Between Two Promises (22 page)

“Keep it warm for me,” he said, marching out the door.

Samuel was already shoveling snow from the door to the buggy shed when Daniel drew near. This time, Daniel aimed to cross-examine his father. Standing silent as he watched his father’s bent form pile snow off to the side, he waited until Samuel took notice of him.

With Samuel peering at him over his shoulder, Daniel said, “Why did you ask Aiden Cermak to leave Henry last year?”

The shovel in Samuel’s hand froze. Briefly, Daniel worried his bold question might topple his father. He was glad he had the shovel ready to steady himself. He softened his tone when Samuel refused to answer. “Why, Dad?”

“I’m glad he left last year, and I’m glad he’s gone now.” Samuel began shoveling with extra vigor, his bare knuckles white from gripping the handle. “We were mistaken to ask him to come here that first time. I was mistaken to allow him back for Mark’s wedding.”

“Then why did you?”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Why are you afraid of him?”

“It’s not fear, it’s common sense. He doesn’t belong here, he’s English. The Amish and English shouldn’t mix.”

Daniel’s exasperation with his father subsided, and a new sensation, something akin to pity, filled him. He watched Samuel shovel around the shed door. His father was well into middle age now, and he was only getting older, older and slower, and perhaps more cemented into his orthodox ways.

“Remember what he did for us?” Daniel said. “Remember how he swerved his car in front of that crazy drunk driver to save us? Do you remember all that?”

For the first time, Daniel actually thought he witnessed his father blush. He was unsure if the red in his cheeks came from hard work, anger, or what he suspected, embarrassment. Samuel clearly did not wish to dwell on the topic of Aiden Cermak. Yet Daniel needed to get to the root of the rot.

“He’s a hero to the family, don’t you think?” Daniel kept a tight look on his father.

Spiking the shovel deep into the snow and grasping the handle, Samuel turned to his son with flickering eyes. A shot of cold breath erupted out of his mouth and nostrils. “There are no such things as heroes, Daniel Schrock,” he said. “God’s will is all that exists. Aiden did nothing special; he was guided by the hand of da Hah. You should understand that by now, unless you are questioning your faith. That’s what I worry for, that Aiden might make you question your life here in Henry, and all we stand for.”

Daniel shook his head. “Dad, I do not question my faith. I believe more strongly than ever. Aiden actually makes me appreciate my Amish upbringing more. That’s why it’s all so sad.”

Silent a moment, Samuel seemed to pry deep into Daniel’s mind, as if he wanted to grasp onto his thoughts. To make sure he understood fully what Daniel was saying. Daniel almost wanted to laugh at his father’s discomfort but, stemming from a long history of respect for him, refrained.

Drawing in his lips, Samuel said, “It’s Christmas. This is when we spend time with the family.”

Daniel watched his father lumber into the house, his shoulders drooped. With a heavy sigh, he pulled the shovel from the snow bank and began finishing his father’s chore.

O
NCE
the house began humming with that Christmas energy that gets trapped indoors like harried field mice on winter days, Mark and Daniel put on their coats and told everyone they were going to the barn to get some peace. Neither were interested in playing Aggravation at the kitchen table. To the surprise of the others, they said they would milk Peppermint, the family’s one dairy cow, as an excuse to get away.

“But I already milked her,” Grace said.

“We’ll milk her again,” Daniel said. The milking would not go wasted, Daniel suspected, since Grace often did a haphazard job.

Inside the barn, Daniel led Peppermint from her stall and hitched her to a post before a trough of oats. He pushed his wide-brimmed hat higher on his head and wiped down the cow’s udder. Sure enough, the sometimes careless Grace had left the udder half filled.

Mark swapped places with Daniel and grabbed hold of the cow’s teats. Daniel sat on a bale of hay and watched him milk. Steam from the milk rose up underneath the cow.

“How does Heidi like being a wife?” Daniel asked, picking off a piece of straw and chewing on it.

“She likes it fine,” Mark said. “Her parents and sisters left for Texas Friday. She’s already missing them, but she’s a sturdy girl; she’ll get used to things.”

“She getting along okay with Mom and Dad?”

