Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2) (34 page)

James had tried several times to engage her in conversation. He’d told her about his biology teacher who had moved here from Texas, wore a ten-gallon hat, and had once tried his hand as a rodeo rider. James had tried to explain his progression of courses—the fundamentals he must take before delving into true agriculture courses. He even mentioned a few Mennonite classmates who were having equal difficulty with grammar in their English class.

Emma hadn’t felt like talking. She was feeling inferior, as though shortcomings in her own education would be all too apparent now that James was attending college. And she’d felt left behind.

Now, standing in her aunt’s driveway, she only felt rude.

Aunt Hannah had thanked James, called goodbye to her, and fled inside her house, clutching her stomach. James walked her as far as the porch and then left without trying to sneak a kiss. Emma hugged her arms across her chest in the fading daylight. She didn’t want to go inside Uncle Seth’s house, yet she wasn’t ready to go home either. So she stood in the November chill and tried to sort out her life.

She discovered today that she didn’t like Caesar salad dressing or gazpacho soup. Twice-baked potatoes seemed like too much work for the small amount of improvement. She also knew she didn’t want to go to college. And the idea of turning English—of learning to drive a car someday, or buying fancy clothes in shops with white lights around the windows, had lost much of its appeal.

Emma wondered how those people could keep their faith. How could they manage to stay close to God while fighting over parking spaces or waiting in long lines for the ATMs at the bank? Maybe that’s why young college girls often ran into trouble with drinking and misbehaving at parties. There seemed to be so much chaos. And Wooster was only a small town compared to the cities in California or Italy where James wished to take her. It was much easier to talk to God in her sheep pasture, along her woodland path, or sitting by the creek than in a high-rise apartment or while riding in one of those underground trains.

Emma heard a tapping sound and turned toward the house. Phoebe had spotted her dawdling in the yard and started knocking on the glass. Emma smiled, waved at the child, and then walked toward the barn. Time to go home and stop fretting before Aunt Hannah came back outdoors to see why she hadn’t left.

On the path that connected the two farms Emma gave over her dilemma to Someone better qualified. Picking her way through scrub vegetation and boggy low ground, she paused by the beaver pond. Brooding about her current state of confusion wasn’t working. God knew her heart and the hearts of everyone involved. He would set into motion the perfect solution within His time frame.

But she didn’t think the answer would be so quick in coming.

When Emma entered the surprisingly quiet kitchen, her
daed
was sitting alone at the table, his head propped up with one weathered hand. A Bible lay open before him; his concentration was absolute.

Since Simon hadn’t heard her come in, Emma had a few moments to study the man who had once bounced her on his knee. When had his hair turned so gray? His long silky beard was nearly pure white. His dark eyes squinted behind his spectacles, while his shoulders were hunched over the book. The skin beneath his chin sagged, and Emma noticed a slight tremor in the hand holding the coffee mug. He looked frail for a man who had labored hard his entire life.

She fought to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Emma! Why are you sneaking up on people? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Emma kicked off her shoes in the hallway and hung her cape on a peg. “I wasn’t trying to be especially quiet. You must have been distracted.”

Only then did he study his daughter carefully, perhaps making sure she hadn’t dyed her hair red or painted her fingernails purple. “You’re back earlier than I expected you to be.”

“
Jah
, Aunt Hannah wasn’t feeling well. The drive along twisty roads made her carsick. And I think some of the food she sampled at the restaurant wasn’t to her liking.”

His brows knitted together over the bridge of his nose. “What did she eat?”

“She tried some of my cold soup and Caesar salad and didn’t like either one of them.”

“Cold soup? Did someone forget to turn on the stove burner?” Simon sounded shocked.

“No, it was supposed to be served that way,” she answered, stifling a smile.

Simon waited to see if she was kidding, and then he uttered a dismissive
ach
and drained the rest of his coffee.

She slipped into the opposite chair. “
Daed
, where is everyone? Why are you sitting here alone? Why isn’t Leah fixing dinner? It’s not late.”

Simon looked up, but not at her. He focused his gaze on the darkened window, outside of which a hard rain had begun to fall. “Dinner was cooked, eaten, and cleaned up afterward early tonight. Leah is helping Mrs. Lee bake cakes and cookies for a bridal shower for her daughter this weekend. Matthew is over at Macintosh Farms. Henry is out in the barn trying to build birdhouses. Your
mamm
felt tired after the therapy session and went to bed. That leaves me…and you.” The last word hung in the air like the smell of sulfur after lighting a match, but still he didn’t look at her. He returned to his Bible and tried to find his place with an index finger.

He asked nary a word about her trip to Wooster.

She so much wanted to talk about things weighing on her, but she didn’t know where to begin. Finally she said, “Did you know that plenty of Plain people live around Apple Creek in Wayne County?”

He raised his head to stare at her. “I’m well aware of that fact. There’s also plenty who live in Lodi and Dalton too. Is there something you wish to discuss with me, Emma? If so, spit it out, but if not, I’d like to get back to what I was doing.”

Emma’s throat tightened. His harsh tone didn’t encourage a father-daughter chat. He sounded as though he didn’t like her anymore, or at least that he was very angry that she went to see James.

She contemplated running up the stairs, burying her head beneath a pillow, and not coming down until January, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate.

“I was wondering what you were studying.” She sounded like a spring peeper, freshly broken through its shell.

Simon exhaled through his dry, chapped lips and rolled his eyes. He made a great show of inserting his bookmark—one that she had crocheted as a little girl—and shutting the Good Book. “I am reading the book of Ecclesiastes, searching for guidance since my eldest
kinner
is determined to destroy everything good and run to a life we had tried to protect her from. I need to find out where I failed.”

