A Forbidden Rumspringa (Gay Amish Romance Book 1) (21 page)

Forcing laughter, Isaac heaved himself up and brushed off his trousers. “Just hopelessly clumsy, I’m afraid.” He glanced at David, who laughed and devoted great interest to the half-finished dresser drawer on the table.

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Mary asked.

“For goodness sake he’s fine. Aren’t you, Isaac?” Anna plopped a tray covered with a white dish towel onto the side table. “Sugar cookies.”

“Thank you,” David said.

“Mary burnt them a bit, but they should be okay.” Anna shrugged.

“I did not!” Mary’s cheeks burned.

With a smile, Anna elbowed her. “I’m just teasing. You make it so easy.”

Isaac was near the table, so he picked up one of the pale cookies and took a bite. He didn’t have to fake his groan. “These really are good.”

“Thank you.” Mary beamed.

“All right, we have work to do,” David snapped.

Mary’s smile vanished, and she stood up straighter. “We didn’t mean to keep you from it. Come on, Anna.”

“And we don’t have work to do?” Anna grumbled as they left.

In the heavy silence Isaac swallowed the last bite of cookie in his mouth. “I was only being nice.”

“I know.” David scrubbed at his head, sticking his hair up. “I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to the girls later.” He picked up the hammer. “We can’t let that happen again.”

“No. We can’t. Nothing’s changed, no matter how much we want it to.” Isaac picked up a metal spokeshave and bent to shape a drawer handle.

The minutes crawled by. The only sounds in the barn were the horses nickering in their stalls, and metal on wood. When Isaac risked a glance across the table, he found David’s gaze on him. They both jerked their heads back to their work, and for the first time since he’d gone to work at the Lantz farm, Isaac wished he was anywhere else.

I will not think of David. I will not think of David. I will not think of David.

Of course as Isaac tried to relax on one of the wooden chairs in the living room, all the best intentions in the world couldn’t keep him from remembering the sensation of David’s touch—the sweetness of his kisses, and the hot heft of him filling Isaac’s mouth. Filling his body. The bliss of being buried in David himself, bringing him to completion and hearing his cries—coming inside him.

Never again.

The weight of that knowledge was unbearable. In only a day, Isaac felt utterly bereft. How would he keep going like this? It was impossible.

“What’s wrong?”

Blinking, Isaac focused on little Joseph, who was reading on one of the wooden chairs near Isaac’s. “Nothing.”

“You keep sighing like…there’s no apple pie left, and you didn’t get any.”

Isaac tried to smile. “I hate it when that happens.”

“It’s the worst,” Joseph agreed.

“Well, it’s nothing like that.” Isaac had to look away. “Nothing that bad. Don’t worry.”

He unfolded that week’s hefty edition of
Die Botschaft,
which was more than seventy pages and had arrived in the mail that morning. He tried to concentrate on a letter from Fannie Miller of Neillsville, Wisconsin, who wrote of her husband’s scramble to round up his cows after the gate wasn’t closed properly.

Sighing, Isaac turned the page. Growing up they’d read
The Budget,
the first weekly Amish newspaper founded more than a hundred years ago. But some communities felt it had become too liberal and modern, and Zebulon was one of them.
Die Botschaft
was more conservative, but both newspapers used the same format—dozens of pages of letters from correspondents relaying news and stories from communities all across the country and up into Canada.

Each week, Isaac scanned for news of Red Hills or other towns in Ohio where his cousins lived. Once he had read a letter that mentioned his cousin John Byler and a pitchfork accident. Fortunately John had been recovering nicely, according to the correspondent.

Of course there were no pictures in Amish newspapers, and Isaac had wished he could see what John looked like now. Unable to focus on a report from Aylmer, Ontario, on Levi Stutzman’s cataract surgery, Isaac flipped through the rest of the pages, looking without really seeing.

The thump at the door made him jump, and he tore one side of the paper where his fist clenched. His breath caught in his throat, cheeks burning. Around the living room on their wooden benches and chairs, his brothers looked up expectantly.

