For Sure & Certain (22 page)

“Pretty soon he won’t be the only baby around, he ought to learn to behave before Sarah’s babe is born, can’t have our son teaching the first grandchild to misbehave,” Mrs. Miller said.

Eli and Sarah were bound to have their baby anytime and Mrs. Miller had been over there earlier today dropping off dinner to help Sarah stay off her feet.

“Did Sarah seem well?” Bekah asked.

“Ja, she’s in good spirits, anxious as well, but mostly just eager to meet her babe,” Mrs. Miller answered.

“It would be great if Able were here for when the baby is born,” Bekah said wistfully. Even though she had ill will towards her brother’s demands of her and Joshua’s relationship, Marigold could see it was still hard on her to not have her closest sibling around.

“He might get lucky,” said Marigold. “He told me he’d be coming this weekend.” It had been a few weeks since he backed out of coming for a weekend visit, and she wasn’t holding out hope that he would show now, but she wanted him to. Badly. She missed him. His voice, his hands on hers, the steady beat of his own drum.

“Well, I’ll believe it when I see it,” Mr. Miller grumbled. Mentioning Abel’s name seemed to sour the mood and Marigold regretted it immediately.

Marigold helped Bekah clean up the dinner dishes, as was their nightly routine, and Mrs. Miller got the little ones to bed.

“Can I tell you something?” Bekah whispered as she dried a ceramic plate with a dishtowel.

“Of course.” Marigold used the sponge and soapy water to wash the platter that held the meatloaf at dinner.

“After Ruthie and Jakey go to bed tonight I’m having a friend over.”

“Joshua?” Marigold wondered aloud.

“Ja.”

“With your parents around?”

“Ja.” She darted her eyes to Marigold, and smiled shyly. “I really like him,” she admitted under her breath. “Abel will kill him if he finds out, but we want to court, properly.”

“He’s going to find out, Bekah.”

“I know, but I want to give Joshua a chance with my parents before Abel comes and tells them all the reasons he’s wrong for me.” Bekah’s whispers were filled with worry.

“Of course. But I’d tell him before he finds out from someone else, that’s all.”

“Ja, maybe this weekend, when he’s here. All four of us could go for dinner or something? Maybe you could help break the ice.”

“Of course, anything for you, Bekah.” Marigold answered without thinking, she didn’t want to speak for Abel, but she also wanted to make Bekah happy, especially after how good she’d been to her.

“You’re the older sister I never had. I don’t want you to leave.” Bekah leaned over and gave Marigold a kiss on the cheek before returning to the dishes.

Marigold didn’t want to leave either, but she wondered if she fit in so well here, where exactly did that leave Abel?

Abel

He didn’t know if the cold shoulder was intentional, but when he arrived at the farmhouse late in the evening, the only one to greet him was his father.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, dropping his bag on the shiny hardwood floor.

“Sarah and Eli’s baby is on the way. Your mom, Bekah, and Marigold went over a few hours ago to help. The little ones are asleep upstairs.” Abel noticed his father’s eyes were heavier than they should be for a man about to become a grandfather.

He placed his hat on the hook in the entryway next to his father’s, and ran his hand through his hair. Eli would be a father. He shook his head, grateful he came back this weekend, and that the timing worked out the way it did.

“And the midwife is there?”

“Of course, Abel.” His father said no more, and the tension that hovered over their relationship filled the air.

“So, I’ll just wait with you then?” Abel said, sitting in a chair next to his father’s rocker.

“Suppose so, if you want. Though the pace might be too slow for you after city life.” His father turned the newspaper he read, listing the community bulletins, and scanned the page, without giving Abel any more of his attention.

Abel held his tongue, knowing speaking would do nothing. He didn’t know how to explain to the man he’d always looked up to, always admired, that the old ways weren’t his.

“No one knew if you’d actually show up tonight.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come a few weeks back, something came up.”

“I’m sure it did, son.”

Not wanting to show disrespect, Abel looked for a safe way out of this line of questioning. “Maybe I’ll find some leftovers. I haven’t had dinner.” He stood and walked out of the room in silence. His dad offered no comment, no response. A pot of chili sat on the stovetop, still warm. He ladled a bowlful, and then slathered butter on a thick slice of cornbread. Sitting at the kitchen table, frustration spread through him.

His dad didn’t even want to understand him, and after a lifetime of believing his parents to be more open-minded, more generous than the other Amish families they knew, he realized they were no different. He ate the bowl of chili quickly, each bite adding to his growing irritation. His father sat only a few feet away, hadn’t seen his son in a month, and yet he had nothing to say to him.
Is this how it would always be if I left the community for good?
Abel wondered.
Would I be okay with that?

Remembering the party from a few weeks earlier, Abel knew that lifestyle wouldn’t be enough for him either. Drinking, flirting, and loud music were fun, but not worthy of the sacrifice of family. That much was obvious. The part that continued to hang him up was the academics. The career.

Reading the paper on a Friday night like his father, where farm auctions were listed along with local houses for sale, could never hold his attention for long.  He had half a mind to stand up, go over to his father, and explain everything he loved about being at Jamestown, express the way his heart pumped fast when he was challenged to think deeper after a lecture explained a new concept he never considered. He wanted to tell his father how with the things he learned this summer; their family business had potential to grow exponentially.

They could lease land from the neighbors and add to the sheep herd. If they added a new outbuilding and expanded the existing dairy they could not only harvest wool, they could begin commercially producing organic sheep milk and cheese. Those were the byproducts consumers were interested in, and he was learning about the process of becoming an organically certified farm.

