A Love Made New (5 page)

T
he morning after Andrew and Joanna's wedding, Sol went back to work. Since he'd lost his carpentry job before he was put in the bann, he now worked from home. After years of making large pieces of furniture, he was constructing birdhouses to sell in Sadie's store. The money wasn't nearly as good as having a steady job, but the birdhouses were selling, especially to
Englisch
customers. Then again, they didn't know the person behind the craftsmanship. If they did, maybe the birdhouses wouldn't sell as well.

He scooped up the last of the sausage gravy on his plate with a piece of biscuit and glanced at his mother. She'd continued to make his favorite dishes after his father left, but she didn't eat much herself. Sol was worried about her. She'd lost weight and had become even more withdrawn than he was. She'd never been much for socializing, which made sense considering the secrets their family had kept for so long. But she didn't need to lock herself up inside, either. “
Mamm
?” he asked. “You okay?”

She looked up from the slice of uneaten toast on her plate,
her eyes unfocused. Then she blinked. “Did you need more gravy,
sohn
?”

Sol shook his head and popped the gravy-soaked biscuit into his mouth. When he finished chewing he said, “I'm
gut
. Can I get you anything?”

“
Nee.
But that's nice of you, Sol.”

He took a swig of his coffee and waited for her to say something else, but she looked down at her toast and remained silent. It was like this at every meal—little conversation but plenty of silence. He stood, then picked up his plate and coffee cup. “I'll wash these,
Mamm
.”

She shot up from her chair, surprising him. “I'll do it.” She took the dishes from him.

“I don't mind.” Sol had never seen his
daed
wash a dish. Or sweep the floor or dust the furniture or cook a meal. He drew strict lines between men and women's work and had made those lines clear to both Sol and Aden so they didn't cross them. Because whenever they crossed a line . . .

Sol pushed down the pain those memories always caused.
I'm not
mei
father . . . I refuse to be like him.
But deep down he knew he had more in common with Emmanuel Troyer than he wanted to admit, especially when it came to their tempers.

But God had changed him. Sol knew it in his mind, felt it in his heart. The angry fire that burned inside him for so long had been tempered. But he was terrified of going back to his past, of slipping into the man he'd once been. And if he had to live a life exactly the opposite of his father's not to, he'd do it—even if it meant washing every dish in Birch Creek. He put his hand on her arm and repeated, “I'll do it.”

She looked up at him, and he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. He grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry.
He wanted to help her. She had been as much a victim of his father's controlling ways as he and Aden had. He couldn't tell her that. She wouldn't believe it. So it was up to Sol to show her that not only was he a changed man, but he forgave her for the past. “Finish
yer
breakfast,” he said, gentling his voice in a way he'd never heard his father do. “Let me clean up this mess.”

Mamm
paused, nodded, and went back to the table. As Sol started to clean the kitchen, he sighed inwardly. He wanted
Mamm
to be happy. He wanted to be happy. But neither of them could be with the shadows of the past hovering over them.

After he finished washing and drying the dishes, he turned to her. She still hadn't touched her toast, and she was sitting with her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. He wished she could see that they and Aden were all better off with
Daed
out of their lives. But instead she was waiting, patiently and with great faith, for
Daed
's return. Sol didn't care if he ever saw the man again.

He moved toward the mudroom to get his hat from the pegboard near the back door, but turned back to look at his mother in the kitchen. “I'll be in the woodshop if you need me.”

She nodded, but didn't look at him. Sol shook his head, grabbed his coat in the mudroom, and walked outside. The day before the wedding he'd gone to the sawmill and picked up some choice lumber for several new birdhouses. He'd started to unload the wood from the back of his wagon near the barn when he heard a buggy turn into his driveway. He tilted his hat back and peered at the driver. He hadn't expected to see Jalon here so early.

He watched his friend park the buggy and tether his horse to the post. His black mare flicked her tail as Jalon walked toward Sol.

“Hey, Sol.”

Sol leaned the wood plank against the side of the wagon. “Jalon. Surprised to see you here already.”

“I have to be at work early today, so I thought I'd take care of that order I mentioned yesterday.”

Sol nodded. He and Jalon had drifted apart over the years, but it had been good to sit and visit with him yesterday. When he mentioned to Jalon that he was taking custom orders for birdhouses, his friend had expressed interest in ordering one. Sol hadn't realized his interest was so urgent. “Is the birdhouse for anyone special?”

“Possibly.” Jalon glanced away.

Sol realized he had no idea Jalon was seeing anyone. Then again, why would he? He'd kept himself separate from the community as much as he could since his public confession. The shame of admitting what he'd done still consumed him, bringing him to his knees sometimes. But there was another reason they had drifted apart. Sol wasn't the only one in the community who had succumbed to the draw of alcohol. “Anyone I know?” he asked, diverting the path his thoughts threatened to travel.

“
Nee.
She's not from here.”

When Jalon didn't add any more information, Sol didn't press. “Do you have a particular design in mind?”

Jalon pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I saw this in a book at the library and made a copy.” He handed it to Sol. “You think you could make that?”

Sol studied the birdhouse. It wasn't too fancy, but it wasn't plain either. He frowned at the black-and-white photo, noticing the different shades of gray on the birdhouse. “This looks like it might be painted.”

“It is.”

“I just stain the birdhouses. I've never painted one before.”

“Oh.” Jalon rubbed his chin. “You think you could slap a coat of paint on it?”

“Maybe. Or you could.”

Jalon shook his head. “
Nee.
I'm
nee gut
with a paintbrush. I'd ruin it.”

