A Heart Made New (16 page)

He didn’t look up. He shook his head, then cleared his throat. His jaw worked, making the pulse in his temple jump.

Annie fought tears. Couldn’t he see? Those with faith—true faith—always had hope. Knowing and believing in God’s plan—that was the faith that led to hope. The events in their lives weren’t random. Annie found great comfort and hope in that belief.

The familiar ache in her throat made it impossible for her to speak. She gave Emma an imploring look. Her sister stood. “What a nice idea. I think Luke will agree. It’s a charitable thing to do. Just tell him you’ll
have the lessons when he’s not in need of Blackie. Luke has a soft spot in his heart for all children. I know he’ll want to help Kinsey.”

“Gut.”

Apparently that one syllable was all David could manage to utter. It was so full of relief, the ache in Annie’s throat eased. He needed her faith and hope to be enough for both of them. He brushed past her, his long strides putting space between them far too quickly. “David, wait. Wait!” She followed him without thinking. “Don’t go.”

He stopped and turned, and they nearly collided. “What?”

“I need help from you as well.”

His expression suddenly wary, he nodded. “I always want to help, if I can.”

Annie could almost feel Emma’s curiosity swell and fill the room. She lifted her chin and stood straight. “I’d like you to go with me to take Charisma to talk to her mother. In Wakefield.”

“Wakefield? That’s northeast of here, isn’t it?” He scratched his chin, his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “She has a van. Can’t she drive herself?”

“I suppose she could, but she’s expecting and we don’t know when the baby is coming, and she shouldn’t go by herself, and her mother might not welcome her, and then she’ll be all alone, and what if the van breaks down, and Luke will never let me hire a driver and go without a chaperone—”

“Whoa, whoa! All right. It’s fine.” To Annie’s utter amazement, a smile flashed across his face. Then that smile that could chase away all the darkness that threatened to creep into her world disappeared. “You are something, Annie Shirack.”

Something? Was that good or bad? Because she wanted to help Charisma? Annie clasped her hands tight. “Does that mean you’ll help?”

He touched the brim of his hat with one finger. “Good day, Emma. Tell Thomas he was right.”

“He was right about what?” Emma asked.

“He’ll know.”

“Will you go with us to Wakefield?” Annie intervened.

“When you have permission from Luke to go, let me know.” David spun and headed for the door. “I’m sure we’ll see each other at the bakery.”

He disappeared from sight.

“He’s right, you know.”

Annie turned to her sister, who had a big grin plastered on her face. “Right about what?”

“You are something.”

Something? But what did that mean? What was that something to David?

And was it enough?

Still savoring the last bite of his third cookie, Josiah held out his hand for more. He seemed to have a hollow leg when it came to eating these days. Miriam flashed empty palms at him. It was just as well. He couldn’t continue to use a full mouth as an excuse for not talking. They’d walked all the way around the pond. Mostly without talking. He didn’t know what to say, and Miriam seemed content to keep quiet. He searched for a topic of conversation. When had it become so difficult for them to talk?

“Good cookies.”

“Your sister is a good baker.” Miriam brushed crumbs from her hands and apron. “But you know that.”

Why were they talking about Annie and cookies? He pointed to a fallen tree trunk in the shade of a few old oaks, out of the heat of the afternoon sun. “Do you want to sit down?”

“I suppose so.” Fanning herself with long fingers, she sank onto the trunk. “Annie means well. She thinks we’re meant to be together.”

He tried to fathom her expression. Half sad, half exasperated. Like an adult scolding a child. He was no child. “Haven’t you had enough of this already?”

“Enough of what?”

“This! Me!” He jabbed at his chest with his thumb. “I know I’m hurting you, but I can’t seem to stop. I’d think you would want it to stop.”

“I really just want you to react to me.”

“React? Like how?”

Her face beaded with perspiration, she stared at the pond. “Like any how. You don’t seem to not like me, but you don’t seem to like me either. I’m just here. You don’t take any more notice of me than that rock over there on the ground.”

“That’s not true.”

“Face it, Josiah. I have. I’m not the one who has your heart.”

“But you could.”

She gave a halfhearted laugh. “Really?”

He propped his elbows on his knees and studied his boots. “I’d like to think so.”

She picked up the rock, stood, and lobbed it into the water. “It would ease your conscience if I would find someone else and you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about me.”

He always admired her throwing arm. She’d been one of the best players in their baseball games. “I wish we could go back to the way it was before.”

She turned and faced him. Tendrils of damp hair escaped her kapp and curled on her forehead. He fought the urge to smooth them back in place. From the look on her face, she might smack him. She sighed. “When? What way?”

“When we were friends.”

Her face crumpled a little. “Aren’t we friends now?”

“Not with this hanging between us.”

She whirled and marched toward the edge of the pond, did an about-face, and marched back. “People who love each other should be friends.”

Josiah let Sarah’s image wash over him. They’d studied together, played video games together, gone to movies together. But the entire time he’d never stopped being aware of the tension between them.
Sarah’s brother had called it chemistry. Josiah never acted upon it, never considered acting upon it. Mudder and Daed had brought him up better than that. But it didn’t matter what they were doing, the physical attraction saturated the air around them. Not so with Miriam. His heart reared up to protect this girl with the brown eyes flecked with gold and the impressive throwing arm. He wanted to make sure no one ever hurt her or made her cry. Did that make her a friend? Or another sister?

