River of Mercy (35 page)

Relieved and yet disappointed at the thought of his going, Rachel also stood. “I wish…” She stopped, knowing she didn't dare finish what she wanted to say.
I wish you didn't have to go. I don't want you to go. I wish we never had to be apart.

For a moment they stood looking at each other. Something in the way he was studying her caused a chill to seize Rachel. She felt as if she'd been shaken. And suddenly she felt afraid.

“Are you leaving?” she choked out.

He frowned. “Yes, I'll go. I didn't mean to stay this long, I just wanted to give you—”

“No,” she said sharply. “I mean, are you leaving? Are you going away?”

A startled look darted across his face, but his expression quickly stilled and in that instant he seemed to withdraw from her. “Do you want me to leave?”

She couldn't breathe. A deep, throbbing pain rolled over her and something inside her seemed to cry out. But she didn't answer him.

“Would it make things easier for you if I left, Rachel? Is that what you want?”

He said it with such a sadness, such a soft, lonely tremor in his voice that Rachel thought she would weep.

“No, Jeremiah. That's not what I want. It's totally selfish of me, I know, but I don't ever want you to go away.” She felt as if she were strangling on the words she had no right to say, but she couldn't stop. “Even if we can't be…together, I don't want to completely lose you. I don't think I could bear it if you left.”

He stood, unmoving as a stone. Was it relief that stole across his features? “Then I'll stay,” he said quietly.

Without warning then, he closed the slight distance between them, caught her up in his arms, and kissed her with a gentleness so sweet it stunned her. It was as if in that moment a sacred vow had been sealed.

Almost as quickly as he'd touched her, he backed away, leaving Rachel to stare at him, speechless.

“I won't apologize for that,” he said. “I've just…missed you so much. This whole week, I've been a little crazy to see you.”

Rachel knew she should be angry with him. She should tell him to leave her house and not come back. He had no right to touch her, much less kiss her. But the words stayed buried. What she saw in his eyes and what she felt in her heart whispered for her to keep silent.

“I'll go now,” he said. He hesitated before adding, “But you know where I'll be, Rachel. If you ever need me, you know I'll come.”

Without saying another word then, Rachel let him turn and walk away.

She didn't move again until she heard the solid thud of the front door closing behind him.

33

Do not trust all men, but trust men of worth.

D
EMOCRITUS

O
n a whim, Gant told Gideon to close up the shop for lunch, grabbed his coat, and started walking.

The afternoon air was brisk but not uncomfortable. He wasn't particularly hungry, so he walked all the way to the park, where he now stood watching the river.

He needed a break from the shop, but lately he'd been avoiding taking lunch at the inn, mostly because of Ellie Sawyer. He'd begun to see what Gideon had insinuated, and because of that he now found himself awkward around the young widow. She
did
seem to find ways to spend time with him, and he feared there was something in her eyes when she looked at him that he couldn't share. So for several days now he'd been eating leftovers in the kitchen at home or a quick sandwich in the shop.

He liked Ellie, but if she wanted more from him than a simple friendship, it wasn't in him to give. After her husband's death, he had tried to make sure she and the baby got along all right and wanted for nothing. Now, however, he was backing off from being with her as often as before. She had her job and a nice apartment above the restaurant, and she seemed well settled. He had no intention of leading her to believe he wanted anything more than the friendship they already had.

It occurred to him that perhaps the problem had already been taken care of. He'd seen Ellie and the new doctor, Wyatt Tanner, walking together down the boardwalk last week. He had felt both pleased and relieved.

In any case, there simply wasn't another woman for him but Rachel, and he couldn't imagine there ever would be.

Looking around, he spied a massive old tree stump and eased himself down on it, following the water with his gaze as far as he could see. Mac padded around a bit but soon plopped down at his side and joined Gant in studying the river.

This part of the Ohio was quiet today. A small flatboat loaded with kegs and boxes passed by a weathered old barge. In the distance, a side-paddle moved slowly and was eventually overtaken by what looked to be a store-boat, though it was too far upriver to make out any identifying sign.

A familiar feeling much like homesickness washed over Gant. Not unusual, that. The river became home after a time. He still missed it. Most likely he always would.

It could be a lonely life, but he had found it to be a good one, even a peaceful way to live. Most of the time.

