He’d been bound to the farm, shackled to his duty and his father’s expectations since the day he entered the world. But if his family could forgive him—even though Luke never could—maybe that would be enough.
Forgiveness. The thought of it made the chains on his heart feel a little lighter, as if someone were lifting them off.
The preacher said, “You are dismissed,” and Gerrit stood and stretched, feeling the past ninety minutes in every muscle in his back. He stepped into the aisle, eager to escape.
Something caught his eye, near the doors. A tall man in a blue windbreaker ducked out, head down. Gait unsteady. It couldn’t be. But it was.
Jakob.
The chains fell back with a thud and crushed Gerrit with their oppressive weight. He grunted under the burden, staggering and then bracing himself. There would be no freedom for him. The price was too high. He might someday, if he was lucky, earn forgiveness from his wife and kids. He might be able to make it right with Rae after the way he’d acted toward her. But he could never forgive Jakob.
GERRIT PATTED HIS full stomach. Dinner had gone over well. Both vegetarian and nonvegetarian fajitas with homemade guacamole. He, Hannie, and the kids relaxed on the deck, watching the sun sink. If the backyard were a beach, it would almost be like they were on the California vacation he used to promise they would take but never did.
Noah rose from his chair and leaned on the rail, peering down the hill. “It’s weird seeing the farm now.”
Gerrit’s senses heightened, the mere mention of the farm setting him on edge.
“Good riddance,” Evi said.
Hannie reached over and covered Evi’s hand with hers. “You used to love going down there.”
“Maybe when I was five.”
“Even after that.” Hannie pushed herself up and joined Noah at the rail. “Remember the Easter egg hunts we used to have in the old barn?”
Noah nodded. “There’s probably still eggs buried in there. We weren’t very good hunters.”
Evi stood now, too. “Speak for yourself. I was an excellent hunter.”
“Only because you couldn’t stand leaving a single piece of candy behind.” Noah smiled. “And you always hid the wrappers in the sawdust pile so no one would know how much you ate.”
Evi smacked his arm. “Did not.”
“Did too.”
A comfortable silence fell between Hannie, Evi, and Noah. The only one left in a chair, Gerrit looked around self-consciously. The rest of his family stood shoulder to shoulder, a united wall. Content without him. He might as well be back on the farm. Might as well be dead. He had erased himself from their lives.
Then Hannie looked back at him, an olive branch in her eyes. “Join us?”
He scrambled to accept the branch, leaning next to Noah on one end of the lineup, wondering what it would feel like for this to be the most natural thing in the world.
A warm breeze blew wisps of hair across Hannie’s face. She brushed them aside. “Remember the time your father built that giant slide out of hay bales? You kids played on that thing for hours.”
“It was almost two stories high.” Noah laughed. “It’s a miracle nobody died.”
Gerrit tensed. Noah blanched and glanced over at him. Gerrit gripped the rail, staring down at the land at the bottom of the hill, wondering how one place could hold so much joy and pain. A moment passed, Noah’s words suspended in the air as if waiting to see what Gerrit would do with them.
“I liked it when you guys played in the barn,” he finally said. “Liked hearing you laugh.”
A hesitant, hopeful smile crept over Noah’s face. “Except when we stole your Pepsi out of the vaccine fridge.”
Gerrit pretended to scowl. “Except for that.”
The truth was if he could go back, he’d buy a whole separate fridge to stock with Pepsi for his kids to have whenever they wanted. He’d build a hundred hay slides.
“I always used to wish you liked Sprite.” Evi’s voice was soft. Thoughtful. “That was my favorite.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She frowned. “No kidding.”
“Evi,” Hannie said.
Gerrit held up a hand. “No, it’s okay.” The thudding of his heart was like pounding fence posts in the back forty. “I’m sorry, Evi. I wasn’t a good father.”
No one disagreed. His confession staggered down the hill, tumbling over rocks and trees and coming to rest on the site of his transgressions.
When she answered, he almost missed it. “You weren’t a father at all,” she whispered.
His blood—or was it the past?—roared in his ears. “Maybe it’s not too late.”
Her head snapped up. “Maybe it is.”
Noah stood between them, looking back and forth. “Come on, Evi. He’s trying.”
She slammed a hand on the rail. “Who cares?”
Noah moved away, unsure. “I care.”
“He can’t just decide to be our dad again.”
Hannie reached for Evi. “Honey, your father always—”
Evi shook her off. “The only thing he always did was let me down.”
“What is wrong with you?” Gerrit’s voice was hardened with dread.
Hannie stared at him. He swallowed. That had come out wrong.
“I mean—”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.” Evi faced him. “I’m not the one who told his own daughter he wished she were a boy.”
Gerrit flinched. He remembered that day all too well. Apparently Evi did, too. But that wasn’t exactly what he’d said. He’d been desperate for help in the parlor after losing yet another hired hand, and he had asked her to pitch in. She’d refused. Said she didn’t want anything to do with the farm. He’d let his anger get the best of him.
Why did he always throw words around like they wouldn’t hurt?
She headed for the door, and he moved to block her retreat. “What do you want me to do? Please.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I don’t want you to do anything. I just think . . . I don’t know.” She drew a shaky breath. “When Uncle Luke died, I think maybe you did, too.”
She stepped to the side to go around him, but he held out his arms to stop her. He searched
