Love’s Journey Home (20 page)

Blowing out a sigh, he tromped across the grass. Helen saw him coming and rose. “I’ll
bring out some lemonade. You must be thirsty.”

How could she be so nice when he’d been so ugly with her?

“I left the hammer in the house.”

“I’ll bring it out when I fetch the lemonade.”

“Danki,” he managed, then ducked his head, feeling like a schoolboy. “It’s heating
up out here.”

“Sit.” She nodded toward the chair she’d left vacant. “Catherine won’t bite.”

“She shouldn’t…”

“Be here. We know.”

“As soon as there’s word, I’ll go.” Catherine relaxed against her chair, belying her
words. “I promise.”

Gabriel eased into the rocking chair and gazed out at the open fields. Every muscle
in his body tensed. He didn’t want to sit next to this woman. Meidung happened for
a reason, to keep the faithful away from those who couldn’t shake the ways of the
world. He had no desire to know the ways the world had touched this woman.

“Don’t worry. I won’t put you in my book.” She smiled. Emma and Annie’s smile. Helen
had a rounder face with large, even teeth that made for a big smile. What possessed
him to think about that woman’s smile? He shook it off and tried to concentrate on
Catherine’s words. “Although, you do have a spot in my thesis. I hope you don’t mind.
I hope you’ll even talk to me about it.”

“Your book?”

“You haven’t heard?” Her tone held bitterness, but she smiled. “Seems like everyone
knows now.”

She proceeded to explain her plan.

“What does that have to do with me? I wasn’t here when you…were younger. I’m not part
of your memories.” Her words shook him. He wanted no part in this. “I’m new to this
what you called closed community.”

Catherine nodded toward the flower garden that covered an enormous chunk of the Brennaman
front yard. Rebecca, Lillie, and Mary were weeding while trying to keep Rachel and
Isabelle out of trouble. Isabelle wanted to pull the flowers and stick them in her
hair, while Rachel seemed more intent on eating them. Their giggles floated up to
the porch, making Gabriel want to smile in spite of himself.

“Your paper is about happy Plain children who pull weeds and play in the flower garden?
They like these stories in the Englisch world?”

“Not exactly. Like I said, my thesis is about the challenges of living in a closed
community.” Catherine said this as if it explained everything. “Those are your two
little ones out there, right? Annie told me about them. Isabelle and Rachel, right?”

“Jah.” He caught a glimpse of what she meant. “Nee, nee, leave them out of your writings,
whatever they’re called. They’re kinner.”

“Were you related to your wife?”

“What?”

“Were you blood relations?”

Perplexed Gabriel leaned forward and propped his elbows on his thighs. He studied
his scarred, callused hands. He didn’t want to think about Laura. Unbidden, her smiling
face peeked at him from his mind’s eye. The day of their wedding she’d never stopped
smiling. She said her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Their wedding night, she’d
not only smiled, she’d giggled, and laughed aloud. He’d shushed her, sure his parents
would hear. “We were third cousins. No shame there. It’s allowed. It’s common.”

“Exactly. I’m not faulting you.” She stared out at the children, her expression pensive.
Isabelle plucked a flower from Rachel’s plump fingers. The younger girl squawked and
started to cry. Mary intervened, offering her a handful of dandelions. “Do you know
what a recessive gene is?”

“We may not believe in a lot of book learning, but we’re not stupid people.” Gabriel
knew where she was going. He and Laura had talked to doctors after Isabelle’s condition
became apparent. She’d been evaluated. They knew where they stood with her and they
had been intent on helping her live a full life that blessed her and those around
her. Catherine knew nothing of this. “My girls are fine.”

“Isabelle and Rachel have Down’s Syndrome.” She softened her words with a gentle smile.
“They’re beautiful girls, Gabriel, don’t get me wrong. They’re precious.”

A catch in her voice made him study her face. He saw longing there, not censure. “Rachel
isn’t…she’s not…Isabelle yes, but not Rachel.”

