Gay Amish 03 - A Way Home (26 page)

Isaac could hardly believe his ears. He’d wanted to hear these words for so long, through all the years when Aaron had vanished from their lives. He’d ached for their parents to acknowledge the loss. Aaron choked down a sob, and Isaac grasped his cold hand.

Father went on. “I shall always pray for you to return to us and the Lord. That will never change. But I am proud of you, my son.”

Aaron smiled through his tears. “Thank you.”

Isaac blinked rapidly, still frozen on the edge of his seat, waiting for Father to say something—anything—to him.
Please love me still.

Father’s gaze swung to him. “Isaac…” His voice broke.

“Father, I…” There was too much to say, and he didn’t know where to begin.

After a long silence, Father spoke again. “This is not the way it should be. We cannot understand how the world has corrupted you in such a short time.”

It was like a punch that knocked the air from him. For a terrible moment, jealousy pierced him.
You’re proud of Aaron but not me?
He wanted to curl up and disappear.

But Aaron was squeezing his hand and speaking up, defending him as always. “You’re wrong, Dad. Isaac’s not corrupted.” He grew fierce, even though his face contorted with pain as he tried to push himself up. “Isaac hasn’t done anything wrong. There’s nothing wrong with him. If you could just see—” He bit back a cry, flopping back onto the pillows.

Isaac grabbed the cup of water and held it to Aaron’s lips. Somehow he spoke calmly. “It’s okay. Don’t say anything else. You need to rest.” He licked his lips, wishing he had some water himself. He stood and faced his father. He prayed to God for strength, and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t the world that made me this way. I was always like this.”

Father’s eyes widened, and his lips parted. “That…that cannot be true. You were never…
this
way.”

“I was, Father. Always. I denied for years. But it’s why I was never interested in girls or dating. I was always different. You know I was. Deep down you know it.”

Father stared with red-rimmed eyes. “Different, yes. Special. But not…
that
. Such a terrible sin, Isaac.”

“I know you think it is. But it’s the way I’ve always been.” With each word, he felt stronger. “David’s the same way, and we both tried to deny it. You know he tried. He almost joined the church.”

“He has warped your mind. He has you believing this.” Father looked to Aaron. “Can you really condone this?”

“Yes. I love Isaac just the way he is. I always have, and I always will.”

“The way he is,” Father echoed dully.

Isaac spoke again. “This is the way God made me.”

Father jerked as if he’d struck him. “Oh, Isaac. To even think such a thing.” His eyes shone, and fresh tears spilled into his beard. “You break our hearts.”

“It took me a long time to accept it. But now I do. Now I’m not ashamed. I’m not ashamed to love.”

Father wiped at his eyes and clasped his hands behind his back. “If you return to us, and to the church, you will be able to put this behind you. We will help you live a good life as a man should. For it is the only way to heaven.”

“No. I don’t believe it is.”

Father sighed heavily. “Then I suppose there is nothing else to say.” He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, the stoic facade locked back in place and his tears drying. He turned, his steps heavy as he left them. But at the door, he stopped. He didn’t face them. “Isaac…I can never accept this sin. But you will always be in my heart. I will pray for you, my sons.” Then he was gone.

Isaac pulled the chair right up to the mattress and bent over, leaning his head next to Aaron’s. He wanted to climb into the bed and have Aaron whisper stories to him the way he used to in the moonlight. He wanted Aaron to tell him everything would be okay.

“Isaac…” Aaron grimaced, the circles under his eyes dark smudges and his face pale.

“I’m okay.” Isaac kept his voice steady. “You need to rest now.”

“But…”

“Rest now.”

When Aaron bit his lip to try and stop his tears, Isaac gave him more water and told him one of his favorite old tales, speaking softly until the afternoon waned and his brother was finally asleep.

David listened to the rumble of June’s truck fade as he walked up the drive toward Eli’s house. The sun was setting, and lamplight glowed from the windows. But this time it didn’t feel like coming home, and not only because he was in his jeans and spring jacket. Although he’d known that he’d never live in Zebulon again, he found himself missing the townhouse in San Francisco and the bedroom he shared with Isaac, even if he didn’t miss the noise and grime of the city.