“Good enough, I figure,” Mark said. “Heidi’s here more than me. She says Dad stays out of the house a lot. But that’s fine. You know how Heidi is, fairly upfront. Not sure Mom and Dad are used to that.”

“No,” Daniel said, “I don’t figure they are.”

The steady jets of steaming milk hitting the stainless steel bucket filled the ensuing silence until Daniel mentioned how much he liked Heidi. “She’s a good choice for you,” he added. “I think you’ll both be right happy with each other in the years to come.”

Mark adjusted his squeezing and smiled up at his big bruder. “Danke, she’s the best girl I coulda found, for sure. Going down to Texas for rumspringa was a good idea. God sure did put me on the right path.”

Daniel smiled over Mark’s words. God did have a funny way about Him. At one time, he’d believed Aiden was an obstacle to overcome. After they’d met by chance at Glacier National Park six months ago, he’d realized God had meant for them to be together. Or at least he had thought. Now he was unsure. Did Aiden want to remain a couple? He had left so suddenly and angrily. And now he refused to answer his cell phone.

Daniel had attempted to call him six times since returning from church at the Stahley’s, and each time his phone had gone straight to voice mail. Aiden hadn’t even returned his text messages. Daniel had switched on his ringer to be sure not to miss his call. He did not care if his family eyed him when his phone went off in his pants pocket. But it had remained mute.

Peppermint mooed, kicked at the straw with her hind legs, settled her snout into the oats.

“I wish you weren’t going back to Montana,” Mark said, following Daniel’s thoughts. He glanced at Daniel from under his straw hat, his mouth taut. His brown eyes told Daniel he wanted to say more, but in their silence Daniel understood to let the moment pass.

How much did Mark truly understand? Had Aiden been right? Had Mark sent that letter back in August, asking for him to find Aiden, knowing already that they were living together as a couple, like he and Heidi now were? Was the letter merely his way of showing approval without being upfront?

“I won’t be far from reach,” Daniel said as the warmth of brotherly affection surged inside him, mixed with that ever-present dread. He was proud of his younger brother. He had come far in a mere few years. Mark used to be self-indulgent and unresponsive. Now he was as outstanding a community member as the Amish could hope for. As outstanding as any community could hope for. But Daniel was skeptical he could be truly open with him, for both of their best interests. Even if Mark had put two and two together and accepted Daniel in his own way, they could never discuss his lifestyle candidly.

“You can reach me whenever need be,” Daniel said. “You got my address, and you can always call me on my cell phone from the phone shack.”

“So you’re going to leave the church? It’s final?”

Daniel gathered no reason to string Mark along. Any moment the ministers might show at the farm and confront him again. This time he would not mince words. He would tell them plainly he was not remaining in Henry and that, unless they decided he could live in Montana and still keep a connection with the community, which was a long shot, he would be leaving the church.

“I think I have no choice now,” he said toward the straw-covered ground. “Not much else I can do.”

“You were baptized, there’ll be the shunning, you might not be able to come back here.” Mark’s tone was not preachy. He merely stated a cold, hard fact.

Kicking the unpleasantness aside, Daniel jumped up and tossed his toothpick to the ground once he noticed the cow’s udder near drained. “Let’s not talk about that now.” He stood over Mark. “I want to give you something. Something for you and Heidi.”

Mark squeezed the last drop from Peppermint. He stood, the steaming bucket weighted by his side, and faced Daniel. “You already gave us a wedding gift. You made us those night tables, remember? Heidi keeps telling me you’re more gifted in woodworking than her father and me.”

Daniel allowed the feeling of pride to fill him. The ministers frowned upon immodesty. None of that mattered now. “I want to give you something more,” he said to Mark. “Let’s get the milk into the refrigerator, and then we can take a ride.”

The family was still playing their board game when Daniel told them he and Mark were taking the buggy. He refused to say where they were going. He wouldn’t even tell Mark. When Moriah and Grace pleaded to tag along, he said firmly, “No,” and they backed off, knowing he’d meant it. The family’s inquisitive stares followed them out the door.

