A Love Made New (9 page)

“Sure.”

“Coke okay?”

“Since I'm on duty, absolutely.”

Bartholomew got Mike a pop and handed it to him. He didn't keep any liquor in the place. Ever since he married Naomi and joined the Amish church, he hadn't touched a drop of drink and his drug tests at work had been cleaner than clean.

Mike sat down on the couch and opened his drink. Bartholomew sat down in the recliner and turned to him. “What made you decide to stop by?”

“You know the drill. Gotta check on you every once in a while. Make sure everything is in line.” He tipped his beverage toward Bartholomew. “Not like you would ever step out of bounds, Jack.”

Bartholomew didn't respond. He didn't know how much of his past Mike knew, and they never discussed it.

“Have any plans for the weekend?” Mike asked.

“Nope.” Bartholomew took a long drink.

“You never do.” Mike put his drink on the coffee table, leaned back against the couch, and sighed. “We've been doing this a long time. You're supposed to live a new life, Jack. Not hide away for more than a decade.”

“I go to work. That is my life.”

“It's not much of one.”

“It is for me.”
At least for right now.
“Any word on . . .” He couldn't even bring himself to ask the question. Each time he did, he was disappointed.

Mike shook his head, grabbed the pop, and took another long swig. Silence filled the room as he stared at the top of the can.

Bartholomew waited to see if the man had anything else to say. He never liked small talk, and unless Mike was here to tell him he was free to go home to his family, Bartholomew was ready for him to leave. He stood, feigning a yawn, hoping Mike would get the hint. “Got to get up early in the morning,” he said, taking a step toward the door.

With a curt nod Mike put the pop can on the coffee table and stood. He rubbed his hand across the top of his head. “Maybe soon I can tell you what you want to hear.”

Bartholomew refused to get his hopes up. Mike always said that before he left. Tonight was no different. “Night, Mike.”

“See you later, Jack.”

Bartholomew closed the door behind him, bolted it, and leaned against it. Fatigue sank into him. He wasn't lying when he said he had to get up early, even on a Sunday. That was one habit he still had from when he was Amish. Early to bed, early to rise. It made the days go faster.

He went to his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Then
he leaned forward, running both hands over his hair, which was almost as short as Mike's. One day he would go home, and when he did, he'd grow a proper Amish haircut. He couldn't wait.

Home
. He closed his eyes. “When, Lord?” he whispered. “When can I see
mei familye
again?”

God wasn't talking, and Bartholomew opened his eyes. He turned on the lamp on his nightstand and opened the drawer. There they were. Every letter Naomi had written. He looked through them every night. He had them memorized, too, except for the last one she'd sent. She wrote to him more often than he did to her. He didn't want to risk Mike or any of the other guys assigned to watch him finding out he was writing to his wife.

He picked up her latest letter and opened it.

Dear Bartholomew,

Next week Andrew and Joanna will be married. How I wish you were here to be by
mei
side. You would be so happy with
yer sohn
. He has grown into a fine
mann
, and will be a wonderful husband to his wife.

A lump formed in Bartholomew's throat. He knew Naomi's words weren't said to instill guilt, but they did anyway. He should be there. He shouldn't be in a one-bedroom apartment working a factory job he hated, spending every night alone, missing all his children's milestones. Yet these were the consequences to be paid. And he would pay them without complaint.

There was more to the letter, sweet words of love that Bartholomew savored. Naomi's writings were always a balm to him. After he finished reading, he carefully folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, and placed it in the drawer. Then he saw Andrew's letter and picked it up.

He'd been surprised his son had written to him last year. Obviously Naomi had told him, and probably Irene too, the real reason he left the family. To keep his wife and children safe, he had insisted Naomi tell everyone that he left the family for an
Englisch
woman. But now it seemed Andrew knew the truth. His son had penned few words, but they were important.

When you're free, come find me.

Bartholomew folded the letter and closed his eyes. One day he would be back with his family, for good, and on his own terms. An image of Naomi came to his mind. Six years ago, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. The last time he saw her. The federal government had insisted on moving him around the first few years, and he was living closer to Birch Creek. He took advantage of that and sneaked away to visit her.

