A Forbidden Rumspringa (Gay Amish Romance Book 1) (17 page)

Deacon Stoltzfus stared at him from outside the house, and it was as though his gaze seared right through Isaac, seeing his darkest secrets. Isaac dropped his head, pretending he hadn’t noticed as he hurried to the front door. He didn’t glance up as he passed the deacon, but he could still feel fire on his skin long after the ceremony began.

Luck was not on their side.

The initial service went four hours as the preachers expounded on Adam and Eve and the Great Flood, slowly making their way through the end of the Old Testament as was the custom for wedding sermons.

By the time Bishop Yoder asked Atlee and Ruth to stand before him if they still felt as they had earlier that morning, Isaac was barely awake. Mervin and the three other attendants—in Zebulon it was two boys and two girls—stood as witnesses as Ruth and Atlee said their vows. Ruth wore a crisply ironed dark blue dress, while Atlee was in his church best.

Bishop Yoder brought Ruth and Atlee’s hands together and declared them man and wife. Isaac thought of how the English exchange rings. Too vain for the Amish, but he didn’t see why they couldn’t wear plain bands. Of course their commitment to each other and God was what really mattered, he reminded himself. A commitment he and David would never be allowed.

Ruth and Atlee silently returned to their seats a married couple, and Isaac hoped desperately the service would end so he could bring feeling back to his rear end, which had gone numb on the hard wooden bench. His lower back twinged from sitting up straight for so many hours.

It was a Thursday, the typical eleven days after what they called being published—the engagement announcement by the deacon. While it was nice to have an unexpected day off from work, the service was interminable. Isaac needed to stretch.

And he needed to be alone with David.

He said a quick prayer of thanks as Bishop Yoder ended the service, and tried to slip through the crowd as they made their way back to the main house for lunch. Isaac caught sight of David ahead, also walking quickly. If they both made it for the first seating, the sooner they could slip away.

After quiet grace, Isaac managed to sit across from David at one of the long men’s tables, and kept his eyes on his plate for fear that everyone would see there wasn’t something right between them. The table was dotted with bowls of fruit and vases of celery stalks. One of the bowls sat in front of Isaac, and he plucked out an apple and rolled it from one hand to the other.

Mervin’s younger brother was one of the table waiters, and he poured water into Isaac’s cup, one of Mervin’s sisters following with a huge bowl of salad. Each dish was brought around and loaded onto their plates. The fried chicken really was the best Isaac had ever had, and he couldn’t resist licking his fingers after cleaning off a thigh bone.

Beneath the table, David pressed his foot hard against Isaac’s. Isaac glanced up to find David’s eyes dark with lust. With a small smile, Isaac rubbed his calf against David’s, wondering how far up between his legs he dared go.

“Isaac!”

He yanked his foot back, dropping his fork with a clatter. All eyes at the table were on him, and he realized Mary was standing behind him. She held a heaping platter of stuffing, and dropped her hand to his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you want some?” She motioned to the platter.

He nodded jerkily, glancing at David, who was suddenly very interested in his lunch. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Mary smiled. “You’re coming to the feast tonight, right?”

Naturally he was—everyone would be there. “Uh-huh.” He picked up his cup and gulped. “Thanks for the stuffing.” He smiled up at her.

She smiled faintly back. “You’re welcome.” She glanced at David, who was still engrossed in his chicken. “Well, see you later then.”

As Mary continued down the table, spooning stuffing with her lips trembling, Isaac hated himself. His appetite gone, he pushed his mashed potatoes around, not looking anywhere near David.

“Isaac,” Mark hissed from a few seats down. A frown creased his brow beneath his dark blond hair. “Why didn’t you ask Mary to sit with you at dinner?” He looked to David. “You don’t mind, do you?”

For a moment, Isaac and David’s eyes met, and Isaac’s heart clenched at the sorrow he saw.

David dropped his gaze. “I don’t know. Mary’s still young.”