Father had retired to the outhouse for an indeterminate length of time, as was his usual custom after supper. Isaac folded the paper with shaking hands, and went to the door. He passed the kitchen, where Mother and Katie stood waiting, jars spread out on the table behind them, their canning of the last late autumn squash forgotten for the moment.

It was unusual in Zebulon to have a visitor so late in the day, and Isaac muttered a quick prayer that it wasn’t bad news. When he opened the door to a gust of wind and spray of sleet, he saw it was worse.

“Deacon Stoltzfus.” Isaac forced a smile that likely was more of a grimace. “Good evening.”

There was no hint of a smile from the deacon. “Isaac Byler. I come on official church business.” His voice was practically a growl, and although he wasn’t the tallest of men, he somehow loomed in the doorway. “I’m sure you know why.”

An awful spike of fear sent shivers over Isaac’s skin.
He knows. Oh God. He knows!
His breath was shallow. “I don’t think I do.”

Deacon Stoltzfus regarded him stonily. Wet snow covered the brim of his black hat, and his face was creased in shadow, the lamplight from the living room faint by the door.

Isaac swallowed hard. “Has something happened?” His mind raced.
Mervin told after all.
Isaac’s palms sweat despite the freezing air gusting in.
Oh God. Please no.

“Isaac!”

Heart in his throat, he whirled around to find Mother behind him. “Yes?”

“Let Deacon Stoltzfus inside this instant.” She smiled apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Jeremiah. You must be chilled to the bone in this weather. Winter is surely upon us now.”

Isaac stood aside, and the deacon marched in. Mother took his hat and coat and hung them, and called for one of the boys to fetch Father.

“May I offer you something warm to drink? Tea?” Mother ushered the deacon to one of the wooden chairs in the living room.

Deacon Stoltzfus shook his head, and remained standing. They all stood as well, waiting. When Father appeared, he shook the deacon’s hand solemnly. Isaac gripped the back of a chair, afraid his knees might give out.

“Your son has violated the Ordnung in a most grave way. He has sinned against God, and against our community.”

Oh Lord have mercy.
Isaac wasn’t sure whether to weep or vomit, or perhaps run into the night and never return. How could he face this? For Mother and Father to hear what he’d done—he thought the shame alone might kill him. He had to speak—had to make them understand—but how could they?

He tore his gaze from the deacon’s forbidding face. Mother and Father were frozen, watching the deacon and waiting. Before Isaac could say anything, Deacon Stoltzfus shattered the silence.

“Last night, your Ephraim and some of the other boys smoked cigarettes and drank English alcohol. They also enticed three of our young girls to sneak out of their homes and join them in the woods on Jonah Miller’s land. He discovered the evidence this morning. His son confessed his part in it.”

Terrible relief surging through him, Isaac swung around to gape at Ephraim, who stood by the stairs. Defiance was written on his face, his fists clenched.

“We didn’t do anything wrong! It wasn’t a big deal. We just wanted to have fun for once.”

“Ephraim!” Father exploded. He pointed to the bench along one wall by the wood-burning stove they hauled into the living room for winter. “Sit.” His bushy dark brows were a slash across his face. “Children—upstairs.”

Isaac tried to catch Ephraim’s eye as they passed each other, but Ephraim’s gaze was on the floor, his jaw tight. Isaac ushered his sister and brothers up the stairs before him. Naturally they all stopped at the top, and Isaac shooed them around the corner. He was the oldest, and it was only fair he have the best eavesdropping spot.

He gingerly sank to his knees by the top of the stairs, just out of sight should anyone glance up. Katie, Nathan and Joseph crowded against his back. It was dark on the second floor, and the glow of the lamps below died halfway up the stairs.

Deacon Stoltzfus’s gruff, powerful voice was certainly easy to hear. “As you know, the Ordnung says when youngies are seventeen they may attend the singings and date each other in the proper manner. This was not proper. This wild behavior will not be tolerated.”

