A Love Undone (37 page)

The moment Jolene entered the attic, she knew something was different. But what? It was mid-June, and the air was stifling up here. The problem with waiting until nighttime to paint was the lighting wasn’t good.

She was glad now that Glen had come up here and learned her secret. Since that day a year ago, he’d gathered information from other Amish districts and had asked bishops who did allow art to write letters, and Glen had presented the information to their bishop, asking him to change his stance. Glen was such a kind man, but she didn’t regret letting him go.

What must it be like to paint out in the open or in a spare room?

As she reached for a paint pallet, an unusual piece of paper on her very cluttered desk caught her eye. She picked up the thick ivory paper that contained only two lines:

Her heart jumped and skipped like sparks flying from a flame, and her internal reaction stunned her. But she knew it was Andy. Not only because she’d guarded the keys diligently, but because she could feel his presence. He’d been here. She closed her eyes and basked in the feel of it.

He must have seen her dozens of paintings. Embarrassment caused her cheeks to burn. She hadn’t expected that Andy would
ever enter their attic. It had to have been obvious to him that he was the man in the pictures and she was the woman.

She grabbed a fine paintbrush, dipped it in red paint, and responded. Under the phrase “Willing, but unsure,” she wrote, “Timeless friendship.” He was willing to step forward or stay away, and she felt that either way, they were timeless friends. What else they were remained to be discovered. Why was her heart pounding so? Was she happy that he’d contacted her, or was she terrified? Maybe both.

Beneath “Let peace guide us,” she wrote, “Share more … but not in person.”

What was he thinking and feeling? He was free to let her know, but she wasn’t ready to look at his truth full on, not if she wanted to keep the peace she’d worked so hard to regain.

She left the paper there and picked up a paintbrush. It seemed like a very sky-blue-and-sunny-yellow kind of painting day.

Andy sat in Lester’s attic, finishing another word game. The wordplay was so good for him, and it must be healing to her too. They weren’t spoon-feeding each other information. He and Jolene had never been like that. In this game he had to search his heart to find the right words, and he spent hours contemplating in order to understand what she meant in the few words she responded with.

He breathed in the nighttime fall air. He came to Lester’s house every other weekend, arriving right after dark on Saturday and leaving two to three hours later. His great-uncle had strongly questioned him about coming all this way so often, frowning at the cost of time and money.

Andy couldn’t believe the old man didn’t understand, didn’t get that reuniting with Jolene outweighed all else. He had money. Was there a better cause to spend it on? And what good was time if it wasn’t used to pursue love? Isn’t that what people spent their lives doing—sacrificing in hopes of obtaining what really mattered? He loved Jolene, and that was reason enough to keep coming here.

Would they continue this type of correspondence for another month? Or year? She knew when he arrived every other week, but she’d yet to come. She responded to his words, but she’d yet to write “I’m ready to see you.”

It reminded him of the struggles she’d had to leave the edge of
the creek or riverbank. It had terrified her. In some ways this dance was the same. She was good at finding him and drawing him out, but she was more complicated, more hidden to herself as much as to him.

Since returning to the attic after news of Eva’s passing, had Andy not yet found Jolene? She seemed hidden, which made sense. Heroically secretive was a big part of who she was. Yet with him she’d been vulnerable and honest, and it had cost her. As he thought back, he realized her life stayed shrouded in hiddenness. At nineteen she did her best to hide from her siblings the pain of losing Van. She boldly took care of her siblings while hiding from them the pressures of the task and her own dreams. She hid her anger with Van and Donna and trudged onward. She hid her paintings from everyone except Lester … and then Andy. He’d been the one to realize she was terrified of the creek and was uncomfortable having a phone. She’d hidden those fears from others but not from him. Despite how much she’d shared with him that summer, they’d had to keep the depth of their friendship hidden in order to work together.

Veiled. She didn’t mean to be that way. Much of it had happened from the necessity to protect others. Some of it was out of the need to protect herself.

