The Thorn (18 page)

"Why should I be? She was always too drunk to care about me."

"Maybe she was just too sick, jah?"

He stood there, unmoving ... and silent.

Rose had often wondered why he hadn't returned to his mother on his own when he was of age. "Did ya stay round here because she was too sick to have you live with her ... when you were old enough to decide?"

"I wanted her to search for me ... not the other way around."

Was he just that stubborn? she wondered.

He breathed slowly and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I never stopped believing she'd get sober."

Her heart broke for him. "If she'd gotten well, I'm sure she would've looked for you." She paused. "Someone from the agency could've told her where you were, I'd guess."

"But ... God let her die."

"Now, Nick, you know it wasn't like that," Rose said gently.

He reached to touch her elbow, his tone suddenly tender. "Did I hurt you before? When I squeezed your arms? I didn't mean to. I mean, I'd never.. ."

She stroked George's thick mane. "I'm fine."

He leaned forward to retrieve the flashlight at their feet. "Well, I'll be seein' ya."

"Nick - try not to be too sad."

"Tomorrow, Rose."

"Jah ... tomorrow." With that, she led George up the lane and back to the barn.

Solomon had been unable to locate his horse George either in the stable or in the pasture earlier that evening. After searching much of his own property, he went on foot to hunt in the bishop's barn, too. Seeing that Pepper was also missing, and aware that Rose and Nick were nowhere around, he presumed the two were out riding together.

Again. He groaned - he had hoped they were spending less time together aside from chores. As reliable a worker as Nick had always been, the boy was not fit for his Rose. Sol could only pray that Silas might turn things around by the next Singing. The young man had been fond of Rose for quite a while, but according to Reuben Good, his son hadn't pursued her because she'd dropped out of Singings these past months. Thank goodness Sylvia was able to stay with Emma more often again, freeing up Rose Ann. There was a real possibility that romance might be winging its way to his daughter's heart.

Now Solomon stood beside the second-story window, peering down at the front yard and Nick and Rose, who stood at the end of the lane. Nick's flashlight lay at Rose's feet.

Sol winced when Nick reached for Rose Ann's arms.

"Dear Lord in heaven." He shuddered at the possibility that his second daughter might also be lost to God due to an outsider. "Let it not be so...."

Hen felt terribly tense. Brandon had decided to wait until after Mattie Sue was asleep to discuss the little Amish dress. He closed their bedroom door quite deliberately, the latch clicking in the stillness. It was apparent by the way he sat on the chair across from the bed where she waited that he was ready to speak his mind.

"Why would you do this, Hen?" He leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him.

She stiffened. "You saw her - Mattie Sue loves wearing it."

"Are you trying to interest her in being Amish?" His words were cutting.

"Well, she is Amish ... partly."

He fixed his eyes on her. "But you're not, Hen. You never joined the church, remember?"

"Well, you know what I mean," she replied. "Besides, Mattie's just playing around. She's crazy about her dress and Kapp. Can't you let her enjoy the fun?"

"Fun?" He shook his head. "Why do you want to look back now, Hen ... why?"

She pushed several more pillows behind her back and leaned on the headboard. "I just want my child to know her roots." Her voice trembled.

"Your child?"

"C'mon, Brandon ... don't do this."

He rose in a silent sulk and headed for the shower. He grabbed his bathrobe off the hook in the closet, muttering something she couldn't make out.

"Can't we talk this through?" she asked as he pushed open the bathroom door. But he said no more.

She remembered driving by her father's house after Mattie's birth. Three-week-old Mattie Sue had been sound asleep in her infant carrier as Hen parked across the road from the old farmhouse and sat there with her window open, listening to all the sounds of twilight. It had been the first time she'd missed home.

"You're playing with the fires of hell if you marry that fellow," the bishop had warned. "A friend of the world is an enemy of God!"

She'd opened the car door and gotten out, just staring at the darkened house ... waiting for Dat to bring in the gas lamps from the barn. She'd bit her lip, not wanting to spoil her glimpse of her childhood home with salty tears. No, Hen refused to cry when she had only herself to blame. She had disregarded the wisdom of her parents, as well as the ministerial brethren.

She had chosen her own way.

And now here she was all these years later, missing home more than ever. The memories and yearning had welled up and overtaken her until Hen could scarcely think of anything else.

Why can't Brandon understand?

It was impossible to brush their disagreement aside. But for tonight it appeared that Brandon had done just that. Hen rose and went into their spacious closet to find the letters she'd left out earlier. While she sorted through them, Brandon finished his shower and slipped out to the family room. She heard the TV on now and decided to steer clear of him. Let him think about what she'd said - what they'd said to each other....

The tension between them could be felt across the house, and for the first time since they'd married, Hen hoped her husband might just sleep on the sofa again.

