The Amish Groom ~ Men of Lancaster County Book 1 (34 page)

Hiding my dismay, I asked where I would find the access stairs to the attic and then left her. But before retrieving the crutches, I took a moment to slip into my room to collect myself.

I would not be going to the storage unit. The storage unit that held my mother’s pictures. The storage unit who’s key and combination were both in my pocket.

When I came back to the living room, Liz was sitting on the edge of the couch waiting for me.

“Oh, I am so glad you found them. I’m already feeling like a caged animal.”

I set one crutch against the wall and then looked at the other one before handing it to her. “Want me to clean it first?”

“I couldn’t care less about cobwebs right now. I just want to get up off of this couch.”

I helped her to her feet and then slid the crutch under her good arm, thankful for her sake that the injury to her leg was on the opposite side of the one to her shoulder. It still wasn’t easy, but after some difficult maneuvering, she seemed to get the hang of it.

“One leg and one crutch,” she said with a laugh. “Good thing I’m a nurse or I might never have figured this out.”

I smiled, still standing close with my arms outstretched, just in case she might fall.

“What do we have here to eat?” she asked. “Any fruit or veggies or anything?”

“There are some baby carrots and snap peas. Ranch dressing for dipping. I’d be happy to pull something together for you.”

“Sold.” Liz carefully made her way to the table while I stayed close at her side. When she was safely there, I went to the fridge to gather the items for her snack.

“How’s it been going here? Have you and Brady had any time to do anything together?”

I had no idea what to tell her. If I told her that Brady was mad at me and wouldn’t say why, he’d get home and that would be the first thing she’d ask him. That would not help my cause at all.

“Uh, it’s going fine. He’s really busy.” I opened the bottle of ranch dressing and poured a generous amount into a small bowl. “I went to his game last Friday night. That was really something. And I helped him with a paper on the Vikings. Not the football team.” I laughed lightly and she merely smiled. I brought the bowl to her and the bags of ready-to-eat baby carrots and snap peas.

“Thanks. Are you two getting along okay?”

The way she said it suggested to me that she already knew we weren’t. She and Brady had talked on the phone the day he played paintball with his friends. Liz had probably asked him the same thing and picked up on the vibes he was putting out.

I could not lie to her. “It’s been a little different. He’s older than the last time I was here. And I wasn’t in a caretaking role then.”

She frowned as she crunched a dipped carrot, dissatisfied with my answer, so after a moment, I added, “He knows one big reason Dad asked me out here was to make sure he didn’t quit the team while you guys were gone. That has kind of had him on his guard.”

She nodded, still quiet.

“For what it’s worth,” I added, “he doesn’t actually have any plans to do that. At least that’s what he told me.” Now I was just babbling.

“What did he tell you?” Liz said, emotionless.

“Uh, that he doesn’t have any plans to quit the team. He likes playing football. But he doesn’t like Dad pressuring him about it all the time. I told him he should tell Dad that.”

“What else did he say?”

“About what?”

Liz dipped a snap pea in the dressing and swirled it around. “Nothing. Never mind.”

But I knew she was holding back—though whether Brady had said something to her directly or she’d just figured out stuff on her own, I wasn’t sure.

“Say,” she blurted, and I could see we were done talking about Brady. “Duke told me you’ve been working on a surprise for me in the backyard.”

“I have.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure. I think it’s visible through the dining room window.”

“That wouldn’t be the same. I want to see it from outside.”

I looked down at her ankle. “Are you sure you want to try? Looking out through a window would be a lot easier than walking across pebbles using a crutch.”

She just waved away my concerns. “I’d rather do it now before the painkiller wears off.”

“If you say so.”

We finished our snack, and while I put her dish in the sink, Liz made her way slowly to the patio doors. Frisco began to happily bark, as if the only reason we were going into the backyard was to play with him.

I unlocked the door and swung it wide so that Liz could pass easily through.

“I wanted to do something while I was here, especially during the hours Brady was in school,” I said as we slowly crossed the patio. “So I asked him if he knew of any projects around the house that you guys hadn’t gotten to yet. He mentioned you’ve been wanting a container garden.”

When we rounded the corner and the containers came into full view, Liz sucked in her breath.

For a moment I thought she hated them. But when she turned to face me, I could see that amazement, not disappointment, shone on her face.

“They’re perfect! This is exactly what I wanted. How did you figure out how to do it?”

With relief I told her about the plans I had found on the Internet and of my decision not to put the containers on an automatic watering system.

“I thought you would enjoy the experience more if you didn’t have a timer stealing away the tending of your garden.”

She turned to me and grinned. “Nicely put. But Duke will probably want to automate it.”

“Don’t let him.”

Liz laughed.

“I’m serious. Part of the reward of being a steward of something is the joy of taking care of it.”

“A
steward
?”

“
Ya
. A
steward
. God is the one who gives us the things we enjoy while we’re here. We’re stewards of those blessings. You know, like managers.”

“Is that the Amish way of looking at it?”

