Amish Sweethearts (37 page)

“Do you plan to join the Amish? Because I don’t plan to leave.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “I can’t say what I plan to do. I need to get out of the Army first.”

When he was home working on the chicken coop or helping Tim with the milking, he honestly thought he could join the Amish. But it seemed ridiculous to say that now, as a U.S. soldier. Perhaps both he and Lila could become Mennonite after he was discharged. He could hope anyway.

“I should let you get some sleep,” he said, gazing down the inky black field toward where he knew the gate was. “Will I see you in the morning?”

“No,” Lila answered. “I’ll be making breakfast. And please, no matter how compelled you are, don’t say anything to Dat. Him asking you to help with the milking means he’s not suspicious that we care for each other. Things are better with him than they ever have been, thanks to Beth. He’s changing—but not enough to cope with our uncertainty. I promise you, as soon as we have a plan we’ll talk to him. But not yet.”

“All right.” He wished he could see all the way to the gate and then beyond to the barn. If only he could see her when they talked each night. “I hate that we’re so close . . .”

“Jah,” she said.

“You could meet me in the field. Or down at the creek.”

There was a long pause, but she finally said, “Not tonight.”

“What about tomorrow night?”

“I told Dat I’d go with Rose to her first singing—at Monika and Gideon’s. He wants me to keep an eye on her.”

Zane could understand that. If he were Tim, he’d want someone to keep an eye on Rose too.

“Call me tomorrow evening,” she said. “Same time. I’ll be here.”

After they said good-night and hung up, Zane gazed up at the stars for a few minutes longer and then turned and trudged up the steps back into the house.

When Tim invited Zane in to breakfast the next morning, he thanked him but said he had plans. He didn’t add that those plans were to go home and pine after Lila. Actually he planned to go to church with his parents, which he hoped would keep his mind off things. It didn’t. Instead he spent the entire service thinking about Lila, although he did manage to pray for her in between thoughts.

He finished the work on the chicken coop after lunch and then headed down to the fort and repaired it as best he could, pulling off rotten boards and nailing the rest back into place. In the later afternoon, he dozed on the couch while Dad watched football. Although he wasn’t having nightmares every night, he’d had one the night before and had been awake for a few hours. He was back at the wall again, his rifle aimed at Benham, the boy too far away to grab.

After supper, he logged on to his parents’ computer, doubting he had any additional Army e-mails but thinking he might as well check.

There were none from Casey, but there was one from Sarge, sent just a few minutes before.

New translator has kidney stones. Going home. How soon can you get back here?

Zane’s stomach fell. He tried to keep his cool, to keep from panicking as he typed:

I’m headed to Texas next week.

He didn’t expect an answer back from Sarge, not for a day at least. But one zipped into his inbox.

Negative on Texas. Ready to request orders for your return here, ASAP. Hope you’re up to it.

Emotionally and spiritually? No. Physically? The answer was probably no again, but did he really have a choice? He’d been cleared.

Can you give me a day to figure out if I am?

He waited and waited but Sarge didn’t reply. Either he was ignoring Zane or he’d logged off.

Finally he pushed back from the desk and stood, running his hand through his hair. He couldn’t return to Afghanistan. He wished Lila was home. He needed to talk with someone who would understand.

As he started down the hall he could hear laughter from the living room. His parents and Adam must be watching TV. He didn’t bother to see what. He just grabbed his coat, feeling for his truck keys in the pocket. Right now he needed some fresh air.

“What’s the matter?” Mom asked from the living room.

“Nothing,” he answered.

She must have clicked the TV off or least muted it, because it went silent. “Something’s wrong,” she said.

“What is it, son?” Dad asked. “Bad news?”

They knew he had been checking his e-mail. He stepped into the living room.

“Uncertain news,” he said, pulling his keys from the pocket of his coat. “The new translator has kidney stones, and he’s going home.”

“Oh, no,” Mom said, as she landed on her feet. “They don’t expect you to go back, do they?”

“If he can repair a chicken coop and help Tim milk, he’s well enough to,” Dad said.

“Yeah, well, Sarge doesn’t know about either of those things.”

“Maybe the doctor can overrule the orders,” Mom said.

Dad shook his head. “It’s your duty to return.”

Adam scooted down from his chair and ran toward Zane, grabbing him around the waist. “I don’t want you to go back.”

“Jah, Bub,” Zane said. “I know how you feel.”

“When do you report?” Dad asked.

Zane shrugged. “I asked Sarge for another day before he puts in the orders.”

Mom stepped across the room and put her arm around Zane while Dad continued to sit in his chair.

He of all people should understand. How would he have felt if they’d sent him back to Iraq after his injury? They wouldn’t have, of course. His injury was much worse than Zane’s.

Dad was right. He had to go back.

“It’s just for a couple of months,” Dad said.

Three. And all it would take was a few seconds for him to kill someone else.

Dad continued. “Don’t you want to complete your mission? See Jaalal? Be there for Casey?”

Zane didn’t bother to reply. “I’m going for a drive,” he said, tousling Adam’s hair.

“Can I come with you?” Adam asked, releasing him.

“Not this time, Bub,” he answered. “I need an hour or two to think.” He hurried out the door into the dark night before Adam’s disappointment and his mom’s concern could pull him back.

He turned his truck around quickly and headed up the lane, slowing as he passed the Lehmans’, just in case Lila hadn’t gone to the singing. When he didn’t see anyone, he kept on going, turning left on the highway. He shivered in the cold and flipped on the heater.

He didn’t have time to file for conscientious-objector status. It was too late for that.

He didn’t think about where he was going. Instead he thought about the soldiers who had gone AWOL and ended up in Canada. What would it be like to live up there? He knew it wasn’t ideal. They weren’t able to come back to visit their families.

