Katie's Choice (24 page)

Katie Rose’s words followed him all the way back into town. He couldn’t fathom why. Of course he had lived. He had traipsed through the jungles of Africa, walked amid the pyramids of Egypt, hiked through the mountains of Afghanistan. If that wasn’t living, he didn’t know what was.

The biggest mystery was why her words bothered him in the first place. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her opinion. He wasn’t worried about his future plans and outcomes. He had it all figured out. This job was just a means to an end.

He pulled the buggy up to the hitching post in front of the general store. The idea to run back by the school and visit again with Katie Rose after his errand was oh-so tempting. Twice was bad enough. He could play the first time off as research for his article, but twice in one day could be easily misconstrued. No, he’d better retrieve his cell phone and get back to the house.

He gave one of the horses a pat on the neck, then fed each of them one of the carrots he’d put in his pocket before the trip. Carrots were a lot cheaper than fossil fuels. Maybe there was a story in that too:
The Carbon Footprint of the Amish
. It would be a very short book.

He laughed at himself for going soft, then pulled open the door of the old-timey store.
Enchanted
. The word popped into his mind again as he stepped through the doors, planked floors underneath the soles of his boots, lazy fans turning overhead. Today it offered warmth by the potbellied stove and hot chocolate at the soda fountain.

Zane waved to the patrons who greeted him, tipped his hat to the owner, Coln Anderson, then went to warm his hands by the stove.

“Are you certain it will be here by Christmas?”

He didn’t hear Coln’s response to the shopper as the word
Christmas
pinged through his head. How could he have forgotten about Christmas? Maybe because it wasn’t a big deal to him. Never had been.

But it should be
.

There was that voice again.
Why?
he wanted to shout in return, but it was a bit frightening to argue with oneself. Instead, he looked around, for the first time seeing the decorations of red and green all over the store. That was what really bothered him about Christmas—the commercialism. Retailers profited greatly this time of year by getting people to buy things they couldn’t afford for a list of people they rarely saw. And for what?

As his eyes darted about the store, he noticed no Santa Claus faces. There were a few snowflakes and a couple of snowmen, but what struck him was the huge star hanging in the back of the store over a nativity scene carved out of wood.

Zane left the warmth of the stove and, as if mesmerized, walked toward the star. The stable, manger, and all the characters seemed to be hand carved out of a bleached wood, giving them the appearance of aged ivory. He picked up the statue of Mary, turning the carving over in his hands and examining every detail. Her robe flowed from her body, her head tilted at a peaceful angle. But she had no face. None of them did. No eyes on the animals, no mouths, just a blank surface where features should have been. Somehow this oversight made them all the more beautiful.

How had he not noticed these this morning?

“Did you come to get your phone?”

Zane jumped, then put the Mary in her spot behind the manger. “Yeah, I did.”

Coln nodded toward the statues. “They’re beautiful, huh?”

Zane nodded.

“There’s a man in Missouri who carves them for the Amish folk.”

“It must take forever to make a whole set.”

“He can only finish a few each year, but this is the first Christmas the bishop has allowed them in his homes.”

Zane looked at the depiction of the birth of Jesus. How could anyone deny its beauty and art? “I don’t understand.”

“Bishop Beachy was worried that it would cause pride and envy among his followers.”

“I want one.” The words slipped from his mouth without any warning. “In fact, I want two.” One for Ruth and Abram and one for him. For the art of it, he told himself. Something that beautiful was just too good to pass by.

Coln shook his head. “I know I can get one for you, but the other might be a little tricky. Could I send it to you?”

“Of course.” Even if it came in time for next Christmas it would be a wonderful gift for . . . Monica. He’d be married to Monica next year.

They had never talked about religion; the matter had never come up. But with the revelations he’d had on this trip, it would be a good idea to have that conversation soon. Not that it changed things. Still, he wanted to know how she felt before they walked down the aisle.

Coln went behind the counter and unplugged Zane’s cell phone. “Come back up front and I’ll ring that up for you.”

Zane nodded. “I will, but I need to shop some more.”

Christmas was only a couple of weeks away. He’d be spending the Christian holiday with the Fishers, and he couldn’t imagine not having any gifts for them on Christmas morning. He had never before bought Christmas presents, and the idea of giving gifts on the holiday was strangely thrilling. He felt like the Grinch when his heart grew two sizes.

He mentally started making a list in his head. He needed something for all of Gabe’s boys, Mary Elizabeth, Annie, and Gideon. And one more.

He put his cell phone in his pocket, and a smile on his face as he started looking around for the perfect gift for Katie Rose.

Zane went through the remainder of the day like he had a secret. In a way, he supposed that was true, but this joy over buying gifts for his host was unexpected.

He pulled the wagon into the drive, hopped down, and immediately walked the horses toward the barn. The house looked quiet so he could only suppose that Abram was still out, and that Annie had gone to spend the afternoon with Gideon.

Zane smiled and unhitched the horses. Today had been a beautiful day. He could only hope that Ruth’s day had been as wondrous. It would be a while before they knew the test results, but he had hoped she would find some bright spot in today and that the worry lines between her eyes would be softened.

He got the horses some water, brushed them down, and poured some fresh oats in their trough. By the time he was finished, he heard the purr of an engine. Ruth was home.

He shaded his eyes as he stepped from the dark interior of the barn. A car door slammed and then another.

“Bill Foster,” he called, raising his other hand in greeting.

Bill waved in return. “Well, if it ain’t Zane Carson. I almost didn’t recognize you, boy.”

