“But who came back,” she countered.
“But she’s still English, and only now do we realize how English she really is...” Thomas stepped a little closer, lowering his voice further. “She’s coming back because she misses us, and because she has a granddaughter now.”
“Not only for Rue, though,” Patience said hopefully.
“No, but Rue factors in rather heavily,” Thomas replied seriously. “She wants to help.”
They exchanged a meaningful look. She understood his worries very well.
“Oh...” Patience leaned back against the sun-warmed fence, and Thomas did the same, leaving a proper six inches between them. He looked over at her, his dark gaze filled with misery.
“My mamm missed the English life so much,” he said.
Patience frowned. “People come back when they see the error in their way, and she came back. So she must have seen that the English life was empty and...” Her voice trailed off.
“I don’t think it was empty, actually. She’s coming back because she realized life is short, and you don’t always have the time to repent that you think you do.” Thomas sighed. “When she left the first time, it was because she didn’t like the restrictions in an Amish life. She said she didn’t think Gott requires that, that it only cuts us off from the rest of the believers.”
Patience didn’t know how to answer that. She rolled the words around in her mind. “But she came back...”
“And if my daughter says something to her about the Amish way not being Gott’s will—one day when she’s old enough to think she knows it all—what will my mamm say to her?” Thomas eyed her for a moment, then shrugged. “I know she’s repented and she wants to come back to the narrow path, but will my mother harbor some of those dangerous views still? I might not have cared before I had Rue in my life, but now—”
“Will you turn her away?” Patience asked softly.
“Oh, Patience...” he sighed. “She’s my mamm! I love her too much to turn her away. But we’ll be the ones to pay for it.”
“Gott is still working,” she said.
“Yah...”
“You have to trust that.”
“But the right thing to do is often the hard thing, isn’t it?” he said.
Was he thinking that the right thing would be to turn away his mamm? He didn’t elaborate. Right now, the easy thing would be to reach out and take his hand. It would be to lean into his strong shoulder, to comfort him... The easy thing was not the right thing to do.
“But you’re good for Rue,” he added. “She’s doing as well as she is because of you. You’re...really good for her.”
“I’m not good for you, though,” she said.
Thomas dropped his gaze, then shrugged. “You’re comforting for me.”
Tears misted Patience’s eyes. She longed to be his comfort right now, but she knew where that would go. It wasn’t only him who was feeling this strong attraction; she was, too, and last night she’d lain awake thinking not of his mamm and the drama that had unfolded before him, but of his kiss. His arms around her had felt so warm and safe, and she’d never been kissed quite like that before. She’d never had the experience of feeling heady and grounded all at the same time...
Over at the pump, Amos and Noah stopped for some water, then took Rue’s hand. People were moving toward the tent now. It would be time for service to start soon.
“Where will Rue sit?” Patience asked.
Thomas looked toward the tent, then shrugged.
“With me,” Thomas replied. “Mary can’t chase her down, and she’s mine. She’ll sit with me.”
There was no mamm to take her to the women’s side of the tent, so one little girl would sit on her daet’s knee on the men’s side—a fair-haired little ray of sunshine amid a sea of males clad in black Sunday clothes. Patience felt a well of compassion for this man and his little girl. They were doing their best together, and she couldn’t overstep. She must be available for other men, just in case there was a widower who wanted a wife but no more kinner. And Thomas must be available to find a good Amish mamm for his daughter.
It was time for service.
Thomas wasn’t sure what he expected from his daughter during her very first Amish service. From what he’d gathered already, Rue had never gone to church in her life. Tina had told her a little bit about Gott, a confusing tangle of information that included Heaven for those who had died, but that was the extent of Rue’s spiritual education thus far.
Every night, Thomas had been telling her Bible stories, tricking her into listening with rapt attention by beginning each one with “Once upon a time...” It worked. And whenever she asked for another story, he never said no, because she was finally getting the foundation that she so desperately needed.
There was a Bible verse that guided much of Amish parenting: Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. At least he could give her a reason for her faith—the stories from scripture that could be a bedrock for every choice she made in the future. And if his prayers were answered, those stories would keep her rooted in their faith—here.
The raising of a child was such a deep commitment, and he was only now appreciating how much lay on his shoulders as Rue’s daet.
Thomas sat next to his brother and Amos on the very edge of the bench. If he had to get away from the service for whatever reason, he’d need an exit that didn’t cause disruption. Other daets sat with their