Such stark honesty had not been expected. Emma started to cry silently, not wishing to wake her mother upstairs. “I don’t want to destroy my life.”

“I know that,” said Simon. “But you cannot dally with this boy, no matter how nice he is, and then return to Amish ways like nothing ever happened.” The sorrow in his eyes made him look very aged.

Emma’s shame rose a notch upon realizing she had caused untold grief to both parents. That hadn’t been her intention. She just wanted some fun during
Rumschpringe
, never intending to fall in love with an
Englischer.
“You have not failed,
daed
,” Emma whispered, reaching out to place her small hand over his.

He didn’t pull back or flinch with the show of affection. Instead, Simon wrapped both his hands around hers. “But I did. I have failed you both as your father and your deacon.” He squeezed her hand for a long moment before returning to his Bible. “There’s still hot water in the kettle if you wish to take a cup of tea to your room. You must be tired after your trip.” He spoke in the gentlest voice she’d ever heard. And Simon Miller never condoned such self-indulgence as sipping tea bedside. His motto had always been: “Drink your beverage at the kitchen table and be done with it.”

This dear man loved her enough to take on the burden of her waywardness and still show her compassion. If he had hollered or blustered it would have somehow been easier.

What she must do came to her in a flash of insight. As much as she loved James—and she did love him—she loved her parents more. She wouldn’t cause them another minute of pain, not when she had the power to stop their anxiety. Emma straightened her spine, willed herself to stop crying, and spoke before she lost her courage. “You haven’t failed me because I have no intention of leaving the Amish faith. You and
mamm
raised me to love the Lord and be obedient to His will. I found out today that I don’t much like the fancy world. Although I like James, I don’t wish to become English as he expects me to if we ever became engaged.” She forced herself to breathe. “So tonight I will write to him and say I won’t court him any longer. He needs to concentrate on his schooling, and I…have my own life.” Her stream of words ran out. Her resolve faltered, but she had done it. For the first time, she had put others before her own selfish desires. Emma folded her hands together and waited for his reaction.

Simon stared at her and then said, “I’m glad to hear you’ve come to your senses, Emma. Why don’t you go upstairs now and look in on your
mamm
. I’m certain she’s still awake.” He gestured with his head toward the doorway and then lowered his focus to his Bible.

If Emma had expected jubilation or a sudden outpouring of emotion, it was not forthcoming. Her
daed
returned to his reading calmly. But when she glanced back at his hunched form, she saw a teardrop fall to the well-worn page.

That memory she would hold in her heart for a very long time. It would fortify her as she climbed the stairs to her room. It had to carry her through the ordeal of taking paper and pen from her drawer and pulling a chair up to the windowsill. The memory of her father’s tears of relief sustained her as she wrote to the young man she loved.

Plenty of her own tears were to fall that evening before Emma was able to sleep.

When James returned to his dorm a week later, he was almost too tired to listen to his answering machine. He’d eaten his bland dinner without paying much attention to what meat had been part of the casserole. His writing and math labs after his regular classes were starting to wear him down with extra assignments. If he had known all this studying lay ahead of him, he would have paid better attention to his classes in high school.

As he stretched out on his bed, the blinking light would not let him relax. James pressed the button and listened to his mom’s cheery voice. His favorite mare had foaled without complications, the last of the fields had been prepared for winter, one of the pond pumps broke and had to be replaced, and he’d gotten a letter from Miss Emma Miller of Winesburg.

James sat up so fast he saw stars.

Emma. It had been a week since her visit to OSU—a week of wondering what had happened between them. She had seemed more than distant; she’d seemed downright hostile toward his school and the curriculum. He had no control over the required courses or the advanced technology of the facilities. If she had bothered to listen to him, she would have found out he didn’t plan to pursue horticulture. He’d just thought she might like to see some pretty flowers and exotic plants.

He sure had been wrong about that.

Nothing had changed for him regarding his future plans. Yet much seemed to have changed for Emma during the past few weeks.

Were her parents pressuring her not to court him?

Was the stress of a sick mom making her cranky?

Or had she simply lost interest in him? He still had homework assignments before bed, and his favorite show was on TV tonight, but he couldn’t consider either right now. Emma had written him a letter. Maybe she offered an explanation for her short temper last Friday. He didn’t care about an apology—everyone was entitled to an occasional bad mood. What he needed was confirmation that she was still his girl.

James punched in his home phone number and listened with anticipation. His mom picked up on the sixth ring.

“Jamie! How are you? How are you doing in the labs? I trust you heard my update on our farm news.”

He answered her cursory questions and commented appropriately regarding the new thoroughbred foal. When he couldn’t be patient another moment, he blurted out, “What about Emma’s letter? Have you any idea what’s in it?”

For a few moments of total silence ensued. Then his mom said softly, “It’s a sealed envelope, Jamie. Do you think I would steam it open and read your personal mail?” She chuckled.

“Sorry, Mom. I know you wouldn’t. I’m just curious about what Emma had to say.”

To that, she had no response.

“We didn’t exactly get along well when she visited with her aunt last week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, son. The letter will be waiting for you on your dresser.”

“I’m coming home tomorrow after my last class,” he said impetuously.

“Is that wise? Aren’t you loaded down with assignments?”

“Yeah, but I gotta know what’s in that letter. I’ll bring my work home and do it there. I could use a little home cooking anyway. The food here can’t compare with yours.”