Arms of Love (7 page)

She bent to snatch up a cloth from the floor and added it to the pile to be washed. She did not know how to respond without bursting out that she, too, despite her fear, would love to carry Adam’s babe.

Ellen cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Lena. To speak of life in the face of your loss was unthinking. I—I loved your mother dearly. She was my only friend hereabouts, with the next nearest farm nearly five miles way. I doubt that I shall ever find the friendship of a woman of such strength and character as your
mamm
.”

Lena smiled then. “There is nothing to forgive. I—I too pray that Gott will bless Adam and me with many
kinner
in the years to come. I spoke without thought earlier. And I deeply value your words of praise for my
mamm
. I know it is not our way to praise one so highly, even in death.”

Ellen stretched her hand across the deathbed and Lena took it, feeling an accord of strength. “Lena, what women say behind private doors is sometimes as much blessed, I think, as the words of the bishop himself.”

Lena looked at her with mild shock. “Truly?”

“Ya. It is given to women to often minister to the dead, and how can we mourn without praising as well?”

Lena nodded, tears filling her eyes at this simple wisdom. “
Ach
,” she whispered, “you bring balm to my soul. Thank you.”

Ellen squeezed her hand. “The Lord has a plan and a blessing in all of this for you, Lena. I am sure of it.”

Lena could only nod at this declaration of peace and pray that it would be so.

Chapter 5

A
dam followed the guard into the dim interior of the building. He could hear the hustle and bustle of granary business being conducted above, but the bowels of the building echoed with coughing and muted groans. Lancaster was a curious mixture of Loyalists, Patriots, pacifists, and, of course, prisoners of war. The makeshift jail was dark and damp, though Adam had heard that conditions in the Reading jail were worse. It seemed that the Patriots had no stomach for the peacekeeping sects, and jail was the least of what might happen to one whose faith did not support the bearing of arms.

He felt his way along thick stones, having to bend at places to match the guard’s shorter stature, then came to a small, iron-barred space in which a single candle gave off smoky light.

Lena’s father sat in a straight-backed chair next to a table, the only two articles of furniture in the room, and dozed with a troubled frown on his grizzled face. Adam had the sudden urge to bolt, wondering for the third time that morning whether he should be the one to bring the news of Mary Yoder’s death. Yet he knew how difficult it would be for Lena to do, and he hoped to spare her the pain.

The guard unlocked the door, then brushed past Adam, disappearing back into the dark passage without a word. Adam cleared his throat, and the older man stirred, drawing the tattered gray blanket closer about his thin frame.

“Eh? Who is it?”

A rat ran across Adam’s foot as he stepped from the shadows to press against the bars. “Adam Wyse.”

Samuel Yoder jerked wide-awake then.

“And what is your business, Adam Wyse?” The older man’s voice was hoarse, and his overly patient tone seemed to Adam to be thinly veiled contempt.

“I must speak quickly; I bring sad news.”

“Go on with it then,” Samuel said coldly.

Adam sighed, pressing his head against the chill iron bars. “Do you know that there was a time when I would have given anything for your approval? Can you tell me why you are against me?”

“Because there is a darkness about you, Adam Wyse. Be it your past, or who you are now . . . I cannot discern, but it is not what I would choose firstly for my daughter’s life. Now, if you please, your news?”

Adam sighed. So much for receiving a clear-cut answer from the man. Then he remembered his mission.

“Your wife . . . Mary died this morn giving birth to another daughter.”

“As the Lord wills.”

The reply was what Adam expected, but the sight of the older man’s head bowed in sorrowful acceptance was almost more than he could watch. He fisted his hands on the bars, longing to touch, to clasp hands and pray. He thought of past church meetings, before the war began, when his people had felt freer to gather together. He supposed he’d been less of a cynic then, believing more in the will of the Lord and less in his own personal power. He sought to retrieve that place in his mind and spirit at times, but it seemed chained away from him, held just out of reach.

Samuel raised his head. “Go on with you. You’ve told your tale.”

“I would help you—help Lena, if I can.”

“She needs no help of yours!” Anger flashed from the bleary eyes of the prisoner as he rose up from the chair.

“Quiet,” Adam hissed. “
Sei se gut
.” He pushed on the door so that it gave a bit of a telling squeak. “I’ve settled with the guard. In a few minutes you’ll hear a commotion from the streets. It’ll be enough time for you to slip away and go back home.”

