Authors: Lydia Michaels
She was intrigued that
she had come across another vampyre before Christian. She wondered if Mr.
Maddox could tell she and Christian were like him. Did he notice she was
immortal now, but she wasn’t when he had his consultation? Maybe there was some
sort of scent that had attracted him, like a cat in heat, since she was
supposedly a called mate.
There were so many
questions, but Christian didn’t look like he’d be giving up any answers any
time soon. When they returned to her apartment Delilah ordered Chinese food,
two spring rolls for her a sampler platter for Christian.
He still wasn’t acting
himself and she wondered, if Mr. Maddox had been a woman, if Christian would’ve
taken his presence so badly. Christian told her from the beginning that he was
possessive and didn’t favor her talking to other male vampyres, but how was she
to know Mr. Maddox was a vampyre? He looked like every other drop dead gorgeous
man she had ever seen.
“Is Brad Pitt a
vampyre?” she blurted as she nibbled at her spring roll.
“Who?”
“Brad Pitt.”
“I do not know this
man.”
That was a pity. How
cool would it be if Christian were friends with someone like Brad? She thought
about Tom Cruise and his role as Lestat. Clever casting?
I think not!
And
what about Matt Damon? He was a hottie too. “Are there vampyres in Boston?”
That was where Matt was from, right?
Christian frowned. “I
believe there are immortals on every continent and in every major city.”
“Sounds like a credit
card commercial.
They’re everywhere you want to be…”
His frown deepened. “You
do not want to be anywhere near other immortals, Delilah. They are not like
those you have met on the farm.”
She blew out a breath.
“I was just curious.”
His face softened. “I’m
sorry. I have been…distracted. What is it you would like to know?”
She shrugged. “I dunno.
Who’s the oldest vampyre?”
“I have no idea.
Vampyres date back as long as mortals.”
“So you guys don’t have,
like, an Adam and Eve?”
“We do not separate
ourselves from humanity the way legend assumes we do. Our people refer to the
lesson of Adam and Eve same as mortals do.”
“What about Hollywood?
Do you think there’s a lot of vampyres there?”
“Is Hollywood a town?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Come on, Christian. Pick up a pop culture book.”
He shrugged. “How am I
to know of things that do not involve me? I do not expect you to understand
Amish culture without experiencing it.”
“No, but you sure expect
me to learn. How about you learn some English stuff.”
“I do not see the
point.”
Her lips pressed tight.
“How about because I’m your mate and it’s important to
me
? I feel like
we only talk about what’s supposed to happen and we never learn anything about
each other’s pasts. I want to know who you are, Christian. You’ve been around
for almost three centuries. There has to be more to you than just a simple
Amish farmer. And I want you to know about me too.”
He seemed ready to say
something but thought better of it. Looking at his plate he exhaled irritably.
“How is one supposed to eat rice with sticks?”
She laughed. “It’s all
part of the experience. Do you want a spoon?” He nodded and she went to the
kitchen to find him something to eat his rice with.
Once Christian managed a
few bites, he continued. “It wasn’t until the 1740’s that we had truly settled
into our culture. I was young, a boy, but my mother pressed into me the
importance of being able to hold my own with the other males. I was to
represent the Schrock line and I was to be a male of worth and honor.
“I liked our new home. I
find it difficult to recall much of Europe or anything from the voyage here. I
remember being cold and frightened. The bishop was like a father to me in many
ways, demanding I get the same respect as any other youth, regardless of my
bastard station.
“They told me my father
died, but I knew that wasn’t the truth of it. I often saw my mother upset. She
never cried in front of me, but I would catch her appearing shaky. Eleazar
would often come to comfort her in such moments. There was a time where I
suspected they were lovers, but I have since dismissed such ideas. They are
friends and the bishop seems the one keeper of my mother’s secrets. He has held
them for a very long time and I respect him for that.”
Christian’s eyes focused
on a spot just past her shoulder. He seemed to be seeing things from a time
long ago. “Was your father your mother’s mate?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t think he
is dead?”
“I know he isn’t. He
fathered Dane twenty years ago and his sister Cybil sixteen years ago.”
“You could find him,
Christian. There are computer programs and the Internet—”
“I do not wish to find a
sire who abandoned me.”
“But I thought your mom
left him.”
He drew in a deep
breath. “That is the way I have come to understand it, yes. I love my mother,
Delilah. The mention of anything concerning my father…upsets her. My loyalty is
to the woman who raised me. She showed me how to be the best man I could be.
You may not see my value, but on the farm I am considered a male of my word.”
“I believe you are a man
of your word,” she said softly. “My issue isn’t with the truth behind your
words. It’s with your stubbornness.”
He nodded. “I am working
to be more agreeable. You help me see that I am not always right, that there
are varying levels of right and wrong. I want to be a fair mate, Delilah.
Although my methods are not always that of an English standard, I have my
reasons for being firm. It is
because
of the things I have seen over the
years that I am so.”
She placed her hand over
his. “I’m glad you’re willing to try. Truly, Christian, I don’t want to do this
alone. I want us to make this mate thing work.”
His hand turned and
enveloped hers. He squeezed her fingers affectionately. “Me too,
pintura.
”
She picked up a fortune
cookie and cracked it open.
He who throws dirt is losing ground. Whatever.
“Continue
with your story.”
He sat back and brushed
palms over the lap of his pants. “There was a man called William Penn. We
settled in his colony and were a welcomed group. Settlers often feared the
trouble budding in Europe coming to play in North America, but our belief was
that we found a private utopia. Our order was even farther removed from the
other Amish orders in the area.
