Adoring Addie (8 page)

And the first time I'd ever taken such a risk.

I fled the house and hurried around the side. At least Timothy had left for the evening and wasn't drinking behind the barn. And I didn't think he'd taken Danny with him.

The full moon shone above the willow, illuminating the tree and Jonathan. Glancing back once to make sure Daed hadn't followed me out the door, I hurried across the lawn.

“What a night,” I said as I reached Jonathan, barely aware of the mosquito that had landed on my arm. I swatted it away.

“Jah.” He gazed at me, his eyes full of emotion.

My face grew warm at his intensity.

He held out his open hand to me. On his palm was a thin piece of wood the size of a bookmark. “It's for you.”

He'd etched a simple
Engel
in the wood, her face turned upward, her wings spread wide. I closed my hand around it. “Denki. It's beautiful,” I said, running my finger over the carving. I slipped the bookmark into the pocket of my apron.

“Want to walk?” He put out his arm, and I took it, placing my hand in the crook of his elbow.

He reached for my hand, locking his long, strong fingers
through mine. The warmth of his rough skin sent a shiver up my spine. With each step we took along the ridge above the creek, feelings surged inside of me that I didn't know existed.

Jonathan threw his head back. “Look at the night sky,” he said. “Isn't it stunning?”

It was.

Jonathan pointed to a lone pine towering above us to the right. “God gives us all we need. Beauty. Clothes. Food. All we need to have a relationship with him and others. And the assurance he is always present.”

I'd never thought of God's provision that way—nor had I heard anyone talk the way Jonathan did. Under the canopy of the night, I felt a peace I hadn't experienced before.

He added, “Everything to sustain life comes from God.”

I shivered. Jonathan pulled me closer, brushing his head against my Kapp. “Ach, Addie,” he said. “I don't think I've ever felt such joy.”

If Phillip had said such a sappy thing, I would have cringed. But coming from Jonathan it sounded real.

We walked in silence for a moment, stepping into the orchard, under the gnarly branches of the apple trees laden with green fruit. As we reached the other side, I asked about his grandfather.

He said the old man's health was failing, although he still seemed full of spit and vinegar and wild ideas. “He let the farm work go and didn't ask my Onkel or cousins to help. And didn't hire anyone. He didn't plant any crops in the spring. He's always had his head in the clouds, but it seems to have gotten worse.” He sighed. “My father tells me I take after him.”

Jonathan patted my hand. “Enough about me. What's it like to be the only girl with all those Bruders?”

I gave him the short story of my immediate family, then mentioned Onkel Bob, Cate, and Betsy—and then my mother's family.

“They seem to be the ones holding on to the grudge,” I said.

“Speaking of,” Jonathan said, “what's that all about anyway?”

I stopped walking. “I honestly don't know.”

Jonathan turned toward me. “Because my parents have never talked about it—I didn't even know about it until Martin and Mervin told me. But when I asked my Dat tonight, he got angry and told me to stay away from ‘all those worthless Cramers.'”

“He hadn't said anything about it before?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“That surprises me.”

“Why?” Jonathan put his hand on my shoulder.

“I thought both our families held the grudge equally.”

“That's just it,” he said. “Just because my Dat hasn't talked about it doesn't mean he doesn't carry it. He doesn't talk about much.”

“My Daed has hard feelings, for sure. And so does my Mutter and her family. But my Daed's brother-in-law wants it to end.”

We started walking again, our hands still joined.

“Jah,” Jonathan said. “Mervin and Martin both said your Onkel Bob is a good man.” He stopped abruptly, both talking and walking, and then cleared his throat. “I didn't mean that your father and Bruders aren't.”

“Ach,” I said, pulling him along. “You're right. They're all good men. It's just the ones in my immediate family aren't as wise as Onkel Bob.” I explained that he'd been married to my Aenti, Daed's sister, who died when Betsy was born, when I was just a baby.