I smiled. “Well, it’s my way. And the way of every Amish person I know.”

“Okay. I won’t let him change it.” Liz moved a little closer to the empty containers.

“I suppose you’ll have to wait until March to really use them to their fullest, although I’ve been reading that you can grow lots of herbs here year-round. You’ll have to watch out for frost. And the angle of the sun will be different in the winter months than it is in the spring, so you might need to stick an old umbrella in the dirt from time to time.”

Liz turned to me. “Thanks, Tyler. This is such a nice surprise. Really. It was so sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome. It was my pleasure.”

She continued to look at me as though there was more she wanted to say. It was a little awkward. I finally had to look away.

“Do you ever think about…about being not-Amish?” she finally said.

I turned back around to face her. She definitely had my attention again. “That’s an interesting way of stating it.” A nervous laugh escaped me.

“You know what I mean, though. Do you?”

“You mean do I think about leaving home?”

“I mean do you think about living your life where it began. Outside Lancaster County.”

“Uh…” I cleared my throat for no reason other than to collect my thoughts. “I do think about it. In fact, the time has come for me to make a decision.”

“And?”

“And it’s not that easy. There’s a lot to consider.”

“You mean Rachel?”

“
Ya
. She’s part of it.”

Liz breathed in deeply, filled her lungs, and then let the air out. She looked past the container, past the fence, to the sky above us. “I would imagine you probably have to decide pretty soon.”

“I need to figure out where I truly belong, yes.”

“I don’t think your dad knows you haven’t already decided, Tyler.”

“Sure he does. He knows I haven’t been baptized into the church yet.”

She continued staring into the distance. “I don’t mean literally. I mean…” Her voice trailed off. I waited. “He believes he made that decision for you, essentially, a long time ago, before you had any choice in the matter. And I think there are days when he wishes he hadn’t.”

I didn’t know what to say to this.

Liz turned to me. Her gaze was intent. “Will you promise me something?”

“If I can.”

“Will you promise to talk with your dad about this when he gets home?”

“I had already planned to.”

“Good. I’m glad. I think he might like to weigh in. Even though you’re an adult now and it’s obviously your life, I think he would appreciate getting the chance to share his thoughts on the matter before you do anything…permanent, you know?”

Again we were quiet. Again it felt awkward, so gently I took her by the elbow and began leading her off of the pebbles and back toward the patio.

“When you told me earlier that you needed to know if your mother was happy, it was because of this, wasn’t it? You wanted to know if she was happy she left her Amish life because you want to know if you would be too.”

“Yes, that’s part of it.”

Once more she breathed in deeply, as if the oxygen in her lungs carried the weight of heavy thoughts. I expected her to come out with some grand revelation then, but instead she just changed the subject. “Thanks again for building the boxes, Tyler. They really are just what I wanted.”

I gave her a nod. “You’re welcome.”

I helped her inside and then went to the garden shed to retrieve Frisco’s bucket of rubber balls. I spent the next twenty minutes tossing them across the lawn and watching him pursue each one like a hunting dog after a rabbit. As I did, I reviewed the conversation my stepmother and I had just shared. I wasn’t sure if it was the injury or the pain pills, but she had been less guarded than usual, less “on,” since the moment she’d arrived home. I couldn’t help but hope she would stay this down-to-earth and approachable for the remainder of my visit.

Later that evening, after I’d made a burrito run and Liz had shared with Brady and me photographs and stories of the two weeks she had been in Honduras—including the harrowing minutes when the house caved in—I realized with a horrible jab to my gut that I had forgotten to write Rachel the letter I’d promised her.

For hours, in fact, I hadn’t thought about Rachel at all.

T
WENTY
-F
IVE

T
hings were definitely going to be different with Liz in the house, I could tell. With his mother there, my role toward Brady instantly downgraded to visiting older brother, although he was less cynical around me now that Liz was a spectator to practically every conversation we had.

Brady was the one who helped Liz up the stairs to her bedroom that night, who listened outside her door to make sure she didn’t fall in the bathroom, and who brought her up a cup of tea and her pain medication before she turned in for the night.

As I knelt to offer my prayers before I also went to bed, I asked God to help orchestrate meaningful conversations between my brother and me so that I could continue to fix what was broken between us. It seemed to me that with Liz there, the likelihood of having those conversations had been greatly diminished. If God didn’t intercede, I didn’t see how I could change anything.

Then again, I realized, perhaps Liz, too, was among the list of people with whom God wanted me to find peace and reconciliation. If so, then I prayed He would give me clarity when dealing with her—and when it came time to talk to my father as well. The hunch that my dad was wrestling with regret after all these years had been confirmed by Liz. I searched my heart for pockets of bitterness or lingering resentment toward him, but I didn’t find any. What I sensed instead was something closer to what I was already feeling. Restlessness. My inner being was not at peace. I was dangling between two worlds, and the plain truth was that nobody could be at peace if their feet were not planted on solid ground.

Finally, I prayed that God would watch over Rachel and not let me destroy something meant to last. If it was meant to last.