Saving Gideon (31 page)

Gideon nodded.

“Heard tell you shaved your beard.”

“You heard right.”

“I’ll ask you why you did such-a thing.”

“My Miriam’s gone.” He realized for the first time in months that he could say the words without his heart bleeding. But Jamie’s name wouldn’t tumble from his lips. Losing a child was a pain that would never ease. “A Plain man’s beard is a mark of his family. I didn’t think I deserved to wear it.”

“And now?”

“It’s about followin’ God and bein’ a part of somethin’ greater than oneself.”

“That’s a big turnaround for a few weeks.”

“
Jah
.” He couldn’t take the credit himself. That was all Annie’s. She was the reason he’d rethought his unworthy state, the reason he had hope and faith again.

“Even been said you had an
Englischer
stayin’ with you.”

“
Jah
.”

“A woman.”

“It’s true.”

Deacon’s eyebrows shot up so high they disappeared under the brim of his hat.

Gideon supposed they didn’t expect him to admit to it, but he couldn’t lie. “I know why you’re here.”

No one said anything, but the elders looked at each other and shifted in place. Old Zeke changed his cane from one hand to the other.

“You’ll need to be prepared at the next service,” the bishop finally said.

Gideon nodded. “I am.”

The bishop gestured toward the other men standing with him. “And we think it’s time for you to marry again.”

“Pardon?” He blinked once, trying to collect his thoughts. This was not at all what he’d expected to hear. He’d been ready for the threat of a shunning, a repentance, a declaration of the wrongs he had committed in the past year.

But a wife?

“You know Rachael Miller.” Bishop Beachy’s wire-rimmed glasses reflected the sun as he nodded.

The bishop’s niece.
Gideon nodded. “I do.”

“She’s in need of a husband and a father for her two little girls.”

“We think you’re the man for that,” Esh shouted. Along with his many ailments of advancing age, he was hard of hearing as well.

Gideon hid his shock in the clench of his jaw, knowing it best not to let it show, best not to let his protest turn into outright insubordination. “I wasn’t aware the church had started arranging marriages.” He had done wrong, and he would change his ways—but this seemed so
drastic
.

“You don’t have to marry her,” John Zook clarified. “But—”

“We think it best you find a wife,” the bishop added. “And Rachael is a fine woman.”

“
Jah
.” She was a fine woman. A little on the plain side, but sweet of disposition and not hard on the eyes. She was quiet and obedient and perfect for any man like . . . Gabriel. But if Gideon ever married again, he wanted a woman with more spunk. His Miriam had been a lot like Rachael—good, honest, malleable. If he’d been asked then, he would have said it was a
gut
match. Now he wanted something more in a life mate.

He wanted . . . Annie.

But that would never be.

Pain, like a knife to the heart, twisted in his chest. His breath caught and he had to force the air from his lungs. “I’ll call on her.” Gideon’s voice was just above a whisper.

“What?” Esh hollered.

Zook looked at Esh. “He said he’d call on her.”

Esh nodded, his voice louder than ever. “
Gut, gut
.”

Daniel Glick nodded. He was a quiet man, especially for a preacher, and he only spoke when absolutely necessary.

On any other day, Gideon would have laughed at the comedy of it all. But laughter was far from him today because the one he loved the most would never be his.

The men shook hands all around.

Gideon would make a kneeling apology in front of the congregation. He’d confess his ways, promise to repent, and take up with Rachael Miller. For the first time in almost a year he would move forward. He should have been happy, even excited at what was to come.

Instead he felt like something inside him had died.

He watered the bishop’s horses. Then he watched the men climb into the buggy and head off back down the road, his stomach a knot of dread.

In Amish cemeteries, there were no flowers, no fancy headstones, just simple wooden crosses to mark the journey of souls from this world to the next. Gideon walked down the rows, passing markers of those who had lived long before him, and those who had recently gone. Two rows down and third from the path were Miriam and Jamie’s.

The crosses were painted white, most likely by Miriam’s mother. Gideon hadn’t been able to come out here since the day they laid them to rest. The markers were identical to those around them except for a piece of blue ribbon tied at the base and nearly buried in the ground to hide it from the eyes of mourners. Blue, Miriam’s favorite. The color of her eyes. The color of the dress they’d buried her in. Nearly hidden by the grass, a small wooden pony rested next to the cross under which they had buried his son.

Gideon sat on the ground beside the patch of new grass that covered their graves. Moisture from last night’s rain soaked into the rear of his britches, but he didn’t care. He’d come out here to say his piece, and that’s what he’d do.

Birds flitted from one tree to the next, their feathers ruffling as they matched the rustling of the leaves. Far away and near they called to each other, but Gideon couldn’t find the words.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, the wind brushing against him, the world going on while he just sat. That’s how it had been for months now, everything going on around him while he stagnated like poison water.