He surprised her by doing something a bit childish—climbing up a tree and trying to sneak into her bedroom through the window. But she'd been in the room, seen him, and opened the window to let him in. Before he climbed inside he grabbed her face and kissed her. “Sorry,” he'd said, pulling back. But he wasn't really sorry. The lingering kiss had brought him alive again, after feeling dead inside for so long. “I couldn't help myself.”

She let him into her house and back into her heart. When she laid her cheek against his chest . . . even now as he thought about that time, his heart raced.

“I can't believe you're here,” she'd said, looking up at him with love he didn't deserve. She was still so beautiful, and he couldn't resist unbinding her hair, running his fingers through the soft strands. She'd questioned him. “You're not supposed to be here.”

“You couldn't expect me to stay away forever.”

He opened his eyes. No, he couldn't stay away from his family forever. He refused to. And when he returned to them, he would never leave again.

A
bigail ground her teeth as everyone congratulated Joel and Rebecca after the service. As the two of them milled around the edges of the Troyers' barn, Rebecca beamed, her pretty cheeks glowing as Joel stood by her side—tall, lean, handsome, and clearly in love with his wife to be.

Abigail wanted to throw up. When Asa told her about Joel's announcement yesterday, she'd convinced him she was fine. She'd almost convinced herself. But right now, nothing was further from the truth.

Andrew, Asa, and Aden were standing on the opposite side of the barn from where Sadie, Joanna, and Irene had formed a circle around Abigail. Now Joanna moved to stand by her side and took her hand.

For the first time in weeks the ice around Abigail's heart began to thaw. Her family was lined up in solidarity behind her. Well, Asa wasn't part of her family but he was Andrew's best
friend. His actions told her he was also on her side. What she didn't understand was why. She only knew she was grateful.

“I'm fine,” she said, lifting her chin. Make that a double chin, one she noticed in the bathroom mirror this morning before they left for church. She looked at slim Rebecca Chupp and tried to stem the jealousy within her. But she no longer looked at Joel and wished they were still together.

He glanced up and their gazes met. Joel was so tall he could see over everyone in Birch Creek. A bit of the happiness in his eyes dimmed. She frowned. He almost looked apologetic. He hadn't seemed all that apologetic when he broke up with her.

“Are you sure you're all right?” Irene asked.

Abigail broke eye contact with Joel and looked at her friend. Since she and Irene had started working together, they had grown closer. It was nice to have someone to talk to while they made rugs, even if they only talked about superficial things. There seemed to be an understanding between them that certain subjects wouldn't be discussed—Joel, Asa, and, surprisingly, Sol. Abigail had noticed Sol standing off by himself today.

Abigail glanced around at her family and friends again. This time her gaze met Asa's, and it mirrored what she saw in everyone else's—sympathy. Her smile disappeared. The Schrocks had been on the receiving end of enough pity to last a lifetime. There was only one way to reassure him—and everyone else—that she didn't need anyone's sympathy. Straightening her shoulders, she said to the women around her, “Excuse me.” Then she walked over to Joel and Rebecca.

The small crowd around the couple parted to let her through, although she hadn't asked them to move. They also ceased talking, except for a few hushed murmurs. What, did they expect her to make a scene? To accuse Joel of loving and leaving
her?
I wish I could.
The thought flashed through her unbidden. Okay, maybe she hadn't settled everything in her mind and heart where Joel was concerned, but she wasn't pining after him anymore. She had moved on, and it was time everyone else had too. “Congratulations,” she said, making a conscious decision to speak to Rebecca first.

Rebecca smiled. Abigail still wondered what part Rebecca had to play in Joel's betrayal. Had she gone after Joel the moment Abigail left for Middlefield? Had she ever said to him, “Joel, this isn't a
gut
idea. Abigail just lost her parents. She's helping her younger sister recover. Maybe we shouldn't do this”? Or had Joel wooed her?

Did the answers really matter?

“That means a lot coming from you, Abigail.” Rebecca's sweet, melodic voice sounded sincere. “
Danki
for wishing us well.”

“
Ya
,” Joel said. “
Danki
.”

Abigail looked at him. He wasn't smiling. He looked confused. A small part of her was glad.
Let him be off-kilter for once.

“May God bless
yer
marriage.” One more smile, this time aimed at Joel. Then she turned her head up, pretending to ignore the people looking at her. Yet despite her determination to show them all she was fine, imagined voices rang in her head.

Poor Abigail. Both her
schwesters
married . . . and she's single and alone.

She'll find someone else . . . maybe.

