Arms of Love (34 page)

Adam had decided that he would wait a few more days . . . for what, he wasn’t sure. But he knew enough about his faith to understand that it was better to obey that heart echo of a Voice than to ignore it. Then he would enlist; the Patriots needed all the help they could get, and he had begun to feel that somehow he would be keeping to the creed of his faith. Somehow fighting for their freedom, protecting his family and Lena, made sense. It meant little that he would sacrifice his own life in the process, now that he did not have the love of his heart. He pushed aside the sudden inspiration that perhaps Gott was the One who was meant to fight, to protect . . . not man. He sighed aloud.

He looked up as Isaac returned in the wagon with Lena, the bishop, and Samuel Yoder. They were coming to discuss the wedding plans, as Isaac had said, and Adam knew he didn’t have the stomach for it. So he took himself off to hoe the sprouting corn and to remind himself to keep his place . . . which was not beside Lena.

He was much surprised, then, when Samuel Yoder came out to him in the field. Adam paused in his labor and pulled his hat off in deference to the older man.

“
Ya, herr
?” he asked, wondering if he were to get some personalized invitation or warning regarding the upcoming nuptials. But the blue eyes that beheld him were steady, somber.

“Forgive me,” Samuel said, and Adam almost dropped the hoe, thinking that the sun had addled his hearing.

“I’m sorry . . . What did you say?”

“Ruth told me that it was you who brought her to us,” Samuel said.

“She has agreed to become my wife. I also cannot help but think of the nourishment I received in prison, and how that came to be.”

Adam dropped his gaze, and the older man went on. “I have prayed for you of late, knowing that this union between your brother and Lena would be difficult for you. And the Lord has convicted me that I have been wrong about you. You would have claimed John as your son at the trial. I—I wasn’t thinking at the time, but I’ve had time now. Forgive me.”

Adam shrugged, trying to drink in the deep and utter resonance of peace that the man’s words brought to him. He did the only thing he knew to do—held out his hand, only to be taken in the other man’s arms for a bone-crunching embrace that did much to bring balm to his soul.

Samuel turned to go, then turned back again. “If things could be different . . .” His voice broke, and Adam knew he paused to steady himself. “If things were different, I would have been proud to call you
sohn
.”

Adam nodded and returned to hoeing the earth, his eyes wet with tears.

Chapter 29

S
o I told him I was wrong, and now I make the same confession to you, Lena. And I ask your forgiveness.” Her father’s words rang in her ears as she stood poised with a tray of cookies she had baked for the paint frolic the next morn.

She felt her world spin away and come back again in some proper alignment as she gazed at her father with wonder. “You mean that you would give your blessing to . . . to a marriage between Adam and me?”

Her father shook his head sadly. “
Nee
, Lena. You and I have both given our oaths before God and man. And Isaac is a good man.”

“
Ya
,” she whispered. “I suppose he is at that.
Sei se gut
, excuse me, Fater.”

She put the tray down on a shelf with a calmness that she did not feel, then turned and walked from the kitchen. Words came to her lips that she longed to speak—angry, frustrated words that would only be dishonoring to her father if she spoke them. As soon as she gained the front door and closed it behind her, she lifted her skirts and ran blindly in the direction of the apple orchard.

She felt her breath come in gasping halts as she struggled with a rage she had never known before, let alone against her own parent. She fell to her knees, heedless of the messy ground, and tried to pray. But the words would not come, and she sobbed aloud. She cried for her mother, for Adam, and for the girl she had been—the girl who had loved with a passion beyond words, but who had been thwarted by her father’s best intentions.

She caught a sudden tight rein on her thoughts and knew she could not proceed with such dishonor, even in her mind, against the man who had helped to give her life. She reached out and caught the supple strength of the tree trunk in her hands and felt a peace begin to move over her, covering her negative thoughts and deep anguish like cool linen on a summer’s night. She remembered that the Bible promised that if no prayers would come, the Spirit Himself would make intercession . . . would groan for her. She held to this anchor of the soul even as she clung to the tree, and slowly she became aware again of her breathing, soft now and shallow.

She bowed her head and asked
Derr Herr
for forgiveness for her anger, then allowed the power of the Lord to lift her gaze to the sky above. She rose on shaky legs but with a calmed heart.
God is for me
. . .

