Saving Gideon (22 page)

It was better this way. It seemed callous and unchristian, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. It was better that she think he was still so in love with his wife that he couldn’t bear to be touched by another. It was for the best that she think she was too bold for him, because the truth was scarier to him. By far. The truth was that he had waited for her touch. Wanted it desperately, and in that desperation knew it had to be stopped.

Gideon stared up at the boards above him, sleep elusive. He had stayed in the barn for the rest of the day. He’d oiled all the leather in the horses’ gear. He’d brushed the animals unnecessarily. And he repaired the loose floorboards of the hay loft. That had taken about two hours. The rest of the time he sat and tried not to think about . . . her.

Impossible.

She had no place in his world. She might have on an Amish
frack
. She might have learned how to make
snitz
pie, but she was
Englisch
through and through. It was better for her to think he didn’t want her touch when in actuality he longed for it. There wasn’t enough of his heart left to be broken a second time.

He turned on his side, and closed his eyes, willing his mind to empty and allow him to sleep. He listened to dogs bark in the distance, and the answer of his own mutts, to the soft breathing of barn animals, and the occasional call of something wild.

Maybe tomorrow he’d go to town and get some pigs. It’d be
gut
to have some fresh bacon to go with his dippy eggs. That had always been his favorite breakfast, and it took only one lesson for Annie to learn to make them.

Once again, she filled his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

By Monday afternoon, Avery was sure the air would crack if the tension between them became anymore brittle. They walked around each other like rival countries, each afraid the other would break the peace treaty first.

She tried to pretend nothing happened between them, and by English standards nothing did, but that “nothing” sure did change things. She hadn’t looked into his eyes all day.

He’d made no attempt either, preferring to look down at his plate, out the window, or at the top of Louie’s head, rather than at her.

She’d ruined it, she thought as she pulled up the tiny shoots of grass that dared to poke their heads through the rich soil in the front flower bed. She’d had the perfect place to rest and relax—well, at least get away from the city and the demands her father made on her—and she’d blown it.

She probably needed to call her father and tell him she’d be back for the tournament this weekend. Then she’d call and get an appointment to get her hair cut. If she sweet-talked Ramon maybe she could convince him to squeeze her in. She’d have to get a mani-pedi too. She looked down at her hands. All of her acrylics were gone, the nails underneath brittle and short. Not that it mattered. It was hard to weed garden plots and knead bread with longer nails. Back in the real world, though, they’d need protection and showmanship. The thought of all that pampering should have made her smile with contentment. But it didn’t.

Because all that pampering meant leaving this world behind.

She had known it was coming. She had understood from the beginning that her time here was limited. But she wasn’t ready to leave just yet. She wanted to attend a quilting bee. She still had to convince Gideon to buy some alpacas. And she wanted to get him back to his church family.

He wasn’t far. She had seen him in the fields when he didn’t know she was looking. He’d stood there, a hoe in one hand, his head bowed. She had taken to saying her own silent prayer before they ate, but she’d peeked once, and Gideon had been praying too.

He only thought he’d lost his faith. It was still there, lurking under the surface of his grief. Just a few more layers, and it would shine through. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be here to see it. With any luck—no,
help
from above—he would continue down this path of recovery.

The soft thud of horses’ hooves caught her attention. Avery shielded her eyes from the sun, but from this distance she couldn’t tell who approached. She stood and dusted the grass from her skirt and pushed her hair behind her ears. Just another part of the refreshing Amish lifestyle. She didn’t have to hurry in and change clothes, worry about the state of the house, or inform the mean little Austrian cook that they had guests who needed to be served.

She wasn’t sure what offering she could make them. She still had the unopened package of Oreo cookies Gideon had brought back from town that first day, but store-bought cookies didn’t seem right.

The buggy drew closer. At first, Avery thought Gabriel was seated there, but a few more yards closer, and she could see the streaks of silver in the dark beard. Abram, Gideon’s father. Looking at the elder Fisher, Avery knew what Gideon would look like a decade from now. Hard-won lines at the corners of deep blue eyes, streaks of silver bisecting a beard that almost touched his chest. Abram Fisher was a broad, solid man, the kind of man a woman knew would provide and protect. But the hard line of his mouth reminded her more of his oldest son. The squint of his eyes seemed more assessing and disapproving, than protection from the bright rays of the sun.