But had she not given him the key to the attic, the most hidden part of her life?

Andy rose and took the time to study every painting. What was it about Jolene that he was missing? Something was keeping her from being ready to see him. Each painting worked its way into his heart anew, and he felt so close to her.

Suddenly it struck him.

He picked up a thick, rounded paintbrush with a point to it and went to a blank canvas. Words teemed in his mind, and he intended to paint each one, using as many colors as he could.

He laid down his paintbrush. It wasn’t bad. She would like the colors and the honesty. If they were open with their relationship, some would take it as an admittance of guilt regarding what took place between them while he was still married. But those who knew them wouldn’t, and that was all that truly mattered.

He went to the desk and found a pen and fresh paper.

He went downstairs. His driver was visiting with Lester, and Andy sat and joined the conversation. Then a new idea struck. He
went back upstairs, grabbed his canvas painting, an easel, and the letter. He then gave the driver directions to Jolene’s house.

As his first act of boldness, he would leave the letter and the painting on her porch.

Jolene closed her book and blew out the kerosene lantern. She moved her hair to the side, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, covering her nightgown, and tiptoed through the darkness until she reached the porch. A streetlamp lit the yard and some of the porch. What a beautiful evening, although there was no moon or stars shining. But the air was crisp and smelled of fall. She went to the porch swing. A lantern and lighter sat on the side table for when she needed it. How many hours had she spent right here, reading to and rocking her nephews?

It seemed unreal that she had a chance to reconnect with a man she loved like no other, and yet she could not reach out to grab it. Why couldn’t she step from the shadows and proclaim her love? She longed to, and yet every time she’d been on the brink of happiness in the past, tragedy ripped it away. Every chance at forever had been stolen. If she dared to reach out, hoping for a final forever, would it also be snatched from her?

Father, I don’t know that I have it in me to lose him again
. But loss, whether tomorrow or in sixty years, was inevitable.

A car pulled onto the driveway, probably someone needing to turn around. Then the passenger car door opened.

Andy!

Her heart ran crazy, sounding like a drum inside her. What was it about this man? Moreover, what was he doing?

Sitting at the far end of the porch, she was hidden in the shadows of a dogwood tree and an overgrown azalea bush in front of the porch—both blocking the lamplight from this spot. He couldn’t see her, but she could tell that he was getting something out of the trunk. Was that a painting? He eased onto the porch, set up an easel just outside the front door, and put a canvas on it. He tucked what looked to be a letter between the painting and the tray of the easel. Then he studied the canvas and drew a deep breath.

Unsure whether to make herself known, she closed her eyes, feeling the quality of the man she adored. There was a force to him—a quiet, temperate way that wasn’t silent or mild at all. Had she realized that before now?

He crept toward the steps to leave.

“Andy.”

He jolted and wheeled around, staring at the darkness. She took the lighter off the table beside her and lit the kerosene lamp. He seemed speechless as he focused on her.

“What have you brought me?”

Using his thumb, he gestured toward it but said nothing. Instead, he picked up the canvas and folded paper, moved forward several feet, and held up the painting.

She extended the lantern, reading it. The words made tears sting her eyes.

“You paint words through pictures, and I’m hoping I painted pictures through words.”

“You did.” No one understood her or knew how to overcome her issues the way Andy did. Despite past rumors about them, he wanted to come and speak boldly to her district, proclaiming who he was and his intentions. “It’s beautiful.”

He stared at her. “
You
are beautiful.” He jiggled the canvas. “This is hopeful.” He leaned the canvas against the house and held out the piece of paper.

She set the lantern on the table, took the letter, and read the most beautiful sentences of her life. But they only made her feel panicky.

“I see the concern on your face, Jo, and I imagine that you feel as if you’re on the edge of happiness, similar to the night your Daed gave you the paintbrushes. And then all your hopes, dreams, and joys were destroyed. It’s terrifying to feel as if you’re in that same spot again. There isn’t a lot I can promise you, because I don’t own a single day. But you own my heart, and you have since those first few weeks together. What I can vow to you is that whatever days we are given, I will cherish every one and do all I can to be sure they are filled with love and joy for you.”

