“What’s that?”
“Faye and her husband were there.”
Claire’s hands hesitated as she took this in, then she began her task once again. “I would think that would be a good time, when both of them were there.”
“It didn’t seem wise to start in on all of that in front of a man my father does not like.”
“It was that obvious?”
“The son-in-law started telling me how much Jeremiah’s farm is worth. He was practically licking his chops. I can see why Jeremiah isn’t too thrilled with him.”
“Did you get to see Faye?”
“I did, for a few minutes. She’s changed a lot.”
Claire smiled. “People do tend to change a bit between the ages of eight and thirty-five.”
“My father said something right before my brother-in-law showed up and interrupted us.”
“Really?” She unpinned a large flat sheet and handed him one end. “Help me fold this, please.”
He grasped the two corners of the sheet. “He told me that my brother-in-law and sister want him to sell the farm and move to Gallia County with them.”
“Oh? Is he considering it?”
“He said that he isn’t . . . because he’s trying to hang on to the farm for Tobias.”
She stopped in the middle of folding the sheet and stared at him.
“It broke my heart, Claire.”
“I’m sure it did.” She finished folding the sheet and laid it in the empty basket. “But it won’t be long now before he’ll know everything. Faye and her husband never stay long. You can tell him then.”
He helped her unpin and fold another sheet. “I’m looking
forward to getting it off my chest—no matter what happens.”
She began pulling a row of sun-bleached white pillowcases off the line. “Did you call about your retirement?”
“I started the process.”
She laid the last folded pillowcase in the basket. “Are you still feeling okay about that decision?”
“I am.”
The line was empty now. He reached for her hand before she could pick up one of the laundry baskets. “What are we going to do, Claire?”
She did not ask him to explain. She knew. They both knew. A man and a woman their age who lived this close to each other, spent this much time with each other, and cared this much for each other either fell in love and spent the rest of their lives together or they went their separate ways. They did not spend the rest of their lives being buddies.
He repeated his question. “What are we going to do?”
She did not play coy or pretend not to know what he was talking about. She was Claire. “I do not know.” She looked at him with eyes as clear as the blue sky above them and answered honestly, “God help me. I do not know.”
T
om went to the store to buy some more dog food and stopped in to check his post office box on his way back.
The most he expected to be in his box were a few circulars and maybe a bill or two. He certainly didn’t expect any personal letters. So when he saw a long, official-looking envelope, he was surprised.
He opened it, scanned it, nearly dropped it, then went back and read every word, one by one, closely. Making sure he hadn’t read something wrong. He was having trouble believing what he was looking at.
The letter was from the White House.
The fact that he had applied for retirement had become a nonissue. Retired or not, he was being called to active duty. The president of the United States had just specifically asked for him to become a pilot for
Marine One
. The president’s personal helicopter. It was one of the highest honors in the world.
He was stunned. Becoming a
Marine One
pilot was the Holy Grail of every Marine helicopter pilot. A friend of his, highly qualified, had applied for the position year after year. Having watched his buddy try repeatedly and fail, Tom hadn’t even bothered.
And now this? Was it a joke? A prank of some kind?
The letter gave him a number to call. He stepped outside the post office and dialed it on his cell phone, expecting to get an operator and being put on hold.
Instead, a man so high up on the president’s staff it made Tom’s brain spin, answered on the first ring.
“This is Tom Miller,” he said. “I got your letter, and I don’t understand. I’m honored, but I never applied for the job.”
“We know, kid.” The man on the other end of the phone chuckled. “This is a special request from the president. He asked for you personally.”
This was the new president’s first term. Tom had even voted for him. It made sense that he was handpicking some of his staff—but why him?
“How does he even know who I am?”
“You flew a junior senator a few years back. You probably don’t remember it now. He’s your new president. The way I understand it, he still believes that only your expertise saved your passengers’ lives that day.”
Tom tried to think back. He did remember a senator of some kind who had been especially wobbly going down the stairs after a tumultuous trip—but Tom had flown such missions so many times, it seemed almost routine to him.
“What had happened on that trip?”
“The president said something about how you safely had flown through an ice storm.”
Ah, now he remembered.
When he was flying, nothing bothered him. It was almost like a drug, the feeling of being part of the machine, of being able to know—just by the touch of his hands on the instruments—if the motor was the slightest bit out of synch. Or whether or not the rotors were taking on ice. That had happened once, when that senator who was now the president had been on board.
Tom had been given wrong information about the weather by those who were paid to know. They had begun to take on ice, one of the most dangerous things a helicopter pilot could experience. He had seen the ice crystals beginning to form on the cockpit and knew the rotors were taking on ice as well. He could feel the helicopter growing heavier and knew it was only a matter of minutes before the rotors would stop altogether and they would plummet out of the sky, as heavy as a boulder.
He caught the danger just in time—in time to duck beneath the ice into slightly warmer weather. Then, before the weight could make them descend any farther, he had shaken the helicopter like a dog flinging off water, hoping to rid the rotors of the ice.
It had worked. They remained safely in the air and eventually made a routine landing. He remembered that the senator had looked a little green when they landed.
“Was that as bad as I thought?” the senator asked, as he staggered toward the door.
“Yes, sir,” Tom said, “it was.”
“Good job.” Nothing else was said. The senator simply clapped him on the shoulder as he went past.
The incident had stuck in his mind because so many dignitaries he had flown were too self-important to speak to a mere pilot. That senator wasn’t. Funny, he’d met the man who was to become the leader of the free world, and only now realized it.