“You’re in denial. Look at her face. They could be twins.”

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.” Gabriel closed his eyes and pictured Rachel’s
almond shaped eyes and cherubic cheeks. He’d allowed himself to be blind to those
features because he wanted a full life for his last born. Laura’s last born. Isabelle
and Rachel had their mother’s eyes. They had her smile. But none of her unassuming
intelligence. They would never follow recipes or measure a quarter teaspoon or understand
how to operate the propane-powered wringer wash machine. They could never be trusted
to give medicine to a small child or be left alone to care for a baby. “Both are gifts
from God.”

The words sounded weak in his ears. He cleared his throat. “They are blessings.”

“I don’t doubt that. You’ll love them every bit as much as you love the rest of your
children. You’ll nurture them and watch over them. As you should. What I’m saying
is the Amish only marry Amish. The districts are small, intentionally so.”

Catherine sounded like a teacher now. Gabriel could barely remember his days in school.
Only that they couldn’t end quickly enough. He’d been ready for the fields. Ready
to be a man. Ready to put schoolbooks and the things of children aside. He shook his
head, trying to ward off the uneasy feeling he and Laura had done something wrong.
That Catherine meant to say he was at fault for those little girls out there. For
the way they were. Catherine’s words droned on and he tried not to listen, but he
had no choice.

“It becomes more and more difficult for a young man or woman to find an unrelated
man or woman to marry. Did you know the Amish have one of the highest rates of mental
retardation and dwarfism in any population in the United States? That comes from having
such a small gene pool.”

“So you want to put the girls in your paper as an example of why we shouldn’t keep
ourselves apart from the world?” Helen pushed through the screen door with her shoulder,
a tray in her hands. “I’d say our treatment of these little ones shows the world how
to be compassionate and loving.”

“I don’t want to show the world anything,” Gabriel began, but Catherine cut him off.

“As an example of what happens when you don’t open up to the world. But I’m not passing
judgment.”

“Jah, you are.” Helen smacked the tray on the wicker table that separated the two
rocking chairs. Lemonade sloshed over the edge of the pitcher and the glasses rattled.
“You’d best move along, Catherine. You don’t belong here.”

“I’m letting people draw their own conclusions.” Catherine looked distressed. She
turned to Gabriel as if seeking his support. “I’m not saying you’re doing anything
wrong.”

“The result is the same.”

“You know, there are great programs in Wichita that could help children like Rachel
and Isabelle reach their full potential.” Catherine’s voice took on a pleading tone.
She cared. The thought hit Gabriel like a falling tree. Why did this Plain girl turned
professor, turned Englischer, care? “Depending on the degree of disability, they can
be educated, receive job training, work outside the home. They can even live independently
in some cases. Some even marry.”

“We educate our children.” Helen intervened again. “We train them in our ways. Isabelle
and Rachel will go to school with the other children. They’ll learn to do chores,
like the others do, to the best of their abilities. No one will ever tease them or
make them feel stupid. They will be loved and never know anything but love.”

Catherine kept her gaze on Gabriel. It drilled through to his core. “Don’t you want
your girls to have lives of their own someday?”

“I want them to have godly lives.” He refused to let his gaze drop. How had he gotten
into this conversation? He wanted out. “They will have godly lives surrounded by people
who will take care of them.”

“You think God wants them to live with you, be a burden to you until you die and someone
else must step in to care for them?”

“They will never be burdens.” He stopped. Why waste his breath arguing with a woman
who had left their way of life? She’d lost any understanding of their world. He didn’t
need to defend himself or try to convince her. It wasn’t his place. He stood. “Write
whatever you want. I won’t try to stop you. You know that.”

He nodded at Helen, who nodded back and smiled at him as if showing her approval.
He turned to walk down the steps.

“Because it’s not your way,” Catherine called out.

He looked back. “It’s not our way.”