“All right, I take it back. We are friends.”

She sank onto the trunk, so close Josiah could see the tears that wet her eyelashes. “But nothing more?”

Her shoulders tensed and her face contorted with confusion and sadness. Without thinking Josiah grasped her fingers and held on.

Her lips parted and her earth-colored eyes grew large. They stared at each other, the only sounds her ragged breathing and birds bickering in the branches overhead. Josiah held her heart in his hands. “I don’t know,” he whispered, trying to fathom the sudden fluttering of his own heart. It seemed familiar, yet oddly different. It made his bones ache. “I truly don’t know.”

She jerked her hands away and stood. “When you figure it out, let me know.”

She stalked away, her dress flapping behind her. The utter quiet left by her absence overwhelmed him. He tried to imagine his life without Miriam Yonkers in it. If he let Sarah in, Miriam would be gone forever. He couldn’t have both. “Easy for you to say,” he whispered to her retreating back.

Even though he knew it wasn’t.

J
osiah turned the buggy onto the road that led to the Miller farm. His hands felt slick on the reins. This was a bad idea. In the first place, he didn’t know if Miriam would even show up for the singing. She usually came with her brother Paul. Then she and Josiah would slip away sometime later when the singing was in full swing. They would take a long, meandering route to her parents’ farm that gave them plenty of time to talk and enjoy each other’s company. After the scene by the pond earlier in the day, he doubted that would happen tonight. So why had he come? Because of the strange sensation that had lingered inside him long after she stalked away? Because of the way her hands had trembled in his? Because of the catch in her voice when she told him to let her know when he figured it out?

He couldn’t answer any of those questions. His feelings for Miriam were nothing like what he’d experienced with Sarah. That sense of drowning, of not being able to catch his breath every time she slid her hand down his arm and caught her fingers in his. Holding Miriam’s hand had been different. Like being wrapped in a warm, comfortable quilt on a cold winter night.

He could be himself. Miriam would accept him exactly as he was. With Sarah, he had to be bigger, stronger, surer than he was. A man. With Sarah, his feelings were all over the place. With Miriam, they were steady on. Which was right?

He pulled up next to a dozen buggies already parked in neat rows outside the barn. Noah Kale waved as he jumped from his two-seater. A beauty of a courting buggy. “Good to see you, Josiah.”

Noah would leave the singing with Mary Barton—everyone knew that. There would be at least one wedding in the fall. “I think Miriam’s inside.” Noah had always been a good friend—one who would understand that Josiah wanted to do the right thing. “I saw them on the road earlier.”

“Gut.”
Not knowing what else to say, Josiah tied the horse near a hay stanchion and waited for Noah to go inside. He patted Mooch’s forelock. “Bravery, my friend, bravery.” More bravery was needed in affairs of the heart than on any other battlefield. He sucked in air, the smell of hay and dirt and manure mingled in a calming medley.
Stop standing around.

Inside, the kerosene lanterns gave a soft glow to the high ceiling of the barn. Bales of hay and a few benches served as seating. The place was already full. Sunday night singings were popular among the younger teens. Still new to them. The novelty had worn off for Josiah. He surveyed the crowd. Boys on one side, girls on the other. They wouldn’t start pairing off until much later, after the first round of singing ended and darkness gave cover. Where was she?

There. She wore that dark green dress that made her brown eyes seem almost hazel. He started toward her. Their gazes connected for a long moment. Then she turned and slipped into a cluster of friends, her back to him.

Josiah changed direction. Paul Yonkers stepped in his path. “Hello, Josiah.” His tone was casual, even friendly, unusual for him. “Can I have a word?”

He stopped. “Jah.”

“Outside.”

The underlying command wasn’t lost on Josiah. He followed Miriam’s older brother through the door, jostling against the flow of friends who hollered and waved and moved on, intent on the fun sure to follow.

Paul led the way around the corner, out of the light and frivolity. His earlier smile had disappeared. “Courting is none of my business—”

“Then why are we standing out here?” Josiah wanted the words back as soon as he said them. Antagonizing Miriam’s family did him no good. “I mean, I’m just here for the singing.”

“I want you to know that Miriam has said she wants me to drive her home tonight.”

“That’ll make it hard for you to court Susannah, won’t it?”

Paul didn’t answer. He stared, his gaze hard and direct.

Josiah scuffed at a patch of dirt with his boot. “I’d rather Miriam told me what she wants herself.”

“You have one foot in the fancy world. You can’t keep your thoughts from another woman.” His gaze was steely, but Paul’s voice remained even. “You know it would be best for Miriam if you left her out of your dilemma.”

“I didn’t ask Sarah to come here, and I gave my word to the bishop that I won’t see her.”

“You said yourself she plans to stay. She wants to be a part of your life.”

“The bishop will not allow her to join the community and even if he did, I have made no promises to her. Or to anyone.”

Paul flexed massive arms and crossed them. “That’s the problem, my friend.” He brushed past Josiah. “You don’t make promises so you don’t have to keep them. Stay away from Miriam. She’s here tonight because she’s trying to do what’s right.”

“And what’s that?”

Paul stopped. He turned. The moon cast harsh shadows on his smooth face. “She’s trying to get on with her life. I’m asking you to let her.”