The Forgiven (23 page)

Mr. Cochran nodded, his face working, and turned away.

Anna carried the basket to the kitchen counter, nodding and exchanging soft greetings with the women who'd gathered there. They wore their Sunday print dresses and flowered hats, and their faces were uniformly solemn.

The radio around the corner in the dining room was turned on, and someone was singing a mournful song.
I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places . . .
She shivered at the words. No one would be seeing Neil.

A woman she recognized as Neil's aunt took the basket, peeking inside. “So kind of you to bring this. Please tell your mother how much it's appreciated.” She took Anna's arm. “Come into the living room. Mary will want to speak to you.”

They passed through the doorway, leaving behind the kitchen with its muted bustle. Mary Cochran sat on the sofa, the coffee table in front of her covered with photograph albums. A framed picture of Neil, proud and smiling in his uniform, stood on the mantel.

“Mary, here is Anna Esch come to see you. She brought a nice hot casserole. Maybe you can eat a bite after a while.”

Mrs. Cochran, her plump cheeks sunken and her eyes swollen with crying, ignored the well-meant comment about eating. She caught Anna's hand and drew her down on the couch next to her.

“I'm glad you came. Neil would have liked it. You children were all such good friends when you were little, weren't you?”

Anna nodded, remembering those times that seemed so long ago now. “He and Seth used to go fishing together. They always complained I scared the fish if I went along.”

Mrs. Cochran's pain seemed to ease a little with the happy memory. “Such good times those were. But tell me, what do you hear from Seth? Is he safe?”

“He's fine. Somewhere in the Pacific is all we know.”

Luckily by the time Seth's friend Patty had left the area to work in a defense plant somewhere in Virginia, Daad had come around to letting Anna write to Seth openly. He pretended not to listen when she read his letters aloud, but when she carefully left them open on the table, she knew he devoured every word.

“We'll pray he stays safe.” Mary patted her hand.

Were they more acceptable to their Englisch neighbors because Seth had abandoned their ways and gone to fight? Anna suspected she'd never know the truth of it.

“Thank you. Your prayers are appreciated.” She sought for something else to say and glanced at the picture albums.

Mrs. Cochran saw the movement and pulled one onto her lap. “Poor Frank can't stand to look at these pictures of our boy, but it comforts me. I like to see the happy faces and remember. Look at this one.”

Anna obeyed, and her heart seemed to stop. Neil, barefoot and grinning, stood holding a string of fish. Next to him was Seth.

Anna touched the faded black-and-white picture lightly. “I've never seen a picture of Seth before.” Her heart seemed to cramp. He'd probably been about twelve in the picture, his hair as fine as corn silk under his summer straw hat, his face caught between childhood and maturity, his grin an echo of Neil's.

“I'd forgotten you don't believe in taking pictures.” Mary's face clouded. “I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have these.”

“I'm glad you do.” If Seth never came home, they would have to rely on their memories of him. How long would it be before his image blurred and faded? Or would it always stay young and strong in their minds, like Neil in these photographs?

A movement in the doorway caught her eye, and she realized Neil's aunt stood there with another visitor, probably waiting for her to relinquish her place. Anna rose, bending to press her cheek against Mary's for an instant. “May God be with you.” Blinking back tears, she headed for the door.

Neil's aunt linked arms with her. “It was good for her to see you, Anna. Will you stay and have something to eat?”

She shook her head, just as relieved that she had a reason to go and didn't have to linger in the house of sorrow. “Denke, but I must get home to help my daad and the boys with the chores.”

“Let me get your basket, then.” She disappeared into the group of women arranging food on the counter and reappeared with the empty basket in her hand.

“I'll walk out with Anna.” Mr. Cochran took the basket. “I could use a breath of air.”

Together they slipped out the back door. He stopped on the porch, holding on to the basket for a moment when she took it. “Your family . . . are they well?”

She nodded. “Ja, fine.” Or as fine as they could be, working harder than ever and worrying over Seth.

“Good, good. And your young man? He's in one of the camps, isn't he?”

She hadn't realized he would know about Jacob, hadn't expected the question, and had to compose her face before she could answer.

“He's in a camp in Maryland right now. He's been working on a nearby farm over the summer, and they have classes in the evenings.”

Jacob was busy. That was why he didn't write so often anymore, she told herself. That only made sense.

“I'm glad he's safe. I know you miss him.”