Catherine’s gaze drifted to the girls. Gabriel’s followed. Both girls sat in the dirt,
digging with spoons, and dumping soil in their laps.

“And they’ll pay for that,” Catherine said, her tone soft.

Isabelle’s high-pitched giggle belied her words. Gabriel felt no need to respond.
He kept walking.

The screen door slammed behind him. “Gabriel, wait,” Annie’s voice called after him.
“Come meet the newest member of the Brennaman family. Lilah.”

Gabriel turned to see Annie smiling. Helen crowded her, cooing over a newborn wrapped
tightly in a small quilt. She had tears on her cheeks. Catherine stood. More tears.
Babies were born in this community every day. Why were they so emotional? Women.

To his horror, his own throat tightened. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

He breathed.
God, help me
. He turned and strode up the steps once again. The baby scrunched up her tiny, red,
wrinkled face, and let out a wail far too loud for someone so small.

“She likes you.” Annie laughed over the caterwauling. “You look like her daed.”

“More likely my ugly mug scared her.” He tugged his hat down so it would hide his
face. “Tell Thomas…tell Thomas not to worry about the roof. I’ll have the new shingles
done before dark.”

“Gabriel.” Helen came to the edge of the porch. She hesitated. “Your lemonade.”

“There’s work to be done.”

“Then I’ll save you a glass for later.”

Pondering the look on her face as she said those simple words, he walked faster, anxious
to put yards between himself and all that womanly stuff on the porch.

Babies were born every day. Every day.

A
nnie inhaled the scent of baby and leaned back in the rocking chair situated by the
open windows in Emma and Thomas’s living room. Lilah’s head lolled against her shoulder.
Her eyelids fluttered and she gave a sleepy, contented sigh. Annie knew how she felt.
The quiet reigned, now that the children had been sent to do their chores. It had
been a long day. Emma, tuckered out from labor, had finally agreed to sleep if Annie
would care for Lilah for a few hours while Thomas oversaw the evening chores. It delighted
Annie to be chosen for this task.

Her mind drifted back to Catherine’s departure. They hadn’t spoken of the argument
at the bakery earlier in the day. Annie didn’t know what to say to her sister. How
to make her feel better. Catherine was wrong about so many things. So mired in her
own loss, she couldn’t see Annie too struggled to understand how God could take home
the man she loved. She’d stepped out in faith with David, convinced their love would
prevail. Only to have David get sick again, to have his cancer worsen, despite their
prayers, and to have him slip away from her. She didn’t allow herself to slide into
the bitter morass that ate at Catherine because she’d promised David she wouldn’t.
And because she understood something Catherine did not. If she accepted the blessings
in her life, did she not also have the responsibility to accept the hardships? Her
tiny brain didn’t understand it all, but she would take it on faith that good things
were yet to come.

She ran her hand over the baby’s soft tufts of golden hair. It felt like baby duck
down. Just like Noah’s, her sweet boy. Her only boy. The thought made her want to
weep. “Sweet girl, wait until you meet your cousin Noah. You’ll be best of friends,”
she whispered. “Pretty, sweet girl. You look like your mama.”

“A little early to tell, don’t you think? Poor thing might have Thomas’s chin.”

She looked up at the sound of the husky voice with its playful tone.

“Isaac, I didn’t see you there.” She took a surreptitious swipe at her damp face.
“I was talking to my new niece.”

“They’re nice at that age. They can’t talk back.” He strode across the room with an
easy, long-legged stride, bringing with him the smell of sweat and earth. He leaned
in for a better look. “I reckon pretty is in the eyes of the beholder. She looks like
she hopped in a tub of water and stayed there too long.”

“You’d look wrinkled and pruned too if you’d been through what she’s been through
today,” Annie countered. He stood too close for comfort, towering over her. He would
see her red eyes and wet cheeks. She shifted in the chair, looking for a way out.
“Poor thing’s tuckered out. I better put her in the cradle. She’ll want her mudder
soon. I expect my son is wondering where his mudder is too.”