Saving Gideon (26 page)

“I killed her. Miriam’s dead because of me.”

11

A
ny sane woman would have been terrified to hear a man say those words. Especially a man she was alone with . . . way out in the country . . . with no phone or car or means to get help.

But she wasn’t fearful at all.

“Gideon, that’s not true.” Tears welled in her eyes at his heartbreak. What burden he carried to feel he was responsible for the death of someone he loved—no matter how untrue the self-accusation.

“It is.” He heaved a great breath as if gathering himself to continue. “But that’s not the worst of it. I killed Jamie too.”

“Jamie?” she whispered, afraid to ask.

“My son.”

Avery’s heart plummeted, her breath caught, and she could barely whisper the words. “You had a child?”

“
Jah
.”

She longed to rush to him, to wrap her arms around him, to take some of that unbearable hurt away. But she knew it was better to give him the privacy he’d found in the dim corners of the barn to tell her his story. She dropped down in the hay, ignoring how it pricked the back of her legs, and moved as close to him as she dared. “Tell me.”

He drew in a breath.

She held her own and waited for him to begin his story.

“It was about this time last year,” he started slowly. “There was a big storm comin’. Everyone was sayin’ it was gonna flood. You could smell it in the air. Miriam didn’t believe it was goin’ to be that bad. Her family had already planned a sisters’ day. They were goin’ to make baby stuff for Sarah, the oldest. I told her not to go, but she did.

“When she got home it was rainin’ so hard. I was tryin’ to get the sheep to higher ground. I yelled at her. I yelled at her in anger.” He paused, his voice jagged, raw. “There were just so many of them. The rain was comin’ down so hard I could barely see two feet from my nose.”

Tears caught in Avery’s lashes, then fell to her cheeks, sliding down, down, down until they dropped off the edge of her chin. From the darkness, she heard him move again. He resumed his story, his voice rusty and worn.

“I sent Jamie after the new lamb that had been born that mornin’. There was somethin’ wrong with it, and it couldn’t keep up with the others.”

Avery bit her lips to keep from crying out. She was afraid that if she interrupted, he would stop and recede once again into the shell he had created for himself.

“That’s when I told Miriam that she shouldn’t have gone to her sister’s. She should have been there to help me, and this wouldn’t be happenin’. She didn’t get mad back. She just lifted her soggy skirts and ran after Jamie.” He shifted again. “That was the last time I saw them alive.”

Avery’s breath caught in her throat, a stifled sob blocking her air.

“Jamie managed to catch the lamb, but he fell into the creek. Miriam jumped in to save him. They found them downstream, the poor animal a few feet away.”

A long silence followed Gideon’s revelation. In the quiet, Avery froze between her desire to reach out and comfort the grieving man and his quest to be left alone with his pain.

“So you see—I killed her. I killed them both. Just as surely as if I had laid hands on them.”

Avery shook her head. Hard. “Oh, Gideon, you don’t really believe that.” She couldn’t imagine the pain he suffered at the loss of both his wife and child, but to believe that he had been responsible?

“
Jah
,” he said from the darkness. “I do.”

“But it’s not your fault. It was an accident. It was—”

“God’s will?” His voice, still thick with emotion, had taken on a hard edge.

Avery thought about that. “I can’t say that God wills bad things to happen to us or to anyone. To a child. But you can’t go around your entire life wondering why things happen like they do. It’ll eat you up inside. Sometimes it’s better to deal with what happened the best way you can and move on. If you want to call that God’s will, then yes. It was God’s will.”

He sat in silence, and Avery hoped he was thinking about what she had said.

He sighed. “I could have done more . . . somethin’,
anything
to help them. I should have gone after the lamb myself.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I should have,” he repeated.

Avery drew in a deep breath and steadied her nerves. “Some things are left up to God. And the ‘hows’ and the ‘whys’, well, maybe someday we’ll understand. Until then, the sun still rises in the morning and sets each night. Frankly, I think Miriam would be disappointed to know that you’ve stopped living all those times in between.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t say anything.

She continued. “I came out here tonight to tell you that I understand now. I understand how much God loves me and what He wants me to do. I discovered this all because I wrecked my car and you were gracious enough to let me stay.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I’ve finally found my way, Gideon, to something I’ve been searching for my whole life, even though I just realized it tonight.

“If you want to stay wallowing in whatever self-guilt you’ve concocted for yourself, I can’t stop you. But I’ll not let you drag me down there too.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she turned on her heel and headed back to the house.

By the time he made his way into the kitchen the next morning, Gideon’s eyes felt raw and scratchy, like they were filled with ground glass. He’d spent half the night thinking about Annie’s words—and the other wondering if they were true.

And he knew. It was all true. He
did
feel helpless. He’d wanted to save Jamie and Miriam, and now he wanted to save his mother.

But all that happened in the past, and the present was beyond his earthly power.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot sitting on the stove and took a tentative sip. It was still hot, which meant she hadn’t gone far, and she hadn’t been gone long. Like it mattered. She probably wasn’t speaking to him today anyway. An Amish woman would be over her snit by now.
Nay
, an Amish woman wouldn’t have started such a ruckus in the first place—but the
Englisch
.
Ach
, they were a different lot altogether.

