The Amish Blacksmith (36 page)

The air in the room seemed to shift. I couldn't quite wrap my head around Roseanna's words. Priscilla's leaving would certainly mean that her social life was no longer my responsibility. But instead of feeling relieved, my initial sensation was a wave of disappointment.

“What do you mean, she's leaving? It's only the fifth of July.”

Before Roseanna could answer me, the truth filled my mind. She was leaving because of what happened between us last night.

A surge of guilt swept over me. My careless behavior the evening before was certainly the reason she was deciding to leave now, well before the end of the summer. The accompanying thought that she was returning for a secondary reason, to accept a marriage proposal from a man I just knew she did not love, sent me to the chair next to Roseanna.

“Please, please tell me she's not going back to marry that guy.”

Relief swelled inside me when Roseanna shook her head. “No. She said she's still holding to the end of September before making a decision on that.”

So it was just me she was running from, I thought to myself. It had to be me who was driving her away.

“She's not going back to Otto and Lorraine's, though,” Roseanna continued when I said nothing. “She's going to live with her Great-Aunt Cora and serve as her caregiver. At least for a while. Cora's been under the weather.”

“Priscilla told us she was done with caregiving. She's going to be miserable there.”

Roseanna dabbed at her nose. “I know. That's exactly what I said to her. But she thinks it'll be different with Cora. The woman lives next door to Priscilla's grandparents on a small apple orchard near Elkhart. Part of the job involves working the orchard, which means Priscilla will be outside a lot. Plus she gets along well with her grandparents—and she's especially fond of Cora.”

An unwelcome ache was forming in my chest at the thought of Priscilla packing her bags. It bothered me, and the fact that it did also bothered me.

“So she's leaving? Just like that?”

Roseanna traced the handle of her mug with a finger. “I wish we had been able to make her happy here. This will weigh on Amos. He felt he owed it to his brother to do right by Priscilla. And yet I suppose I can understand why she wants to go back. I think she tried to make it work with us. She tried hard to find her place here—”

“No, she didn't.”

Roseanna looked up at me. “What?”

“I don't think she tried very hard. It's only been a month. I don't call that trying very hard.”

“Yes, but you're… you're a man, Jake. I don't think you feel as deeply about things as she does. I don't think even
I
do. It's different for her. She's always
been such a sensitive girl. I know people think she's aloof and indifferent, but that's not what she is. She just takes everything to heart.”

That didn't seem like an excuse for running away. Not to me, it didn't. “That doesn't mean she should.”

“You can't help being the kind of person you are.”

I wanted to say, “Of course you can.” When I said nothing, she went on.

“Amos and I are very grateful for all that you and Amanda did for Priscilla. You both went out of your way to include her and make her feel a part of things here. We can't thank you enough.”

But I didn't want Roseanna's gratitude. I wanted to talk some sense into one Priscilla Kinsinger.

I stood and pushed in my chair. “Where is she?”

“Her mind's made up, Jake. Don't feel bad. You and Amanda did your best.”

“
Ya
. Sure. But where is she?”

“In the barn with her horse.” Roseanna brought the coffee cup to her lips. “Amos told her she could leave Voyager in Stephen's care for the time being.”

As I strode across the gravel drive, I kept thinking that the last thing Priscilla should do was leave Lancaster County the same broken girl she was when she'd left it before. Somehow, I would have to convince her to stay. I didn't know exactly why it mattered so much to me, but I wasn't going to take the time to analyze that now.

I walked into the barn. Priscilla and Stephen were at the back, inside Voyager's stall. They were talking in gentle tones, and Stephen was brushing Voyager with the purple curry brush that was Priscilla's. Comet, curled up just outside the stall, was gnawing on a plastic milk jug. He thumped his tail when he saw me coming. When I reached Priscilla and Stephen, they both looked up.

“Hello, Jake,” she said, her tone affirming that she knew I'd been informed of what she had decided to do.

“Priscilla's going to Indiana to live with her great-aunt,” Stephen volunteered, his voice sad and enthusiastic at the same time. “She's letting me take care of Voyager for her.”

“So I heard,” I said, my eyes never leaving Priscilla's.

She looked away first.

“Stephen, would you mind giving me a moment with Priscilla? I need to tell her something.”

After a beat, he seemed to realize I was asking him to leave us. “Oh. Okay.” He handed the brush to Priscilla, reached up to pat the horse, and then walked past me. He turned to her as he went. “
Danke
, Priscilla. I will take good care of him.”

“
Ya
. I know you will,” she said as she resumed brushing where Stephen had left off.

He whistled for Comet, and the dog trotted happily after him. Once the boy was no longer in hearing range, she looked at me with pleading in her eyes.

“Don't let them take Voyager back to the auction ring,” she said softly. “He really can learn to be useful here. Don't let them, okay?”

“He's not my horse, Priscilla. Not my choice.”

“You know what I mean. Uncle Amos promised me he wouldn't. Just make sure he keeps that promise, okay? It may take a while, but I'm going to save up enough money to pay for Voyager's transport out to Indiana.”

I couldn't imagine going to all that trouble—for a mere Thoroughbred, no less—but I knew Amos was a man of his word. I was trying to decide whether to remind her of that or try to talk her out of the idea entirely when I saw the look on her face. She was so earnest that in the end I simply replied, “Okay. I'll make sure.”

“Thank you.”

I took a step closer to her. “Don't do this.”

She turned her head to me as she brushed. I couldn't read her expression. “Do what?”

I felt heat rush into my face. “Don't use what happened…with us, last night, as your excuse for leaving. That's not the real reason you've decided to go.”

