Saving Gideon (32 page)

“
Gut
. Annie.” He straightened. “What do you say we pack up in the mornin’ and head into town?”

“Sure. Why?”

“No reason.”

A day in town sounded like fun. “I have been wanting to go to the library and check out more books. And Katie Rose helped me pick out some fabric for a new dress.
Frack
,” she corrected. “I’m hoping that it’s in.”

“
Jah
.” He offered his usual reply, but his shoulders were taut, his jaw clenched.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?”

“Right as rain.”

Gideon never went into town for no reason at all. Still, she had no cause to doubt him. Maybe he had some private errands to run that dealt with his church issues—issues that he didn’t want to discuss with her.

But he would. He had talked with her about things he had never told another living soul, and that had to mean something. So she wouldn’t mention it again, because in due time, she would know the reason for the impromptu trip to town. For now she would be happy to be by his side.

They made it home before the first fat drops fell from the sky.

Gideon shifted on the bed of hay he had constructed for himself and listened to the rain patter against the roof of the barn. He should be sleeping. He should have been asleep a long time ago. But dreams eluded him.

Tomorrow would be the last day he would see Annie. He had no choice but to make her go. He’d have to go back on his word, but he should have never made that promise to her, the oath that she could stay as long as she wanted. He wasn’t able to make a decision like that. Amish were about community and what was best for the whole. And what was best for them didn’t include her.

He shifted again and tucked his hands behind his head. He’d found her phone while she was out in the woods hunting berries. He might not be a man of the world, but he was smart enough to figure out how to work the new-fangled contraption. In no time at all, he had her father on the other end. Gideon stated his name and his intentions and arranged for them to meet in Clover Ridge the following day.

He prayed for the good Lord to help him, because he couldn’t look her in the eyes. His sweet Annie, who had brought him back from the edge of grief and taught him how to love again—now he had to let her go.

He had wanted to stay in the house tonight, just to be near her, but he couldn’t. Even though she was worldly and going home, he couldn’t damage their standing in the community that way. Couldn’t have others think poorly of her even if she slept in the bed alone and he on the couch.

He groaned. It wasn’t
gut
to tempt his resolve. Every fiber of his faith told him to steer clear of her, but his heart wanted nothing more than to hold her close. And if he did something like that?

He would not be able to let her go tomorrow.

He flopped over again. From one of the stalls, Honey lowed her protest at his restlessness.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow Annie would go back to her world and everything in his would return to normal. Or at least as normal as it could be. Tomorrow . . .

“Why are we taking Louie again?” Avery struggled to hold onto the tiny bundle of dog. The day had dawned with bright skies and no sign of the evening rain, except the dew sparkling on the green grass.

Having been inside most of the evening and all of the night, the Yorkie wanted nothing more than to run from side to side in the buggy, barking at everything he could see. The horses seemed not to care, but it bothered Avery. Or maybe it was Gideon who had her in restless knots.

She chanced a sidelong look at him, but he stared at the road, the reins held loosely in his strong, capable hands. She had expected him to open up to her, to tell her in depth about the visit from the elders. He had told her some of the morning’s events, yet she believed there was more to the story. Maybe because he avoided meeting her gaze all through supper, and that he went out to the barn much quicker than usual. She still had trouble believing they all came—
that
seemed pretty serious to her. But Gideon just shrugged it off. He told her they expected him to repent at the next church service and “that would be that.”

Avery thought the punishment harsh. After all, everything he had gone through was due to grief and guilt. He brushed her concerns aside as well, reminding her he wasn’t being shunned, and that was most important.

“We’re takin’ him because he needs to get out of the house too. You brought his bag, right?”

“Yes.” She felt strange carrying the designer purse with her Plain clothes. The price of the bag alone could feed a family for a month.

Yet she should be grateful. Jack never wanted Louie anywhere around, and Gideon liked to haul him all over the place. It was a good trait in a man, this love of animals.

Gideon pulled back and the horses slowed as they neared the town. Traffic got a little heavier, though nothing like Dallas. He pulled the buggy into a large parking lot that had once belonged to a movie theater. Now it was used as an Amish market. Many families had already set up their tables and covered them with goods to sell that day.

Avery tilted her head. “What are we doing here?”

He pulled the horses to a stop and turned to face her. “Annie.”

Whatever he was going to say next was lost.

“Avery. Thank God.”

No one in the district called her that.

She whipped around and saw her father striding across the parking lot, Maris at his side.

She whirled back to face him. “Gideon?”

He just shook his head, his face void of all expression. “It’s time for you to go home, Annie.”