In a way, a man became a part of the river, melded with it, flowed through life with it. Even when the wind was up in a storm, there was a oneness. You didn't fight the river, you worked with it. You were together in a kind of balance only a pilot could sense.

Asa had his own unique way of likening the river to the attributes of God. He often compared a river to God's mercy flowing into the children He created and flowing out from them to others—a continuing, unstoppable stream.

Sometimes he also referred to God as the Great Navigator. A man could navigate a river, Asa claimed, just as he navigated through life. But God was the one who “walked the wheel,” and the river's power was beyond any mortal's ability to defeat.

Gant saw the wisdom and the truth in his friend's observation, but all the same he had once taken a kind of defiant pleasure in the contest. A storm on the river tested a man, and it was usually a foregone conclusion that the storm and the river could easily triumph, but in another time he had occasionally viewed such events as a competition and enjoyed the challenge.

Long ago, however, he'd conceded the folly of his young and foolish behavior.

These days the competition had no face, no identity. Once again he'd thought himself up to the challenge of defeating an adversary, this time the shadowed enemy of the Riverhaven Amish. The People's tormentor continued to harass the community with increasingly harsh, even dangerous incidents.

At times he almost felt as if he were somehow a catalyst in the enemy's attacks, as if he'd only made matters worse by intruding upon their world.

Unexpectedly, Mac shot to his feet and gave a chuff.

“Gideon told me I might find you here.”

Gant jerked around to see Doc Sebastian approaching with a smile.

“Is this your thinking place?”

Gant shrugged. “I like it here. So what brings you to town?”

“Errands…and you, actually.”

David Sebastian came around to stand in front of Gant. Immediately, Gant's big hound leaned into him, demanding attention.

After a minute, Gant called the dog back to his side with a short “Down,” and the dog settled beside his owner.

“So what do you need? I'll go back and open the shop—”

“No, there's nothing I need from the shop. It's still open, by the way. Gideon looked to be writing an order for Paul Shelton.”

“Huh. I told him he could close up for lunch when he wanted.” He looked at David. “So what can I do for you?”

David hesitated a few seconds more, knowing there would be questions he couldn't answer. Finally, he decided to just jump in. “You recall telling me about the sideboard Samuel Beiler asked you to make for him as a birthday gift for Rachel?”

Gant nodded, his expression darkening. “What about it?”

David knew he needed to be cautious in the way he handled this. “Have you finished it?”

“No. Why?” Clearly, Gant didn't even want to talk about the matter.

“Then don't. Don't finish it. Don't let Beiler have it.”

Gant's head came up with a quizzical look. “I agreed to do it. It's too late to back out on it now. What's this about?”

David sighed. “I knew you'd have questions, and I can't answer them. I shouldn't even bring this up, but I have a valid reason.”

Gant got to his feet, his puzzled expression turning to a frown. Mac got up as well, watching him, but when Gant made no move to leave, the dog lay down again. “I can't cancel Beiler's order now. I told him I'd make the sideboard, and even though I wish I hadn't, I'm not one for going back on my word.”

“Just this once, I'm asking you to.”

“Doc—”

“I need you to trust me. Don't give Beiler the sideboard.”

Gant studied him, clearly expecting an explanation.

When David offered none, he shook his head in apparent frustration. “I trust you, Doc, but you have to admit this is an odd request. You're asking me to break my word without a reason. How am I supposed to handle that?”

David's mind raced, groping for a way to satisfy Gant's bewilderment without divulging what was told to him in confidence. “I wish I could explain, but some matters have come up that I can't discuss. At least… not at the moment. You need to take my word for it that I have Rachel's best interests at heart, and just do as I ask. Please.”

He saw Gant's attention sharpen at the mention of Rachel's name.

“What does this have to do with Rachel?”

David sighed. “I think I went over this with you once before, but let me explain again. An Amish man has no right to give a woman an extravagant or personal gift unless they're married. It simply isn't done. Even an engaged couple must use restraint when it comes to the gifts they give each other. Beiler and Rachel are neither engaged nor married, so he has no right whatsoever to give her that sideboard.”

That piercing blue gaze of Gant's threatened to impale him, so fierce was the man's stare. “I know that. So why do I get the feeling you're trying to tell me something without actually saying anything?”