Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel (7 page)

Hefting the wheelbarrow, Samuel steered it toward the stalls, the wheel wobbling and making the cart go catawampus. With a pitchfork, he tossed in fresh straw, and tiny bits and pieces fluttered in the air. His head felt muzzy from lack of sleep.

Swiping a sleeve over his face, Samuel filled a bucket with feed, then reached up to put the scoop on the shelf. A square object snagged his attention. What was a book doing out here? Samuel dusted off the cover and felt his skin tighten. His hand splayed the cover and then he thumbed the pages.

When some Beloveds, ’neath whose eyelids lay

The sweet lights of my childhood, one by one

He recognized the poem Levi had sent. Was this Jacob’s book, the one he’d given to Hannah? He flipped more pages.

There is no one beside thee, and no one above thee;

Thou standest alone, as the nightingale sings!

A wisp of a smile felt like a soft spring breeze drifting over his face. The poem made him remember a girl from his childhood. She sat in the wispy, dry grass along Hallelujah Creek, her face shaded by her bonnet. She was hunched so far inside her winter coat next to a hickory stump, Samuel had missed her until she spoke.

“I heard them making fun of you.”

He stood at water’s edge, his boots muddy, and Mamm would not be pleased. He shrugged and kicked a dirt clod. “Who cares? Book learnin’ is stupid.”

When she didn’t respond, he looked back at her. She scribbled in a notebook. Ignoring her, he picked up a rock and chucked it in the water. It made a glump of a splash. Stupid as it was, it made him feel better, so he picked up another rock.

“Here,” the girl said.

Samuel tossed the rock in the air and caught it. “What?”

“I wrote something for you. Wanna read it?”

He huffed out a breath. What did this Wagler girl want from him? To torture him more because he couldn’t read as well as the rest of the kids his age? “Why would I wanna do that?”

She gave him a slow, steady look, and he threw the rock as hard and as far as he could. But it broke apart midair and made tiny plops in the creek.

“I’ll read it to you if you want.”

“I don’t want.”

“But I wrote it for you.”

He scooped up another rock and tossed it impatiently. “I reckon then, go ahead. If you have to.”

She studied the paper, her lips moving over the words as she read silently, then she gave a tiny nod. “Okay, here it goes.
Words
are
like
seeds. They help you to read. Plant them deep in your head, and you’ll be well read.
” She raised those soft brown eyes toward him. “Was it dumb?”

“Nah, it wasn’t too bad. You really wrote that?”

She nodded. Then she tore out the page and held it out to him. “You can keep it.”

With a scowl, he snatched it from her, folded it, and stuck it in his hip pocket.

“You can learn to read.”

He hurled the rock, and it crossed the creek and landed on the other side. “What if I can’t?”

“Then we’ll just have to try harder.”

Samuel leaned on the feed barrel, fond memories of sitting beside Hallelujah Creek on warm afternoons swimming around in his thoughts. That Wagler girl had helped him stumble through the fourth and fifth grade readers. She never laughed at him, never grew frustrated. And finally, he’d made progress.

It had been a long while since he’d thought of those relaxing days, and remembering soothed a ruffled part of his soul. He set the book back on the shelf for when he had more time, finished feeding the livestock, and gathered eggs in the henhouse. He hoped breakfast was ready because he was starving.

With the sun’s rays turning the horizon pink, Samuel carried the plastic bucket of eggs toward the house. No frost this morning, so maybe winter was finally behind them. But the influx of warmer air had brought wisps of fog that swirled and hovered over the fields. Pale light shone around the green shades in the windows along the side of the house where the kitchen was located. His stomach was already rumbling.

He barreled through the side door, leading into the kitchen, and nearly mowed over someone standing in his way. His arms came around the slight form. The bucket swayed precariously, and he joggled around, holding on to what he now realized was a girl, as if they were dancing, but he simply tried to keep them from falling splat onto the floor and scrambling the eggs.

“My goodness, Samuel,” Hannah said, laughing as she stirred something on the stove. “You must be awful hungry to be in such a hurry.”

Samuel grinned, then looked down apologetically at the girl…woman, whose brown eyes instantly transported him back to another time, another season. Those upturned, solemn eyes had once upon a time captured his attention.

Naomi’s face brightened with embarrassment. Once he was sure she wasn’t going to go sprawling across the floor, he released her and backed away, rubbing his damp palms on the back of his trousers. With her face scrubbed as clean as summer-dried linens, she looked far younger than someone like Andi. Back at Miller’s schoolhouse, she had captured his interest, and he had quietly (without anyone knowing) gone to see her in the middle of the night once they were of running around age. She was like a still water, quiet and reserved, but thoughts and truths ran through her like a deep undercurrent.

“Samuel,” Hannah interrupted his thoughts, as she clinked a spoon against a pan, “do you remember Naomi?”

He cleared his throat to dispel the emotional congestion. “Sure. Sure do. Yes.” But she was no longer the girl fixated in his mind from memory. She was a woman full grown. “It’s good…I mean, fine to…uh, see you again.”

She gave a somber nod, her eyes wide and watchful. She offered no smile, but her expression held no malice either. So much had changed since those innocent days.