Zane smiled. He supposed he did look different than he had just over two months ago. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He shook the man’s hand, then turned to Ruth. “I’m glad you’re home, Ruth. Now, I won’t have to worry about you riding around with this maniac.”

Ruth smiled, but the action was weak, her eyes watery.

Zane knew what he needed to do. He looked to Bill. “Can you stay for supper tonight?”

“Abram will be disappointed if he doesn’t get to see you.” Ruth’s voice was stronger than her expression.

But Bill was already shaking his head. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. It’s my oldest daughter’s birthday, and we’re all goin’ out to eat. Gotta save room for that.” He patted his slightly rounded, middle-age paunch.

“Then I believe pickles are in order.”

Zane helped Ruth inside and gathered up some pickles for the driver, walking him to his car with a case full of mason jars.

“Money for gas?” Zane asked as Bill got into the car and cranked the engine.

“You know what to do with that,” the Mennonite said as he put the car in gear.

Zane nodded with a smile. “I sure do.”

He watched Bill pull out of the drive, then turned to go back into the house to check on Ruth. To the casual observer, she looked fine, strong even. Shoulders set, chin lifted. But Zane had been living with the woman and her family for months and he could see that she was struggling. One good wind could knock her over.

She had her back to him as he entered. She was standing at the stove, as if about to cook, or make tea, or something, but she wasn’t moving. Just standing there as if she could fool him.

“Ruth.”

He said her name, and her shoulders stiffened, then fell. She buried her face in her hands, sobs taking over her body.

Zane shot to her side, turning her around and wrapping her in his arms. He knew it wasn’t the Amish thing to do, hold a woman who wasn’t his wife. This was one time he was very glad to be English. Ruth needed all the comfort she could get.

He didn’t count the minutes that he stood there holding her, offering her the strength of his body to soothe her spirit. He only knew that she had given him so much—offered her home to him, fed and clothed him, given him a place to sleep with warm blankets. It was his turn to pay her back, even only a little.

Finally her sobs subsided. She pulled away from him, suddenly self-conscious of the fact that she was in another man’s arms. She sniffed, a choked laugh escaping from her lips as she wiped at her tears. “Goodness me. Look at me, carryin’ on like that. Where are my manners?”

“Ruth.” She didn’t have to pretend with him.

She turned back toward the stove and reached for the kettle that was always close. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Ruth.” He stilled her hands. “Sit down. I’ll make the tea.”

She took a shuddering breath, and for a moment, Zane thought she might protest. Instead she gave him a grateful, if not tear-soaked, smile and eased down into a chair at the table.

Zane filled the kettle with water and set it to boil in the stove, then retrieved the tea bags and mugs.

“You know your way around the kitchen, Zane Carson.”

He shrugged. “It comes with the territory.”

“Territory?”

“Being a bachelor. Constantly on the road.”

He looked at the propane-powered gas stove. “I’ve cooked on worse. Much worse.”

“The stove was a gift from Gideon to Annie.”

“And they’re supposed to get married next year?”

“That is our custom. To get married in the fall when the harvest is complete, and the chores are lighter.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Gideon and his Annie?”

Zane shook his head. “Your appointment.”

“I would rather talk about anything else.”

The whistle of the kettle punctuated her words.

Zane added a tea bag to each mug and filled them with the hot water. He added honey, then carried them to the table.

He sat one down in front of Ruth, then took the chair opposite her.

“
Danki
,” she said, blowing over the top of the mug to cool the scalding liquid.

They sat that way for a minute or two, steamy mugs and silence before Ruth spoke and shattered the quiet with her solemn words.

“I’m scared, Zane Carson.”

He didn’t ask her about what. “I think that’s only normal.”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid about the cancer. I’ve prayed about that.”

“What else is there?” To Zane, Ruth had it all—a loving family, a nice house, a network of caring friends.

Tears filled her eyes. “Will you pray with me now?”

A stab of apprehension shot through Zane. He’d never prayed for anything in his life. He had only in the last few days decided that there was even a God to pray to.

“In Matthew, the Bible says that when two pray together then the truth it shall become. Please, Zane Carson. Pray with me.” Ruth reached across the table and clasped his hand into her own. Her knuckles turned white under the force of her grip.

How could he say no?

“I don’t know how,” he admitted.

Ruth smiled through her tears. “You just bow your head and talk to God. Thank Him for the blessings and ask Him for answers.”

“That’s all there is to it?” That sounded simple enough. Almost too simple. Still, apprehension raced through him.

“
Jah
.” Ruth nodded. “But afterward you have to make sure to leave your heart open so that you can hear His answer.”

He reached out his other hand and held both of hers in his as they bowed their heads.

Zane had seen the Amish pray enough times before and after dinner to know their prayers were silent. He wasn’t exactly sure how God could hear his thoughts. But then, if God were truly the Creator, it seemed only natural that He would know everything.

God?
he asked hesitantly, then with more confidence.
God. This is Zane Carson, down in Oklahoma. I’m here with Ruth Fisher, God. And she’s hurting. She’s just had her cancer scans, and we’re waiting on her test results. She’s scared, God, but I don’t know of what. Whatever it is, she needs peace. I’m praying for that. I want her to have peace, God. Peace to stop crying and to be patient until her test results come in. But I don’t think that’s all that’s bothering her, and I don’t think she’s going to tell me what it is. I know that You can give her peace for her worries, even if I can’t name them.

And God? I don’t know why Abram didn’t go with Ruth to the doctor today, but I think maybe that is bothering her as well. God, whatever has come between them, I ask that You heal it for her.