The Thorn (21 page)

"That's just it ... I don't know. I wish I could snap my fingers and be totally on board with your English life. But the older Mattie gets, the more I feel it's not possible."

Brandon walked to the window across the room, near the oak chest her father had made for her. Her hope chest. "Then I don't see any other way but for us to split up." He turned, his face pale. "Do you?"

"I love you." She swallowed, trying not to cry. "But I'm torn apart ... and I don't know what to do about it."

He went to her, and she met him partway. "I didn't force you away from your Plain life, did I?" His arms were around her now. "You made that choice, Hen ... as I recall."

"Yes," she managed to say. She'd wanted him more than her strict background. Back then.

He held her near, kissing her face. "I don't believe in that whole locked-in-time business - you know that. I'm fine with the real world. The world you chose when you married me."

"I really thought what I'm feeling might pass...."

Hen heard Mattie Sue giggle while playing school with her dolls out in the hallway.

"But after our daughter was born," Hen whispered, her lips trembling, "everything started to change for me."

Brandon studied her, his eyes agonized. "What will you say to the bishop?" There was a catch in his voice.

"Offer to make amends ... somehow."

"For your sin - for marrying me?" His eyes searched hers.

"We're unequally yoked," she murmured. "Bishop Petersheim told me that very thing once ... with fire in his eyes."

"You'll lose your innocence forever," the bishop had warned her. "You'll never be able to come back ... not as you are now."

Hotheaded and rebellious, Hen knew she'd lost everything important to the People. But with those losses had come the love of a man like Brandon ... and their beautiful daughter, Mattie Sue.

Brandon pulled her into his embrace now. Then, after a moment, he clasped her wrist and inched back toward the bed, guiding her gently along. "Hard as this is to say, I think you should go back to your people for a while."

"What?" She struggled against her tears.

"Just listen." He ran his hands up and down her arms. "I see how miserable you are." He kissed her right hand and held it against his lips. "Why don't you go back to your father's home, Hen, and find out what you really want."

"Brandon ... no." She blinked her eyes, fighting back tears.

"I'll take care of Mattie, and you can come visit her as often as you like."

Something rose up in her and she stepped back. "I could never leave her," she declared. Then she suddenly realized what she'd just said. And what it implied.

His face looked as if she'd struck him. "And I will never let you take Mattie away from me."

"But it's for the best, Brandon. She knows nothing of the Lord and His ways." She sighed. "You know it's true."

His eyes grew dark and stern. "You'd rip Mattie away from me for something I don't believe in?" He got up and went into the closet, yanking a tie off the rack. "I'm serious, Hen ... I was trying to meet you halfway, but you're making it hard." He finished looping his tie, then tightened it beneath his dress-shirt collar.

"Surely we can compromise."

"You're compromising every thing you've been taught," the bishop had said. "Throwing away your very soul . . . "

Brandon squinted his eyes. "Well, you tell me how to find some middle ground."

She thought of her new job. "What about my working at Rachel's Fabrics?" She paused for a moment. "It would help to have your blessing on that."

He stared at her. "You want me to sign off on your working for an Amish establishment?"

"It's just a fabric shop," she said. "And we could take Mattie Sue to visit my parents and my brothers' families more than just once in a blue moon."

He grimaced. "How often?" He ran his hand over his chin.

"Every other weekend, maybe."

"No, Hen." He paused to shake his head. "I see no reason to forge a closer connection with your family. There's no place for someone like me in their world. You know that."

"Well, then, I'll take Mattie Sue to visit them. Why couldn't that work?" She was pleading now.

He brushed past her. "Look, Hen, this just isn't working out for you, is it?"

Tears stung her eyes. Brandon knew the truth, could see into her soul.

"Go back to where your heart is, hon."

"You are my heart," she whispered. "You, Brandon."

He went back into the closet to get his dress belt, not responding.

She looked out into the hall and saw Mattie Sue's little stuffed dog, with its brown patch over its eye, sitting there on the carpet, along with several other toys. "What about Mattie Sue? I can't leave my baby girl." She was sobbing now, unable to stop the flow of tears.

He stood stock-still, then moved quickly to close their bedroom door. He leaned against it, his jaw twitching. "How long, Hen? How long do you need to deal with this craziness?"

She didn't know, and that was the worst of it. The bishop had said she had no hope of salvation marrying an English man, embracing the modern life. Brushing back her tears, Hen knew she could no longer function as a secular woman and mother. Or be the sophisticated wife Brandon really wanted. Worldly-wise in the bedroom, too ...

No longer could she speak. She was walking on fragile ground - this was their marriage she was tampering with. To love and to cherish ...

"Look, I'm going to be late for work." Brandon went to her again. "Listen, I get it. You're unhappy."

"But not with you." She had to reassure him, even though what she said wasn't making a bit of sense. "I just wish you'd understand that part."

His eyes gazed deep into hers as he pulled her to him, crushing her to his chest. "I do understand, Hen. I believe I do," he mumbled into her hair.

Hearing this somehow lessened her pain. "We'll come and see you," she said. "And you can visit us, too."

He shook his head, saying in no uncertain terms that he would not chase after her. "You'll have to come here, Hen. Here."

He went to the door, placed his hand on the knob, and turned to look at her. He studied her face, as if memorizing it. "If you end up choosing your old life permanently, then I'm warning you, it will be a whole new ball game. I'm talking an attorney and a custody suit - the whole nine yards. Not to hurt you, but it's important you understand my position, too." He opened the door to leave.