No more.

“Miriam.” His voice came out rusty with emotion. This talk was long overdue. “I’ve really missed you this past year.”

Only the wind answered him.

He reached out a hand toward Jamie’s cross, but couldn’t find any words to address his son. To say that he had simply missed him was not enough. Words barely covered his grief.

He focused on Miriam’s marker. “It’s been a long year.” A year of sadness, regret, and winter. “But it’s over now. And, well, the elders think I should get married again.” He picked at the grass closest to the toe of his boot. “I think they’re right. You’ve gone on. I’ve got to move on too.”

He took a deep breath and said the words he’d never thought he’d say again. “I’m goin’ to start courtin’. And I’ll probably be married this time next year, but I wanted you to hear it from me. You were a good woman. A fine wife to me. A man couldn’t ask for better, and I’m not. I’m just goin’ on, because that’s what we do—those who are left behind—we go on.”

From somewhere, he heard a cow moo and the clank of her bell. But there was no answer from above. Not that he really thought there would be. He knew what he had to do, and he knew it was for the best—for everyone involved. Now he just had to have the heart to carry it out.

He took a deep breath, trying to find the words in his heart. “Jamie.” His voice cracked on the single word. He ran the back of his hand under his nose, needing a moment to pull himself together before he continued. “The woman I’m to start courtin’. . . well, she’s got two little girls. And she needs help with these girls. The bishop thinks I’d do right by them, and I will. But me raising them won’t take away from my love for you.” He stopped unable to continue. A lump of emotion clogged his throat and made it impossible for any more words to get past. If they had, he’d have told Jamie he would always love him, that he was sorry about that day, and all the other regrets he had. But even holding onto those regrets was a cancer in itself.

And like everything else, he had to let them go, turn them over to God, and pray for the best.

Avery spent a frustrating morning duck-walking through the bushes looking for wild strawberries. On any other day, she would have loved being out in the fresh air with the sun on her face. Today wasn’t any other day. The deacon was coming to talk to Gideon. She knew more than anything else—even more than the subject of his beard—that they would talk about
her
.

The last thing she wanted was to be a problem for Gideon. That wasn’t entirely true. The last thing she wanted was to leave him, to leave Amish country. Maybe she could move into town, or buy a house on the edge of the community. One thing she knew for certain—she never wanted to go. She had thought of little else since their kiss.

“Annie, wait up,” Lizzie called as she tromped through the woods behind her.

“Hurry,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ve been gone for hours. I want to get back and check on Gideon.”

“We haven’t been gone that long.” Mary Elizabeth’s face was bright red from exertion.

“It seems like we have. Now come on.” It was oh-so hard, but she slowed her footsteps and allowed the young girl to catch up.

The air felt of impending doom. When she said as much, Lizzie pointed to the dark clouds in the distance. A storm brewed.
For sure and for certain,
Gideon would say, but Avery was unsure how much of it originated from the weather.

Finally, they burst through the edge of the trees and headed across the field toward the house. Gideon stood at the edge of the yard. He threw a stick, and the beagle went after it while Louie braced himself up on Gideon’s leg and begged for attention.

He waved when he saw them, took the stick from the dog, and flung it again.

Avery wanted to lift up the hem of her skirts and run as fast as she could to Gideon’s side, but Lizzie came up next to her and linked their arms together. Side by side they made their way back to the house.

“Glad you finally came home. It’s about to start rainin’.”

“Told you,” Mary Elizabeth said with a friendly smirk.

Avery just smiled. “How did it go?”

“Gut, gut.”
He nodded, and Lizzie seemed satisfied.

Yet Avery knew there was a lot more he wasn’t saying. He wouldn’t look either of them in the eye as he threw the stick again.

The dog trotted after it as Gideon motioned for them both. “Come on, niece. I’ll carry you home in the buggy ’fore you get caught in the rain.”

The trip to Gabriel’s house was quiet, except for Mary Elizabeth. She chatted away the entire time about one thing or another. The constant prattle made Avery anxious. She wanted so badly to talk to Gideon about what the deacon had said, but she knew better than to ask him in front of his niece.

They dropped her off, refused offers to stay for pie, begging off with the excuse of the approaching storm.

Once Gideon started the buggy back toward home, Avery turned to him. “So what did they say?”

He shrugged, but didn’t take his gaze from the road. “Not much.”

“That’s not an answer. Are they going to accept your confession?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Lizzie told me.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Are they?”

“
Jah
.”

“And that will be the end of it?”

“
Jah
.” He answered her the same, but this time the word came out a little softer than before.

“That’s good.
Gut
.” She corrected herself with a smile.