Wow, she's packed on the pounds.

She almost tripped over her feet at that last thought, suddenly aware of the tightness of the top of her dress, the way her sweater didn't quite close over her torso underneath her coat, which strained a bit at the buttons. Then she was reminded of the thickness of her legs. Her stupid double chin. Tears pricked
her eyes.
Not now. Don't cry now.
She blinked and kept on walking, ignoring not only the congregation but also her sisters, their husbands, and Irene.

Her steps quickened and she walked around the back of the Troyers' barn, breathing in the cold, sharp air. Her eyes watered. That had been so much harder than she'd thought it would be. She gasped for breath, her legs shaking, as negative thoughts and pain crashed into her.

The sound of boots crunching on snow made her lift her head. Her legs steadied slightly as she saw him draw near.
Asa.

She's amazing
.

He'd gone after her when she disappeared behind the Troyers' barn. She'd surprised him. No, she'd shocked him. He'd watched her every move as she approached Rebecca and Joel, her chin lifted with defiant confidence. She didn't have to congratulate them in front of everyone. Everyone would have understood if she hadn't. But she'd done the bravest thing he'd ever seen. She'd extended grace. And she'd done it with a smile.

But she wasn't smiling now. She looked pale, as if she were a bit in shock. He wanted to go to her, but her body seemed to have closed in on itself a little, as if warding him off. He steeled himself, expecting her to tell him to go away. But she didn't. Instead, her body started to shake.

He didn't need God to propel him to her or to tell him what to do. He went to her, putting himself between her and the cold, intermittent wind. “You're crying.”

“It's the wind.” She didn't avert her gaze, but she wiped at her left eye with the back of her hand. Then she stared at him,
unflinching with her chocolate-colored eyes. They were beautiful, with light brown lashes and a few specks of gold dotting the irises. Despite the sheen in her eyes, he could still see warmth in those depths hiding behind a wall of pain. He wanted to take a sledgehammer and destroy that wall, smashing it to dust.

“I don't understand,” she said.

“What?”

“You.”

That makes two of us
. He wasn't himself around her. Not even close. She jangled his nerves, jumbled his thoughts, and made him question his sanity. “I'm a simple guy.”

She held up her hands. “Don't . . .”

“Don't what?”

“Be charming. Or whatever it is you're doing.” Her eyes started watering again. “I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me.”

“I don't feel sorry for you.”

“Then why are you here?”

Ever since he'd arrived in Birch Creek he'd wondered why God had led—and kept leading him—to Abigail Schrock. Now he knew. He understood about loss, could identify with the hurt confusion swirling in her gorgeous eyes. And in his heart, he knew he needed her too. But he had to keep that to himself, at least for now. “Rugs,” he blurted, unsure where the word had come from.

Her left eyebrow arched while her right one stayed straight. Her skeptical expression was cute. “Rugs?”

“I need some. I'm almost finished fixing up
mei haus
, at least the downstairs. Now I need to start filling it.”

“With rugs.”

“With everything. Furniture, rugs . . .” He shrugged. “It's an empty shell right now.”

“You can buy the rugs at the store.”

“I don't know what kind to get. Maybe you could bring over some samples? Then I can see what will work in
mei haus
.” Did he really just say that?

“Seriously? You can't pick out a rug by
yerself
?”

He held out his hands. “Call me clueless.” And crazy.

Her eyebrow lifted even higher for a moment. Then she sighed. “Fine. I'll come over and help you make
yer
difficult rug decision.”

Then he saw it. The gleam in her eye. Now her lips were twitching. His shoulders relaxed a little. He hadn't known he'd been so tense. “I'd appreciate any help you can give me.”

“I'll see you tomorrow evening, then?”

“Sounds
gut
.”

She paused for a moment, then crossed her arms. “I should get back to
mei schwesters
. They'll be worried about me, even though they don't need to be.”

Her expression told him she didn't think he needed to worry about her either. He stepped to the side to let her pass. “I should be home around five thirty,” he called out before she rounded the barn.

Abigail glanced over her shoulder, gave him a nod, then disappeared.

He leaned against the barn and grinned. His ruse might be dumb, but he was going to see her tomorrow. Then his smile slipped. He was going to see her tomorrow. In his house, which was almost empty right now. He pushed off from the barn.
Okay, Lord . . . what's the next step?