Secret, The (37 page)

Her heart felt like it might beat right out of her chest as she stood waiting beside the front room window for her ride. For weeks her emotions had been nearly raw, yet as she pondered what she was about to do, she felt more vulnerable than heartbroken. Tears slipped from her eyes, and the tree-lined street became a shimmering stream.

How will Samuel receive me?

The afternoon sun cast a gentle light over the narrow street as the driver parked two doors away and opposite from the house belonging to Samuel. Lettie spotted a man pulling weeds in the front yard, and her breath caught in her throat when she realized it was indeed Samuel.

Dressed like an Englischer
, she thought, reminding herself to breathe.

His fancy attire wasn’t the only thing that had changed since their courting days. His face was somewhat fuller, his light brown hair peppered with gray on the sides.

She paid the driver and stepped out of the van. Her pulse raced as she made her way up the street, feeling her weight on the sidewalk as she took each step approaching the front yard. Once again she admired the overall attractiveness of the place, and she prayed for courage.

I’m this far. . . .

Meanwhile, Samuel moved up to the front porch, unaware of her as he pinched off dried blossoms from the begonias in matching pots. She stood quietly at the foot of the steps, suddenly too bashful to announce herself.

Ach, what have I done?

Just when she’d thought she might simply retreat, he turned and saw her there—an unexpected sight to be sure. She was, after all, wearing her Amish garb, her hair in the traditional bun.

“Hullo, Samuel,” she said, offering a smile.

He squinted and straightened. Then, suddenly, his eyes grew wide and twinkled in recognition as a smile spread across his face. “Lettie? Is it you?”

She smiled back, nodding. “Jah, ’tis.”

“Goodness, what a surprise!” His laughter rekindled so many fond memories. “Well, for Pete’s sake!” He stood back and appraised her.

“Nice to see you again, Samuel.” She felt slightly more confident now that he seemed so delighted.

He apologized for having forgotten his manners. “Please . . . won’t you come inside?” He motioned toward the door, holding it for her.

“Denki.” She let the word slip.

In the house, she inhaled slowly . . . deeply.
Here at last.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, a curious smile on his face.

She looked around, taking in the comfortable room. It had the look of a small library or perhaps a den, as she’d heard some fancy folk call such a room. Plenty large enough for two upholstered chairs—one a soft green, the other eggshell in color—with an oak lamp table between them. The chairs were situated facing a small glassed-in fireplace, and books, dozens of them, lined the shelves, one side reaching to the ceiling.

Samuel waited till she was seated before he moved the decorative pillow from his chair and sat down, too, still simply beaming. “Goodness, how long has it been?” he asked, his eyes fixed on her. “Twenty-some years.”

“At least.” But she knew precisely. A girl never forgot her first love.

He leaned back. “What brings you to Ohio? Business or pleasure?”

My visit with you,
she thought.

Her mind—no, her heart—was whirling. So much to say. “Well, I’m in the area for several reasons,” she managed to respond, embarrassed at his keen attention.

“You’ve come alone?”

She nodded. “This trip, jah.”

“You must still live in Bird-in-Hand, I assume?”

She said she did. “I married Judah Byler,” she added quickly.

“Judah?” He glanced at the ceiling, as if trying to place him. “Why, sure . . . I remember now. He was kind of a reserved fellow, wasn’t he?”

She nodded only slightly, wanting to change the subject . . . needing to. “I heard of your wife’s passing from Sarah, when your sister was visiting in Bart some weeks back. I’m so sorry to hear it.”

He thanked her, saying that Emmie’s passing was something of a blessing, because she’d suffered for so long. Then he went on. “Well, I’ll be . . . I had no idea Sarah was back there. When was this?”

“In March . . . she came to see a relative’s new baby.”

“Ah yes, our grand-niece.” He scratched his head. “Guess I failed to even send them a card. Emmie handled that sort of thing, you know.” He chuckled. “I’ve got so much to catch up on.”

