The Promise of Easter, page 4
Daad frowned, staring down at the harness buckle in his hand as if he didn’t see it. When he finally spoke, it seemed he was talking to himself.
“Everyone will have to know sometime, I guess,” he murmured. He seemed to make up his mind, and he looked steadily into her face. “Matthew came to ask me if he could help us on the farm this spring.”
She froze. Matthew, helping with the farm work, here every day, probably even having meals with them. It couldn’t be.
“Ach, Daadi, no. You can’t. How could you even think of it?”
The lines of Daad’s weathered face seemed to tighten. “Matthew has been as close to us as family for a long time. He was James’s best friend. What is more natural than for him to help with the spring planting?”
“It’s not natural.” She forced the words out from a tight throat. “Not to have Matt here every day, reminding us that he is here and James isn’t. Reminding us that if he had done what he should, James wouldn’t have died.”
“Anna.” His voice was sharp. “I won’t have you talking that way. You’ve no reason to hold Matthew at fault in James’s accident. We have told you that before.”
She managed to swallow a tart retort. Yah, they had told her that, but she didn’t believe it. James had always gone where ever Matthew led. And that night it had been fatal.
“I’m sorry, Daadi. I just don’t feel that way.”
He shook his head. “Then you must either change your feelings or refuse to be controlled by them. Set your mind on forgiveness, if you can’t do anything else.”
Anna had nothing more to say, and it seemed her father didn’t, either. His face dark with disappointment, he turned away and walked toward the house.
Forgiveness. A keystone of Amish belief. Their history was filled with stories of forgiveness, even for those who persecuted them. She’d always imagined that she would act the same in the place of those martyrs of the faith.
Right up until she faced a loss so painful that it threatened to consume her. And then she couldn’t forgive.
Maybe, in time, she would be able to master her feelings, but not now. It was too soon and the pain of losing James too sharp. To see Matthew every day, to see him working at the jobs James had once done . . . she couldn’t bear it.
She stood where she was for a moment, and then she started to re-buckle the harness, settling it on the mare’s back. There was one way to prevent it that she could see. Matthew himself must decide to give up this idea of his and go away. She’d have to make him see that . . . now, before it was too late.
CHAPTER THREE
When Anna headed back out onto the road again, Daisy turned her head as if to ask a question. This was clearly not what was supposed to happen after she had brought Anna home from school, as far as Daisy was concerned.
“Step up, Daisy.” It was an impatient mutter, and the mare moved on. It seemed even Daisy didn’t approve of her actions. At least the mare didn’t know anything about her thoughts.
Forgiveness. She tried to push the word and all its connections out of her mind. She knew that everything Daad had said was true, and yet it didn’t seem to make a dent in the coldness that gripped her heart when she thought about James’s death.
She had to talk to Matthew—had to find out why he wanted to do this thing. Didn’t he realize that it would be painful for all of them? Or didn’t he care?
Anna’s thoughts couldn’t seem to get beyond that, revolving with the turn of the buggy wheels. Ahead of her she could see the gateposts that marked Ella’s drive. Too soon. She hadn’t figured out what to say. Maybe she should have walked. That would at least give her more time to think out her approach.
Ella would be there at this time of day, and Anna couldn’t take her feelings about Matt out on his aunt. Ella wasn’t to blame, although if she hadn’t taken him in—
Anna stopped, aghast at her own thoughts. Despite what she thought of Matt’s return, she had no right to blame Ella. Daad would say she should be ashamed of herself, and she’d have to agree.
Halfway to the hitching rail at the back door, Anna saw movement at the kitchen window. Not Matt . . . it was his aunt.
The buggy came to a stop at the hitching rail. As she slid down from the seat, Daisy gave a look at the daffodils along the porch, as if wondering whether they were edible or not. Anna fastened the line short enough to discourage any sampling. Or stepping on them before they’d had a chance to open.
Ella opened the door, nodding to her. “Good to see you, Anna.”
“And you,” she replied, her mind going blank. She glanced again at the flowers. “Looks as if your daffodils will be in full bloom by Easter, ain’t so?”
“Maybe past it, if the days stay this warm.” Ella didn’t even glance at the flowers. She focused in on Anna, her eyes keen. “You didn’t come here to talk about flowers. Matthew is in the barn.”
Anna felt the color come up in her cheeks, and she tried to find something to say. There wasn’t anything. With an embarrassed nod, she headed for the barn.
Ella never changed . . . she just got a little sharper as she grew older. She always had come right to the point, and she had little patience with folks who didn’t do the same.
Realizing that she was walking uncomfortably fast, Anna slowed a little. There was no point in racing as if running away from Ella. Or toward Matt.
She took a steadying breath as she stepped into the barn, standing still for a moment to allow her eyes to become accustomed to the dimness. As they did, she saw that the barn had only one stall in use. Ella wouldn’t have need for more than the one buggy horse that took her to town for shopping and to worship. The elderly mare reached her head over the stall bar and breathed hopefully in Anna’s direction.