She nodded. “There's talk some of them might be sent out west to fight forest fires. He has volunteered to go.” Jacob hadn't asked what she thought about it. He'd just volunteered to go even farther away. “They might be jumping out of airplanes to fight the fires—smoke jumpers, they call it.”

“That would be a big change for an Amish boy, wouldn't it? Still, I guess it's natural a young man wants to see a little bit of the world. Even when the war ends . . .” He stopped, seeming to fight for control when he thought of that eventuality. “Well, things won't ever be the same as they were before.”

“No. I suppose they won't.”

She turned away quickly, before he could read too much in her face. Their world wouldn't be the same. How many of those who'd left would come back from the army or the defense plants or wherever this war had taken them?

Now it would take Jacob out west, to a place she couldn't imagine and a job that seemed terrifying and impossible. And he wanted to go.

That was the hardest thing. Jacob wanted to go. His latest letter was tucked inside her dress, and when she put her hand over her heart she could feel the thin paper.

Jacob had written it—his handwriting was perfectly familiar. But nothing else about the letter was familiar. He didn't sound like the Jacob she had fallen in love with at all. It seemed he'd turned into another person . . . a man who no longer mentioned the future they'd dreamed of.

She had been fighting against the conviction that grew steadily in her heart, but she was losing. It must have been another world in which she'd sat at her desk, writing in her diary while she waited to hear the bobwhite call that told her Jacob was there. Wherever Jacob was now and wherever he went, she feared he would never come back to her.

R
ebecca
knelt at the edge of the strawberry bed. A few berries had ripened already, enough, anyway, for a little treat after supper. If the warm, sunny days continued, the patch would be overflowing in a week.

She held a ripe berry in her fingers, lifting it to inhale its aroma for an instant before dropping it in the small berry basket. It would be nice if the only thing that clouded her thoughts was wondering what to do with this year's crop of strawberries.

The sound of voices interrupted her before her worries could climb back onto the same familiar track. She glanced over her shoulder.

Barbie and Simon stood talking in the backyard—teasing each other, by the look of it. Cousins so close in age were really more like brother and sister, and Barbie was always one to tease.

Simon walked off toward the barn, grinning, and Barbie came to join her.

“The beds are made up, and the rooms are clean and ready for the next batch of guests.” Barbie bent, picked a ripe berry, and popped it in her mouth.

It was on the tip of Rebecca's tongue to say there wouldn't be any more guests. Cancelling the season would be easy enough—she didn't have that many reservations. Maybe it was time to give up and admit that she couldn't run this business.

“What's going on with Simon?” Barbie asked, dropping a few berries in Rebecca's basket.

“Going on?” Rebecca blinked, a flock of new worries presenting themselves. “What did he say? Did he have trouble with the guests?”

“No, nothing like that at all.” Barbie's smooth forehead wrinkled in thought. “We were just joking around, the way we always do. And all of a sudden he comes out with asking me how sure a person should be before deciding to get married.”

“Goodness.” Rebecca would have been dumbfounded if he'd said it to her.

Barbie's eyes sparkled. “Maybe he's having second thoughts about Mary Ann. Wouldn't that be a shocker for her and her mother!”

“Barbie, you shouldn't. Maybe . . . maybe they are having problems, but that doesn't mean they're going to break up.”

“You know something.” Barbie seized her arm. “Tell me, schnell.”

“You're going to spill the berries.” Rebecca removed Barbie's hand from her arm. “I don't know anything. I just thought . . . Well, Simon has been spending so much time helping Daadi and working on the farm-stay that he hasn't had much left for Mary Ann.”

“Has she been complaining? No, don't bother to deny it—I'm sure she has. Don't forget we're about the same age. What you don't know about somebody after going through eight grades of school with them isn't worth knowing. Mary Ann always complains.”

“It's natural that she'd be jealous . . . I mean, that she'd want more of Simon's time. I shouldn't expect so much of him.” And there she was, right back at another reason why she should give up the farm-stay.

“Rubbish,” Barbie declared. “Only a girl who was totally self-centered would give a man a hard time for helping his family when they need him. She ought to realize that if he'd let them down, he'd let her down, too, sooner or later.”

Rebecca sat back on her heels in the warm grass, staring at Barbie. The girl was constantly surprising her. Who would expect such wisdom from her?

“Mary Ann's not so bad.” She felt obliged to defend Simon's choice. After all, Mary Ann might well become her sister-in-law.