“Have you lived in Fredericksburg very long?” she ventured.

“Three years now,” he said. “I’d always wanted to own a welding shop, and when this one came up for sale—less than four miles away—I snatched it right up.” He rose suddenly, going to his books. “Here’s another one of my dreams come true,” he said, waving his hand at the shelves of books. “Would you care to see some of my favorites?”

“Poetry?”

“Is there anything else?” He laughed and the sound brought her joy. “Emmie used to say my poetry books were my Bible, but that was only a joke.” Still, he was obviously attached to his fine collection of Browning, Frost, Dickinson, and several other poets she hadn’t heard of.

He brought Alfred Lord Tennyson to her and ran his finger down the list of poems on the first page—“Audley Court,” “The Beggar Maid,” “The Blackbird,” “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” . . .

“ ‘A hundred summers! can it be?’ ” he quoted from “The Day-Dream.”

Oh, she was sixteen again . . . shooing flies away from her face as she sat high in the haymow, listening intently to the rhythmic sway of his voice, the mesmerizing way he had with each stanza and measure of phrase. As if he were born to read poetry to her and to her alone.

“Emmie said I was a dichotomy—part grease monkey, part rhymester.” He glanced toward the window, surely thinking of her just now. “Not sure where she ever heard that.”

“Rhymester?” Lettie asked.

He nodded. “Guess it’s strange, but I never wrote a poem for my late wife. Wasn’t much good at it, I guess.”

He was, after all, more an interpreter of poets, she remembered, though he’d tried his hand at rhymes.

“I once wrote a decent one, though,” he said quietly. His gaze found her. “It was the day my father told us we were leaving Lancaster County.”

She sighed, heavyhearted now at the prospect of hearing what she knew he was about to say.

“I wrote the poem for you, Lettie.” He rubbed his hands back and forth on the arms of his chair. “I had no way of knowing how to get in touch,” he said. “No one seemed to know where you’d gone, or why you’d left.”

“I was out here, in Ohio . . . came with my mother to help my father’s very ill aunt.” She took a long breath. “But that wasn’t the only reason we came, Samuel.”

She’d imagined this very moment for more than a month—had even practiced her words. Somewhere in Samuel’s dining room, a clock was ticking. And out on the pretty porch the wind chime tinkled, the sound ever so haunting as it drifted through the window screen.

Samuel’s face was pensive now.

Ach, how I loved him
.

Pursing her lips, she tumbled over the waterfall of the past. “The reason I’m here is to make a confession. One I should’ve made years ago.”

Seeing his furrowed brow, she paused and felt the distance of their years apart.

“Lettie?” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “What is it?”

She swallowed hard, willing herself to find the courage. “Truth is, I never should’ve left you, Samuel. Not without tellin’ you the truth.”

His fingers fidgeted on the piping along the edge of the chair.

“Ach, but I was so deceitful. And I have paid dearly for it. And . . . I’m ever so sorry.”

He frowned tenderly. “Whatever you have to say . . . please, feel free to say it, Lettie.”

Samuel had always made it easy for her to speak her mind. Her heart. “I had a baby,” she said softly.
“Ours.”

He sat motionless, eyes wide. “We . . . have a child?”

She bowed her head, staring at her folded hands. “It was wrong of me not to tell you.” She was afraid she might cry. “I was nearly five months along when Mamm and I went to Kidron to stay . . . where I gave birth.”

“Oh, Lettie, I wish I’d known.”

She shook her head, drawing a shallow breath. “It was never my idea to keep such a secret—or to give up the baby.” She pulled a hankie from her sleeve. “Ach, this has weighed on me for so long.”

His face was drawn, pale. “Who else knew?”

“Only my parents at first.” She sighed heavily. “And of course my great-aunt. Then, much later, I confided in my closest sister, Naomi, but she passed away several years ago.” She told him how she’d stayed then at the same inn she’d chosen this visit, having the baby there.

“A boy or a girl?” he asked tentatively.