“Good morning.”

He turned. She stood there, looking nearly as she had the night before at his parents’
haus
. She had donned the purple
frack
with matching cape and a white everyday apron. She had forgone the shiny black shoes for the green flip-flops, but she had done that pinned-up thing with her hair and managed to place it all under the
kapp
.

He couldn’t help it—his eyes riveted on that symbol of obedience.

She raised a hand to the
kapp
. “Lizzie told me that Amish women wear a prayer cap out of respect for God, and that they wear them all the time because they don’t know when they might be moved to pray.”

“
Jah
.”

She gave a quick, jerky nod, then Annie moved past him to the stove and poured her own cup of coffee. “I’m not going to apologize for what I said last night.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Would you like for me to make us some breakfast?”

“I . . . I’m goin’ over to talk to my
elders
.”

“Your mom and dad?”

“
Jah
.” The idea had been forming all through his sleepless night. Everything Annie had said knocked around in his head mixing up with his fears and worries. The only way to put those concerns to rest was to talk with his parents, especially his
mamm
. Last night didn’t leave much time for questions and answers what with the whole family there. But today, with everyone going about their daily routine, he should have plenty of time to visit with his
mudder
.

Annie nodded. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

She stood on the porch with Louie at her feet while he readied the buggy for travel. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her smile before he turned to the front and urged Molly and Kate down the driveway.

Ruth heard the buggy before she saw it. She propped the hoe to one side and waited, wondering who was coming for a visit at this time of day.

She wasn’t at all surprised to see Gideon’s buggy ambling down the lane toward the house. Of all of her children, Gideon was the one she worried most about these days. She could barely look at his face the night before when she had told them the news about her cancer. Gabriel had been stony-faced as usual, John Paul in his unwavering faith had been hopeful, and Katie Rose had been naturally upset. But it was Gideon whom the news would most affect. She was glad to see him coming to her today, better than her showing up at his house.

As he drew closer, she saw that he was alone. That in itself was a blessing. She’d been glad last night that he’d brought his
Englischer
, but she needed this time alone with him. She needed a chance to make him understand that God was good, and that everything happened for a reason. That there was a purpose and a solution to everything she now faced.

Abram walked out of the barn just as Gideon set the hand brake and jumped down. With only a clap on the shoulder in greeting, Abram took the reins and led the horses toward the watering trough.

Abram turned and looked at her, and her heart tightened. She smiled at her husband of so many years, hoping the one little motion conveyed all the promise and love she felt. But Abram just nodded and turned away. He was having a tough time dealing with the news they now faced, but she had made her peace and prayed that her family would be able to see that only through faith could she truly be healed.

“
Mamm
.” Gideon’s quiet voice carried to her on the soft breeze.

“My
sohn
.” She touched his face where his beard was growing back in quite nicely.
God is good.

He gathered her up in a bone-crushing hug, and Ruth fought back the tears that threatened. Now more than ever she had to be strong.

“There’ll be none of that,” she scolded, wiping tears from Gideon’s face as she spoke. She had wanted to go on holding him for as long as possible, like she had done when he was little. But he was a grown man, and as much as it pained her, she had to let him heal the hurts for himself.

He swallowed hard, seemingly unable to speak.

“Come inside.” She lead him toward the porch, propping the hoe in the corner and waiting for him to catch up.

He moved ahead and opened the screen door, ushering her inside.

“Let’s have some pie,” she said.

He shook his head.

She cut two big slices of last night’s shoofly anyway and carried them to the table. Before he could protest again, she poured them both glasses of milk and set them next to the plates.

Reluctantly, he pulled out a chair and sat down across from her.

“Now, tell me what concerns you,
sohn
.”

“Cancer?” he asked, his voice as weak as his faith these days.

She covered his hand with her own, drawing strength from him whether he knew it or not. “The Lord will provide.”

His eyes, so much like her own, seemed doubtful at best.

She couldn’t help but smile. “You see, Gideon, it’s all about faith.”

He shook his head, his pie sitting untouched before him.

“I thought I raised you better than this,” Ruth admonished. “What awaits the faithful on the other side?”

He paused. “Heaven.” His voice was rough, raw with emotion.

“And on this side I have my family. So you see, I win in either direction.”

“But—”

“I know it’s prideful to believe that I’ll automatically go to heaven, but I have faith. And my faith is strong. So if He takes me from this world, I’ll go to be with Him. I can’t lose.”

“I’ll sell my farm,” Gideon finally said. “You can have the money from that—”

“You’ll do no such-a thing.” She sat back in her chair, her own pie forgotten. “I’m hearing that you have finally started to work your farm. You can’t go back on that now.”

“But Annie’s right. This will be costly. We’ll need every penny we can find.”

“
Jah
, that it will.” Her heart swelled when he said “we” and not “you.” This was a family fight. “But I’ve already told you, the Lord will provide.”