The Amish Groom ~ Men of Lancaster County Book 1 (28 page)

We went to a burger joint, and I was thrilled to order a hamburger with grilled onions, a side of French fries, and a chocolate shake. No chopsticks, no seaweed, no raw fish. The place was crowded inside, so we sat on the covered patio at a stone table with kidney-bean shaped benches made of pebble rock and cement.

In between bites of my hamburger I told Lark about what I was experiencing with Brady.

“He’s definitely mad at you about something,” she said when I was finished.

“Yeah, I figured that. But he won’t tell me what.”

“That’s not so weird.”

“Uh, yes it is. It is weird. He’s never been afraid to talk to me before. Why won’t he tell me what’s wrong now?”

Lark dipped a long, slender French fry into a tiny pleated cup of ketchup. “Something you did or said hurt his feelings. He may sound like he’s mad, but I bet you ten bucks he’s more hurt than angry.”

“Why? What could I have done to hurt him? I’ve asked him to tell me and he won’t. I want to make it right and he won’t let me.”

Lark folded her arms on the table. “Tyler.” Her tone was a bit condescending, as though I had missed something glaringly obvious.

“What?”

“If he has to tell you, that means you don’t know. And if you don’t know, that means it wasn’t that big of a deal to you. So you can’t possibly make it right. You would only be saying you were sorry his feelings got hurt, not that you were the one who did it.”

“But I
am
sorry I’m the one who did it!”

“Did what?”

I tossed my crumpled napkin onto the table. “Are you trying to be funny? How am I supposed to know what I did?”

Lark tugged on the straw on her milkshake. “It’s not supposed to be funny at all. Sounds to me like you want it to be easy. I mean, you want to make it right, but you want to do that the easy way.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. You’re going to have to figure out what you did that has him so upset. Not everything is easy and simple and plain.”

I didn’t appreciate her veiled jab at my Plain way of life. “I never said it was. But I am not a mind reader. There were just five days between the moment my father called me and the moment I got here. Five days. How could I possibly have done anything to Brady during that time? First he wanted me here, and then he didn’t. So what happened to change his mind?”

She took a drink from her shake. “Okay, I admit it’s going to be a challenge. But think about it. It’s obviously something you did before you came.”

“Within those five days?” That made absolutely no sense. “How is that possible? Brady and I never even spoke.”

Lark shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But whatever it is, you can show him how much this rift matters to you by how hard you work to figure it out. Asking him to tell you is the easy way. I might not tell you either.”

She pulled her straw out of her empty shake and licked it clean.

I knew there was wisdom in what she was saying. I knew it because I could hear Rachel telling me the exact same thing.

I pondered her words for a few moments. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“I would write down everything he has said to you about this.”

“Okay, that will take two seconds.”

She tossed a French fry at me. “Have you been listening to me? Stop looking for the easy way out. Write down everything he has told you about this problem between the two of you.”

I tossed the fry back. “He hasn’t told me
anything
. Have you been listening to
me
?”

“For a nice guy you sure are thickheaded. What was it he said to you last night? Something about how you’re ‘wasting your time’ here? If he really believes you feel that way, well, that sounds significant to me.”

I was beginning to sense a light dawning. There was substance to what Brady was saying, vague as it was.

“Everything he doesn’t tell you is something he’s telling you, Tyler. You’re not listening. No wonder you don’t get it.” She tossed the fry back, and this time I let it hit me in the chest and fall to the table unchecked.

“All right. I see your point. I’ll do it. But I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

Lark smiled. “You’re looking for truth, just like the rest of us. And one more thing.”

“What?” I sighed. Audibly.

“Sometimes the things that hurt the people we love aren’t the things we’ve done. They’re the things we haven’t done and should have.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you came here for your dad, right? Maybe Brady wishes you had come for him.”

Sitting there in a pool of brilliant sunlight, I was overcome by the weight of a fresh realization. From the time I was six I had been taught to live a life of selfless service, thinking of others before myself, as Jesus had taught us.

But I had come to California for really just one reason—and that reason was not Brady. That reason was not even my dad, as Lark assumed.

I had come here for myself. For me and only for me. It was the most un-Amish thing I had ever done.

T
WENTY
-O
NE

A
fter I dropped Lark off at her house, I prayed the whole way home that God would give me wisdom and patience to make things right with my brother. I knew it was up to me to discern what I had done or not done that had somehow convinced him that I could not be trusted. For now at least, I needed my relationship with Brady to be my top priority.

The moment I turned into the driveway and pulled to a stop, I felt God whispering an answer to that prayer with just four simple words. They were words that were familiar, as I’d been taught them since the moment I arrived in Lancaster County as a child.

Honor others before yourself.

I turned off the car and closed my eyes. Why would God bring to mind this important truth at this moment? Why now, when I was already on this intense search for truth and for the place I belonged? Was I to put that aside entirely?

