Gay Amish 03 - A Way Home (14 page)

So he stood there uselessly, watching her pick the clothespins with nimble fingers. There was so much he wanted to say, and no words to use. “I…Mother…”

After a moment of silence, she started talking, her gaze on the clothesline. “I was young once too, Isaac. I remember what it was like to want to see the world. To have questions.”

He blinked. “What did you question?” He’d never thought of her as a girl. He realized he’d never thought about her as anything but a mother.

“Oh, the same things the youngies do now.” She shrugged.

“Tell me. Please?”

She folded a little dark dress of Katie’s. “Why the rules are as they are. Why the English can live the way they do and we can’t.”

“Did you have
rumspringa
?”

“Yes.” Mother reached for another dress, one of her own this time. “But it wasn’t wild the way it’s become in some places.”

“What did you do?”

“Isaac, it was all so long ago. What does it matter now?” She folded briskly, keeping her gaze on her basket.

“Did you drive in cars? Go to parties?” No way he was going to let her drop this now.

“Sure. Those kinds of things.” She rolled two black socks into a neat ball. Then another pair, and another. Finally she said, “I met an English boy. He had a pickup truck. It was shiny and green. So vain, of course.”

“You dated an English boy?” Isaac could hardly believe his ears.

“For a summer. We drove fast with the windows down, and drank beer by a lake.”

“
You
drank beer?”

Her lips twisted in a brief smile. “A few times.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, the strings of her white cap swaying. “It was decades ago.”

“You remember.” He waited.

She waved her hand dismissively and reached for a shirt from the line. “I think it was Steve or something like that.”

Issac tried to imagine Mother and a boy named Steve speeding in a truck on a warm summer night, her pale hair loose in the wind. “And then what?”

“And then nothing.” She rolled another pair of socks tightly. “Rumspringa doesn’t last. The time came to grow up. To start my life the way it should be. I joined the church and your father asked to drive me home after the singing one Sunday. Here we are.”

“You didn’t miss it?”

“Of course not.”

“Come on. I know that’s not true. I’ve been in the world, remember?”

Her ghost of a smile made him ache. “All right. There were a few things. Music especially. There was a band called The Eagles. Steve had a little plastic tape in his truck. They sang a song about California. I’d make him rewind it over and over, and he never complained.” She took a shuddering breath. “I thought of it when we read your letter. My boys living all the way out there. So far from home. From God.” She turned to him, her eyes beseeching. “Don’t you see? You’ve had your rumspringa. It’s time to be a man.”

“I
am
a man. That’s why I’m choosing what’s right for me. Just like you did when you joined the church and got married. It was worth it to you to give up those worldly things.”

“Of course. Music and a fancy truck don’t mean anything in the end. Family, community, and the Lord are what matters.”

“But for me and Aaron, the world is about so much more than fancy things. It’s about opportunity. Freedom. It’s about being our true selves. And that means everything.”

She turned back to her basket, her small shoulders hunched. “When your brother left, we prayed and prayed. We met with the bishop and the preachers, trying to understand why it had happened.” Mother kept her eyes on the laundry line as she picked off a white apron and folded it into the basket.

“And what did they say?” he asked quietly.

Mother’s lips tightened. “That we had to stay strong. Shun him when the time came, because if we allowed contact, what reason would he have to return? We couldn’t make it easy for him to be out in the world. But it didn’t matter. He never came back. Never tried to visit.” She unclipped one of Father’s dark shirts, flapping in the cool evening breeze. “Never gave us another thought,” she added quietly.

“Of course he did! How can you say that?” She stared at him with wide eyes, but Isaac barreled on. “He’s dying for you to acknowledge him. To say he’s still your son. Don’t you miss your own mother? I remember when I was little, and she was still alive, and how the two of you would quilt for hours, talking and talking. I’ve never seen you talk with anyone the way you did with her. Can you imagine if she’d shut you out? If she’d cut you out of her life?”

Mother’s jaw worked, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out.

“He would do anything to have you look at him like a mother again. With love.”