Anna patted the mare, noticing the gray hairs on the muzzle. The horse was here, but Ella had said Matthew was, too, and she didn’t see anyone. She was about to call out, when a noise above her head drew her attention. The sound of something sliding was capped by a hammer’s tapping.
Moving back a few steps brought Matt into view. He hadn’t seen her yet. On his hands and knees, he was nailing a board into place on the loft floor, his expression intent and his arm moving in smooth, even strokes.
He thought he was alone, she guessed, and his face had relaxed from the tense, almost angry expression he’d worn the last time she saw him. He looked younger . . . that was it. More like the boy he’d been than the man he was.
The horse whickered, and Matt looked down and saw her. Nothing moved . . . they looked at each other, that was all. But Anna felt some faint shift in the atmosphere in that moment.
She gave her head an impatient shake. “Can we talk?”
Matt’s face, looking down at her from above, slowly tightened until all the youth was gone from it. He gave a short nod, ducking his head as he rose, and moved to the ladder.
He came down the first few steps of the ladder slowly, but when he reached the second one, he dropped lightly to the floor. When he faced her, his expression was carefully guarded.
“What is it?”
“I came . . .” She hesitated, because a change had come over him quite suddenly. His face lightened into eagerness.
Before she could finish, he took a long stride toward her. “Did your father send you with a message for me?”
Hope blossomed in his eyes. He didn’t realize that Daad had not made a decision yet.
The craziest of ideas slid into her mind. She could tell him . . . tell him her father said no. Then he’d go away and leave them alone.
No, she couldn’t. That would just compound her lack of forgiveness with falsehood. There seemed no end to the problems she could get into.
“Daad didn’t make any decision yet, but he told me what you want.”
Disappointment sucked the light from his face. “Then why are you here?”
“That’s my question.” The words burst out. “Why, Matt, why? Don’t you realize how much it hurts to see you? To be reminded . . .” Her throat closed.
He didn’t speak, but his golden-brown eyes darkened so that they were almost black, boring into her as if he’d see right through to her innermost self.
“Don’t you want to remember James?”
That brought her voice back in a hurry. “I want to remember him the way he was. You remind me of how he died.”
He just stared for another moment, and she surged on, determined to get it out. “Why, Matt?” she cried again. “Why did you come back?”
The mask that hid his face seemed to crumble as he stared at her. “Because I couldn’t do anything else. Because I had to. Because there’s no place else for me to go.”
* * *
* * *
Matt clamped his lips together. He’d already said more than he should. Fortunately Anna was so angry with him that she probably wasn’t even listening.
Anna shook her head, more as if to clear it than to reject his words. “You couldn’t think you’d be welcome here. This isn’t your home any longer.”
“No.” He could feel cold envelop his heart. “Your parents are supposed to stand by you no matter what, aren’t they? My father and mother started a new life for themselves, up among the Swartzentrubers in New York State. I’m certain sure not welcome there.”
“I . . . I’m sorry about that.” The genuine feeling in her voice disturbed him. Maybe it was possible for her to understand.
“Don’t be. You know what my home life was like.”
“That’s why I’m sorry.” She hesitated, and when she glanced up at him, she had a lost expression. “Your parents—”
“Yah.” His mouth twisted. His quick comment had been accurate. Anna had known what his family was like. How could he forget the afternoon she’d stumbled on him hiding behind the barn, nursing his bruises?
He’d poured out everything to her unwilling ears, trying to make her see that the bruises on his body were the least of it. What a fool he’d been to say anything. She’d only been twelve or so then, certainly not old enough to understand. He’d only hurt her sensitive heart for no reason. She couldn’t have helped him. No one could.
“They don’t matter,” he said quickly. “I didn’t expect anything else from them.”
She turned away, staring at the mare as if looking for an answer that didn’t come.
There weren’t any answers. His mouth tightened on the thought. They may as well focus on what she wanted, because nothing else mattered now.
“Look, Anna, you blame me for James’s death. I understand. But you can’t blame me any more than I blame myself.”
Anna swung back to him, anger flaring in her eyes again. “James always followed you.” She flung the words at him, and her meaning was clear. James followed him.
Not that night, he thought, but he didn’t bother to say it. Whatever James had done fueled by his own daring and the alcohol that had flowed at that party, Matt still felt responsible.
“I should have saved him.” He said the words out loud. That was always the bottom line, no matter what else was said.
“You should have.” She said what he’d expected, but without the anger that had been there a moment ago. Her voice trembled. Her anger was swallowed up in sorrow. “He . . . he was gone so quickly. We didn’t have a chance to . . .”
“No.” He understood. No one had a chance to say goodbye. Not even him, and he’d been there. A sense of hopelessness swept over him. “What do you want from me, Anna? I can’t bring him back.”
“Just . . . just go away from here. We don’t need you.”
He sucked in a breath and tried to focus on what had seemed a clear leading to come back. “You don’t, but can you speak for your father? Or your grandfather? Don’t they need some help? That’s all I’ve come for—to do what I can for them. Then I’ll go away again.”
“Back to your job?”
