“You’ll need to talk as brothers,” the older man said. “So you can tell me in a few days, then.”
The bishop took his leave, shaking both of their hands before he went back out to his waiting buggy. Thomas and Noah went back onto the porch and Thomas picked up his whittling again. Together he and his brother stared out at the dusky sky. Bugs circled the kerosene lamp that gave Thomas enough light by which to work, and for a few minutes they were both silent.
“I am angry,” Noah said quietly. “And I’m insulted that she doesn’t believe what she taught us anymore. But all the same, I want her back. Maybe even to argue with her about all we went through—maybe just for that.”
Thomas sucked in a wavery breath. His experience of their mamm’s life with the Englishers was different, because he’d joined her there for a few years. He knew what she’d experienced out there—it was a whole different way of seeing things, and when you were out there in the midst of the Englishers, their ways didn’t seem so wrong. It was a strange experience.
“I miss Mamm,” Thomas said quietly. “But will she make an Englisher life look that much more appealing to my daughter?”
“If Mamm stays English, it might give Rue somewhere to go to,” Noah replied.
“I hadn’t thought of that...” Thomas worked at the details of the kapp and hair on his little figurine, the work calming the clamor in his head. There was no clear path here—no easy decision that protected his daughter’s innocence. His own mistakes were shadowing him here, as were his mamm’s.
“Is this cruel of the bishop to ask our input?” Noah asked.
“Maybe,” Thomas said. “But we’re the ones who will live with the impact of her return most closely. Maybe it’s just wise of them to listen to what we have to say.”
“So what do we say?” Noah looked up at his brother.
Thomas turned back to his whittling, his heart heavy. He didn’t want to sit here—he wanted to get away from the house and get alone with his thoughts. He needed to walk.
“Maybe we just say that we love our mamm,” Thomas said. “It’s the only thing we can be sure is true.”
Noah swatted at a mosquito on his arm, and Thomas tucked his whittling aside, snapped his knife shut and put it back into his pocket.
“I need to clear my head,” Thomas said. “I’m going to take a walk.”
“Yah, okay,” Noah replied, and he sucked in a deep breath.
And Thomas headed off across the lawn and toward the gravel drive. The sun was bleeding red along the horizon, and his heart was bleeding within him.
Gott, I can’t choose between my daughter and my mamm. And I can’t read the future, either. What do I do? What do I say? Can You redeem this mess that we’ve made?
Chapter Twelve
Patience sat on the edge of her bed up in the guest room of the Kauffmans’ home. The older folks were downstairs in the sitting room. She could hear the murmur of their voices through the floorboards, but her attention wasn’t on their muffled conversation. She was looking outside the window at the slowly setting sun. It flooded the sky with crimson, matching her mood tonight.
She’d thought that talking things through with Thomas would be enough to banish whatever they were feeling for each other, but it hadn’t worked—not in the schoolhouse, at least. Her hand tingled where he’d touched it, and she balled her fingers into a fist.
She had to stop this! Whatever was sparking between them couldn’t last. She didn’t think he meant to toy with her, any more than she meant to toy with him. But she was no longer a young thing with giddy hopes of romance. She didn’t have what a man like Thomas needed, and adults with responsibilities were obligated to be practical.
She couldn’t relax, and while she’d get used to living with the Kauffmans this year, it wasn’t like being at home with her mamm and daet. If she were home right now, they’d all be sitting around the kitchen table talking about the latest gossip in the community, or playing a game of Dutch Blitz. Being with family was easier, even if she was the last one left at home.
She’d wanted this move to a new community—desperately. And now that she was here, she felt nothing but homesick.
Patience sucked in a breath. Maybe a walk would do her good, clear her head, give her some fresh air and a bit of perspective again.
She headed down the stairs, and when she got to the bottom of the staircase, she poked her head into the sitting room.
“Oh, hello, dear,” Hannah said with a smile. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” Patience said and smiled in return. Hannah seemed to feed people on instinct—whenever she saw them, she offered a snack. “But thank you. I thought I’d go for a walk.”
“Oh, of course. Enjoy yourself.”
Samuel smiled, too, then passed the folded newspaper over to his wife. “Look who’s gotten married—that’s old Ben’s grandson, isn’t it? Ben Yoder—the one who built that silo, and the storm crushed it, remember? His son, with the one leg a bit shorter than the other...”
Patience went back through the kitchen and out the side door, the sound of the older couple’s discussion whether this was the right young man in question or someone with a similar name following her until she got out onto the step. This old couple knew the family stories of everyone, it seemed. That’s how a close community worked, and it was that very intimate community knowledge that she’d been trying to escape in Beaufort.
She sucked in a deep breath, the aroma of lilacs and