She yanked at another shirt, the clothespins going flying. “Not anything.”

“What?”

“It isn’t true. If he would do anything, then he’d come back to us! He would take his vows in the church, and all would be forgiven. We’d be whole again.”

Isaac didn’t back down, even though he could see the quiver in his mother’s lip. “Aaron can’t be Amish. But he still loves you. He’s still your son.”

“He made his choice. If he truly loved us, he would stay. He would obey. This is the way it should be. You know this, Isaac.”

“But it can’t be this way for all of us. It doesn’t mean we’re bad. Aaron isn’t bad. He never was, and he isn’t now. He’s fair, and generous, and good, and I hate seeing him in so much pain. Doesn’t it tear you up inside to shun him?”

“Yes!” Her scream echoed in the night, and she clutched the shirt in her weathered hands. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper. “More than you could ever know. He was my first little boy. I had such dreams for the man he’d become. I imagined him working with your father and eventually taking over, and he’d build us a
dawdy haus
attached to his house when the time came.” Her face creased. “He used to tell me he’d still want me to cook his dinner because no matter who he married she’d never make butter noodles better than mine.”

Isaac’s throat was painfully tight. “Then why?”

“Because the Ordnung—”

“Stop!
Please.
I know what the Ordnung says. I know what Bishop Yoder and the preachers say. I want to hear what
you
say. Because it hurts Aaron so much to be separated from you. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see he’s in pain? He’s the same boy you raised.”

“What can I say? Tell me, Isaac!” Her voice rose. “If I could convince you both to stay, I would try with every breath in my body. I would scream and shout until my voice was gone.” She still gripped the shirt as if she might tear it in two. “But you’re both deaf to my pleas. To my pain. How can you turn your backs on all we raised you to believe? On
us
? I know it hurts him, and you. But we hurt too.” She pressed her hand to her chest as she struggled for a breath. “The sharp edges eventually dull, but it’s heavy and it never goes away.”

“But why does it have to be this way? What’s the good in it? Don’t the rules just hurt us all in the end?”

“I must have faith. I have to trust in the Ordnung. In our ways. If I don’t, what was this all for?”

“You tell me! How can it be God’s will to have families torn apart? To shun people you love? How can it be right? You don’t have to do it. Not if you don’t want to.”

She stared incredulously. “But we
must,
Isaac. If we don’t follow the edicts of the church, we’ll be next on the
Bann
. What would become of Katie and the boys? We must have faith in our community, even when we disagree. When we question.” Her voice cracked. “When it breaks our hearts.” She took a long breath and regained control. “This is our way. It won’t change. Not a hundred years ago, and not now. It’s the foundation of our lives. It’s everything.”

As much as it tore into him, Isaac understood. Faith and obedience were the backbone of the Amish. With those two things all could be forgiven, but they were impossible for him now. He wanted to find his faith again, but it would never be in Zebulon.

She clutched his arm, her blunt nails digging into his flesh. “But we wouldn’t need to shun if you’d live the way God wants. What could be better out there? What could make you choose to live in sin? Help me understand, Isaac. Help me.”

The words gathered on his tongue, to try and explain to her why he could never be Amish again. To try and explain how much he and David loved each other, and that it wasn’t a sin at all. She stared at him so heartbroken, with tears shining in her eyes, and blood rushed in his ears. “Mom…I…I’m…”

“We tried so hard.” She still gripped his arm. “We moved here to Zebulon to raise you all better. To cast aside even more worldly things than we had in Red Hills. I had to leave behind my first born. To not have Abigail and Hannah and my grandchilden here is a hole in my heart every day. But Abigail and Hannah were married and settled. We couldn’t fail with the rest of you. You and Katie and your brothers were still vulnerable. After we lost Aaron we knew we had to be more humble. More penitent. We prayed and prayed, and we thought we knew what we did wrong. How we could protect you all. Keep you safe.”