My paternal grandmother helped Bob with the girls until she died years ago, and my parents always seemed to respect Bob. “However,” I said, “my mother is critical of Cate, and of others in the community. It seems to be her way of trying to build herself up, by pointing out the flaws of others.”

“I think that's pretty common,” Jonathan said.

I nodded. But not acceptable. “What's your family like?” I asked.

“Very small compared to yours.”

“Oh?” I suspected his siblings were all younger than he was.

“I'm an only child.”

I wasn't sure how to respond. That was very rare for an Amish family.

“I had a Schwester once, for a few days.”

“I'm sorry. What happened?” I stared at him by the light of the moon.

“She was my twin, born after me. During the pregnancy there was no indication there were two babies, at least that's what my grandfather told me. They only heard one heartbeat, and my mother wasn't unusually large. It was the last day of January, and the roads were bad when she went into labor. The midwife arrived late. My Mamm labored too long. I weighed eight pounds when I was born. But my Schwester weighed only two pounds. My Dat told me once I'd hogged all the food.” He shook his head, sadly. “Worse, my delivery injured my Mamm, which probably cut off my Schwester's oxygen and also prevented my parents from having more children.”

I squeezed Jonathan's hand as compassion filled my heart. Not only did he not have any siblings, but it also sounded as if he'd been blamed for it, at least by his father.

He smiled at me. “It's sad, I know. I wish my Daed had more children, particularly more sons, to focus on.”

“Why's that?”

“I'm a big disappointment to him.” His voice was matter of fact. “I've never measured up to what he hoped for.”

“What are you saying?” I couldn't comprehend why any father wouldn't be pleased with Jonathan.

“Mostly that he wants me to farm, and I want to be a carpenter.”

“But you're so good at what you do.”

“He doesn't think it has much value.” We reached the field with the downward slope beyond the orchard. He chuckled. “You keep changing the subject to me. I want to talk about you.”

Before I could protest, he asked, “Who was that guy playing volleyball today? The one who called out your name when we were down at the creek.”

I groaned. “That's not talking about me.”

He stopped walking again at the edge of the orchard. “Phillip, right?”

I nodded, stepping beside him.

“Are you courting him?”

“He and my parents think so.”

“But you don't?”

I took a deep breath. Three conversations with Jonathan, plus Cate's insight, had convinced me. I knew for certain. “Phillip's not right for me.” Not once had I felt for him any of the emotions that nearly overwhelmed me now as I stood beside Jonathan.

“I'm so glad to hear you speak honestly.”

“Denki,” I answered. “There's no reason not to, jah? If I know he's not right for me, I shouldn't pretend.” Inwardly I groaned. Somehow I'd have to make it clear to Phillip, sometime soon.

Jonathan leaned toward me. “Nor should I pretend when I know who is right for me, jah?”

My eyebrows arched as I spoke. “And who would that be?”

He beamed, his eyes dancing. “Who do you think it is?”

I stepped backward. “But how can you know so soon?”

“I know.”

I tugged on his arm, urging him to walk again. He obliged. “What about Hannah?” I asked. “I heard you wanted to court her.”

He answered in a calm voice. “I was interested in her, jah. I
thought
she might be a possibility. But I
know
with you.”

“How do you know?”

With the most sincere look I'd ever seen, he said, “How could I not know?” He kept his eyes on me as we walked, his face still bright from the moonlight. “And how about you? You said you know Phillip isn't the right one. Any chance you know that I am?”

“Would you think ill of me if I did?”

“Would I expect something entirely different from you than me?”

I pulled him to a stop in the hollow of the field and met his eyes. “Would you?”

“Of course not.”

Feeling awkward, I said, “Perhaps we're both being too rash.” I took a few steps in the direction of the Haus.

Jonathan caught my hand. “Perhaps you speak too soon.”

I avoided his gaze. “So you believe in love at first sight?”

“Maybe not everyone is as blessed as we, but jah, in this case I do.” He touched my chin. “You can't tell me you're not feeling something special.”