Samuel stared at him, then laughed aloud before breaking off into a cough. He shuffled closer to his chair and sat back down.

“And you think that no army is bound to look for me there? It will only bring more trouble for Lena. Your plan is not thought out, nor is it righteous. I stay here until properly released.”

Adam wanted to grind his teeth at both the sensibility of the words and the refusal of the man to even try. “You could at least see her, reassure her . . . then go into hiding.”

Samuel closed his eyes, and Adam gripped his hands against the bars. “I merely seek to do what I can.”

The old man looked up and shook his head sadly. “You seek to do what you desire, Adam Wyse. That is what moves you—not
Gott
. Following one’s own desires brings nothing but evil for those who try to keep to the way of the Lord.”

“Is it not the way of the Lord to bring freedom—be it to you, here and now, or to those who would worship freely and may have to fight to keep that right?”

“Freedom? At what cost, Adam? So that our people can be persecuted once more, hunted down, dragged to prison, left to die alone as they once were in the Palatinate? Make no mistake, this war of revolution brings more division, more of a sword to our people than one could imagine. And you, above all, as I can see in the darkness surrounding you, should recognize this. So again I ask you, at what cost?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you had better find out before you do unthinking harm. Now go, and send the guard back to lock the door.”

“Have you no message to give to Lena? To John and Abigail?”

“It is all as the Lord wills. Lena will find her way. I am sure of this.”

Adam’s temper broke. “
Ya
, and I wonder how sure you are of your wife finding her way to death alone this morning with only a terrified young girl to tend her?”

“May
Gott
forgive your words, as I do.”

Adam suppressed a snarl and tore himself away. It took a full minute for him to compose himself before blinking out into the light and meeting the crooked smile of the guard, who’d probably made it a point to overhear every word.

“Done with your business, then? I’m still keeping the horse. Had a friend take him to stable in case ye might change yer mind.”

Adam swung to the empty hitching post and resisted the urge to throttle the guard. He stepped into the mud to start the long walk home when a shadow fell across his path. He lifted his head to meet the cold gray eyes of his father.

“On foot,
sohn
? Now why is that?”

Joseph Wyse stared level into his second son’s golden eyes. He couldn’t repress a certain fatherly pride that the boy was his height exactly: just over six feet, and much better built. But he knew, in truth, that physical strength did not matter, not in the relationship that the two shared. It was mental strength, the power of the will that bound them, and Joseph was determined to keep the tipped balance of power that lay between him and the boy. He also wanted nothing to interfere with his rising role as a deacon among the scattered Amish farms.

“Again,
sohn
. I ask you about the horse.”

“Tim’s gone, sir.” Adam’s strong throat worked in the sunshine against the white of his collar.

Joseph considered. Adam must have tried to barter the horse for Samuel Yoder’s freedom and lost. He pushed aside a sudden memory of his own father’s fury when he’d lost a milk cow to a wolf pack. The beating had broken his ribs and left him unable to walk for nearly a week.

He pushed aside the familiar tormenting thoughts and cleared his throat. “So how fares the prisoner?”

He watched Adam flinch, just slightly, but it was enough to bring him a simmering satisfaction. So long as the boy feared him, all was as it should be.

“
Fater
. . . I-I’ll take any punishment you think deserving for the loss of Tim. I was only trying to help the Yoder family.”

“
Any
punishment?”

Adam dropped his gaze to the muddy ground, then nodded. “
Ya, Fater
.”

Joseph never would have had the courage to suggest such a thing to his own father. He reached out to clasp his son’s shoulder and relished the startled play of muscle beneath his fingertips. Adam looked back up, and Joseph slid his hand away, smiling.

“Let us consider it for what it was, Adam. I know your feelings run deep for Lena Yoder. And what is one horse to us, even in this fair country’s debacle of affairs? Forget it. I’ll make excuse to your mother and brother.”

Adam’s golden eyes shone with a mixture of confusion and happiness. “
Danki, Fater
.”

“
Gut
. Now I’ll leave you to walk home with your thoughts.” Joseph smiled again, knowing the length and dangers of the long walk home. “A gut day, my
sohn
.” He mounted the seat of the small Conestoga wagon and turned the horses with ease, sparing nary so much as a backward glance for his son.

Chapter 6