Anna darted out of the house as he approached, the strings of her white cap trailing behind her in the cool evening breeze as she raced over. “What happened? Mother went right to bed this afternoon and has been up there all day. I went to check on her and she was staring at the ceiling. She wouldn’t even look at me. Eli says it isn’t Nathan, so it must be about you.” She tugged his arm and led him around the wash house.

Although he knew it couldn’t be avoided, the thought of his mother so hurt because of him made David’s chest twinge. “Yes. We told them all. The truth about me and Isaac.”

Anna’s jaw dropped. “Wow. I guess that went about as well as expected.”

David was about to answer when Mary’s voice wisped into the night air from behind him, hardly loud enough to hear. “What about you and Isaac?”

As Anna’s eyes widened, David turned to find Mary coming around the corner of the wash house, dark sodden material in her hands. Anna said, “I thought you were—”

“Sarah broke a jar of beets, remember? I washed her dress so it wouldn’t stain.” Mary’s voice was still calm, but unnervingly so. “What truth?”

“Oh, Mary. It’s all right.” Anna reached for her. “I’ll hang Sarah’s dress. Go on in, and I’ll come brush your hair.”

That had always been a little indulgence Mary had loved, and Anna’s favorite way of apologizing to her sister when she’d teased her too much or upset her. David could imagine them now in his mind sitting on the floor by the stove in the living room, Mary’s eyes closed as Anna patiently brushed out her golden hair, the
snick
of the brush on each stroke soothing to all of them.

“No.” Mary’s lower lip wavered, but her tone was firm. “Tell me.” She looked to him. “David, please tell me.”

His heart thumped so hard he was sure the girls would hear it.
I can’t. I can’t tell her.
But he knew the time had come. He wished Isaac was there to blurt it out as he had earlier, and he wondered if perhaps Anna would do it for him now. But she was quiet beside him aside from the sound of her quick breaths.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” It was the truth, even though he knew he would. Oh, how he would hurt her.

“What is it?” Mary whispered.

It was like he was physically pushing the words out, and he shook with the strain. “I love Isaac. We’re together, Mary.”

Still clutching the wet dress, she stood motionless. Her gaze shifted to Anna, and then back to David. “I don’t understand.”

“The English call it being gay. When two men love each other, or two women. Homosexual. That’s what I am. That’s what Isaac is. It’s why we had to leave. Why we can never live here again. Why we can’t be Amish.”

“Gay,” Mary echoed. “You and Isaac…you
love
him?”

He felt like he had gravel stuck in his throat. “I do.”

The moon was rising, and it was bright enough that he could see the wetness glistening in Mary’s eyes as her brows knit together. “Isaac…loves you?”

“Yes. We…he’s my boyfriend.”

“But that’s not how it works.” Mary looked to Anna again. “It’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“Some people are different,” Anna said. “They’re just born that way. The preachers will say otherwise, that it’s wrong and evil, but you know David is good. Isaac too.” She reached for Mary’s hands, but Mary jerked back.

“You knew?”

Anna shook her head, but told the truth. “I found out before they left. I overheard something. I wanted to tell you, but it wasn’t my place.”

Mary’s face crumpled. “All those nights I talked to you about Isaac. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry!” Anna cried now too. “I wanted to. But it wasn’t mine to tell.”

Mary swung her gaze back to David. “Why didn’t you tell me, then?”

“I wanted to. But I was afraid, Mary. I was afraid of so many things. Please forgive me.” David wanted to hold her close as he had the other night and wipe all her tears away.

Her shoulders quaked. “All this time. You must have thought I was so stupid. So stupid!”

“No!” David and Anna shouted in unison. David shook his head. “Never. You’re good and kind, and I never wanted to hurt you.”

Footsteps approached, and Mary swiped at her cheeks with jerky motions as Eli rounded the wash house. He stared at them, and then heaved a sigh. “David, I think it’s best you go. Your mother needs to rest. This has all been too much for her.”

“I just want to tell her…” He trailed off.

“What could you say now?”

“I…I just want her to understand.”

Eli shook his head wearily. “This is a thing you cannot have, David.”

David’s shoulders sagged. It was true. He wanted to argue—wanted to stay and plead and make them understand, but this was an impossible thing. He could have Isaac, and he could have freedom. But he couldn’t have this as well.

