Ties That Bind (9 page)

“No. We're going into the historic district.”

Susie was at work right now, but she would meet Rudy and Ariana at the café. Ariana was ready to divulge her secret hope about the café. It wasn't as if she had been overly secretive about the café. Susie knew Ariana had spent years saving up to buy an old shop in town, but the dream never had much luster to Susie, so they hadn't talked about it in a long time. Ariana prayed she could get Susie excited about it too. Surely she would then stop thinking she had to leave the Amish to have a fulfilled life.

Ariana glanced at the dress she'd chosen for tonight. She was fairly sure magenta was Rudy's favorite color. “I could take the housecoat by Berta's first, but the Esh girls are with her until bedtime, and she's staying the night by herself.” Did Quill come by after everyone was gone, or had he returned to hiding now that he knew what was going on with his mother? “The Esh girls will fix her dinner and tend to—”

“Ariana, sweetie?” Mamm called.

Salome giggled. “Sweetie?”

“Maybe if you baked lots of carbs for her, she would call you that too,” Ariana teased.

Despite Mamm's calm demeanor she hadn't been herself in days. Was she more worried about losing a child to the world than she'd let on?

Carrying the housecoat, Ariana went into the hallway. “Ya?”

“I need a favor, please.” Mamm's hoarse voice came from the foot of the steps.

Ariana moved to the landing and peered down at her. “Sure. What's up?”

“The water pressure is low again, which means there must be another leak somewhere. I hate to ask this of you, but would you mind getting a fresh barrel from the old cooperage shop? Your oldest brother borrowed the other one you brought home, and whatever he used it for, it no longer holds water.”

Berta's husband had been a barrel maker before his death. Quill had followed in his footsteps, but since he'd left the Amish, the shop sat idle. Berta didn't allow anyone in the shop except Ariana, and even she hadn't gone inside it more than maybe three times in the last five years. In Berta's heart it was like a memorial to her husband. Maybe to her sons too, since all of them learned the trade before leaving the Amish.

If her mother could think of another way to meet the need, she wouldn't have asked Ariana to do this.

“I don't mind.” Ariana held up the housecoat. “Malinda brought a gift for Berta. Look.”

“Very nice.”

“I'll take it to her, and I'll search for another good barrel. But I have plans I can't be late for, so I'll set it somewhere—at the back of her property or beside her house—for someone else to swing by and grab.”

“I understand. Just move the barrel from the cooperage to the end of her driveway.”

“Okay. Rather than me trying to get back here before Rudy arrives, would you send him to Berta's to get me? He won't mind, but tell him to wait for me in his rig. That'll keep us from getting caught in a conversation with the Esh girls.”

“I'll do it.”

This was how things constantly went in their home—lots of little but specific plans to meet all needs in as inexpensive and timely a manner as possible. The house was held together by love and baling wire, and she hoped to purchase a café ahead of schedule? Doubt and a feeling of foolishness prickled her skin for a moment, but she could make this work…She just didn't yet know how.
Surely You have a plan, right, God?

Ariana came back to herself and realized that her Mamm was still in place, staring up at her. Were those tears in her eyes? “You're my girl. Just you remember that.”

What a strange thing to say. “Okay, I'm your girl, but don't tell Rudy. He thinks I'm his.”

Her Mamm should've liked those words. Ariana hadn't considered herself anyone's girl before Rudy, but only a faint smile crossed her Mamm's face before she lowered her eyes to the steps, seemingly lost in thought.

Mamm had to be worried about one of her children planning to disappear during the night. Fresh anger and determination seized Ariana.

She would win Susie's heart in this, and she would figure out how to get the café—even if she had to beg, borrow, or marry.

O
n the pallet in his cramped loft, Quill read a favorite passage from the leather-bound account of the Plymouth Colony: “All great and honorable actions are accompanied with great difficulties…”

The words lacked the hope he was looking for as he realized that dishonorable actions were also accompanied with great difficulties. Hardship wasn't an indicator of being right or wrong. It was a sign of being alive.

Although that phrase wasn't complex, some of Bradford's wording took time to comprehend, which was understandable since the book had been written during the same time as the King James Version of the Bible. Sometimes Quill's brothers teased him that he didn't speak like a normal guy. There was some truth to that.

He closed the book and peered down from the loft of the cooperage. He had loved this place as a child. His Daed had what the Englisch called an open-door policy. Whether Quill had wanted to play under his Daed's feet or begin learning the trade, his father had been welcoming and patient to a fault. Even now he could see his dad's huge hands and broad shoulders as he worked with the barrels. Quill could smell the fires that helped season and prepare the barrels for liquid. He could hear the scraping of oak staves as his father put the pieces into place—one wide, one medium, one thin, round and round each stave was placed.