The men around them murmured, and old Jacob Glick—Beanie, he was usually called, although Isaac wasn’t sure why since he didn’t grow beans—cleared his throat.

“Isn’t your Mary eighteen now? Quite old enough to date.” He gave Isaac an assessing look. “Isaac’s a hard worker, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” David shoved a forkful of salad into his mouth.

Beanie stroked his beard in the same way Isaac’s father did. “He would make a good brother for you. You need another man in the family.”

Isaac actually bit his tongue. He wanted to scream that he would never be David’s brother.

“Isaac, when are you joining the church? Isn’t it time?” Jacob asked.

He could sense the gaze of every man in earshot. Eyes on his plate, Isaac mumbled, “Soon.”

Mark shrugged. “I really don’t know what you’re waiting for, Isaac.”

Their lunch companions blessedly began discussing the recent harvest and how Zebulon would fare for winter. Isaac tuned them out. He was sorely tempted to stretch out his leg again and nudge David below the table, but kept his feet tucked under his bench as he spooned bite after bite of the generous slice of iced apple cake placed in front of him. He barely tasted it.

Mervin appeared and scooped up a dollop of icing from Isaac’s plate. He sucked his finger with a groan. “I’m starving, but Mother says everyone else has to eat first.”

“Tell us, did your sister step over the broom?” Beanie asked.

Eyes alight, Mervin grinned. “She did! I can’t believe it. Guess she was too excited to remember.”

“Poor Atlee, married to a wife too lazy to pick up a broom!” Mark guffawed.

It was one of the oldest wedding tricks, to place a broom on the floor just inside the door for when the newlyweds return to the house. Isaac could hardly believe Ruth hadn’t noticed it there or tried to come in the back door the way he remembered his sister Abigail doing at her wedding.

As Isaac thought back, he realized with a jolt that he couldn’t remember what Abigail looked like. She was just an idea, really. An approximation of the sister he’d barely known before she married and moved out. Yet Aaron’s face was etched indelibly into his memory still—pale hair and the gentle cleft in his chin. Isaac said a quick prayer that he’d never forget his brother.

Mervin was called away, and Isaac got up a minute later, making sure not to even glance David’s way. There were many men waiting for their turn to eat, including Ephraim, who grabbed Isaac’s elbow as Isaac hurried by.

“Are you going to the barn?” Ephraim asked.

“Uh-huh. Of course,” Isaac lied.

“I don’t want to go sing with the men. Why do we have to sing anyway? I hate singing.”

“You’re plenty keen to go to the singings on Sundays.”

Ephraim huffed. “Well, yeah. There are girls there.”

Isaac smirked. “Would you rather go help with the dishes once lunch is done? The men need something to do. It’s tradition.”

“It’s a stupid tradition,” Ephraim grumbled.

Isaac agreed, and he had no intention of going near the barn. He drew his coat in tight against a knife of cold wind as he slipped away beyond the house. It wasn’t far over a rolling hill to the trees, and when Isaac glanced back, he couldn’t see anyone watching.

It didn’t take long to get there, and he navigated the tangle of roots and scrub easily, the path still familiar even though it had been a few years. He knew he was close when he saw the next pasture appear through the thinning trees. He made his way to the edge of the forest and looked up with a smile. The old ladder creaked, but he clambered up easily.

It was more of a tree loft than a house, with no roof other than gnarled branches and a canopy of green in the warmer months. On his knees, Isaac brushed away the dead leaves, damp must filling his nose. The pale wood was rotting in places, and wouldn’t last many more winters. Mervin’s younger siblings had apparently outgrown the tree house now, and the varnish had worn away. There were three short walls, with the fourth open to the view of the pasture.

But even better than that—a view of the tracks that slashed across the countryside.

Isaac took off his hat even though the wind that ruffled his hair was cold. He tucked his knees up and imagined how strong the wind would be on the back of a train. How many miles did the metal stretch? Up into Canada for certain, and perhaps as far as Mexico. So far beyond Zebulon’s borders. Past Ohio, which seemed so distant now, as if there were mountains and oceans between them instead of corn and wheat.