Barbie shrugged. “She'd be all right if her mother would stay out of things, but she never will. Ada is such a busybody. And haven't you ever noticed how often girls turn out just like their mothers?”

“That's what I've always thought, but I certain-sure wouldn't say so to Simon.”

“Maybe somebody should,” Barbie said. “Imagine waking up and finding you've married somebody like Ada King.”

“You can't tell Simon so. And anyway, that's not necessarily true.”

“It's especially so with oldest daughters,” Barbie said, sounding sure of herself. “Look at you. You're just like your mamm—always putting other people first, devoted to your family. And if Mary Ann turns out just like her mother . . .” She grinned. “Well, all I can say is that Simon better get out while he can.”

Rebecca couldn't stop her mouth from twitching in response. “You're full of wisdom today, ain't so?”

“You didn't expect it of me.” Barbie's eyes twinkled. “Nobody gives me credit for having any brains.”

“That's not true. Look how well you've managed with the guests.” Rebecca frowned down at the berries. “Better than I do. Those people this weekend . . .” She hesitated. They'd made her feel like a failure. Worse, they'd convinced her.

“A farm-stay vacation isn't for everyone.” Barbie ruffled her fingers along the row of bright green leaves, looking for more ripe berries. “Those four didn't know what to do with themselves when they didn't have all their electronics. And they didn't want to join in on any of the chores.” She made a face. “Did you hear that one woman complaining about ruining her manicure if she so much as patted a horse? It's just too bad they didn't realize a farm-stay wasn't going to suit them
before
they came instead of afterward.”

“There should have been something I could do.” Although the truth was that Rebecca couldn't think of anything, which maybe just proved that she was in the wrong business.

“Nothing would have helped with them,” Barbie said darkly. “By the way, is Matt going to be back before the next guests arrive? Because if he isn't, we'll have to think of something to take the place of visiting the workshop.”

Rebecca's heart jolted so at the sound of his name that it was a moment before the meaning of Barbie's words sank in. “What do you mean, back?”

Barbie blinked, her lips forming a silent O. “I assumed you knew. He's gone away. You mean he didn't mention it to you?”

“No, he didn't say anything.” Her heart hurt at the thought of the words they'd hurled at each other the last time she'd seen him. “Where did you hear he'd left?”

“I ran into his cousin Sadie at the grocery store. She mentioned it.”

“Did she say where he's gone?” Rebecca hoped she didn't sound too eager.

“No.” Barbie frowned slightly. “Now that I think of it, she was rather vague about it. She didn't say where, or why, or when he'd be coming back.”

Or if,
Rebecca thought.

She shouldn't jump to conclusions. After all, he'd been talking about trying to find Isaiah. Maybe he'd gone in search of his cousin. Maybe his leaving had nothing to do with her at all.

Even so, she couldn't see that it made much difference. Matt had left without a word to her about it. She shouldn't be so surprised, after what had happened between them.

She hadn't thought it could hurt any more than it already did, but she'd been wrong.

Matthew had put a wall between them. She'd seen it going up, brick by brick, with every hurtful word.

Now he wasn't only safely behind his protective walls. He was gone entirely, and with his leaving, she realized something. She loved him. She'd never intended to. Never even thought of it until it was too late.

A chill went through her. Too late. Matthew was gone, and even if he returned, he wouldn't be coming back to her.

•   •   •

Matt
slid out of the car and stood for a moment, stretching. He'd rather put in a hard day's work than sit in a car for hours. In contrast, Joe Davis seemed perfectly satisfied to stay behind the wheel. Even now, he unfolded a newspaper and leaned back in his seat instead of getting out and moving now that they were stopped.

Matt bent down to speak through the open window. “You sure you're okay to wait?”

“Fine. Take your time.” He waved Matt away. “I'm in no hurry.”

With a nod of thanks, Matt turned and started up the driveway of the small ranch-style house. He thought he knew why Joe enjoyed driving the Amish so much. Joe liked to talk.

Maybe he didn't have anyone else in his life who wanted to listen to his stories. Joe had enlivened the long drive from central Pennsylvania with a steady stream of tales that stretched back over the past fifty or sixty years, none of which required much comment. It had given Matt plenty of time to think his own thoughts, not that he'd enjoyed them very much.

Their first few stops hadn't yielded much information. Either no one knew or admitted that they knew Isaiah. After a few negative reactions from the people he'd spoken to, Matt had changed his approach. When he'd entered a country store mentioned in a post on the website Isaiah had visited, he'd started by merely mentioning where he'd seen the name of the store.