She stared at me for a long moment and then turned away again, intent on her brushing. “It's not?” she asked, her voice strangely calm. “Then what is?”

I sucked in a deep breath, willing her to understand. “You're leaving because of your mother.”

Her brush strokes paused only a second. “My mother.”

“Yes. Because of what really happened the day she died.”

Priscilla again froze for a brief moment, and then she shifted farther along the horse and launched back into her brushing with vigor.

“What do you think happened, Jake? Go ahead, tell me. Clearly, you've uncovered some big secret.”

“It's just a theory,” I said, watching her work. “I mean, how could I really know for sure? You hide everything from me.”

She raised one eyebrow, so I added, “From everybody.”

“If I hide everything, then what makes you so certain my leaving has to do with my mother?”

“Because it's so obvious—to everyone.”

“Everyone?”

I shrugged. “Well, to Roseanna and me. But I know Amos will see it too once he finds out you're going. As will Amanda.”

Priscilla's hand stilled for a second. Then she continued brushing. Instinctively, I reached out and placed my hand on top of hers. A tingling sensation seemed to course through me. She must have sensed it. She turned her head quickly to face me as though my hand had trapped hers.

“Priscilla, please. Don't run away from what happened here back then. You can't live your life regretting things this way.”

She pulled her hand out slowly from underneath mine. “You know nothing about the past or what I would do differently if I could go back.”

“I know that even now you still blame yourself for your mother's death. When all is said and done, you still believe that you killed her, don't you?” There seemed to be no way of avoiding the question anymore. The time for polite pretense was over.

Priscilla's eyes widened for just a moment and then grew narrow as her gaze locked on mine. “Is that what you think?”

“Do you?”

She turned back to her horse and stroked his head. “It's pretty simple, Jake. If I had made different choices that day, she wouldn't have died.”

“Our days are numbered by God.”

“That doesn't mean the choices we make are without consequences.”

“So that's it, then? You're leaving here with a buggy load of unfinished business you'll carry with you until the day you die? That's the kind of life you want?”

She closed her eyes and seemed to draw strength from the warmth of Voyager's body under her hands. “I'm doing the best I can,” she said a moment later.

But I sensed hesitation in every word. She was escaping to Indiana, not returning. She was running away, very much like the last time when she had been sent away. She and I both knew it.

“Why did you even come back? If all this was for nothing, why did you even come?”

She placed the brush inside the bucket hanging on the rail post. “You and I have discussed this before. You know full well that I came here because I believed that's what God was telling me He wanted me to do.”

“Exactly. Don't you think it was for a reason? And now you're leaving before you've even managed to figure out why.”

She seemed to think on this for a moment. “Maybe I was wrong about that. Maybe I only thought this is what the Lord wanted me to do.” She frowned as though she didn't even believe it herself. “Look. I retraced my steps and revisited every moment. I don't know… there isn't… I think it's time I moved on.”

Her cheeks had blossomed crimson as she struggled to complete her thoughts. She would not make eye contact with me.

“Is this about last night?” I said, heat rising to my cheeks a little too. “I promise you, that won't happen again.”

Priscilla winced when I said this, as though I had burned her with a hot iron. “It's just time for me to go.”

“Because I almost kissed you?”

“Because of a lot of things.”

“But you've fixed nothing!” I exclaimed. “Surely God brought you back here to put to rest once and for all that it was just an accident that your mother fell. Do you really think she'd want you to be hanging on to this, unable to envision a life of happiness for yourself?”

“Hanging on to what?” Priscilla asked, her tone heavy with disappointment and uncertainty. As I'd said earlier, she was using my mistake the day before as a cover-up for the real reason she was going back to Indiana, I was sure of it. She couldn't live with the daily reminders of what she had done, so she was heading back to a place where there weren't any.

“Come on, Priscilla. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.”

She took a step toward me and looked me straight in the eyes. “You're the one who doesn't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“All right. How about this then? How about I tell you what I've figured out and you tell me how far off the mark I am? How about that?”

I expected her eyes to fill with dread at the idea that I'd put the puzzle together, but she just crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Fine. Tell me.”

The few times I had envisioned having this needed conversation with Priscilla, I had imagined it being a little less fractious. A lot less fractious. I had pictured my gently telling her what I'd come to surmise about the day her mother died, and her crying softly as the weight of six years of holding it in fell off all around her. I never guessed we'd be standing in a horse barn with arms crossed, voices raised, and tempers flared.

Nonetheless, I prayed a silent prayer for favor and hoped God would grant it. In that second of prayer, I sensed my anger subside a bit, thankfully.

“I am not trying to make this worse for you. I'm really not. I just think you need to face the truth of what happened here and move past it.”

“Tell me,” she repeated, with only slightly less rancor.

I hesitated. “Your family thinks you couldn't hear your mother calling for you and that you'd slipped out to the barn but forgot to tell her. That's why they think you've no reason to believe it was your fault. But I think maybe you
did
hear her calling for you. I think maybe you and your
mamm
had an argument that afternoon. That's why you were supposed to be up in your room, right? Any other fourteen-year-old girl would have been in the kitchen with her mother while she was canning, but the argument ended with you being sent to your room, and you were angry, so you snuck out to the barn. And you
did
hear her calling for you, but you didn't answer because you were still angry and didn't want to talk to her then. You didn't know the reason she was calling for you was because she'd cut herself and needed help. So you didn't go in. She stopped calling for you, and you just stayed in the barn, didn't you? You didn't know she'd fallen down the stairs until you heard Roseanna. That's why you think it's your fault.”