Was that sour expression the norm for Abram Fisher? Or was that glare reserved for lost and lonely Englishers who had outstayed their welcome?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fisher.”

He grunted, sounding so much like Gideon that Avery had to hide her smile. She knew that Gideon’s father didn’t approve of her being here. He had barely said two words to her at the work frolic. But it didn’t matter. Avery wasn’t about to let him chase her away. That time was well on its way without his help.

“Gideon’s in the barn, I think. Shall I get him for you?”

“I can find him.” He set the hand brake and hopped down from the buggy.

Avery held out a hand. “Give me the reins, and I’ll get your horses some water while you visit. It’s too hot already to be out without a drink.”

He paused for a long second, then took the brake off and handed her the straps of leather.

“Maybe after you find Gideon, the two of you could come in and get a drink yourselves. I just made some tea this morning.”

Abram nodded, then started off toward the barn, the Y of his suspenders dotted by the brim of his hat.

He stopped and turned back around. “Annie,” he said, his mouth still tight, but his eyes softened. “Name’s Abram. Amish don’t use titles ’cept for those who are chosen by God.” Then he touched the brim of his hat and continued on his way.

Although unsure of what he meant by the statement, somehow Avery felt one step closer to the Fisher patriarch.

Gideon heard the soft crackle of straw before his light was blocked.

He didn’t want to go into this again, didn’t think he was strong enough to stand his ground a second time. He closed his eyes and willed himself to be strong, then he swerved around, a bale of hay held in front of him like a shield.

His father stood before him, not Annie, and it was all he could do not to sigh in visible relief.

“
Dat
.” He tossed the hay to one side and nodded to his father. Then he took off his gloves, slapped them against his leg, and stuffed them into his back pocket before extending his hand.

His father’s grip was firm and reassuring, its strength flowing into Gideon. For the first time he could ever remember, Gideon wished to be little again with no more worries ’cept milkin’ the cows, gathering eggs, and findin’ enough worms to support an afternoon’s fishin’. The bygone days of childhood, without so much grief and loss, so many tough decisions.

“Looks good here.”

Gideon nodded. The new paint on the clapboard made the house sparkle like a jewel in the sun. The garden was coming in, the strawberries blooming, and the flowers that Annie had planted displayed their riot of color as pretty as you please. The farm actually looked like someone lived there. Strange, for this was the place he had come to die.

Abram jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door of the barn. “Seems like your Annie has taken to Plain livin’.”

“She’s not my anything,” Gideon protested, the taste in his mouth as sour as his thoughts. Never had been, never would be.

“That’s good to know.” Abram nodded. “Our ways aren’t for everyone. It’s hard goin’ for the
Englisch
to try and join up.”

Gideon knew that. It was more common for Plain folk to jump the fence than outsiders to climb over onto their side.

“She’s just not
unser satt leit
.”

He knew that too. She was not their kind of people, but it rankled him to hear his father say it all the same. “Is that what you came all the way out here to tell me?”

Once the words were out he couldn’t take them back. His father seemed not to notice his surliness.

Abram shook his head, his eyes growing cloudy, and the thin line of his mouth flattened out even more. “We’re havin’ a family supper tomorrow night. You need to be there.”

It wasn’t a
We’d like to have you or Come join us
invitation. Not that his father had ever been one for soft words. But there was an urgency in his statement, a “no room for noncompliance” in his tone that made the hair on the back of Gideon’s neck stand up.

“What’s this about?”

Abram pressed his mouth together before answering. “We’ll talk tomorrow. When everyone’s together.”

Gideon ran a hand around the inside of his collar. “Is this about a
meidung
? Just go ahead. I deserve it. I knew what I was doin’.” He wasn’t sure if he could say the same about allowing Annie to stay in his home.

“You know as well as I do that shunnin’ ain’t about punishment.”

“I do.” Shunning was more about bringing somebody back into the fold. Gideon just wasn’t sure if he was ready for that either. “But I’ve done what I had to do. If’n the bishop’s not happy with that—”

“This has nothin’ to do with the bishop. It’s . . . it’s somethin’ else.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but his father cut him off. “Not now. Tomorrow night. Five thirty.”

“Five thirty,” Gideon repeated. He watched his father turn and walk back out of the barn.

Something was wrong, and it ate at him to not know what.
You’ll find out soon enough
, he told himself. Then he rolled his shoulders in an effort to get those prickly hairs to go back into place.