Tearing himself away, Isaac stood up and peered over the back of the tree house, squinting through the branches. He hoped David wouldn’t get lost. Perhaps he’d been caught trying to slip away, and was forced to join the other men in song.
Maybe he doesn’t want to see me right now.

Isaac pulled out his pocketknife and tossed it from hand to hand, eyeing the walls of the tree house. Reaching out, he traced his fingertips over the faded letters carved into one of the boards.

Property of Mervin Miller and Isaac Byler—NO TRESPASSING ALLOWED

Closing his eyes, Isaac could hear the cicadas buzzing and feel the sweat that had dripped into his eyes as he nailed in the final board. Mervin’s face had been flushed, his reddish hair gone almost totally blond that summer—their first in Zebulon. When the train had approached, they’d stopped everything and watched it rumble by.

Shivering, Isaac got to his feet. After a few minutes of pacing, the boards creaking beneath him, he heard twigs snapping and leaves crunching. “Hello?”
Please be David. Please be David.
Not that it seemed likely anyone else would venture this far afield from the wedding festivities. He remembered Deacon Stoltzfus watching him, and shuddered.

“It’s only me,” David called.

Isaac realized his voice had wavered, and he took a few long breaths as David climbed the ladder. When David reached the top, he tossed his hat to the corner where Isaac’s sat. He ran his palm over one of the walls.

“You built this.”

“Mervin helped. It was a long time ago.”

David smiled softly. “I can tell it’s your work.”

“How?” Isaac wanted to reach out across the few feet between them and hold David close, but he wasn’t sure if he should.

“The evenness of the boards. The way the corners fit so neatly.” He caressed the top of the nearest wall. “I can just tell. You built it with love.”

Love
. The word echoed in Isaac’s mind, his belly flip-flopping.

David blew out a long breath and met Isaac’s gaze. “Mary’s upset.”

“I’m sorry.” Isaac’s shoulders slumped. “Was I wrong? Should I have asked her to dinner? I don’t want her to think that there’s something…that she and I could ever…” He shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt her.” The knowledge that he would one day have to marry a woman, whether it was Mary or someone else, constricted his chest.

“I know. I don’t want her to be hurt.” David ran a hand through his hair. “I know we should stop this. We’ll only hurt all the people we love.”

Isaac couldn’t breathe. He faced the brown pasture.
No. No, no, no.

Then David was right behind him, arms wrapping around Isaac so tightly. “But I can’t stop. I can’t be without you, my Isaac.”

Inhaling sharply, Isaac spun and buried his face in David’s neck, murmuring against his skin. “We can’t stop. Not yet. We will when we have to—but not yet.”

“Not yet,” David agreed.

For a long while, they clung to each other. The dry leaves blew around their feet, and they were utterly, wonderfully alone. Isaac kissed David’s throat and tugged on his hand, pulling him down to the floor of the tree house so they could face the open meadow. They sat on the edge, feet dangling, fingers entwined.

“I could sit here for hours, even after Mervin got bored and went home.” Isaac watched the dying grass of the meadow wave in the wind. “I knew if I waited long enough, another train would come.”

“Have you ever taken one?”

“No. We took a bus from Ohio. Have you?”

David shook his head. “I suppose people can’t ride the trains we get up here anyway. All freight cars.”

“I read a book once about a boy who rode the rails, hopping up onto the cars when the trains slowed. He had a dog, and they went on all sorts of adventures.” Isaac smiled ruefully. “Father took it away. Said it wasn’t the kind of book good Amish boys read. I don’t even know where I got it. Aaron, probably. The first time I saw a train here, I could almost imagine I spotted that boy and his dog on their way somewhere wonderful.”

David stroked the back of Isaac’s hand idly with his thumb as he stared into the distance. “My mother found a book in my room yesterday when she was cleaning. I suppose I didn’t hide it. I was surprised she said a word at all. Since Father died, she hasn’t argued with me about anything. It was actually nice to be scolded.”