Hidden Mercies (29 page)

Claire didn’t go to any great lengths to serve him. One of the many things he admired about Amish women was their lack of fuss. She brought two bowls and two spoons to the table, got a pitcher of cold milk out of the refrigerator, sat down beside him, and bowed her head for a silent prayer. He responded by doing the same.

After a few minutes, she took a deep breath, as though finished with her prayer, and when he looked up, she was reaching for a spatula to place the oatmeal cake into his bowl.

“Oh, I forgot the applesauce.” She jumped to her feet and brought a home-canned jar from the refrigerator.

“I saw Maddy leave a few minutes ago in a New Order buggy.” He poured milk over the oatmeal cake. “That was different.”

Her spoon was halfway to her mouth when he said this, and she paused with it still in midair. “You know the difference between Old and New Order buggies?”

He mentally chastised himself for having let down his guard. Most
Englisch
didn’t know the difference, nor should he. “Jeremiah was talking about it.”

That was true, but he didn’t tell her that the conversation had taken place more than thirty years ago.

Claire swallowed the spoonful of oatmeal. “Maddy says
now that after God spoke to her in German, she wants to go to church every Sunday and learn how to ‘have a relationship’ with Jesus.”

“There are worse ways for her to spend her time.”

“Oh, and don’t I know it after last night!” She shook her head. “I am having trouble believing everything that happened last night. These past couple of years, the only thing that mattered to me, besides being a good midwife, was creating a peaceful and happy home. I think I must be doing something wrong.”

“One young girl’s escapade doesn’t make you a bad mother, Claire.”

“Perhaps, but it does not make me a good one, either.”

“With the exception of my own Mom, I think you’re the best mother I’ve ever known.”

His words hung there in the air, all shiny and golden. They were exactly the words she most needed to hear right now.

Those words also did something to her stomach that she didn’t want to happen. Tom was becoming entirely too important to her life. And that was not acceptable. She could
not
get involved with this
Englisch
soldier, but his continual thoughtfulness, not to mention the unselfish courage he had shown last night, was wearing away her resolve.

How could a woman dismiss a man who wore the words
For those I love, I will sacrifice
above his heart?

The worry, lack of sleep, constant work, and danger they had been in last night had taken their toll. She laid her spoon on the table and dropped her head into her hands while tears flowed.

“Oh, Claire, sweetheart,” Tom said. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She gave a little shake of her head, wishing he wasn’t here to see her break down.

“Come here, Claire.” To her surprise, he grasped her hand, led her to the couch, and pulled her down beside him.

Claire was shocked. “I shouldn’t . . .”

“Shhh.” He put his left arm around her. “You remind me of a combat soldier who has been on the front lines too long without any chance to rest and regroup. It’s time to regroup, Claire.”

He pulled her close, drawing her head toward him until it rested against his chest.

“Tom . . .” For the life of her she couldn’t stop crying, or make herself pull away from him.

“Just for a few minutes, Claire. Let someone take care of
you
for a change.”

It had been so very long since anyone had held her. She closed her eyes, absorbing the comfort of it. Then she remembered where she was.

“The children . . . .” She began to pull away.

“Are asleep. If they wake, we’ll hear them clattering down those wood stairs.”

It felt so good to be held.

“I can’t bear to see you beat up on yourself because your niece is acting like a normal teenager who doesn’t have a brain in her head.”

In spite of her tears, she choked out a laugh. That described Maddy perfectly.

“I’ve watched you, Claire. You take care of everyone and everything around you. Always. You’ve even taken on your sister’s problems.”

Tom’s voice was gentle. It reminded her of the tone she always used to calm a panicked, laboring mother.

What she was allowing to happen was most assuredly not wise, but a knot deep inside her was loosening, and they were doing nothing morally wrong.

She gulped down a sob and allowed herself to relax within the circle of his arms. The rhythm of his great heart against her ear, his gentleness and healing words, the rawness of her own emotions—all worked together to draw her deeper into the comfort of his embrace.

“No one on earth works as hard as you or cares about everyone else as much as you. I remember how even when you were a little girl you were always . . . .”

He stopped abruptly, and she could feel him holding his breath.

Suddenly the pieces began to fall into place.

•   •   •

Tom could have bit off his tongue. This was not the time nor the place, but seeing her cry had lowered all his defenses. He had been remembering when they were children, how she had quietly started bringing an extra sandwich in her dinner pail each day to share with a girl whose food was not as plentiful. He still believed that he began falling in love with her the minute he realized what she was doing. They had been in the third grade.

Her tears stopped. She pulled away, placed one hand against the side of his face, and looked at him with wonder.

“Tobias?”

He let the breath he had been holding out on a sigh. There was no use trying to pretend. The barn cat was out of the bag, as his father would have said, and there was no use trying to put it back.

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I meant to that first day. That was why I was there. To see you. To apologize for the damage I had done to your life. But then I got sick, and then Grace came and . . .”

“What do you mean?” Claire put a finger against his lips to stop the flow of words. “What do you mean you came to apologize?”

“For Matthew’s death and what it did to you.”

“You have taken all the blame for that on yourself all these years?”

“It was my fault. I am the one who killed my brother and subjected you to raising Levi alone and . . . .”

“I never blamed you for Matthew’s death.”

He could hardly believe his ears. “You should have. I was the one who ran off the road and rammed that electric pole.”

“But Henry was the one who led the stallion out of the stable. My brother-in-law could be such a show-off when he was young. Henry even told me that he was the one who bet Matthew that he couldn’t ride Ebony Sky. We both know Matthew could not pass up a dare like that, not even if it killed him. Each of you was to blame, and yet none of you were. You were all just kids—high on testosterone, thinking you were invincible.”