A good leader was hard to find. A good leader who could withstand the scrutiny of running a national campaign was even rarer. Finding one who also noticed and praised the people who worked around him was a prize indeed.
“We checked out your background, of course. The president was impressed that you were born and raised Amish.
He said that from what he knew about the Amish, it would be impossible for them to be infiltrated by a terrorist organization.”
There was a pause, as though the person on the other end had shifted gears or shifted papers. “You’ve been on sick leave for a while. How are you feeling?”
“Much stronger.”
“Assuming you pass the physical then, we’re offering you a job, my friend.”
The military had surprised him a few times, but this was beyond anything that had happened before. It nearly rendered him speechless. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to tell you. Say yes. We need your answer now so that I can get the paperwork started. We’ll need you here tomorrow evening at the latest.”
Tom felt like his head was in a fog. In his mind and heart, when he awoke this morning, he was a retired soldier. His papers hadn’t gone through yet, but that was just a matter of time and a few formalities. The big hurdle had been making that choice. It had not been easy, but once he made it, he made it with his whole heart.
“Could I have a few days to think this over?”
“The president has requested you.” The man’s voice grew cold. “According to our records, you have no dependents. I can see no reason for thought or discussion.”
No dependents? He thought of Amy in her wheelchair, Jesse on top of the barn roof with a makeshift parachute, Albert chasing an irate rooster around the yard so he could put it back in the chicken pen, Levi and his struggles with his marriage, Maddy and her newfound religion, Jeremiah pitching hay in the barn while his son-in-law circled the farm like a vulture.
And Claire. Always Claire.
“What are we going to do?” he’d asked. She had known exactly what he was asking. Instead of feigning ignorance, she had replied, “I do not know.”
He was no longer a lovesick boy. He was a man, and he knew exactly when a woman was interested in him. Over the past few weeks, a light had begun to flicker in Claire’s eyes whenever they spent time together. Her face, so expressive, would brighten whenever he came near. Now that there were no secrets between them, that look of acceptance had deepened.
What
were
they going to do?
In one way or another, he had been pondering that ever since he’d arrived in Holmes County and discovered that she was free to remarry . . . but only an Amish man.
For those I love, I will sacrifice.
He could not ask her and the children to give up their faith, to become
Englisch
. But he could sacrifice the passion of his life, flying, for a passion he had held even longer—his love for Claire.
Retiring had been, in his mind, the beginning of the process of slowly building a new life for himself. He had nearly convinced himself that he was willing to go back to his roots, not by becoming Swartzentruber, but by embracing the gentler religion of the Old Order Amish.
And now, just as he thought he had made up his mind and could see the path of his life spread out before him, he received this summons.
Marine One
pilots were not just the best of the best—they were the best. Period. If he accepted this position, he would be using his hard-earned skills to keep the president from harm.
He had been a soldier most of his life. There were things that had become hardwired within him. Things that were part of the fabric of his soul.
Semper Fi
—always faithful. No
Man Left Behind. There was one other thing that was embedded within him—patriotism. If his country called, he would answer. Even had he succeeded in retiring, every Marine, no matter how old, knew that if his country ever called, he would answer.
There was no such thing as an ex-Marine.
Tom unconsciously stood a little taller. “I’ll be in Washington by tomorrow evening.”
C
laire could not believe what was happening—and so quickly.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said, after explaining the situation to her. “I have to go. I have to do this. I have no choice.”
“But so soon?”
“Yes. So soon.”
He seemed so distracted, so different from the laid-back friend who had always seemed to have all the time in the world to chat. He had a look in his eyes that seemed far away from her and this backward place. It seemed as though he was already flying the president in his mind, but his body had not yet caught up with his mind.
How could flying a helicopter be so
wunderbar
? To her it didn’t seem wonderful at all. It seemed like a frightening and dangerous way to make a living.
He handed her a check. “Here’s the rest of this month’s rent . . . and a little extra.”
The money was the last of her worries right at this moment. Tom was leaving. As far as she could tell, he would not be coming back.
What had happened to the thoughtful, compassionate man she knew? When had he been replaced with this . . . soldier? He was even standing straighter and taller.
He was not the Tobias she remembered from the past at all. Nothing of Tobias remained. He had turned into someone else entirely. The soldier, Tom Miller, was brisk and in charge and very much in a hurry.
He’d packed his duffel bag.
“Anything I’ve left behind, feel free to use. There’s some canned goods and a few books I’m leaving. Oh, and I bought some work clothes I won’t be needing. I think they might fit Levi if you take them up in the legs.”
She could hardly bear to look him in the face, it hurt so badly to see the eagerness there. How boring they must all seem to him now. The scars had healed to the point that he simply looked rugged and masculine now. For the first time since he’d come, he was dressed in a uniform. If one liked uniforms, which she did not, he was an extremely impressive-looking man.
There would be many women interested in him—this man skilled enough to be handpicked by the president.
A simple Amish midwife could not hope to compete with all these exciting things coming into his life. She stared down at her hands, in which resided his check. A number caught her eye, and she gasped.
“This is not the right amount!” she said.
“I told you I’d added a little extra.”
“This is much more than a little extra. This is extravagant.”
“I can afford it, Clare,” he said. “And after I leave, I want you to give that money to Levi and tell him I said for him to go buy you a decent horse. Something dependable.”
“I cannot accept this much.”
“Please. After all you’ve done for me, the least I can do is make certain you have dependable transportation. Besides that, you have no idea how much dog food Rocky can eat. I probably need to give you more just to take care of that!”
“We’re happy to have Rocky. The children are already arguing over whose bedroom he will sleep in.”