“I can't?”

“Something you've never felt before?”

My face grew warm. “Jah, but I don't have any experience in these sorts of things.”

He cocked his head. “I thought you would have had lots of suitors.”

“My Daed is rather particular.”

“But he approves of Phillip?”

“Jah.”

“But he wouldn't of me?”

“That's right.”

“Because I'm a Mosier?”

“For starters, jah.” I had no idea what Daed would think of Jonathan if he wasn't a Mosier, but I think he'd agree with Jonathan's father—that farming was a better vocation for an Amishman than woodworking, especially when his business seemed to cater to Englischers.

Jonathan's expression turned sad as he took my hand and led me down toward the creek. My awkward feeling disappeared, replaced by a sense of hope.

I slipped my flip-flops off, feeling the cool mud on my feet. “Your family makes no difference to me though—I'd feel the same about you no matter what your name.”

“Denki. I feel the same about you,” Jonathan said, pulling me along. “But maybe we can change things, jah? Bring our two families together?”

I wasn't sure how we'd do that.

“I'm a passionate person,” he said. “I like to have a cause. As my old boss used to say, ‘Be the change.'”

I liked that.

“Are you in?”

I wasn't sure what difference we could make, but I answered, “Jah, I'm in.”

He reached across me then, his palm out. It took me a
minute to register what he was doing—a high five, something my Bruders did at times, although never with me. I put my palm up, and he bumped it with his. I liked the feel of his skin against mine.

“Here's to change,” he said, grasping my hand in his, curling his fingers around mine for the second time that day.

We walked that way for a moment, until we reached the bank, but then a firefly darted by, and then another one flitted upstream toward the house. Jonathan dropped my hand and, laughing, chased after a third one with me following close behind, stumbling now and then on the uneven ground, the mud squishing between my toes, giggling as I batted a cattail along the creek. My surging emotions, the beauty of the moonlight, and the fairylike fireflies all welled up inside of me alongside the pure joy Jonathan had spoken about. I felt it too, for the first time ever.

In a few minutes the fireflies disappeared across the creek and Jonathan stopped, waiting for me to catch up. He took me in his arms and held me tight. I wrapped my arms around him, holding my flip-flops out from his back.

The joy inside me swelled until a sob rose up alongside it.

“What's the matter?” He lifted my chin.

“I'm just so happy.” I swiped at an escaping tear.

He laughed again and hugged me tighter, his body against mine, and yet the gesture seemed innocent enough. It didn't seem as if he had any of the ulterior motives Mutter had warned me about. He seemed to simply want to hug me—and I wanted to hug him in return.

Finally he pulled away, saying, “I should get you back home.”

I nodded.

He motioned for me to climb the trail first, which I did,
and he followed behind until we came out under the willow. Then we walked side by side, holding hands.

“There are so many things I want to know about you,” he said. “Starting with . . . when's your birthday?”

“July thirty-first.”

“Just ten days from now. . . .” He paused, then asked, “And your favorite color?”

“The underside of a willow leaf,” I answered.

“Ach,” he said. “A pale, shimmery green.”

I nodded.

“Favorite story?” he asked.

“That's a hard one . . . I'd say ‘Baby Moses.' I love his sister's faith.”

“I like that one too,” he said. “Mine's ‘Jonathan and David.'”

“But Jonathan dies.”

“Jah.” His voice was serious. “But he was a faithful friend.” I imagined that was something that came easily to this Jonathan too. He paused for a moment and then asked, “Favorite food?”

I laughed. “Anything I don't have to cook.”

It took him a moment to think on that. “Ach, sounds as if that doesn't happen often.”

I nodded.

He continued. “Favorite day of the year?”

“The first snow—when everything is new.”

“Jah, I like that too,” he said. “And that night, especially if the stars are out, I go for a long walk. There's nothing as enchanting in all the world.” He stopped. “But my favorite day of this year is today.”

I turned my head.