The Jamestown agricultural business department had just given a seminar on this; it would be worth the hassle. Or they could give tours of the farm and dairy, farm-tourism was huge in Lancaster, obviously, but they could find a way to be innovative in this. He wanted to try.

His mind raced, once again with ideas. The study group with Lacey, Jenna, and Lily was fun, but what had really started exciting him were the possibilities with the family business.

He was so caught up in this daydream; he didn’t even hear the buggy make it’s up the driveway. The front door flew open and Abel stood to see who was here. Bekah, Marigold, and his mother entered the house beaming. Flushed with excitement, his mom made an announcement.

“The baby was born. It was so fast, we nearly missed it!”

“Well, was it a boy or girl?” his dad asked. The exhaustion that covered him earlier was still there, but a glint of joy filled his eyes as he waited to hear.

“A boy. Seven pounds six ounces, and long, just like his dad was. Twenty-one inches, to be exact,” his mom said, kissing her husband on the cheek. “And rosy pink, and just so precious.” Tears sprang to her eyes, the joy overcoming her.

“What did they name him?” Abel asked walking into the room. Everyone turned to him, surprise written on their faces.

“Abel,” Marigold said, her eyes locking on his. She shook her head as if not believing that he was actually here.
Had missing one visit caused her to doubt him entirely?

“You came,” Bekah said, her voice revealing her incredulity. Still unfriendly towards him, her brief words let him know she still held onto the past.

“Abel,” repeated Marigold. “The baby’s name is Abel.”

His father frowned, and looked at the women. “Truly?” he asked.

Abel snorted, and then looking at the ceiling, he shook his head.

“Don’t,” his mom warned them both. “Don’t be like this.”

“I’m going out for a drive. I can’t do this. Not now.” He reached for his hat on the hook. “Marigold, you coming?”

She nodded right away, and took a step toward him. As he opened the front door he caught the look Marigold gave the rest of his family. He recognized the silent apology she offered them, and it pissed him off.

Walking down the front steps, he didn’t turn to look at her. What he wanted was to keep walking away forever, to never come back. Everything was layered in guilt with his family, but Eli had always said he supported him. Now it was clear that was never his truth.

“Wait,” Marigold called.

Abel didn’t stop, and neither did she. She followed him to the barn where he stood looking at the reins for the horses lining the wall. She reached for his hand, and he pulled away, grabbing a leather strap for his horse.

“Abel, look at me,” she told him. He didn’t, instead he walked down the row of stalls to the horse his father bought him for his sixteenth birthday. It was a generous gift, his father set him up properly in a buggy to boot, not having to pinch and save like Joshua had done to get a buggy to take to the Signings.

“Just stop, seriously, Abel.” Her voice was soft and she positioned herself in front of the stall not giving him room to open the swinging door that held the russet-colored mare.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to look down. Knowing if he did most of his anger would dissipate, her face left little room for fury. Her eyes melted him and he knew that, and he thought she probably did too. Which is why she was here now. Not backing down.

“You asked me to come with you, you could at least be nice about it now,” she said, reaching for both his hands again. She rubbed her thumbs in circle on the top of his hand, causing every hair to stand on his arm. “I’m here, Abel. On your side. Just calm down,” she whispered.

“I’m calm.”

“You won’t even look at me.”

He let out the breath he’d held, and the frustration tight in his chest dissolved as he looked down at her. It had been the right place to look because those eyes of hers, perfect circle’s of gray, left no room for anger. They were pools of melted ice, water to his parched heart. He had missed her.

He wrapped his arms around Marigold, her small frame engulfed in his strong arms. Her face pressed against his chest, breathing him in, holding him tight. Looking up for a moment, his horse stared at him squarely. He didn’t want anyone to witness the next part.

“Let’s go up,” he said in her ear. She gave the barest of nods, and didn’t let go of his hand until she had to climb the ladder. When two of her fingers hooked on his belt loop, he didn’t want her to pull away, now or ever.

“I missed you,” she said, as he pulled her into the hay on the floor of the loft. Barrels lined the space, four high, giving them privacy from the animals watching below. The only light was that of the swollen moon poking through the gabled windows of the barn. It was enough to see her face, the indentation below her nose, the curve of her lips. He wanted them on his. He wanted to forget all the things that muddled his mind. She was the only clear thing.

Maybe being transparent wasn’t a bad thing, though he’d used the word against her in the letter.
The letter,
he remembered. He closed his eyes again, not sure of why he sent it, why he assumed the worst. Why she assumed the best.

“I forgot,” he whispered to her, his body above hers, he held her face with his hands, cupping her cheeks. She leaned into them, him.

“Forgot what?” she asked.

“How much I want to be with you.”

“You were so mad, a moment ago. At them, at me and now, suddenly, that’s gone?”

“They named him Abel.” He said, his lips so close to hers.

“That was a lovely thing to do.”

“That’s not why they did it, Marigold.”

“Then why?” she asked, pushing him aside, rolling on top of him. Holding his chin with her thumb and forefinger, not letting him shy away.

“To guilt me into staying. Into being like them. Name their first born after me, and then what? Allow my nephew to be named after a deserter? It’s their way of pressuring me.”

“Do you not want to be Amish?” she asked, letting go of his chin, looking away.

“Do you?”

Neither answered, but the moon hung bright and the air smelled sweet and maybe having the answers right now would make no difference. If they both knew how to answer those questions, and if those answers divided them, or brought them together, it wouldn’t matter.

In that moment it wouldn’t change anything. Abel would still press his lips to hers, loosen her hair from the bun, letting the honeyed rays spread over her shoulders as she lay atop him, the weight of her pressing into his chest. He would still raise the hem of her dress and feel her warm skin as he slipped his hands around the small arch of her back. He wouldn’t let go, he would hold onto her.