Saving Gideon (15 page)

“Anyone of them in particular?”

She blushed. “No.
Dat
wouldn’t allow it. Not until I’m sixteen.”

Which really didn’t answer her question, but Avery didn’t call her on it.

“Mary Elizabeth!”

She winced. “Yes,
Dat
.”

“Stop standin’ around and tend to your brother.” Gabriel pointed with his hammer toward the sycamore. Eight-year-old Joseph, who was not allowed on the roof, had decided to get a better look from the branches of the tree.

“Yes,
Dat
.” She shot Avery an
I’m sorry
look and turned away to get her brother.

Avery had a feeling Gabriel’s command had nothing to do with Joseph’s safety—and everything to do with her.

In a day and a half, everyone in the district—maybe the entire settlement—would know that his son had shaved his beard. Maybe sooner since Beth Troyer knew. She was a good woman, but she talked too much at quiltin’ frolics.

And picnics.

And Amish baseball games.

Abram chanced a look at Gideon where he skimmed off the ruined shingles and pitched them over the edge of the roof. By now Gideon’s beard should have been long and full. Instead, he was barefaced. Shamed. Once the bishop found out, he was sure to have Gideon shunned. The problem was, Gideon hadn’t been around much. He’d stopped coming to church, and rarely, if ever, left his property.

Shunned or not, Abram didn’t think his son would care much either way.

But a
meidung
would also mean not giving him food. Ruthie would fret if she couldn’t feed him. She had herself convinced that if she didn’t provide him with food, he wouldn’t eat at all. Abram hadn’t protested, because he was scared she was right.

He had raised Gideon better than that. Had given him the same life lessons as Gabe. When Rebecca died, Gabe didn’t hole up and grieve like an
Englischer
. He’d pushed on, raisin’ his children and accepting God’s will.

Not Gideon.

’Course, Gideon had lost more than his wife. He’d lost his son. Abram was afraid that he’d lost his faith in the Almighty as well.

Perhaps if he talked to the bishop on Gideon’s behalf. The
Ordnung
was clear, but maybe Rueben Beachy could see his way to giving Gideon a little more time to get his mind back right. The bishop knew Gideon’s devotion. He knew what a good man Gideon was. And Abram had faith that, with a little time and direction, Gideon would find his way back.

There was still life left in him.

Abram had seen his son’s hands linger a bit too long on the
Englischer’s
waist when Gideon had helped her down from the buggy. The act was familiar, almost intimate. He hoped Ruthie hadn’t noticed, but he knew there wasn’t much his wife missed.

They had prayed separately and together that the Lord would bring Gideon around. And He had. Abram should have been a little clearer, but it was done.

There had just been so much to pray about lately, what with Gideon’s grief and Ruthie’s doctor appointments.

Abram stopped hammering. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun, allowing the glory of the Lord to wash over him. Faith was believing that God would take care of the problems they faced. And he had faith. But there were times when faith became stretched too thin with barely enough to go ’round.

Unfortunately, this was one of those times.

Abram opened his eyes, readjusted his hat, and started back to work.

“Annie!”

Avery turned, amazed at how accustomed she had become to being called by her middle name.

Gideon’s mother, Ruth, strode across the yard, her steps purposeful.

“Can I have a word, please?”

The urgency in Ruth’s voice made Avery pause. “Of course.”

She had decided not to try and fit in with this gathering, nor did she try to separate herself. She simply moved around, watching the men work, the children play in the sun.

Ruth linked her arm with Avery’s. “Walk with me.”

They set off around the house and strolled between the rows of fruit trees growing out back. The concerned light in Ruth’s eyes had Avery tamping down the questions that filled her mind.

Ruth leaned her head closer. “I don’t know how you came to be here.”

How should she respond to that?

Ruth continued. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is you are here. I’ve heard that you are stayin’ with my son.”

Avery nodded.

Ruth stopped. “Don’t break his heart.”

Avery nearly tripped. “I—”

“From one woman to another.” Ruth’s eyes implored her. “Please. Please.”

“I’m only staying for another week or so.”

Tears welled up in green eyes so much like her son’s and spilled down Ruth’s cheeks. “He’s already so sad. When I saw him pull up, I thought he’d finally come to himself. But then I saw you, and how he . . .” She lowered her chin. “He’s already lost so much.” She wiped her tears away, took a deep breath, and gazed into Avery’s face. “I shouldn’t be talkin’ about this.”

Avery saw strength and resolve in Ruth’s face. “It’s okay.” Her heart went out to Ruth and the entire Fisher family. They’d lost so much. Gideon had lost his partner, and his faith. Ruth had lost her son.

Ruth took Avery’s hand in hers, the calluses and roughened palms testimony to the years of caring for her family. Lines etched across her forehead. “Promise me, Annie. You seem like a good woman. I know you mean us no harm, but promise me, you won’t break his heart. He’s just now startin’ to heal.”