He kept driving until he reached the lane to Monika and Gideon’s. Monika hosted him and Mom after Bub was born, when Dad had fled back to Philly. That’s what bugged him about his father. Didn’t he remember what he went through after his injury? Now he was all about duty and loyalty and glossing over the past, but things weren’t so great back when Zane was a kid. Dad was angry, and everything seemed muddled.

Canada wasn’t that far from Lancaster County. He couldn’t imagine going, but if he did, at least Mom and Adam would come see him—he wasn’t so sure about his dad.

He’d read about different Plain communities in Canada, in Ontario. Maybe one of them would take him in. Would Lila visit?

As he backed his truck in next to the shed, on the other side of the buggies, he wondered if he should have gone to Charlie and Eve’s instead. Then in his headlight beam he saw Gideon coming toward him. He’d most likely heard the truck and headed out, expecting some Amish kid on his Rumschpringe.

Zane turned off his lights and engine, hopped down and waved. Gideon squinted.

“It’s me.” He could hear the singing from the shed.

“Ach, Zane,” Gideon said. “What brings you here?”

For a moment he didn’t know what to say.
Pain? Fear? Lila?
“I’ve had some troubling news,” he finally said.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Gideon asked, directing him toward the house. “We have a while until the singing ends.”

Zane hesitated a minute. What would he tell Gideon, a bishop in a nonresistant church? That he was terrified of having to shoot someone again? Or that he loved Lila, his son’s ex-sweetheart? Or both. “Sure,” Zane said and followed the man into Monika’s dark kitchen. Gideon lit a propane lamp hanging over the table, casting shadows against the walls.

Gideon sat down at the head of the table and nodded at the place next to him. “What’s going on?”

He’d start with his Army problems. “I just got an e-mail from my sergeant in Afghanistan. He needs me to return.”

“You didn’t expect that?”

“No. They’d replaced me over there. They were sending me back to Texas.”

“I see,” he said. “And you don’t want to go back?”

Zane explained how he felt about the possibility of having to shoot someone again. “I took a life, the grandson of someone I care about,” he said. “I prayed I wouldn’t have to, but God didn’t answer that prayer. I injured another man too.”

Gideon nodded. “I heard you saved the life of a soldier and probably your own. And a little boy. Maybe some other Afghans too.”

“Who told you that?”

Gideon shrugged. “Tim. Your father talked with him.”

Zane hadn’t thought it through that far. Would Benham and
the other man have ended up shooting Jaalal and the other men? Surely Benham wouldn’t have done that, but if Jaalal challenged him, who knew what might have happened.

“I don’t know if there’s any way we can make a lasting difference over there. There are too many variables. Too much corruption.” He stopped for a moment.

“Go on,” Gideon said.

“I felt good about our mission, about helping the women and children. I made a good connection with an Afghan translator. I liked talking with him about his family, about his clan—and sharing about my family.” Including showing him the photos of Lila. “Even if there wouldn’t be a lasting change, I felt as if good would come from our work. But now I’m afraid it was all for nothing.”

Gideon sighed.

“I don’t want to live a life that’s for nothing,” Zane said.

“What kind of life do you want?”

“I’ve been researching pacifism for the last couple of years.” Zane met Gideon’s gaze. “I admire the Amish, I really do. And the Mennonites. Both of you have the life I want. Family. Community. Peace.”

Gideon grimaced. “You know enough about us to know it’s not all roses. Peace is hard to attain in any culture.”

Zane smiled a little. “No one’s shooting at each other. Everyone has food and water. The children are well cared for and don’t have to worry about stepping on a mine.”

“That’s true,” Gideon said. “But the majority of Englisch children have that too, here in America.”

“To some extent, but there’s a violence throughout our culture that isn’t in yours. Think of the school shootings.”

Gideon grimaced again. “We had one of those.”

“But it wasn’t an Amish shooter. It was an Englisch one.”

“True.”

Zane placed his palms on the oak table. “Jesus said blessed are the peacemakers.”

“Some people would say you were a peacemaker . . .”

“Until I killed another human being.” Zane met Gideon’s eyes.

“You did what your country asked you to.”

“No,” Zane said. “I volunteered. Out of absolute foolishness.”

Gideon cocked his head. “And does that past motivation—foolishness—have any part in how you’re feeling now?”

Zane took a deep breath and dragged his hand over his mouth.

Gideon spoke softly. “Forget that I’m Reuben’s father.”

“She didn’t break up with Reuben because of me.”

“I wondered,” Gideon said.

“We were corresponding some, for a short time. But she wrote and said she couldn’t write anymore, but she didn’t tell me that she’d stopped courting Reuben.”

Gideon placed a hand on Zane’s arm as if anchoring him to the table. Zane was appreciative. He needed something to keep him from fleeing.

“What’s going on now?” Gideon asked.

“I’m being honest when I say I’m not the reason she broke up with Reuben, but the other truth is that I love Lila,” Zane said. “I always have. I fear I always will. If she’d become Mennonite, I would too after I get out of the Army, in June.”

“What if she won’t?”

Zane shook his head. “I don’t know what we’ll do.”

“Would you consider becoming Amish?” Gideon asked.

“I’ve thought about it. I never told Lila, but the night before I joined the Army I wanted to talk with her about that possibility, but then Reuben interrupted us.” Zane sighed. “But how could I, really?”

“You know the language.”

But he couldn’t make a living off his parents’ farm. Besides, Tim needed to lease the land to help him make a living. “What would I do to feed a family?”

“Trust,” Gideon said, his voice deeper in that single word than Zane had ever heard it. Funny, Simon had said almost the same thing.

Zane took a deep breath. He had to get through the next seven months before he could consider such a thing. But maybe Gideon was right. Maybe joining the Amish was his best option.