A Place of Peace (7 page)

“No.” Timothy slammed his hand on the table, causing the plates and mugs to rattle. “I have nothing to say to Miriam. What we had is gone. It’s the past. Talking to her will just rehash things I let go a long time ago.”

“You didn’t let it go. That’s the problem.” She ran her fingers over a napkin as if collecting her thoughts. “I truly believe God sent Miriam here to settle things between you two. I think it’s God’s will that you talk with her and work out all your hurt feelings. It’s just what you need so you can move on and make a new life for yourself. I think it’s the Holy Spirit working in your life, Timothy. I talked to
Mamm,
and she agrees with —”

“You discussed this with
Mamm?”
He ran his hands down his face, imagining his sisters analyzing his life while they baked sand tarts. There had to be chitchat more interesting than his sad, sorry life.

“Please, just listen, okay?” Reaching across the table, she touched his arm.
“Mamm
and I want what’s best for you, and we think that working through your feelings for Miriam would be healthy for you. Besides, when I talked to Miriam, she seemed really sad. I think she’s carrying around some regret and unresolved feelings for you too.”

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You actually feel sorry for her? Are you serious, Beth Anne? She left me. Don’t you remember how it happened? We had plans.” He gestured around the kitchen. “I built this house for us. We were supposed to live here together and raise a family, but she left me. She went to Indiana to move in with her boyfriend and become a nurse.” His eyes narrowed to slits as anger boiled through his veins. “How could you feel sorry for her when
she
was the one who ruined it all?”

“I didn’t say I felt sorry for her.” Beth Anne held her hands up in defense. “I’m just saying I think she needs to talk to you too.”

He couldn’t stop the questions that bubbled up to his lips. “What did she say to you?”

“Not much. I do know she’s not married, and she didn’t finish nursing school because she ran out of money. She’s sharing an apartment with Abby and working in a pediatrician’s office.”

“Did she ask about me?” He wished he could take the question back after he asked it. Baring his soul made him uncomfortable.

“No, but I think she wanted to.”

“She wanted to, ya?” He snorted with sarcasm. “Just like she wanted to marry me and have a family. It’s all false. She’s a liar.” Leaning over, he plucked the fork from the floor and then grabbed the empty plates from the table. “It’s getting late. I’m sure Paul and the
kinner
are expecting you home.
Danki
for the
appeditlich
pie.”

He carried the dishes and utensils to the sink, and she followed with the remaining pie and mugs.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said while he washed the dishes and set them in the drain. “I just want you to be
froh.”

“I am happy. I have a job I love and my own little house. What more could I want?”

“Someone to love who loves you in return. It’s what we all want.” She touched his arm. “I think you’ll find that once you let your feelings for Miriam go. Talk to her and let her explain why she left. Then you can concentrate on building a life with Naomi.”

Timothy blew out a deep sigh. He knew his sister wasn’t going to drop it until he agreed. “Fine. I will.”

“Danki.”
She gave him a quick hug. “I best get home. Will I see you at the funeral Thursday?”

Facing her, he leaned against the counter and wiped his hands on a rag. “Ya. Naomi asked me to go with her.”

“Gut.”
Beth Anne followed him to the door. “Maybe you and Miriam can chat there.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t think her mother’s funeral is an appropriate place to discuss our broken relationship.”

Beth Anne nodded. “You’re right. Perhaps you can go visit her at her
aenti’s
and speak alone.”

He frowned. “Don’t push it. I said I would talk to her, but I’m not going to make any promises about when or where.”

“Fair enough.” Beth Anne smiled. “See you later.”

“Gut nacht.”
He watched her hurry down to her buggy, and then he closed the door.

Timothy returned to his easy chair but couldn’t concentrate on his devotions. Instead, his mind was flooded with thoughts of Miriam and Beth Anne’s insistence that he needed to speak with her in order to let go of the past. The idea seemed utterly preposterous, but then why did he find himself considering it?

After a quick shower, Timothy climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. He knew Beth Anne was correct when she said he was stringing Naomi along, but he couldn’t bring himself to make a commitment to her. Whenever he considered broaching the subject of their future, the words would remain lodged in his throat. Perhaps Beth Anne was on to something.