But now the floors were covered with a layer of gray dust, showing only faint footprints of a few visitors over the years. Most of the tools were neatly hanging from the pegboard. Some were just as they'd been the day his dad died.

Would his dad be proud of him? of the choices he'd made?

The door handle rattled, and then he heard the rusty hinges creak. It wasn't possible his mother felt well enough to walk all the way out here, was it?

He waited in place, quiet and watchful.

Ariana.

Even from this odd view, he recognized that white-blond hair through her prayer Kapp.

He swallowed hard as half a dozen emotions assaulted him—frustration, grief, loneliness, admiration, and homesickness being the strongest. Yet he'd do it all again. Bury his feelings for her and leave just as he had. Could a methodical, literal believer in the Ordnung understand someone like him?

Holding something in one arm, she eased into the room as if going to an altar. Her fingers trailed through the dust on the workbench. Was she also going down memory lane? They used to play in this workshop when they were young. When he got old enough to apprentice, she was his helper, handing him and his Daed tools while they worked.

But that was a lifetime ago, and it would be best for all involved if they didn't have another face-to-face encounter. If he moved farther back in the loft, she would hear him. The floor under him was made of planks, like a hayloft. His best chance of not being spotted was to remain completely still and hope she didn't look up.

Shafts of light came through the dirty windows, hanging on the dusty air as if it were fog, and the glow surrounded her, making her look like one of his dreams of returning home. How could a man disagree so fully with the Ordnung and at the same time miss living here?

She turned from the bench and went to the A-frame stack of barrels. Some had been made the week he left. One guideline about leaving the community without causing an uproar was to continue working until the last minute.

Ariana set the folded brown bag on a bench and moved so close to the loft area that he couldn't see her. The ladder to the loft creaked. Was she climbing it? His heart picked up its pace, and he realized that even after all these years, when it came to Ariana, he had opposing desires—to avoid her at all costs and to see her eye to eye. Until last week he'd gone with the first of those two desires.

The barrels began to shake, and he leaned forward, hoping to remain unseen while he figured out what she was doing. She had climbed partway up the ladder and then stepped onto the second row of barrels. The balls of her feet were on the edge of a barrel while she reached up to the third row, trying to shove one free.

What an absurd plan!

The stack began swaying. Didn't she know this could cause the whole pyramid to tumble, taking her down with it! They were made of solid oak, and each one weighed at least eighty pounds.

It could kill her.

The barrels moaned as some began to tilt. “Ariana, no! Stop moving. Now!” He scurried halfway down the ladder. Holding on with one foot and one hand, he swung out to steady the barrels. Despite the awkward, painful strain, he quickly secured the barrels. He glanced up into wide, beautiful eyes. So many thoughts and questions were reflected in them. To have such things shared with him would be a good day, but days where he really connected with someone were rare.

“What are you doing here?” She sounded offended at his presence.

“Currently I'm trying to save you from serious injury.” He panted his answer as he focused on her feet and motioned with his hand. “Come.”

She hesitated.

“Hate me later. Right now, do as I say.” Would his command anger her and only make things worse?

Recognition flitted across her face. On her fifteenth birthday, after talking her into exploring an abandoned home with a caved-in roof, he'd had to yell the same thing at her.

He motioned, and she began to inch his way. “That's it. Slow and steady. Step on the central edge of each barrel.”

While she worked her way to him, he recalled that outing on her fifteenth birthday. They had gone horseback riding, and when they'd stumbled onto an old house, Quill wanted to check it out. She didn't like the idea, but she agreed because she trusted him. Going through it had been fun until they went upstairs and he realized the floor was spongy, a sign it could give way. He was in the middle of saying “We need to go…” when her body jolted, and she screamed as a section of the floor gave way under her, trapping her foot. He'd sprawled spread eagle on the floor to distribute his weight, and he'd freed her foot. But rather than crawling to the stairway, as he told her to do, she remained in place, furious and shaken, until he screamed those words at her. In the hours that followed the incident, as they rode their horses back toward home, he realized that he had let his sense of adventure put Ariana in harm's way, and he knew he would never do so again.

Her eyes met his, and his memories fled. “You're doing great. Just a little farther.”

When she was close enough, he used his free arm to snatch her off the barrels. Still holding on to the ladder to the loft, he pulled her close. “That was very dangerous.” He shifted, and she put her feet on the ladder while grasping the rungs with her hands. She'd been in his arms the day he left here, and the familiar feeling of not wanting to let go of her coursed through him. “You okay?”