Avery’s throat tightened with emotion. “I promise.”

How could she say anything else?

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Gideon chanced a sidelong glance at Annie, before turning his full attention back to the road. But in that quick second, he took in every detail of her appearance—flushed cheeks, smiling lips, windblown hair. She brushed against him with the natural sway of the horses, the sensation both sweet and unsettling.

“I did.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. He wished it was long enough for her to pin back. It was just so distracting all over the place like that. “Your family is very nice.”

“On average, you mean?”

She shrugged. “Katie Rose is wonderful. Your mother welcomed me like I was her new best friend. I love Lizzie like a sister.”

“Lizzie?”

“Mary Elizabeth.”

“Better not let Gabe hear you call her that.”

“That’s what she wants to be called.”

“Regardless.” He gave her his best
Do not push me on this
look, the same one that always had his Miriam hushing up in a hurry.

Again, she tucked a strand of flyaway hair behind one ear. “I think a person should be addressed the way they would like, and not just told what they can be called.”

So that’s what this was about
. “You don’t like bein’ called Annie.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what did you say?”

“Your brother frowns too much.”

Jah
, it was the truth, but he couldn’t blame Gabriel. He had a lot to deal with and not much patience for trivial things—like nicknames.

“He expects too much of Lizzie . . . Mary Elizabeth.”

“It’s our way.”

“She’s not those boys’ mother.”

“Neither are you.”

She harrumphed, and crossed her arms over her front, but Gideon had the feeling the matter wasn’t entirely closed. She was a mouthy one, this
Englischer
Annie. He smiled and turned the buggy down the dirt road that led home.

“And what of the women folk?” he asked, hoping to take the scowl off her face.

“Beth and Hester are very nice. They kind of . . .”

“Kinda what?”

“I know these two women. They’re friends of my dad. Beth and Hester remind me of them—always busy, always finding something to get into.”

Gideon chuckled. “That is for sure and for certain.”

“A little on the annoying side, but you love them just the same.”

“Sounds like you really got to know them this mornin’.”

She nodded, the sunshine playing off her face and hair. “I think they’re just like that, you know.”

“It is our way,” he said again. “We don’t have anything to hide.”

“What about when the bishop finds out about your beard?”

He turned so sharply that he almost spun the buggy around. Then he straightened out the horses and acted like nothing was wrong. “It’s no matter.”

She put a hand on her chest. “I heard them talking. I don’t think they knew I was listening.”

“Hester and Beth are always goin’ on about somethin’.”

“They said you’ll be shunned.”

He grunted, searching around for a way to change the subject.

She cocked her head. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. It worries your family and your neighbors.”

He didn’t reply. He hated that his
mudder
was concerned, but there was nothing he could do about it. The deed was done. They could shun him all they wanted, but Miriam and Jamie were still gone.

“Is it because you’ve been skipping church?”

“Let it go, Annie.”

“But I—”

“Let it go.”

She sat back. “For now,” she said. Something in his tone must have gotten through her stubborn streak.

Gideon choked back a relieved sigh.

No one had questioned him since he had moved out here. Since the accident. No one but this
Englischer
. No one had asked him how he was doing, and no one knew the part he played. And he surely didn’t want Annie to know. She looked at him with awe and wonder. If she knew the truth, would she ever look at him that way again?

“Whoa, now.” He pulled the horses to a stop halfway between the barn and the house, then turned on the bench seat to look at her.

She stared back at him.

He wanted to touch her wayward hair, trace a line between her newly-earned freckles. She was too close and too far away all in the same moment.

She could feel it too. He knew it. Her eyes flared with recognition.

“Annie, I . . .” He didn’t know what to say, but in the quiet moment that stretched between them, he needed to say something.

“Yes?” She leaned toward him, the combined scents of lavender and woman filled his senses.

He wanted nothing more than to give into temptation, to lean in and taste the tremble of her lips. “I—”

“Yoo-hoo! We’re here.” Mary Elizabeth pulled in behind them.

Gideon and Annie jumped apart. They clambered down opposite sides of the buggy as if it had caught fire.

Gideon ran his thumbs under the edge of his suspenders, avoiding eye contact with Annie. “I’ll take care of the horses.”

“Fine, fine.” She smoothed down the sides of her skirt. “I’ll go . . . learn how to cook.”

“
Gut, gut
.” He gathered up the horses’ reins and led them the rest of the way to the barn, giving his sister and his niece a half-hearted wave of welcome.

7

B
y the time Avery turned in, the nighttime sky was littered with stars. She snuggled into her makeshift bed and closed her eyes with a contented sigh.

All in all, it was a good day.
Wunderbaar
, Gideon would say. She was dead tired, but in a satisfying way, her head filled with all the new things she had taken in.