Groaning, Timothy rolled onto his side. He didn’t want to go down this road with Miriam. Talking to her would bring back so much —good and bad. He couldn’t help but remember what she looked like —her deep brown eyes, her long eyelashes, her silky dark hair, her creamy white skin, and the infectious lilt of her laugh …

Although she thought she was plain, ordinary, and too skinny, Miriam lit up a room when she entered. She’d captured Timothy’s heart the first time she’d smiled at him. She’d known just what to say to him, and she’d understood and forgiven his unpredictable moods. Timothy was sure Miriam was his soul mate, the love of his life.

He’d never felt that with Naomi. She was a pretty and sweet young woman, but she wasn’t Miriam. He’d never felt that connection with her.

Guilt rained down on him. How could he compare Naomi to someone who had broken his heart into a million pieces? He felt Naomi’s eagerness to be loved; he knew Beth Anne was right about that. But how could he marry someone he didn’t love with all his heart?

And how can I string her along?

Moving onto his stomach, Timothy groaned into the pillow. He needed to sort through all of these feelings. Maybe Beth Anne was correct when she said he needed to talk to Miriam.

However, he knew one thing for sure —a funeral was no place for that conversation. It would be disrespectful to Bertha’s memory and to Abraham’s family to speak to Miriam then.

How would he manage to keep his emotions in check when he saw Miriam for the first time since she’d left him nearly four years ago?

Closing his eyes, Timothy fell asleep imagining how Miriam looked today.

M
iriam wished she could evaporate into thin air or melt into the hardwood flooring beneath her feet—anything to help her escape the pained glances radiating around her.

Standing at the back of the large living room, she scanned the sea of faces before her —members of the community in which she’d been born. There were people present who’d been there when her parents were married and others who remembered when she took her first steps as a toddler. Yet she felt like a stranger, an alien visiting from another planet.

She was clad in a plain black dress and her hair was gelled and forced into a tight ponytail.

However, even though she was dressed so conservatively, the clothes felt strangely comfortable, which surprised her. She had to admit the paradox—she didn’t belong in the community, yet the clothes comforted her soul. Perhaps they served as a connection to her mother, whom she missed beyond words.

Miriam had stood with Hannah during the morning of the visitation. Keeping with tradition, Bertha had been dressed in all white, including her white apron and cape that had been saved from her wedding. The color represented the final passage into a new and better life. Hundreds of members from the community had marched through Abraham’s house to offer their sympathy. Unlike the
English
funerals she’d attended in Indiana, which featured hugs and long discussions of memories of the deceased, the Amish were quietly respectful, giving a handshake and offering few words to Miriam and her family.

The hour-and-a-half afternoon service had been beautiful. Miriam had sat with Hannah and found herself holding her sister’s hand during some of the sermon. At first, the Pennsylvania
Dietsch
was foreign, but after only a few minutes, the language came back to Miriam, and she hung on every word, frequently wiping her eyes in response to the emotion overflowing from her soul. The sermon emphasized the importance of yielding to God’s will and was followed by prayers and Scriptures.

The graveside service was more painful for Miriam. Her mother was transported in her coffin by a horse-drawn hearse, which was a large black buggy. Bishop Gideon Swartzendruber read a hymn by the graveside before she was laid to rest in a grave dug by hand in an Amish cemetery located within their district. Her grave marker was simple and identical to those around her, keeping with the belief that in death, as in life, the Amish are all equal. The service and burial were plain and devoid of flowers.

The finality of her mother’s death was almost too much to bear, and Miriam’s regret for not contacting her mother sooner was a raw wound in her heart. Abraham, her father, wouldn’t meet her gaze during visitation, service, or burial, which pushed the knife further into her soul.

In keeping with tradition, they returned to a neighbor’s house after the funeral to share a meal prepared by members of the community. While family members and friends milled around the house balancing plates of food and cups of water, Miriam attempted to sneak out the back door and retreat to her Aunt Edna’s house across the street. Her efforts were foiled when Hannah caught her by the arm and insisted she stay for the family gathering.