Gertrude led them toward the falling sun, which was hazy and round like an enormous sweet potato pie. Another gentle snowfall had begun blowing in from the north. Daniel, careful to navigate the snowy shoulders, kept the mare at a gentle walk. Mark said nothing during their drive, his forehead full of wrinkles under his felt hat. They passed the quiet farmhouses and the dilapidated Amish cemetery where Daniel’s wife and baby son were interred. The Amish were not mawkish over such things—or they pretended not to be. The brothers traveled past the nondescript tombstones with only the unspoken awareness of who was buried there.

“It’s your farmland,” Mark said, eyes wide, when Daniel pulled into the unplowed driveway fifteen minutes later. “Why did we come here?”

Daniel set the brake and climbed out. He stood overlooking the small thirty-acre tract he had bought a few months before he and Esther had married. No buildings stood on it, since the tornado that had ripped through nearly two years ago had left nothing standing, other than a few ridgepoles and the wooden fence. He and the other men in the community had removed the debris and torn down the remains of the house, barn, and woodshop, too unstable to leave in their dilapidated states. The community had wanted to rebuild for him, but Daniel had been unable to imagine himself living alone after the deaths of his wife and baby son. Tucking away his losses, he’d moved back home with his family.

The English farmer who rented the land came from thirty miles away to use the good earth for growing his soybeans. Many farmers in the area rented or purchased land to add to their acreage, far from their homes. They took land wherever they could grab it. Daniel understood how increasingly expensive and difficult it was to come by.

“I already talked to Mr. Sweeney, the English farmer I rent the land to,” Daniel said to Mark, who had climbed from the buggy and stood next to him. Mark’s eyes were riveted on the snow-blanketed field that abutted a thin grove of trees. “I wanted to let him know before he began the spring crop. He knows to fully vacate by January fifteenth. I’ve already got the paperwork. The land is yours now, and when the snow clears, the community can build you and Heidi a nice house and barn and woodshop to go on top of it.”

Mark’s mouth dropped open. “Are you speaking clearly? Is this the truth?”

“It’s yours.”

“Daniel, you’re… you’re too kind.”

“Makes the most sense, don’t you think? Why let some English farmer have the land? I don’t need the money from the rent anymore, not really.”

Tipping his hat higher on his head, Mark ogled his new land, his eyes swallowing each and every acre, each and every plank of the ramshackle wooden fence, the one structure left standing in the wake of the tornado. “I’m speechless, Daniel. I don’t know what to say.”

Daniel shrugged. “You don’t got to say anything.”

“But it makes me sad too. Means you probably won’t be moving back to Henry. I always thought you might rebuild on your land someday.”

“No, I can’t see I’ll be able to do that.”

After a moment surveying the land in silence, Mark turned to Daniel and said, “Shouldn’t I at least pay you for it? It’s prime land. Let me owe you for it.”

“We’re brothers,” Daniel said, staring at the snow-covered spread of earth. “You should never owe me for anything.”

D
ANIEL
sent Mark home. He decided he wanted to walk back to the farm and be alone with his meditations. To take in the winter landscape some more before leaving in a few days, perhaps to say goodbye to everything for the last time. Mark seemed to have understood. He steered Gertrude down the driveway with only a parting glance through the small side window.

In the descending darkness, the flat farmland faded. Enough snow had fallen over the past few days that walking the fields had become cumbersome. He did not care. The snow sucking at his boots failed to hold him back.

He came to the cemetery where his wife and son were buried. He had not stood by their graves since the day the community had put them into the ground nearly two years ago. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to pick out their tombstones. Then he remembered. They’d been buried next to a lone oak tree. They’d been some of the last community members put to rest in that small parcel of earth adjoining private farmland.

He traipsed through the cemetery, leaving behind solo footprints in the snow. No one had visited their deceased loved ones in a while, at least not since the snow had begun to fall last week. It would be disrespectful to frequent a gravesite. The dead were gone, and it was no use wishing them back. God would take that as an affront. Personal grieving was selfish. The community tended the grounds out of deference, but little reason for that in winter, while everything lay dormant.

Finding their tombstones, he merely stared down at them. They were no larger than one of his mother’s family-sized serving platters. A simple inscription on each read: “Esther L. Schrock; born February 23, 1985; died March 13, 2010;” and, “Zachariah A. Schrock; born February 8, 2010; died March 13, 2010.”