“You’re right,” Tom said. “I wish you could have seen Matthew that night before the accident, the way he looked flying down the road on that magnificent animal. Riding Ebony Sky without a saddle as though he was glued to that horse’s back. I was never so proud of anyone in my life.”

“I knew that. I could envision every last detail—including the pride you felt watching your brother’s expertise. You were always so proud of him. How could I blame you for the freak set of circumstances that caused Matthew’s death?”

Oh, this was better than anything he had ever imagined when he decided to come back. She had not blamed him for Matthew’s death or for ruining her life after all!

“Thank you for forgiving me, Claire.” In his gratitude, he reached out to hug her. His heart was lighter than it had been in years.

“You think I have forgiven you?” She put one hand on his chest and stopped him. “You are mistaken about that.”

He dropped his arms. “I don’t understand.”

“I saw your tattoo last night.”

“Okay.” What did this have to do with anything?

“ ‘For those I love, I will sacrifice,’ ” Claire quoted. “That’s what you have written there, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

She slowly shook her head. “That is an outright lie.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve never, ever blamed you for Matthew’s death—but do you realize how much pain you caused by leaving and never coming back?”

“I couldn’t come back. I was under the ban.”

“You were not banned the day you ran away. You were banned later, for leaving the church. Not for hitting the electric pole. Yes, you would have had to confess and asked forgiveness for driving that vehicle, but you could have lived the rest of your life here and no one in our church would ever have held that night against you.”

“My father blamed me.”

“You father’s grief was fathomless. He wasn’t entirely sane for a few days. I know exactly what he said to you to cause you to leave. He repeated that story to me over and over, always with such regret.”

“I didn’t know he had regretted anything.”

“How could we tell you? We did not know where you were. We did not know how to find you.”

“As far as I could tell, no one ever tried.” This statement surprised even him. All these years, had he actually been expecting his father to try to hunt for him?

“You have been too long among the
Englisch,
” Claire said. “You forget what being Swartentruber means. What did you
expect him to do? Call the police? Hire a private detective? Our people do not do things like that. He protected you and watched over you the only way he knew how—he prayed for you. He sat a place at the table every day for you, and he prayed for you!”

She was breaking his heart, and she knew it.

“I didn’t think anyone would want me around.”

“Really? Or were you just too proud to face us? You and I grew up together. We were friends. I was seventeen, Amish, and pregnant. I could have used a friend back then, Tom.”

“I didn’t feel worthy of even being around you.”

“So—you abandoned me?”

“I thought it was the best thing for everyone if I just stayed out of your life.”

She was so angry now that her face was flushed. “Did you know that Faye stood at the front window and watched for you? For weeks?”

“No.”

“She was only eight, Tom, and that little girl had already lost her mother and a brother. She cried for days. Jeremiah could not comfort her. No one could. She kept insisting that you would come back. A light went out of her when months passed and you never showed up.”

“Oh, Claire.” He closed his eyes, sick at heart. To him, Faye had just been his little tattletale sister. Not once had he considered what this had done to her. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”

“So tell me—who did you love enough to sacrifice for, Tom? Because it surely was not any of us.”

He could not take one more word. He had expected her to be angry, but he had never expected her to completely break his heart.

“What can I do?” He slid to his knees and gripped her
hands, desperate for an answer. “How can I make this up to everyone?”

“That is the thing.” Her voice was unbearably sad. “You never can make up for it. Those are like years that the locusts have eaten. Only God, Himself, could give them back to you.”

She had never been a vindictive person. That had been one of the many things he loved about her. Claire could get angry, very angry, but it never lasted.

That happened now. Compassion melted away her anger and she held out her arms.

“Come here.”

Suddenly, this gentle Amish woman was holding him—a tough, seasoned Marine—as scalding, toxic tears that had been locked away behind a lifetime of regret bled from his body.

T
hey heard the sound of Daniel’s footsteps long before the child came down the wooden staircase. Tom had time to rise, wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, and walk over to the door before the toddler poked his head around the corner of the living room.

“Mommi!”
Daniel raced across the floor in his little pajamas, and leaped onto her lap.

“Are you hungry, little one?” Claire asked, in German.

He nodded.

“I will feed you soon.” She glanced up at Tom. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Eventually.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. I need time to think through all that you’ve told me.”

“I will pray for you.”

“And I will need those prayers.”

As he climbed the stairs to his apartment, a part of him noted that it was a beautiful, cloudless day. The other part of him felt as though he were flying blind through a hailstorm.

Everything within him was shouting for him to leave. Right now. He hated this emotional stuff. He wanted to forget
this whole mess. He could stuff that duffel bag in his car, drop a few hundred on the kitchen table in his apartment for Claire to find, head back to Washington, and accept whatever job the military wanted to give him. Even piloting a desk, no matter how much he hated the thought, would be less painful than one more minute of sticking around here where his heart seemed to get broken every time he turned around.

He had a life apart from this place. It would be so easy to walk away. Just like he’d done before.

Rocky had his nose pressed against the screen and was whining. His eagerness to shoot out the door made Tom feel even guiltier. He’d forgotten all about the dog while he was talking with Grace. He was good at that. Good at letting people down.

By the time Rocky was finished, he had decided to take a walk to Elizabeth’s. She wouldn’t know what he should do, either, but he needed someone to talk to now—someone who would have no angst about it. That conversation with Claire had just about killed him.

“Come on, Rocky,” he called as he headed up the road. “Come on, boy.”

He found Elizabeth sitting on the bench in the front yard wearing a floral dress, her pearls, and her best white tennis shoes. Her Sunday outfit.

She was not in a good mood and scowled when she saw him approaching. “Don’t you start in on my tennis shoes, too.”