“Welcome back to Promise, Samuel.”

A steep barrier separated them now, whether she knew it or not, and that barrier was a knowledge that no one in this Amish district suspected. But a wider world existed, even if he didn’t value much in it. For a second, he wondered what would have happened if he’d never left Promise, if Jacob had never died, if his own innocence had remained intact. Would Naomi and he have taken the next steps in life together?

He could never go back to being that boy again. Still, the fact remained that he’d left and never said good-bye to Naomi. He could have written her. But she was the writer, not him. What would he have said? Putting words on the page was sometimes as difficult as making sense of words stuck in books. How could he have explained all that had happened? Speaking of it, writing about it, probing it was like ripping a bandage off a wound and picking a scab until it oozed. It was better to forget the time they’d shared and stuff the experiences he’d had over the last few years. It was different now.

“Did any eggs break?” she asked.

“I hope not,” he said with a rush of uncertainty, feeling edgy and uncomfortable. “Here.”

She acted calmer than he felt. Setting the bucket on the counter, she began to count the eggs. Was she angry at his silence over the years? Maybe she hadn’t cared as much as he had. Maybe she had moved on and was seeing someone else now—which somehow eased the pressure of guilt in his chest. Yet it also stirred something else. Or maybe she was here because he was, because she’d heard he was back.

“I’ll need two extra eggs,” Hannah told Naomi, then she explained, “Naomi is here to help me with the babies and around the house.”

“Of course.” He was a fool to think she was there for him. He felt as if he should say something. “And we’re very thankful for your help.” He breathed in the warm scents of eggs, bacon, and what he hoped to be biscuits in the oven. “And very grateful for your good cooking last night.”

Her cheeks stained the color of summer strawberries. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Their gazes locked and for a moment they were young teenagers sitting on the creek bank. Samuel cleared his throat. He needed out of the kitchen, something to do. “Where are my nephews?”

“I’ll get them,” Naomi offered. She handed the extra eggs to Hannah and left.

Samuel drew a deeper, more relaxed breath and peered over at the fluffy biscuits Hannah pulled out of the oven. She smiled. “Go ahead and take one.”

As he bit into the fluffy, buttery richness, he groaned with pure pleasure.

“I’m glad you’re so easy to please.”

He grinned.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Naomi appeared again, cradling a bundle in each arm. She looked flushed and pleased. He moved closer and peered down into the little faces. Their eyes were closed, pink mouths relaxed, cheeks round and full. They looked healthy and strong, not that he knew much about babies. Still, they were fresh and pink-skinned and beautiful.

“Would you like to hold them?” Naomi asked.

He looked to the mother for confirmation. “If it’s all right with Hannah.”

“Of course.” She laughed as she scraped scrambled eggs into a bowl. “But you best sit down. They can be a lot to handle.”

He settled into a chair at the table, and not knowing what else to do, he held his arms out awkwardly.

“Here.” Naomi leaned close. “Bend your arm.” She touched the soft place inside his elbow and slipped one swaddled baby into the crook of his arm. She tucked his arm under and around the baby.

His gaze rose to meet Naomi’s and he said, “Do you still write?”

A blush flash-burned her cheeks. She backed away, glancing quickly at Hannah, then fussing over the baby she still held.

Why
had
he
asked
that?
Shifting in his seat, he focused on the baby in his arms. “Which one is this?”

“That’s Gideon.” She joggled the other baby until he held out his other arm.

“Don’t fret. I won’t drop him.”

She leaned down again, and Samuel breathed in a scent of sunny meadows and wildflowers, flour and cinnamon. He drew in Naomi’s scent like a memory to be savored. Then she deposited the other baby in the crook of his arm. “Gabriel, meet your Uncle Samuel.”

He grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

Her gaze met his, and she backed quickly away. But she kept watch over him like a mother bird fluttering about her nest.

“How do you tell them apart?” he asked.

Naomi smiled as if she held a secret and leaned forward, jostling free the end of one blanket. A loose blue thread looped one baby’s ankle. “Gideon is blue. Gabriel is yellow.”

Grinning, Samuel leaned back, gazing down at his two nephews. Something in his chest opened, and he imagined what it would be like one day to bounce them on his knee or teach them to climb a tree or ride on the back of a horse…and maybe get into a little mischief. After all, that’s what uncles were for. His own Uncle Matthew had taught him how to swipe cookie dough from his mother, who had scolded her big brother with an easy chuckle. Then there was Uncle Dan and Uncle Joseph. They hadn’t been filled with as much mischief, but when he was a boy, they’d kept him on the straight and narrow path and offered a listening ear if ever he needed one.

Samuel longed to protect these babies from knowing what he knew, from experiencing the pain and guilt he’d suffered over the past few months and years. Was it possible to keep something so beautiful from being tarnished by this fallen world?

“Hannah,” he said, his throat thick, “you’ve been blessed for sure.”

She turned, wiping her hands on her apron. “We have,
ja
.” She carried bowls of biscuits and eggs to the table. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Is Levi coming?” He offered one of the babies back to Naomi.