“I know you did what you believe is right.” Isaac covered her hand with his own. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Then why did he go? Why did you follow? My boys, out there alone!
Why
? And now Nathan is wasting away.” A sob wracked her. “My Nathan is so weak I have to hold his spoon as if he were a baby. He’s in so much pain, and I can’t take it from him.” A wail ripped free from her. “I can’t make him better! Why isn’t it me in that hospital? Why is it is my boy? Why do my children suffer? Will I lose you all, one by one?” Her shoulders heaved and she bent almost in half.

Isaac threw his arms around her. For the first time, he held his mother—not as a child being comforted, but as a man. “I’m sorry.” She clung to him, bowing her head against his shoulder and sobbing silently. He held her tightly, wishing he could do something more. “Everything will be all right. It will.” One way or another, they’d all have to find their peace with it.

A twig snapped, and Mother jerked away, wiping her cheeks as she blinked at Katie several feet away. Isaac tried to smile for his sister as he fought down his own tears. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“I was just coming to help with the laundry, and I heard—” Katie stared at Mother with wide eyes. “Are you sick?”

Mother turned back to the line and snapped off a sheet. “Let’s finish this up. We have to make the bread before bed.”

She and Katie silently folded, and Isaac lingered nearby uselessly, wishing there was more he could say. A little voice reminded him that there
was
more—there was the whole truth. Didn’t his mother deserve to know? To know what was in his heart—to know
him
?

Katie cast worried glances his way, and he tried again to smile. But Mother didn’t meet his gaze again, keeping her hands busy. Her stoic mask was back in place when they returned to the house, her tears dried as if they’d never been there at all. Yet she couldn’t erase the puffiness of her red eyes, and for the first time Isaac felt he’d really seen the churning tide below the surface.

After cutting over several fields and skirting farmhouses, Isaac was on David’s old land, Silver sure and steady in the darkness. The half moon peeked in and out from behind clouds, just enough so Isaac could find his way. Isaac jumped, gripping Silver with his thighs as a dog barked near the former Lantz house, now owned by Joseph Yoder and his new wife. Silver whinnied, and Isaac leaned low over her back. “Shh. It’s all right, girl. We’ll stay far away from that fellow.”

How wonderful it was to be with Silver again. He petted her and gave her words of praise, promising her all the sugar and apples she could eat. He rode without a saddle since his family only used horses for plows and buggies. It had been with David on Kaffi that he’d first ridden bareback. As he entered the woods on the outskirts of Zebulon, he flushed and rolled his hips, the memory of rutting with David for the first time flaring in his mind.

The day had been the warmest of spring yet according to Ephraim, and Isaac hadn’t worn his hat. If he was caught out his improper attire would be the least of his concerns. He’d thought about wearing his English clothes, but it had been easier to just pull on the Amish ones and not dig around. Although he’d been exceptionally quiet, he had a feeling Ephraim had still known he was sneaking out.

It must have been nearly midnight when he reached what he thought was the right spot. Flickers of that night—now that he thought about it, it was their first
date
—pinged through his mind, along with the memory of David’s low voice.

“What would you think if we didn’t go fishing tonight?”

“Isaac, if you knew what I really wanted—”

“You should run far away from me, Isaac. I’ll drag you down. Lead you to temptation.”

Stroking Silver’s head, Isaac smiled, remembering the shivers of excitement as he’d dressed English for the first time and they’d gone to the drive-in. Then their first kiss by June’s fence, and coming together amid the leaves on the forest floor, David between his legs, driving against each other.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

With a grin, Isaac slid from Silver’s back and threw himself into David’s arms. “You’re here.”

“Of course.” David rubbed his cheek against Isaac’s hair. “You slipped out okay?”

“Uh-huh. Quiet as a mouse.” Isaac closed his eyes and breathed in David. Somehow he still smelled of sawdust beneath a sweet soap, but it might have been Isaac’s imagination. After being home perhaps he should have felt guilty for the way he wanted David, but he knew more than ever that it was right as he met David’s sweet kisses. “I missed you,” he murmured. “I know it’s only been since this afternoon, but I did.”

“Me too. Is everything going all right at home? With Nathan?”

“As right as they can be. How is Aaron doing tonight?”