Settling down on the floor at the foot of the bed, she sat in her long cotton nightgown and read several of Arie's letters. It was hard not to compare her past friendship with Arie - who was happily married, according to Rose Ann, with three little ones already - to Hen's present relationship with Diane, who was altogether disgruntled with marriage and vowed openly that, now that she had one child, she was done having babies. "I never want the hassles of another newborn."

There were other differences between the two women, especially the way each viewed relationships. Diane, for instance, was just as quick to discard as to collect. Hen had noticed this with some degree of trepidation a few short months into their friendship. If Diane disliked your politics or thought you were closed-minded, she immediately brushed you off. No second chances with her. Hen had seen her do that with several work friends right before Karen was born.

Arie, for her part, had never been one to collect friends. She didn't seem to need more than one or two close relationships in her life. And for all the years she and Hen were best friends, Arie said she needed only Hen to confide in - until Hen had betrayed her, as she called it.

Hen sighed and opened another letter. Truth was, she'd pushed Arie into an impossible corner, where the only thing she could do was avoid Hen.

She heard Brandon changing TV channels, making more noise than was necessary. A frightening thought crossed her mind - what if her own husband rejected her?

Unable to consider such a thing for more than a fleeting second, Hen returned to reading Arie's encouraging letters - some written the year Hen was sick with a long-lasting flu. Others were penned the winter Arie and her family went by train to visit her mother's cousins near Sarasota, Florida, in a tiny village called Pinecraft.

Hen leaned down to lie on the floor, propping herself up on one elbow to continue reading. She missed her Amish friend terribly. She wished she could talk to Arie tonight. She felt lost and quite alone, even here in the bedroom she and Brandon had created as a haven against the world. Why couldn't Brandon comprehend what had happened to her when Mattie Sue came into their lives ... and into her arms? Hen merely longed to impart the wisdom of the ages to her darling little girl. Why was that unacceptable?

Will I always regret my decision to marry outside the church? The awareness that she felt regret startled Hen. Yet wouldn't all this fussing and fretting come to an end if Brandon simply allowed her what she wished for - a chance to work at Rachel's Fabrics, and more contact between Mattie and her Plain relatives? If he'd just be more flexible and open to the idea that good, simple living had something to offer her and Mattie - to all three of them - they could resume their previously happy relationship.

She glanced at the lamp table and saw her Bible tucked beneath the second shelf. How long had it been since she'd read it? She remembered years of reading aloud to her mother, confined in her wheelchair.... Oh, the joy the Scriptures brought to Mom, easing her pain in a way that Hen could not fathom. Whenever her mother couldn't sleep, she prayed. No doubt her mother was praying even now.

Hen took comfort in the thought and returned Arie's letters to the box.

Suddenly she got the idea to write to Arie. The desire had crossed her mind numerous times in the past five years, but never had she been as anxious to act on it as tonight.

She rose and found her stationery and best pen, then went to the small oak desk in the corner and began to write.

Dear Arie,

Please don't dismiss me before you read this letter. After seeing you last Sunday at my parents' house, I've been thinking about our friendship. I know I hurt you with my choices. I hurt myself, too.

You were such a big part of my life, Arie. I realize this more each day. And I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me someday.

There are parts of my former life I still miss. I long to be around Plain folk again, and I've taken a job at Rachel's Fabrics. I'm really hoping you might stop by the shop sometime to see me. I'd love that!

I miss you, dearest friend.

With love, Hen

Rereading her letter, Hen realized anew how impulsive she'd been to marry. How ironic that impulsive was just what Brandon had called her. And now she must do her best to keep her yearnings for the Old Ways at bay, or she'd spoil their marriage. There was disgust in Brandon's eyes whenever she argued for a renewed connection to her Plain life. Amish culture - and faith - had never held any appeal for him.

The fact that he still hadn't mentioned her new job surprised her. Was he a pressure cooker, ready to explode in frustration? Until recently, he'd never said a harsh word to her, but then, she hadn't provoked such a disruption in their lives till now, either. Though none of this is on purpose. Hen was torn right down the middle of her soul.

She folded the note to Arie and addressed the envelope. Then, going to the kitchen, she located a stamp in a small drawer, as well as a return address sticker. She stared at it as she pressed the words onto the envelope: Mr. & Mrs. Brandon Orringer.

Hen belonged with her husband. No longer was she Sol Kauffman's little Amish girl. It was essential that Hen make a greater attempt to please Brandon - to try to make her unfulfilling English life a happier one for them both.

Somehow, I must.

Rose was startled to hear the click of a stone against her bedroom window Sunday evening. Fully dressed for the Singing, she had been walking back and forth in her room, thinking of Silas. Would he ask her to ride afterward?