“Sounds like you want this birdhouse to be done just right.” He glanced at the paper again.

“I guess it will be okay if it's stained,” Jalon said.

But Sol shook his head. “I want you to be happy with it.” He'd have to find someone who could help him, which filled him with dread. That would mean facing people in his community and asking them. He imagined most of them, if not all, would probably say no. The citizens of Birch Creek said they'd forgiven him, but he knew they hadn't forgotten what he'd done. He'd stolen their money—well, both he and his father had stolen it, but Sol had shouldered the blame. Everyone knew he was an alcoholic too. He was also many other things that no one knew about. Yet he'd seen the stares, felt the eyes of those in the congregation who still judged him. No, it wouldn't be easy putting hat in hand and asking for someone to help him with his business.

“I'll figure something out,” Sol said, then took a pencil out of his tool belt. “Let me know what colors you want.”

“Pink.”

Sol's brow lifted and Jalon quit talking. His friend's cheeks turned bright red.

“Also, blue,” Jalon continued after clearing his throat. “Like a sky blue or a bird's-egg blue. And bright yellow.”

Sol wrote down the colors. This was definitely a gift for a woman. “When do you need it?”

“Not for a couple of months.”

“If I can find someone to paint it for me quickly, I'll have it to you sooner than that.”

“All right. But you don't have to hurry.”

Sol put his pencil and the paper back in his tool belt. Something strange was going on. Jalon had always been a straightforward guy in the past. When they were drinking, they weren't only straightforward, they were cocky, Jalon only a little less so. He also wasn't a mean drunk like Sol had been. Maybe that's what had Jalon so hesitant. He didn't trust Sol, and Sol didn't blame him. “Jalon, I promise I'll get it done on time. I haven't missed a delivery date yet, not since . . .” He drew in a deep breath. “Not since
Daed
left.”

Jalon met him in the eye. “I know you'll keep
yer
word.”

That sounded more like Jalon. “
Gut.
I just didn't want you to think I wouldn't. I haven't been all that responsible in the past.”

Jalon shoved his hands back into his pockets. “And I'm the last one to cast stones. We're two of kind, you know. Might be why we were such
gut
friends.”

Were
. Sol didn't miss Jalon's meaning. This was a business transaction, not a renewal of friendship. Sol was surprised how much that hurt. He took a step back. “
Danki
for the order,” he said, as if Jalon were a stranger. “You can pay for the birdhouse when you pick it up.” He started to turn away.

“I miss hanging out with you.”

When Sol turned around, Jalon added with a half-grimace, “Sorry. That sounded corny. And kinda girly too.”

But Sol didn't care. He put his hand on Jalon's shoulder. “I've missed you too. I'm sorry I ruined our friendship.”

“We both had a hand in that.” Jalon frowned. “I started brewing beer when I was fourteen. Not exactly a model citizen myself.” He rubbed his forehead. “I keep thinking about that day
in church. When you admitted
yer
drinking. I should have joined you up there. I should have confessed.”

“Confessed? I thought you quit drinking when you joined the church a couple of years ago.”

Jalon paused. “That was the plan. Didn't work out that way. But when you had the guts to tell everyone you're an alcoholic . . . I haven't had a drink since.”

“Me either.”

“It's . . . it's been hard, Sol. Not gonna lie about that.”

“
Ya
.” Sol knew the struggle, the draw of drink. It would be something he would fight for the rest of his life. “Work helps.”

“It does. But it doesn't fix it. It doesn't take the craving away.” Jalon glanced at the sky. “I pray every day for the strength to resist it.”

Sol nodded. “Maybe . . . maybe we should pray for each other.”

Jalon cleared his throat again. “Maybe we should.” He took his hands out of his pockets. “Anyway—thanks for making the birdhouse. Let me know how much I owe you.”

“Will do.”

“I better get over to Ben Lapp's. We're doing some construction work near Akron and the taxi driver picks us up from his
haus
.” He looked at Sol. “I'll talk to you soon.” He turned and walked away.

As Jalon got in his buggy, Sol called out, “Don't be a stranger.”
Now who's being corny?

Jalon paused mid-climb and grinned. “I won't.”

As Jalon left, Sol grabbed the board and smiled. A genuine smile, which he wasn't used to. Oh, he'd been a grinning fool in the past, smiling to cover up the pain of his secrets, or to try to charm a girl into giving him what he wanted. The last
woman he'd tried it with was Irene Beiler. His smile faded and he cringed. Out of all the girls he'd shown an interest in, she was the one he could have gotten serious about. But he could never risk being serious. And Irene deserved someone better than an alcoholic with more baggage than a charter bus. He thanked the Lord that nothing had happened with her other than harmless flirting. And now it was better for him to keep his distance . . . even if he couldn't keep his eyes off her every time he saw her.

He pushed Irene from his mind. He thought about Jalon again. It was good to have his friend back. It was also good to know not everyone in the community felt the need to keep their distance. He went inside his small shop, which he'd built after his father left. It wasn't much bigger than a shack, but it was all he needed. He set the board down on a table. Who could he ask to paint the birdhouse? He imagined he'd need to hire someone. Jalon wouldn't be the only customer who would want a painted house.

After he unloaded all the wood, he hitched his horse to his buggy and headed to his brother's. Maybe Sadie or Aden knew someone who could paint. He tapped the reins against the horse's flanks. A few months ago he wouldn't have asked his brother for anything. Now he was one of the few people Sol could go to.
How the tables have turned.