After a beat of silence, Father spoke, his steady voice seething. “No. It shall not.”

“Hannah Lambright has confessed her impure actions, and named your son as an accomplice in her sins.”

Isaac felt sick. What would the deacon and his parents say if they knew
his
sins?

“We just kissed!” Ephraim exclaimed. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing!” Mother’s voice echoed through the house.

She sounded furious and close to tears. Normally she would stay silent and let Father handle problems like this. Again, Isaac imagined how she would react if she knew the sins he’d committed in recent days. He took a shuddering breath, staring at the shadows of the stairwell.

Deacon Stoltzfus went on. “This behavior is a sin against God and our people. We must guard against temptation lest Zebulon disintegrate into the ruin that has befallen too many other communities.”

Trembling against Isaac’s back, Katie whispered, “Why would Ephraim do that, Isaac?”

Nathan shushed, but Isaac reached an arm out and pulled her to his side. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay.”

Katie’s eyes swam with tears. “But why would he break the Ordnung?”

“You’ll understand in a few years.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her close. Even if it wasn’t their way to be affectionate, it felt wrong not to comfort her. “He didn’t mean to do anything really bad.”

Ephraim’s voice rang out again. “We were just having a little fun! Jacob Esch’s cousin in Pennsylvania has his own car! They go to English parties every weekend. We don’t get to do anything, and it isn’t fair!”

“You know very well what kind of tragedies are born of wild rumspringas when communities turn a blind eye and hope their youngies will return to the righteous path.” Father’s anger sounded as if it was giving way to sorrow. “We came to Zebulon to keep our children safe. We only want the best for you.”

“Then can’t you see that the more you try to stop us from learning and exploring, the more—”

“
Learning
?” Father exploded. “You do not know anything if you think running wild is the way. In these learning years you should do your chores and listen to your elders. You shame our family and community. You disrespect God when you sin like this. You will do as I say! You will do as the Ordnung says! There is no other way. There will be no other arguments.”

When Ephraim spoke again, he was defeated. “Yes, Father,” he muttered.

“Samuel, we trust you and Ruth will help your son face his sins and pay penance for them,” Deacon Stoltzfus intoned. “That you will make him understand the importance of obedience.”

“We shall. Thank you for bringing this grave matter to our attention, Jeremiah. Let me show you out.”

The floors creaked with their heavy footsteps, and Isaac breathed a sigh of relief that the deacon was leaving. He squeezed Katie close, Joseph and Nathan crowding against them as they all waited. The front door shut with a reverberating thud. Then Father’s slow steps back to the living room.

Silence.

“Father, I—”

“Stop.” Father didn’t raise his voice this time. “Ephraim Byler, you have disrespected the Ordnung and your community. You have disrespected Hannah Lambright. You have disrespected your family. Most of all, you have disrespected yourself. Your sins bring your mother and I great shame and sorrow. At church on Sunday, you will stand before Zebulon and repent these sins. You are no longer permitted to leave this farm unless we’re with you.”

After a few moments, Ephraim spoke, choking back emotion that was likely anger. “For how long?”

“Until we can trust you again. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Ephraim’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Tomorrow night we will begin extra Bible study together. Now go to bed.”

As quietly as he could, Isaac herded his younger siblings into Katie’s room, and lit a lantern. Nathan opened his mouth to protest, but Isaac glared and pulled Katie’s door almost shut. He lit another lantern, and waited for Ephraim in their bedroom.

Eyes blazing, Ephraim stalked through the door. When he yanked back his arm, Isaac lunged for the door, grabbing it before it could slam shut. He closed it gently. “That won’t help things,” Isaac hissed.

His hands in fists, Ephraim paced through the yellow glow of the lamp and the dark shadows that stretched into the corners of the room. “It isn’t fair. We hardly even did anything! Shared a few cigarettes and some whiskey Daniel got in town. Now I’ll be even more of a prisoner here than I am already!”