pieces of her own past, snippets of her mother that seemed too thin and hard to catch, like ribbons in the wind. Her mom had loved games, everything from duck-duck-goose to board games. And bedtime stories. And lullabies about barges floating on water or stars shining in the sky. And baking … Remy recalled trays of buttery shortbread and racks of homemade cookies cooling on the kitchen counter. Peanut butter and chocolate chip and cinnamon snickerdoodles. Sometimes when Remy passed a bakery on the street, she closed her eyes and reached for a snippet from the past.

When there was a silent pause, Remy pursued the conversation, posing other questions about Adam’s parents. In talking, Adam could recall the good times and lay his burdens down. Their quiet words still burned with genuine intensity when the conductor came down the aisle to announce the train’s arrival in Philadelphia.

“We’re here,” she said, “and I feel like I just sat down. I wish we could continue our conversation.” Passengers filled the aisles, pulling down bags and pressing toward the exits. They had to get moving.

“It was good to talk.” He nodded, then rose.

Before Remy was even out of her seat, Adam had her backpack down and ready for her to loop the straps over her shoulders.

“Thanks.” She turned around and allowed herself a blatant study of his face now, eyes smoky as obsidian, a broad brow and high cheekbones. “Adam, I’m so sorry about your parents. I wish there was something I could say.…”

“You’ve already said a lot.” A crooked smile frayed his lips, defying the sadness burning in his eyes, and she wanted to cry and laugh at his jab at humor in the midst of pain.

He hitched his own duffel bag over his shoulder. “I’m grateful to you, Remy. You’ve been very kind,” he told her as he made room for her in the crowded aisle.

She stepped into the space beside him, wanting to say so much, but unable to find the right words.

“Maybe Philadelphia won’t be so bad for you this time, yes?”

“Oh, that …” She waved it off as insignificant compared to what Adam would be facing. “It’ll be fine. You take care.” She touched the flannel of his sleeve again, but she could tell he was already thinking ahead, already gone. Biting her lips together, she withdrew her hand from his warmth and retreated to the loneliness of her solitary world once again.

Adam insisted that she go first, and though she appreciated his old-world manners she missed the chance to watch him for one last moment and soak up his steely grace, his quiet strength.

The train clamped to a stop and Remy followed the line, traipsing out the door onto the platform. Joining the queue for the escalator she noticed a flash of blue flannel scaling the stairs two at a time, quick and agile.

Watching him, she wondered at the unrealized heroes in the world, people who sacrificed everything for their families.

The next step was connecting with Herb. He had promised her a ride, and after hearing of Adam’s loss, Remy felt a tug of anticipation over seeing her father. She made her way through the station, following signs for the main exit. Beyond the taxi stand a few cars idled, drivers waiting. She searched for Herb’s Mercedes … and was disappointed.

Strolling past the cars, she came upon a black limo with a sign stuck in the window. REMY McCALLISTER.

Thanks, Herb
. At least he had remembered to send someone.

The driver jumped out, stowed her pack, and they were on their way.

The leather of the seat was buttery smooth under Remy’s fingers as she leaned back and faced the tinted window. People outside the terminal noticed as the limo passed. Heads turned, eyes narrowed. Stung by the attention, Remy wanted to lower the glass and wave them off, telling them that this was not the posh life they were imagining, that good fortune could fill a bank but not a heart.

Once they hit the highway Remy unfolded her newspaper and checked the headlines. When her eyes lit on the story, she felt a stab of raw sympathy for Adam.

Roadside Killing of Amish Man, Wife

Oh, no. This was the story he’d been staring at during their train ride. Could it be
his
story … his parents?

The article said that the couple had been found shot, their buggy pulled off to the side of a country road in Lancaster County. Their eight-year-old son was found in the buggy, unharmed. The horse, also not injured, had remained at the roadside until one of the couple’s sons had come upon the scene after his parents had not arrived home for dinner. The couple, Levi and Esther King, had eleven kids ranging in age from nine months to twenty-three.

Nine months old? Adam would be taking care of a little baby … as well as nine others. And a farm. She couldn’t begin to imagine the responsibility he would be shouldering, not to mention the heartache of having lost his parents so suddenly and violently.

Dusk had fallen over the city, and the lights of shops were a blur as Remy dashed away the tears in her eyes. She wished she could do something to help Adam and his family. She remembered the fruit baskets and flowers that had arrived when her mother died. At first there had been a swirl of excitement when the doorbell rang and a fragrant burst of white blossoms was ushered in the door. But the smooth white petals browned and dried, their fragrance growing cloyingly sweet.

Besides, she didn’t think flowers were part of the protocol for an Amish funeral. But what could she do to help?

She wasn’t sure about God, and she’d never been a churchgoer. But she thought it couldn’t hurt to say a small prayer for Adam and his family. She rolled down the window to the rush of blustery cold.

“God … if you’re out there, please help this family.”

Her words traveled on the wind, and she imagined the prayer circling the city’s glimmering skyline before rising to the navy blue night sky.

Rolling up the window, she resolved to make the most of her own situation. Which meant trying to connect with Herb. Granted,
he was mercurial and boisterous, controlling and demanding, but he was the only father she would ever have. She had happily kept her distance these past few years, remembering how Herb tried to control her when she was within reach. Summer internships at the paper had been nightmarish, with Herb expecting her to prove herself as the “crowned heir to the McCallister fortune,” and editors sticking her with menial tasks that had required her to work into the late night hours.

Remy would need to show everyone that she had grown some backbone and was able to strike a balance. She would have to make it clear to Herb that she would not play prima donna. That she wanted to learn the workings of a successful newspaper. That she wanted to learn how to spend ten minutes in the same room with her father without gritting her teeth.

It was time to meet Herb halfway. And maybe, with persistence and patience, she would have a chance to get to know her father.