She would do what was right and honor her promise to Isaac, would do what her father had believed was best. Surely the Lord would bring good out of it somehow.

Joseph lounged in his chair by the fire, feeling unusually chilled.

Ellen came and stood over him with concern.

“Shall I make you some hot tea?”

“
Nee, danki
. I will have a bit of a rest here before seeing to my chores.”

She sat down opposite him, and he noted her tense posture.

“What is it, Ellen?”

“The paint frolic tomorrow, Joseph. Do you think that you will be able to attend? It will promote
gut
relations between the families, and even Adam has agreed to go.”

“Adam? Ha . . . a brute for punishment the boy is, then.”

“Yes,” Ellen whispered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Joseph.”

“It’s come to my attention that some in our community are trying to build a meetinghouse in the woods north of town. I must go tomorrow and investigate, and if need be put a stop to it. I can’t attend such frivolity as a paint frolic before I take care of this.”

“
Ya
, Joseph. I’ll go make that tea now.” She rose and went to the kitchen.

Joseph closed his eyes, allowing himself to nap for a bit.

And then he was dreaming, something he rarely did, rarely allowed himself. Usually he would force himself awake when he felt a dream coming, but this afternoon he was unable to resist.

Ellen was in her wedding clothes, her long blond hair unbound as she waited for him after the celebration. Her family’s house still echoed with gaiety downstairs. Joseph walked toward her, wanting her beauty, her touch, her gentle hold, but suddenly a knife was in his hand. He felt the urge to lift it, wield it, in horror, defense . . . maybe in love. And Ellen was speaking, calling to him through the veil of her blond hair . . .

“Joseph? Joseph. Your tea.”

He woke with a strangled gasp, then relaxed back in the chair, his wild eyes taking in the room, the fire, his wife. He nodded.

“
Danki
, Ellen.”

He accepted the hot cup and tried to still his hand from shaking.

Chapter 30

T
he night before the paint frolic, Adam decided that he would enlist the following day. He felt he owed a good-bye to Dale Ellis. He would miss the man’s friendship, but once he enlisted, they would be at war with each other. It didn’t bear thinking about, so he thanked the traveling tinker for the ride and got off the rattling wagon at the White Swan Inn. Center of Lancaster’s hospitable waysides for travelers, the White Swan had, by rumor, hosted George Washington himself. It seemed perfectly in keeping that Dale would seek rooms in such a place for its ironic humor.

Adam decided to enter at the back, unsure exactly where he was going or if he’d be welcome. He saw a clutch of women in the shadows, and a scent of lavender and lemon of an intensity he found uncomfortable wafted toward him. He made to pass them with a quick tip of his hat.

But a bold redhead, her shoulders gleaming white and bare from the half light of the inn’s side window, sidled next to him, blocking his path.

“A fair evening, if you will excuse me,” he said, realizing that he’d got himself tangled in a nest of women of ill repute.

The redhead pouted and stretched to twine her arms round his neck. He removed her with firmness, thinking idly of Betty from his youth and wondering what had become of her when she had left the family’s service.

“ ’Tis a Bible man, girls,” the redhead tossed over her shoulder as he held her off. “Ain’t you ever read the Song of Solomon, eh?”

Her cohorts laughed, and Adam sighed and reached to withdraw coin from his pocketbook. “Please, ladies, allow me to pass and take this in good faith. I would find Dale Ellis’s rooms, if I could.”

The redhead snatched the coin from him and flounced a shoulder. “Major Ellis, the Brit? Why, he’s whot you are, a Bible man. No fun at all.”

Adam felt somehow relieved at this piece of information and waited.

The redhead frowned. “Go up the back stairs, last room on the second landing.”

He tipped his hat again and smiled. “My thanks. Use the coin for food,
ach
, and less finery.”

They giggled like a group of lost little girls and drew aside, leaving him to find the back staircase in the dark. Fortunately, candles flickered in wall sconces on the second floor, and he made his way to the door the woman had described. He gave the wood a quick tap, waiting, until a brisk voice bade him enter.

Adam went into the room, stepping across the wide-planked floor with its luxurious carpet, and saw his friend bent over the bed stuffing things into a satchel.