She closed her eyes, feeling much as she had when he began helping her face her fears of the river. He had wanted to help free her from her irrational fears, and even though they had to part ways before she conquered her fears, because of him she had been able to find peace with that river.

Isn’t that what he held out today—freedom to be loved, to be herself, to fulfill her deepest desires if only for a short season? Or maybe until they had great-grandchildren.

She opened her eyes, tuning out the raging fears, and held out
her hand. His warm palm was gentle and firm against hers, and he tugged so very gently.

She stood. “You may boldly make your intentions known to everyone. You let them know I am yours and you are mine.”

Andy put his arm around her back and caressed her face before he lowered his lips to hers.

Epilogue

Contentment flowed through Jolene like a lazy river in summer.

Breakfast was over, and the house around her slowly grew quiet while she added fresh paint to the canvas. Sunlight streamed in through the three walls of windows. It was a far cry from her years of painting in an attic. Everything about her life was like a dream come true. Andy loved her deeply, and she him. They both seemed to bask in it.

Hope had driven Tobias to school because she was the substitute teacher for the day. They were the only two who lived with Andy and her. Levi and Sadie had built a home not more than a stone’s throw away, and all of them had dinner together regularly. When Jolene moved out of her childhood homestead, Josiah and his family moved into it, buying it from Lester.

Ray, as well as the rest of her family, visited here often, but he lived in Winter Valley, renting the barns and pastures from Lester for a pittance. He also rented a small house not far from Lester’s, and he and Teena would marry next month.

Jolene and Andy enjoyed returning to Winter Valley often to visit Lester and her family. Hope would live with them for only a couple more years, but when she moved out, she wouldn’t go far. She and James were in love, and he owned a very successful nursery not more than six miles from here. Her little sister had a contract with a
small publishing house. She wrote children’s picture books, and of all unexpected things Jolene illustrated them. The books sold well. It seemed so strange to go from hiding a gift to earning income from it, with their names listed on each book for the world to see.

When time allowed, she and Andy traveled some, taking Jolene’s paintings to little towns along the East Coast and selling them. Such unexpected fun to discover new seaside ports where they could stay a night and sell paintings when it suited them.

She and Andy had married nine months ago, at the start of winter. Pennsylvania winter nights were long and cold when single, and she and Andy wanted to begin erasing years of winters from their memory.

Life kept moving along briskly, changing constantly as it glided on the warm winds of love and respect.

Jolene pressed her hand against her flat stomach and smiled. Pregnant but not yet showing.

The front door opened. “Hey, Jo?” Andy called, plastic bags rattling.

She put down her paintbrush and went to the kitchen.

“I needed to get some horse feed, so I picked up a few groceries.” He pulled a half gallon of her favorite store-bought ice cream out of the bag. “For tonight.” He put it in the freezer. He then pulled out a bag of peppermint sticks. “I know you haven’t had any nausea yet, but this will help when or if that time comes.”

“You are too good to me.”

“No such thing.” He winked. His expression changed, and he frowned, looking at the floor. “It’s sticky.”

She smiled. “My husband spilled orange juice on it. Then he
swiped a wet towel over it, giving it a lick and a promise, saying the kitchen was too full of people right then to clean it.” She shrugged. “His wife began painting rather than mopping.”

“Good for her. It proves she’s a smart woman.” After putting away the few other items he’d bought, he paused. “I’ve got a little time. Want to sit on the deck?”

She shook her head and moved in close. He wrapped his arms around her, and she kissed him, their kisses deepening by the second. “Everyone is gone,” she mumbled around the kisses.

“It’s rare,” he whispered.

She kissed his neck. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Ya.” He paused, caressing her face. “We should take this opportunity to scrub the floors.”