“The natives were drawn
into these European conflicts, believing many of us settlers had stolen their
land. The French urged them to attack. You may have heard of the French and
Indian wars when in school. There were raids and innocents were taken captive.
I was a young man, not yet in my twenties, but I felt we should intervene. We
were stronger than mortals, no matter what side they fought for. However, it is
not the Amish way to interfere. We do not believe in violence for any cause.”
She settled into her
seat, drawing up her legs and resting her cheek on her knees. Christian
continued.
“It seemed a unanimous
decision for the Amish not to take part in the ongoing hostilities of the war.
One evening, the animals were restless. Dogs barked from the neighboring farms.
I was not the only one who sensed danger. We took the females to the Safe House
and put them in the basement while the males stood guard, anxiously waiting for
whatever was coming.
“It was mid-September.
The night was silent. As immortals, when we are together, our gifts tend to
feed off one another’s. The cool evening air pulsed with expectation. And then
we heard a shot. We do not keep firearms on the farm, but mortal neighbors
possessed hunting rifles. It was obvious there was an intruder nearby and I
waited to hear defensive shots ring out. But there were none.
“The acrid scent of fire
seeped through the open windows from across several acres of land. Voices
carried, perhaps only to our immortal ears, but we heard the screaming all the
same. The females began to panic, unsure what was happening. We needed to protect
our own, knowing, as immortals, we were not in any true danger. I wanted to
help our neighbors, but the risk of exposure was too great and we were told to
wait silently.”
His voice was soft, but
his eyes were turbulent. She wondered if certain memories, no matter how old,
always remained freshly preserved in some minds.
That’s how Delilah felt
when she remembered coming home to find her grandmother. She could still taste
the fear on her tongue that choked her that day as she touched her
grandmother’s cold hand, realizing she would never see her Nan smile again.
“By dawn, the sound of
warriors rushing over the fields played through the fading black air. They were
mostly natives and some French. The scent of smoke became so thick phantom
coughs echoed through the dark. Eleazar said he could see tall flames licking
at the trees over the knoll, where our neighbors’ home rested.”
Christian’s expression
grew pained. His voice broke. “The family escaped. They used cider to hold off
the flames from where they hid in the basement. Once the natives retreated as
dawn gave away their presence, the family supposedly climbed from a small
cellar window. One boy was injured, shot by the intruders. They ran and hid,
but there was still danger afoot.
“I heard the neighboring
orders waking. There is a gentle tremble to the earth you will soon discover,
upon the farm each morning, just before dawn. That is the world coming awake.
The other orders smelled the smoke and heard the screams and ventured into the
nearby woods to see what was happening.”
He swallowed and turned
away. Delilah could barely make out the rasp his voice had become. “We are
taught not to defend ourselves, to provide evil with the other cheek after evil
smites one. No one interfered. There were once nothing but Amish farms
surrounding the mountains, and not a single male went to help that innocent
family. Not even us.”
Delilah’s throat was
dry. Her chest tightened. She knew there was more.
“The natives had
captured the son, the daughter, and mother while they tried to escape. They
were scalped and murdered, innocent blood shed in misled hate. The eldest son
escaped, but was soon captured. He was held captive with his father, who
advised him to submit gracefully to their fate. Everything we Amish do and believe
is based on the fate we believe God has chosen for us. Yet, it is only our
immortal callings that validate such faith in the Lord. It amazes me, the
unquestioning devotion I have witnessed through the years from mortal orders. I
am not surprised how much the practice has fallen in the past century, when
they do not hear God’s call as we do.”
He sipped his water.
“They walked that boy and his father for three days. When they settled, they
were ordered to run the gauntlet where the natives would beat their unarmed
captives. However, the father and son made an offer to the chief to share with
him some peaches they had collected on the way and the order was rescinded. It
is another lesson we are taught at a young age—evil cannot overcome us if we
overcome evil with good.
“Upon daylight, we sent
an immortal elder out to track the captives. This happened for three mornings
until the natives took the Susquehanna River. It took some time to discover
what actually happened to the captives. They were separated by Lake Erie. The
young man was traded into a small native village that he soon escaped. It
seemed every time he left his life in the hands of his fate, doing exactly what
the bible had taught him to do, his literal faith had returned him to danger.
“I imagine it was a
staggering journey back to his empty home. He crossed what the American
government considered enemy lines. Once retained by American soldiers, he was
again a captive to a life he had no interest partaking in and was forced
through extraneous examinations. It took him nine months before he was able to
make his way home.
“Many years later, after
the conclusion of the war, captives were returned to their homes. The meeting
took place in Lancaster. The man who had escaped had remarried and moved to a nearby
county. He returned for the meeting, in hopes of finding his kin. They were not
there, but the man continued to petition the government in hopes of locating
his estranged family. He never found his son.”
It was so much more than
a story. This was an account of history told by a man who had lived it. A man
who had lived those long years out, always wondering what happened to that
young man who had lost his family. Emotion tightened Delilah’s chest.
“Still, the man held no
ill will toward those who murdered and had taken his family hostage. He truly
believed he was doing as he should, trusting in a faith that had—in my
eyes—misled him. Several years later, a young native approached his home asking
for food. He made him wait outside and—once he had fed the native—asked what
his purpose was. In broken Dutch, the native spoke his name. It was his son.”