“Mamma hired an Amish midwife, and together they decided it was best, all round, that I wasn’t told. I never even got to see or hold the baby,” she said sadly. “Honestly, though, I had a strong feeling I’d birthed a son.”

“This is all so shocking.” Samuel’s face was filled with angst. “You see, Emmie and I always wanted children. Very much so,” he said quietly. “We yearned for our own, but Emmie wasn’t well for much of our marriage. And now you say that I had a child all along.” He pressed his fingers against his temples. “And I missed it all, all the growing-up years.”

“I know, Samuel. I know. . . .”

She’d heard of Samuel and Emmie’s childless marriage from Sarah, who’d revealed the sad news when they walked together at the barn raising. “This is one of the reasons why I came lookin’ for you,” she said. “My heart broke for you, Samuel, when Sarah said you’d lost your dear wife . . . and you’d never had children.”

He glanced at the window, eyes blinking as he seemed to calculate the years. “Our child must be close to twenty-four by now.”

Brushing away tears, she nodded. “Born April twenty-ninth that year.”

Six days later than Grace’s own birthday . . . and only two days
from the anniversary of Naomi’s passing.
Tears slid down Lettie’s cheeks.

His eyes probed hers. “Do you have any idea where he or she might be?”

She explained that she’d hoped to find the midwife while in Kidron, with no success. “I wanted to find our child first, before coming to see you.”

A way to attempt to bridge the chasm between them, she’d realized. Oh, but their unresolved parting had taken its dreadful toll on her. And after stumbling upon Samuel’s sister, Lettie had purposed in her heart to find both Samuel and their child, to set things right. During the long nights of wandering, she’d prayed for both her child and for Samuel. Deep in thought, she’d wished for a way to find their child, but had no idea where to look. Aside from Kidron, Ohio.

“That was very thoughtful of you . . . and generous, too,” he said.

“Well, I’m still searching for the midwife—anyone who might know something, but I’m discovering there are many hurdles.” Lettie closed her eyes, reliving the questions that continually plagued her.
Does my child know how much he or she was
loved? Is my son or daughter happy? Healthy?

“I would have helped you raise the baby . . . would have married you.” Samuel’s voice was strained. “That was my intention, Lettie, you must know. But I was young and my father moved us away in a failed attempt to keep his wayward son in the church,” he said. “Poor excuses, I know, but I was under my father’s roof then.”

She understood. “I, too, was under the control of my parents.” A little sob escaped. “Ach, Samuel, believe me, I wanted to keep the baby, but my parents—
my mother
—forced me to give the child away.”

He shook his head sadly.

“A private adoption was arranged by a local doctor after the midwife took the baby away . . . that day.”

“I’m so very sorry,” he said. “What you went through . . . alone.”

“It was a closed adoption, too, which is why this has taken much longer than I first expected. I immediately began making contacts after seeing your sister Sarah.” She paused. “I have no idea how long it’ll take.”

Samuel grew silent again, unquestionably lost in a blur of musings.

A lengthy silence prevailed; then he rose and went to stand near the bookshelves. “I took advantage of you, Lettie . . . when we were young. I apologize for that.”

“We both knew better.”

He walked to the window, his hands in his trouser pockets. “I’d like to help with your search,” he said. “But I’m tied to my work here. Perhaps I can at least assist with your travel costs.”

“Mighty kind of you, but that’s not necessary, really.” She thought of the money she’d withdrawn for the purpose of supporting her search. “Besides, my husband would not approve.”

His eyebrows rose. “Judah didn’t accompany you to Kidron, then?”

“It’s lambing season.” She gave her best excuse, not wanting to admit to having kept Judah in the dark about the trip. And the bigger secret—her child out of wedlock. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She rose and made her way to the door.

“Please, Lettie, let’s stay in touch.” He followed her outside to the porch. “How can I contact you?”

She mentioned the inn. “But I won’t be there much longer. So it’s best if I contact you, all right?”