“Your mother’s heart is broken.” Eli looked at Mary. “All of our hearts. Come now, the girls are waiting for dinner.” He wrapped an arm around Mary and led her back toward the house.

Anna wiped her eyes. “He’s right that Mother can’t deal right now. I don’t know if there’s anything you could ever say. I’ll try to get Mary to understand, though. I think she will eventually.” She rolled her lips inward, and her voice was uneven. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s always been so good. Not like me. God, David. She’s going to hate me when I leave too.”

He opened his arms and she went to him, sniffling against his chest, her cap askew. She smelled like flour and cinnamon, and David rubbed her back, murmuring nothing words. Anna was usually so unflappable, but in that moment he remembered just how young she was. He wanted to protect her from all the pain he knew was coming, but he couldn’t. “It’ll be okay. It won’t be easy, but I’ll help you.”

“I wish I could live the life I want without hurting them,” she whispered. “I need freedom. I just…I’ll never be able to follow all the rules here, so if I’m going to hell I might as well make it worth my while.”

He kissed her head. “The English have a saying for that. ‘Go big or go home.’ It fits you, my Anna.”

She laughed softly. “It does, I think.” Straightening up, she sighed wistfully. “I wish I could go with you right now.”

“You could. We’d made it work. I won’t leave you behind if you want to come now.”

Anna brushed the front of his jacket where her tears must have left a spot. “I can’t go yet. I need to give them some time. And there’s Ephraim.”

David raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were just friends?”

She huffed. “That was the plan. But…I don’t know. Nothing’s happened, and it’s stupid to do anything. I don’t know if Ephraim will ever really want to leave. He was determined to leave Zebulon, but now with Nathan, I’m not so sure. He’s different lately. Not so angry.”

“What does he say about it?”

“I don’t think he knows. Obviously he can’t leave until Nathan’s well or…until it’s resolved one way or the other. But I’ll be eighteen in June. I guess I’ll see how I feel then. I want to make sure it’s the right time. Emma wrote from Red Hills and said that Samuel Lapp—you remember, Abraham’s Samuel with the red hair? Well, he just came home for the fourth time.”

“How is Emma doing?” David barely remembered their older sister after all these years.

“Fine. Having babies and mending torn shirts. She got a great deal on jars for canning in the fall. You know, the usual thrills.” Anna smiled. “But she’s happy.”

“I’m glad. Too bad about Samuel.”

“Yeah. He’s been running away and going back for three years. When I leave, I want it to be for good. I want it to be right.”

David smiled and straightened her cap. “How did you get to be so smart? I wish I’d known my mind half as well at your age.”

“I had a brave brother to look up to.”

He scoffed. “Me? I’ve been terrified for almost as long as I can remember.”

“But not anymore.” She squeezed his hand. “I can tell things have changed. You’ve changed. In a good way. You always took care of us, and I hope now you can take care of yourself. And Isaac. Your new family.”

“Anna!” Eli’s voice rang out sharply from the direction of the house.

“You should go. I don’t think I’ll come back here before we leave. I’m going to go to the barn to say goodbye to Kaffi.”

Nodding, she backed up. “I’ll sneak over to June’s tomorrow or the next day.” She smiled tremulously. “Be happy, David. You’ve earned it.”

When she was gone, David leaned against the rough, worn planks of the wash house and closed his eyes. The odd cricket chirped, and as the trees tentatively bloomed, the air was rich and damp and a little sweet. He couldn’t hear a single engine, or anything but the ripple of new grass.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed. He read the message from Isaac eagerly.

Are you still at Eli’s? Jen and I can come get you. We’re leaving the hospital pretty soon.

He quickly tapped out that he would be in the barn, pleased that his thumbs seemed to be cooperating at least a little better; he only had to go back and fix one word this time. The phone seemed to want to make changes on its own and write down words he didn’t type, which he didn’t understand.

In the barn, David lit a lantern and hunted for the stash of carrots he knew had to be in there. Perhaps he should have asked Eli first, but surely Eli wouldn’t mind him giving his old horse a treat. Kaffi whinnied softly as he approached, and affection swelled in David.