Honor others before yourself, Tyler.

Breathing in deeply, I allowed His truth to roll around in my mind over and over. My eyes snapped open. God was not asking me to give up my quest. He was assuring me that in making things right with Brady, He would take care of the rest. He would make it clear where I belonged. I didn’t have to give up one pursuit to have the other. They were one and the same. I didn’t have to run around Southern California experimenting with every
Englisch
thing that interested me to figure out if underneath my Amish upbringing I was an
Englisch
man. I needed only to repair what was broken and then I would know.

“Thank You,” I whispered as relief coursed through me. I was amazed and grateful God was going to work out my dilemma in such an incredible way. A moment later, with my hand on the door handle to get out of the car, I again sensed God prompting me, nudging me to look deeper because I had missed something.

Honor others before yourself.

Honor others.

Honor others.

Others.

My mouth dropped open as I realized what God was trying to get through to me. This wasn’t just about Brady. It was about my dad too. And the way in which my mother had left things with
Daadi
and
Mammi
.

I was there to do more than just restore my relationship with Brady. The words Dad had said to me the morning he left came echoing back to me now. That conversation had shown me that he had misgivings about the decisions he had made concerning me, perhaps huge ones. But I hadn’t wanted to think about those regrets, because that would mean I would also have to dredge up emotions I had long since buried. Clearly, restoration was needed there, on both his side and mine.

And then there was my mother’s relationship with
Daadi
and
Mammi
. My mother could not fix what she had broken, but could I? If I learned what had driven her away, would I be able to use that knowledge not just for myself but also for others, to help heal the hurts she’d left behind?

Such a thought nearly took my breath away.

There in the car, I closed my eyes.
Lord
,
please forgive me for not trusting that You had this all in Your capable hands from the very beginning. Thank You for Your patience, for showing me the way, for being generous with Your insights. Help me as I go about mending my relationship with my brother. Help me to be patient, kind, compassionate, and wise. Show me where I have failed him. Help me to make it right. And watch over my dad in the Middle East. Bring him home safely and prepare us both for the conversations that need to take place. Show me why my mother left her Amish life and what that means, if anything, for me and for her parents. Watch over my Amish family and Rachel too. She deserves a man who can give her his whole heart. Help me to know if that man is me or if I need to let her go. I want what You want, for both of us, and nothing less
.

Many minutes passed before I emerged from the car, deeply at peace for the first time in not just days or weeks but months. I had a lot of work to do, but now I truly knew I wasn’t in this alone.

Up in my room, after changing into more casual clothes, I took a moment to update my list.

I spent the rest of Sunday doing what I hoped God would have me do. I tried to be highly attentive to Brady. I wanted to say I was sorry for the words that had passed between us the day before, but I knew that was not the apology he deserved or wanted. Instead, I would simply be present and nonjudgmental and open to whatever may unfold between us.

He sat down to watch a football game, so I made a point of watching it with him. The entire time, I worked hard not to say anything that sounded parental or nosy or fake. Though he seemed irritated by my presence at first, he gradually warmed to my being in the room. By the fourth quarter, he was commenting on the two teams’ kickers, telling me things about their style I would have missed.

For dinner, I put a pan of Liz’s baked macaroni and cheese into the oven and tossed a salad. Brady wanted to sit in front of the TV while we ate, which wasn’t my preference, but I could see how eating this way protected him from having to endure another conversation with me like the one we’d had the day before. He was clearly not interested in more demands for an answer about the rift between us. I silently thanked God for showing me that.

After dinner, I offered to make us some brownies, and while I did that Brady turned on his Xbox, started up a football-based game, and pulled out a controller. Just the one. After I had put the brownies in the oven, I came and stood just behind the couch, watching him. Suddenly, I wanted very much to ask if I could play too. Not that I had any idea how, of course, but still.

Standing there, I waited to see if he would ask me. He didn’t, so finally I brought it up myself.

“Does this game work for two players?”

His eyes still glued to the screen, he replied easily, “Sure. Just grab the other controller. It’s right there next to the console.”

Stifling a smile, I did as he said, and after he gave me a brief tutorial I found myself engaged in an onscreen battle of wits and reflexes with my little brother. Of course, he destroyed me. Repeatedly. But I did get better as we went on, and eventually it felt like I was holding my own. Somewhat.

To my surprise, the game wasn’t just fun but downright addictive. Games about killers or mutants or soldiers or whatever had never held any appeal for me. But somehow, sitting there on the couch and using my thumbs to run around a football field with a bunch of digital teammates was a blast. Despite being in good shape, I knew Brady would always outplay me in real football—he was just so talented. But on this field, at least, I had a fighting chance. We played until the brownies were done, laughing and yelling at each other and generally sounding like two regular brothers hanging out. Not one Amish brother and one
Englisch
brother, just two brothers. It was wonderful.