She nodded, taking in a ragged breath. “Ya. I…I've got my footing. You can let go now.”

Against all that he held in his heart for her, he released her and waited as she descended the ladder. He hopped down. “You're way too smart to do something that stupid. What were you thinking?” Why was he griping at her? And then he knew…He couldn't be here to protect or care for her or his Mamm, and it frustrated him.

“
You
are correcting
my
behavior?” Her voice was eerily calm. “At least mine wasn't planned and plotted. It was simply a mistake.”

Beneath her civil tone and behavior, she was seething with anger toward him, and he wished he knew how to free her of it. Despite all his planning, he'd overlooked dozens of important life connections that, once broken, he couldn't get back. His shortsightedness was far worse than hers. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”

“Shouldn't have…,” she hissed, sounding like water boiling over the edge of a pot. “If you're going to begin a list of all you shouldn't have done, we'll be here for months.”

“Maybe. And I apologize for every part that has hurt you…or will hurt you.”

“But saying that fixes nothing. They're empty words spoken by a man I once thought only said what he meant.”

It seemed as if nothing between them could be fixed, not even for a few moments of resentment-free conversation. He'd seen her and the fruit of her hands over the last five years. He knew her well. She didn't have that same advantage. Would she like him any better if she knew more about him? Did it matter? He had chosen the path of his life, and she stood in opposition to it.

He grabbed a barrel and took it to the door. Then he backed away, waiting for her to take the cue and leave. He didn't want to argue. “I think it would be best if you go now.”

She grabbed the brown bag she'd entered with. “This is for your Mamm. Please see that she gets it.” She thrust it at him. “You're not winning, not this time, Quill.”

He took it. “Winning?”

“I don't know what all you have dangled in front of my sister, what promises you've made of rainbows or pots of gold, but I will not let you win.”

So she knew who intended to leave. Relief coursed through him.

She narrowed her eyes. “You should be ashamed to do this kind of thing to your own people.”

Did she understand nothing? He didn't do it
to
them. He did it
for
them. “I'm sorry you feel that way.”

“Aren't you tired of saying those words? I'm sick of hearing them.”

Yes, he was weary of apologizing, but he didn't know anything else to say. “Just go, Ari.”

“You can tell the Nightcrawler that I have a plan, and he can forget taking my sister.”

“A plan?”

“Ya, you know, the kind of thing you create and carry out while others sleep.”

That's what he had done to her. Didn't she know that painful surgeries were best done while the patient slept? Regardless of what she did or didn't understand, he prayed her plan concerning her sister would work. “Good. I mean that sincerely. If you think I want to help anyone leave, especially someone in your family, you're wrong.”

“Who are you?” Her piercing eyes captured him. “You say one thing and do another, and I…I can't seem to get a handle on what to make of you.”

“You have no idea at all?” Did the letter he wrote and placed in her hand before leaving explain nothing? It was scant on certain information, but for her sake he had shared as much as he dared, and it should've helped her understand a few things.

“I guess it would save us a lot of trouble if you just assumed I'm too stupid to put anything together.”

“You're not stupid. Far from it. A little blind maybe…”

“Blind? And your eyes are open?”

“To some things, yeah.” His strong suit was holding his tongue, so why wasn't he doing that? “Look, I get that you don't like what I do, but people have the right to choose.”

“Yeah? What choice did you leave me that day when you took Frieda and left? Oh, I remember. I had the choice of telling the community all I knew or keeping it a secret while they searched frantically for a seventeen-year-old girl!”

“I explained what I could in the letter.”

Anger drained from her face, and he saw a glimpse of a young woman still confused by what had taken place. “What did the letter say?”

How could she not know? The letter was in her hand when he pulled away from a final embrace and left.

She shook her head. “Never mind. I don't want to know. It was probably filled with your rationalizations.”

“What happened to the letter, Ariana?”

Her cheeks flushed pink and she shrugged.

He could see in her eyes that his presence had opened more than the lid to her anger. Old wounds were being cut fresh again, but he couldn't prevent that. “What happened, Ari?”

She crossed her arms, giving another shrug. “I had it in my hand when I ran home to tell Daed what had happened. I…I guess I should've stopped to read it, but I was so confused that it seemed only my Daed could make sense of everything. When I got home, the deacon was at our table having breakfast. It was just a happenstance visit, and I must've looked as upset as I felt, because the adults pressed me to tell them what was going on. When I explained, the deacon insisted I give him the letter.”