"Are you threatening me?"

"I don't want you making choices that isolate Mattie from me. She's my daughter, too."

Brandon's words lingered in her mind. She was certain he would not hesitate to fight for Mattie Sue, if it came to that.

Hen hurried to the kitchen to pour some coffee for her husband, her hands trembling as it dawned on her that this might very well be the last time.

As Rose finally arrived at the old Browning house, she looked around the driveway. There was no sign of Mr. Browning's car. Interesting, she thought, wondering how long he might be gone.

Quickly, she walked to the front door and knocked. She thought she heard movement inside, in the kitchen, but when no one came, she knocked harder. She waited, then went to one of the windows and peered in, cupping her hands on the glass. But she did not see Mr. Browning or his chair positioned in the usual spot.

Wonderful-gut, she thought, realizing she'd come on the ideal day. "Yoo-hoo, anybody home?" she called, tapping now on the windowpane.

To her great surprise, she saw a young woman with blond hair cut like an Amish boy's. The girl, who was surely in her late teens, pushed her chair back from the table and got up, swaying slowly back and forth. Her azure blue eyes were wide, like she wasn't sure what to do.

"Hullo?" Rose called again, knocking more gently this time. "Can ya come to the door? I'm Mr. Browning's housekeeper."

But the girl shook her head repeatedly and rubbed her fists on her eyes, like a little child might.

"No need to cry," she said through the glass.

The tomboyish young woman stared back, shaking her head in odd, jerky motions.

"I won't hurt you," Rose told her.

The girl just stood there, motionless now, her big eyes blinking. And now Rose noticed a slight resemblance between the girl and Mr. Browning. Was this his daughter?

"It's all right, honest," Rose said softly, leaning her face closer to the glass.

The girl made a frightened sound, then scampered off. Rose was mystified at the way she stumbled so awkwardly from the kitchen to the stairs, reaching out to balance herself along the wall before grabbing for the banister. Is she sick - dizzy, maybe?

Rose went to the door again and tried the knob, but it was locked. Still baffled, she walked around the side of the house to the back door, thinking it might be open instead. It, too, was locked.

So someone is living upstairs. She inched away and headed out to the lane now, toward the road. When Rose was halfway down the short stretch between the house and the road, she turned back and saw the same girl at a dormer window on the third floor.

Why the attic?

She waved to the anxious girl and felt a wave of sadness, then great hesitation. "I'm goin' to help you, little bird ... whatever's wrong," she whispered. "I promise."

To Rose's amazement, the girl raised her hand in a half wave and held it against the windowpane for a moment, then slid it slowly down, as if she yearned to be made free.

Following her impromptu visit to the Browning house, Rose walked along the road, unable to erase from her mind the frightened face of the girl in the kitchen. It was hard to think of anything else.

There were a few dried clusters of wild flowers in the roadside ditch, and she recalled the way the little bees nestled down in the rose petals last summer, hiding in all the curls and layers. Might the girl at Gilbert Browning's be hiding away of her own accord, as well?

The days were moving quickly away from the lengthy, busy days of summer. Wedding season was just a month off. She wondered if either of her two engaged first cousins - Lydiann and Esther - might ask her to be one of their attendants. She hoped both girls didn't pick the same Tuesday or Thursday to wed. She simply could not choose between them.

Feeling the sun on her face, Rose knew there were nearly three miles yet to go, if she followed the roads and didn't cut through cornfields. She was glad she'd worn shoes instead of going barefoot as she often did at home, till the first frost.

Walking briskly along the grassy slope near the road, she heard a crow caw-cawing overhead. She looked up and promptly lost her balance, stumbling forward, and just that quickly, her leg buckled and she tried to catch herself, instead falling hard onto a rock with her right knee. A jagged pain shot through it as she cried out in pain.

She lay there in the ditch, not moving, gasping for air. Then, managing to collect herself enough to sit up, Rose slowly raised her skirt to inspect her leg. Her knee was all banged up, and an ugly bruise threatened. Her entire leg was throbbing now as she tried but failed to stand up.

Falling again, Rose wondered how she was ever going to get home. She began to crawl, dragging her leg, determined to get back onto the shoulder of the road. Maybe an Amish neighbor would see her and give her a ride. Mammi Sylvia would know what to do, she thought, wishing her loving grandmother were here right now. The stinging pain in her knee was relentless, and tears pricked her eyes.

Oh, but she wasn't a crybaby! She must be as brave as dear Mamm had been in the ravine, lying there conscious but unable even to pull herself out of the rugged area to get help. Thank goodness for whoever found her, she thought now, praying that someone might also happen along for her soon.

Overhead, large clouds were building in the distance, and lightning flickered. She could only hope, selfishly, for a heavy downpour. Then the men filling silo might halt their work and head home for a while, perhaps seeing her there on the road.

As the minutes slipped by and Rose inched forward, she was more determined than ever to keep moving, lest she still be creeping along by nightfall. Yet the searing pain in her knee took her breath away, and she had to sit to rest. She stretched out her legs and rubbed her swollen knee and the muscle below it. If she weren't in such pain, she would consider cutting through the fields to home. The distance was much shorter, only a little over a mile. But there was no way she could make her way through uneven cornfields like this.