Hannah soon became distracted by an old friend from a neighboring district, allowing Miriam to slip into the kitchen and grab a drink.

Miriam moved unnoticed past the women volunteers who were serving the meal and then found a place along the back wall where she stood sipping her ice water and watching the knot of mourners float about the room, chattering, most likely about her.

While a chorus of voices speaking
Dietsch
sang around her, Miriam rubbed her temple where a migraine was brewing.

“You must be starved,” a voice beside her said. “You haven’t eaten all day.” Abby stood next to Miriam with a plate of food in one hand and a cup in the other. “Cookie?” Abby held out the plate. “It’s not one of the ones I made, so it’s safe for consumption.”

“No.
Danki.”
Miriam blew out a sigh. “I don’t think I could eat anything if I tried.”

“You’re gonna pass out if you don’t eat.” Abby set the plate on a small table next to her and adjusted her black suit jacket. Miriam placed her empty cup on the table. She plucked a cookie from the plate and scanned the crowd while Abby babbled on about the latest community news.

“I was talking to Millie Yoder, and she told me —” Abby began.

Abby’s words faded into the background when Miriam spotted a man moving through the crowd accompanied by a petite young woman. Although she couldn’t see his face, his stature and swagger were all too familiar. When his face turned in Miriam’s direction, she sucked in a breath and dropped the cookie onto the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Abby asked, her voice urgent. “You okay?”

Miriam shook her head as her eyes took in Timothy Kauffman’s countenance. He looked the same as he had when she’d last seen him. Standing at six-foot-two, he was muscular, complete with a wide chest and thick arms filling his dark blue shirt. His sandy blond hair was cut in a traditional Amish bowl cut, and his powder blue eyes sparkled in the light pouring in from the large windows around him.

And then the reality hit her—he was clean-shaven, which meant he wasn’t married. Her stomach flip-flopped.

Hannah was right! Timothy’s still single!

He leaned down to hear what the pretty young brunette was saying. When he smiled down at the girl, Miriam nearly swooned. Why did that man still have power over her emotions years after she’d left him?

“Miriam?” Abby moved closer. “Are you all right?”

“No.” Miriam’s voice trembled. “I’m not even close to being all right.”

Abby followed her gaze. “Wow. That tall hunk must be Timothy Kauffman.”

“
Ya.
” Miriam nodded. “He’s still perfect.”

Her cousin snorted. “No man is perfect. Trust me, I know.”

Timothy’s gaze met Miriam’s, and she held her breath. For a long moment, their stares held, and his smile faded. Her cheeks flamed as he studied her. She wanted to run, but an invisible force held her, cemented her in that spot until the young woman grabbed Timothy’s arm and shook it. He glanced down at the woman, breaking the trance.

“I’ve got to go,” Miriam muttered, bolting for the door.

“Miriam?” Abby called after her.

Miriam rushed through the back door and down the steps, running right into Zach Fisher, causing him to stumble backward.

“Whoa!” Zach exclaimed, righting himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see—”

“Excuse me,” Miriam mumbled, slipping past him and moving toward the path leading to the road.

“Miriam Lapp?” Zach ran after her.

Miriam groaned and kept walking. She was in no mood for another tedious and pointless conversation about where she’d been, how long she planned to stay in Pennsylvania, and how sorry he was about her mother.

“Wait up!” He trotted over and took her arm. “I haven’t seen you in four years, and you can’t stop to say
Wie geht’s?”

“Miriam!” Abby loped toward her.

Miriam bit her lip to keep from screaming in frustration.
Would you just leave me alone?

Forcing a smile, Miriam turned toward Zach. “Just give me one second, okay?” She then faced Abby and they moved out of earshot of Zach. “I’m fine. I just needed some air.”

Abby’s eyes were full of concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little green. I think maybe you need to get something substantial to eat.” She rubbed Miriam’s arm. “I’m really worried about you. How about I take you back to
Aenti’s
so you can put up your feet for a while? It’s been a long and emotional day.”