The elderly proprietor had given him the once-over, assessed his clothes, and told him he must want to see Fred Zimmer. At Matt's nod, he'd provided directions. It had been as simple as that. Clearly the man had assumed Matt was a fence-jumper looking for help.

Well, Matt would do whatever it took. He considered the house as he approached. Small, modern, unpretentious. The front door opened directly onto a small stoop, and the drapes of the windows on either side of the door were closed. He hoped Fred Zimmer, whoever he might be, was at home.

Repeated knocking failed to bring a response. Matt dropped his fist, frowning at the door in frustration. If he'd come to a dead end already—

From somewhere around the rear of the house came the sound of a hammer. Matt stepped down from the stoop and strode toward the noise. He rounded the house, moving quickly.

A man stood at the back door, apparently trying to simultaneously hold it in place and repair a hinge. As Matt approached, the door slipped, earning a muttered oath.

“Looks like you need an extra pair of hands.” Matt helped the man lift the door back into position.

His action got him a startled look followed by a grin.

“You got that right.” Zimmer, if this was he, hastily set the screw with a few taps of the hammer and then screwed it into place. “One more, and she'll hold, I think.” He suited the action to the words, and in another minute or two the door was secure.

“That'll do it.” He dusted off his hands and turned to Matt with a friendly smile. Fortyish, maybe, with a broad, ruddy face under the baseball cap he wore. “I'm Fred Zimmer. Might you be looking for me?”

Like the proprietor of the store, he'd made a quick assessment of Matt's clothes and come up with his own answer.

“I guess I might be, if you're the Fred Zimmer who runs a certain website.”

Zimmer tossed his tools into the bright red toolbox at his feet and straightened, taking another long look at Matt. Something Zimmer saw brought a frown to his face. Matt hoped his attitude wasn't too obvious.

“You're not the usual fence-jumper looking for a hand into the outside world,” Zimmer observed, his sharp eyes narrowing a bit. “You're too old, for one thing.”

Matt shrugged. At least the assumption had gotten him this far. “Most of the people who come to you are in their late teens or early twenties, I'd guess.”

“You'd be right.” Zimmer moved a few steps away from the door. He leaned back against a redwood picnic table and crossed his arms over a beefy chest. “So what's your story? You're not the average Amishman, either.”

“What makes you think so?”

Matt didn't mind sparring with the guy, not if it gave him some notion of how his mind worked. If Zimmer knew where Isaiah was, Matt suspected he wasn't the kind to blab it easily to the first person who asked him.

“It's unusual to see an Amish male your age unmarried.” Zimmer gestured to his chin. “No beard. And you talk like someone who's spent a good bit of time among the Englisch.”

Matt wasn't sure he liked being read so easily. “Several years among the Englisch, in fact. It convinced me I was born to be Amish.”

That was true, wasn't it? He couldn't let doubts assail him, not at this particular moment.

Zimmer nodded. “It happens. Not everybody who jumps the fence stays out.”

“Does that disappoint you?” Matt couldn't help a certain amount of tartness in his voice.

“Disappoint? No. If somebody comes to me for help adjusting, I help them. I point out that doubts are natural. But if a person really wants to go back—” He shrugged. “I can't stop them.”

Matt looked at him, his drive to get answers about Isaiah momentarily diverted by curiosity. “What led you to do this kind of work? Is that what it is—a job?”

Zimmer grinned. “Not one I get paid for, that's for sure. Mostly it takes money out of my pocket.” He paused, studying Matt's face, and then shrugged. “I grew up Amish. When it came to me that I just didn't want to live that way anymore, I took off. And then I found out just how hard it is to make it in the outside world with no friends, no family, and an eighth-grade education that doesn't prepare a person for much of anything.”

“It prepares you to live Amish.” That was really the only possible response. “If you want to learn something more, you can do it on your own.”

“That's not so easy for a lot of young guys.”

“Maybe not, but it works.” Matt took a deep breath, trying to focus. “I'm not here to argue with you.”

“You're not here to argue, and you're not here for help in adjusting to the Englisch world. So why are you here?”

It was time to come out with it. “I'm looking for my cousin, Isaiah Byler. Do you know him?”

Zimmer paused, considering. “I might. What do you want with him?”

Matt's jaw tightened, and he had to unclench his fists deliberately. “That's family business.”

“If you want my help, it better be my business, too,” Zimmer said promptly.