Her stomach fell, his words so final. “I-I don’t understand.”

“It’s best for everyone.”

She grabbed his sleeve, daring him to face her. “How can this be best? Would you look at me!”

He turned his gaze to her, but staring into those green depths did nothing to allay her fears. “I’m goin’ to start courtin’ Rachael Miller.”

His pronouncement landed like a punch to the stomach. “Why?” The word came out in a strained whisper.

“It wouldn’t be right to do that with you livin’ under my roof.”

“I don’t understand.” Tears ran down her face, and Avery let them flow. “I don’t want to go. I want to
stay
.”

He turned away from her. “It’s time for you to go home.”

“Gideon,
no
. Please. I love you.”

He didn’t respond. Instead he sat there, eyes straight ahead, jaw clenched, and reins still firmly in his grasp.

“Come on, Avery.” Her father stood next to the buggy now. “Let’s get you home and out of those clothes.” He hesitated before saying the last word, telling her exactly what he thought about her Amish garb.

“Gideon?”

“Go on now.” Still he wouldn’t look at her.

How could she make him understand how much he meant to her if he wouldn’t even look at her?

Her father touched her arm, urging her down from the buggy.

Once again she had done it. She had fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her back. A man who didn’t care about her family’s money, but couldn’t get past their differences to see what they could have together.

Avery brushed back her tears and let her father pull her from the buggy.

Gideon didn’t say anything else, and Avery didn’t look back as her father led her toward his car. Her time in Amish country had come to an end.

Aside from laying his family in the ground, saying good-bye to Annie was the hardest thing he had ever done. Gideon ground his teeth together as he watched her go. It was best. He knew that.

His mind kept telling him so, but his heart was a different matter.

He slapped the reins, his eyes full of grit, his stomach heavy. She had told him that she loved him. She had poured out her feelings for him, but he had said nothing in return. For all it was worth, he loved her right back. There was so much he had wanted to tell her. How she healed him. How much he loved her. How without her he wouldn’t be the man he was today. But he could say none of those things. They would only make this harder.

She didn’t belong here, so he had to let her go. He jostled along in the buggy, barely watching the road. It was for the best, he told himself again.

He had made a commitment to God and the church a long time ago, and he intended to honor that pledge. Lately, he had been going down his own path, but no more. Next church service, he would ask for forgiveness, and after the noon meal, he would ask Rachael Miller to go for a ride in his buggy. Life would go on.

Without the violet-eyed
Englischer
who had taken his heart to Texas.

14

W
hen she boarded the plane that would take her back to Dallas, Avery was numb. Soon the pain would set in. It was as inevitable as the sunrise.

He had planned it. He’d planned it all. Right down to putting all of her things in the buggy, making sure she had Louie with her, and arranging for her father to meet them in town. She couldn’t figure out what hurt the most: his forethought or the fact that she had once again fallen for a man who couldn’t return her love.

She pushed the thoughts aside, the situation still too fresh. Maybe later, in a day or two—in a month—she would look at the events of the afternoon in detail. For now, she was going back to Dallas.

Home.

She received more than her fair share of stares as she found her seat. Many more than she ever got in Clover Ridge. She supposed the people in the small Oklahoma town were much more accustomed to seeing the Amish than the travelers at Tulsa International. Or maybe it was because she dressed Plain, but carried a Louis Vuitton bag and a first-class ticket. What a joke.

She settled into her seat, carefully folded the handles of Louie’s bag, and pushed it under the chair in front of her.

She was certain she looked as if she had been run over by a bus. Her
frack
was wrinkled, the apron creased in more places than she could count as she had twisted it in her hands on the ride to the airport. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose stuffy, and all she wanted to do now was crawl into a hole, and . . . well, crawling into a hole would be enough. The “and” could come later. At least, she had managed to get her tears to stop, but only because crying would do her absolutely no good.

“Good God, Avery, take that thing off your head.” Her father waved a hand around, motioning toward the prayer
kapp
she had pinned in her hair a lifetime ago. This morning. She had been wearing it for so long, she had forgotten she still had it on.

She pulled the pins and released the head covering, crumpling it in her hands. She wouldn’t even bother to tell her father not to use the Lord’s name that way. She didn’t have the energy to fight with him.

“And that dress. Is that the going thing in Aruba?” He had managed to keep his opinion to himself on the forty-five minute drive to the airport, but it seemed he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“Leave her alone, Owen.”

“Come now, Maris. She’s put us in quite a bind these last few weeks, hiding out. Lying about where she was.” He raised his eyebrows at her in that accusing manner he had perfected long ago, but Avery refused to take the bait. What did it matter now?