Hannah reached for her other son. “I’ll go put the boys down and see if Levi feels up to coming to the table this morning.”

After helping Hannah hold both of her babies, Naomi began cleaning dishes at the sink.

Samuel sat at the table. Alone. The air in the room seemed to shrink. “Aren’t you going to eat too?”

“Of course. But if I can get a bit of this chore finished first, then Hannah can relax later.”

He smiled, knowing her kind disposition. She was always thinking of others rather than herself. Even back in school, she’d looked out for the younger children. He spotted a few pots and pans on the stove and decided to help her out. But when he touched the pan, which had held the biscuits, he jerked back, and the pan clattered against a skillet.

Naomi turned. “Are you okay, Samuel?”

“
Ja
.” He shook his hand. “Burned myself though.”

She went to the freezer and pulled out a plastic bag of frozen peas. “Here.” She laid it against his palm. “I’ve done that a few times myself.”

“I wasn’t thinking.” Which seemed to be a sudden problem.

Her eyes were solemn and assessing, her touch light as she held his injured hand between her palms. “You were trying to help.”

His attempts at helping often backfired. Maybe he’d made a mistake coming back here. Maybe he should have left the past behind him.

“You never answered my question.” He tossed the bag of peas and caught it. “Are you still writing?”

“Sometimes.”

Andi hitched her gym bag over her shoulder and headed to her Toyota Yaris. She didn’t bother zipping her jacket as the night air cooled her heated skin. The parking lot still had a number of cars lined up, but she had no more clients for the evening. And she had less than twenty minutes to make her appointment.

Tossing her stuff in the backseat, she backed out of the parking space. She peered over her shoulder to check for any approaching cars.

A face appeared in the side window. Her heart shot into her throat. She slammed on the brake, jolting her forward and back. The features settled into place, and she recognized the new trainer at the club. He had curly blond hair and a casual I-know-I’m-hot smile. The dashboard clock warned she had little time. Rolling down her window, she offered a tight smile. “Hey, Seth. What’s up?”

“Wanna get a beer?”

She’d been anticipating this since the first day Seth had walked into the club with that cocky swagger and roaming eye. “Can’t tonight. Sorry.” But she wasn’t.

Disappointment blinked, but his smile remained in tact. “Gotta hot date?”

“Don’t you know it?” She kept her personal life personal. Samuel had been gone less than a week, and already she felt the itch of needing to be out and about on the town. She’d thought about meeting friends last night but had ended up staying home, watching a rerun of
24
. How sad was that? And she’d just turned down a hot guy, who turned her off more than on. What was wrong with her? “Tell you what. Get a group together and we’ll all go out Friday, okay?”

Two blinks later, he took it in stride. “Sure. Sounds good.”

Backing out of her parking space, she imagined Samuel in his hometown of Promise. Oh sure, he’d made it sound like he would be working hard. But didn’t he always? That didn’t slow him down when it came to partying. Probably every hormone-addled girl in his old district was baking him apple strudel in an effort to gain his attention. No matter what the Amish said, they knew what was what and played for keeps—especially where men were concerned. Some plain teenage girl was probably already trying to get her short, blunt, claws into him. Probably thought she could latch on to his heart through his stomach. But Andi knew how men worked. And their heart had a direct link to a lower organ. Those Amish girls didn’t have a thing on her.

She parked with three minutes to spare. The rearview mirror revealed makeup intact, lips moist. She jerked out her ponytail and swung her hair over her shoulders.

When she’d met Brydon, he’d introduced her to a book by some crazy British dude. At first, she’d thought Brydon was simply coming on to her with the Brit’s recounting of his sexual exploits, but he’d actually looked embarrassed by the topic when she brought it up. And boy, she’d thought folks from the eighteen hundreds had been stuffed shirts, but she’d been wrong. They were adventurous.

Over the past week, she’d read about crazy secret groups that believed wacky stuff about angels or gods visiting them and dispensing freaky religious orders. The British dude probably just wanted to get laid. And boy had he. The women back then must have been gullible or stupid or maybe they wanted it just as bad. But with him? From the pictures she’d seen, he wasn’t much of a catch.

And neither was Brydon, but she figured he wanted something for himself. Didn’t they all? And maybe it would be fun to try out some of the bizarre Brit’s exploits.

“Andi?” The voice came from a shadowed hedge to her left.

She whipped around and smiled with relief at the dark figure. “Brydon! What are you doing out here?”

“Watching for you.”

“Am I late?”

“I got off early.” He stepped out of the shadows. “So I waited out here for you.” He tilted his head back to survey the stars. “Nice night, huh?”

“Yeah.” His awkwardness, she decided, made him cute.

“Found some books you might find useful. Checked them out with my card.” He held out a small stack. “Found a couple of interesting articles that might benefit you too, so I copied them. Would you like to…uh…” He paused and tilted his head awkwardly.

She smiled. Nerdish maybe, but definitely cute. And innocent in the ways of women. Oh how she could educate him. “How about we grab some coffee?” she offered. “There’s a diner nearby. And we can look over what you found.”

His Adam’s apple plunged and surged when he smiled. “I’d like that.”

Something in his dark gaze made her feel off kilter.