He managed a smile. “Yah, back there. Don’t you believe I have one?”
Embarrassment tinged her cheeks. “I . . . I’m sorry if I acted as if you were lying about it. If it’s any consolation, Grossmammi lectured me about it.”
“It’s okay.” His tension eased as he saw the Anna he’d once known so well . . . the Anna whose sensitive heart always reached out to anyone who was hurting. “I came because I felt like . . .” He hesitated. “It seemed to me there was something I could do here.”
“For us? Or for yourself?”
That showed a keener insight that he’d expect of Anna. “For your daad, mostly. You can’t say he doesn’t need it. Grossdaadi is getting older, and he even said to me that he can’t do what he used to. And Micah’s only eight.”
“You’re forgetting the girls.”
His lips twitched, but he controlled a smile. “You’re teaching all day. And it looks like Sally has a lot of other things on her mind.”
“You noticed.” She couldn’t stop a smile. “All right, granted, but the younger ones do help, and Daad never complains.”
“Would you expect him to?” he countered.
“I guess not,” she said, sounding reluctant. “But I don’t want . . .”
“You don’t want to see me. Fair enough. I’ll try to stay out of your way. But if your father needs my help, I’m going to give it.” He paused, struggling to be fair to her and not wanting to ruin this fragile understanding between them. “You were right about one thing, though. I am doing this for me, too. I can’t go back without being sure I’ve done what I can here.”
He couldn’t go back until he’d gotten rid of the burden that had been riding him. At a practical level, he’d be no good to the construction company the way he was. Not unless he could figure out how to build a house without ever getting more than a few feet off the ground.
Anna couldn’t know what he was thinking, of course, but she studied his face, frowning, for what seemed a long time.
“All right,” she said finally. “If Daad really wants this, I won’t try to argue him out of it. Not that I could anyway. But don’t expect any sympathy from me.”
“I don’t expect that from anyone. I know better.” Life had taught him that, at least.
* * *
* * *
Anna glanced at the schoolroom clock. It was nearly noon, and a certain level of restlessness told her that her scholars were aware of the time. Lunchtime was always welcome, and especially so on Friday.
She glanced toward the window. None of the trees around Orchard Hill School were leafing out yet . . . it was too early for that. But off in the distance there was a pale green haze over the ground and the hedgerows. Spring would be here soon. And Easter, too—the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. She’d used calculating the date of Easter as part of an arithmetic lesson for the middle grades, and the scholars had really gotten into that. Maybe it would help them remember what the vernal equinox actually was, but she didn’t count on it.
“Let’s start cleaning up for lunch now. Quietly, please,” she added, knowing how quickly the children could react.
The murmur of voices and the clatter of desktops were expected, but the primary grades seemed to be carrying on a little more than usual.
“Ask her, Micah,” someone said.
“Yah, ask her.”
She pinpointed the two girls who were prompting her little brother.
“Ask me what?” she inquired.
Micah glanced at his classmates and cleared his throat. “Anna, could . . . I mean, Teacher Anna, could we have lunch outside today?”
Her lips twitching, Anna focused on the second graders. “Are you sure everyone wants to? Maybe they’d rather stay in.”
A lot of heads shook at that. “Please, Teacher Anna,” someone else said, and Anna looked around as if considering all the hopeful faces.
Her smile broke through. “All right, we’ll have lunch outside, but not until everything is cleared up.”
Judith, her assistant teacher, walked through the aisles, checking that schoolbooks were back inside the desks and pencils lay in their proper place. The younger scholars sat very still, probably trying to impress her with how obedient they were. Finally she nodded, satisfied.
“All right, take your lunch bags and file outside with your class. First ones out can help Teacher Judith to wipe off the picnic table.”
With a bit of shuffling and chatter, her scholars started out, accompanied by Judith with the paper towel roll. Anna waited, as she always did, collecting her own lunch bag and thermos. As the last few scholars started out, she stepped forward and then slowed. Rebecca stood by her desk, looking a little lost. After a moment Micah came back and stood with her. He didn’t seem to know what to do.
“What’s wrong, Rebecca? Don’t you want to go outside to eat?” She walked over to them.
There was no answer, but a tear glistened on the child’s cheek. Her heart giving a sudden lurch, Anna knelt beside her.
“Komm now. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“She doesn’t have her lunch bag,” Micah said after a glance at Rebecca.
“She . . . we forgot our lunches today.” Thomas stood just inside the classroom door, his face reddening.
“Ach, is that all?” Anna kept her tone light, even as she wondered. “That happens. I have more than I want today, so I’ll share with you.” She plopped her own bag on the desktop.
Micah hurriedly followed suit, dropping his next to her. “Yah, me, too.”
Anna pulled two paper bags from the supply in her desk drawer. It wasn’t unusual for children to come to school without lunch in public schools, she’d heard, but it was surprising here. If any family were in need, the rest of the community should already know about it and be taking steps.
This family was new, of course. And maybe the children had just overslept and rushed off without their lunches. She’d have to move carefully to keep from offending anyone.
