Peace (20 page)

Chapter 21

What's so special about Christmas? About this Christmas? Why, everything, of course.

M
EREDITH
H
ART

His mother acted as if there was nothing unusual about her sitting next to him on his bed. Just like she used to do when he was in middle school, she grabbed one of his pillows and propped it on her lap, hugging it close.

Then sat quietly for a moment.

And just like back when he was thirteen, he slowly let himself lean against her. She smelled like she always had—a mixture of familiar perfume and soap. And something else that he could never put his finger on; it was simply, essentially, Mom.

It didn't matter that he was twenty-nine or sitting in a guest bedroom of an Amish bed-and-breakfast.

At last, he'd come home.

“Care to tell me how you're really feeling?” his mother asked after another long moment.

“Not really, but I will.”

“Ah, reluctant honesty,” she teased. “I know that well.”

Yep, if there had been something he and his brothers had never been good at, it was lying to his mother. But that didn't mean it had always come easy. When they were teenagers, she'd become adept at wrangling out the truth, one morsel at a time.

“Mom, it's really good to see you and Dad, but I have to be honest with you—it's thrown me for a loop.”

“Should we have stayed away?”

“No. It's not that. I love seeing you.”

“But—”

“But I'm embarrassed.” He shrugged. “Here you haven't seen me in years, and I'm hiding out in the middle of Crittenden County. My face is multicolored, I've got bruises everywhere.”

“Not to mention your tattoos and long hair.”

“I'm not the boy you raised.”

“Maybe not. But it sure seems like you've become a man to be proud of, though.” Reaching out, she smoothed a wrinkle from his shirt. “It's hard to believe that you've been undercover so long, fighting so many bad things. It's a wonder you haven't been hurt worse.”

“I've been careful.”

“Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“I'm going to miss you.” She squeezed that pillow a little harder.

“I'm going to miss you, too.” So much. So much that it hurt.

She blinked rapidly, clearing her throat. “What about Beth?” She lifted a hand, stopping any sort of objection on his part. “And don't you start telling me that she's nothing to you. I may not be a DEA agent, but even I can tell when two people care about each other.”

“I love her.” There. He'd admitted it.

“And how does she feel?”

“She feels the same way.”

“And there's nothing you can do about it?”

“You've seen her, Mom. She's pretty much perfect. I am definitely not.”

“What if she wants you and not perfection?”

“I don't want to ruin her life. She needs someone different.” Someone who wasn't very likely to be killed in the near future, he added silently.

“I see.” After carefully setting his pillow back in its place, she stood up. “We better go see your father and brothers. I'm sure they're going to wonder where you've been hiding.”

“Thanks for coming up here. And for listening.”

She curled her hand in the crook of his elbow, just as if he were escorting her down the aisle at a formal affair. “Chris? One last thing.”

“What is that?”

“It's been my experience not to try to live other people's lives. It was hard to let you go on your way. To let you do things we never raised you to do. It was hard. But we were stronger than we thought.”

“And?”

“Perhaps you need to let Beth be strong, too. She's going to do what she wants. You need to be strong enough to let her make the decisions. Don't make them for her, Christopher.”

“I hear you.”

Now the only question was what to do about it.

Ever since they'd returned from the prison, Jacob had felt listless and depressed. He felt bad about it. After all, he knew Deborah was suffering in her own way.

She was missing Perry, and even if she wasn't exactly missing the person he'd become, he knew she was missing the person he could have been. The brother she'd grown up with.

As always, it didn't escape his notice that the loss was entirely his and his father's fault.

But still, he was dealing with his own grief. It was hard to see his father in that environment. Hard to come to terms with this new reality that was theirs. Imagining what his father's life was like in prison was no comparison to how it really had been.

After walking through the empty store to make sure everything was as it should be, he wandered back into their home and found Deborah making a cake in the kitchen.

She looked charming. A swipe of flour was smudged across her cheek. He picked up a dishcloth and carefully wiped it away.

She froze at his touch. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Merely a bit of flour that didn't make it into your mixing bowl.” He set the cloth down, then clasped his hands together. Otherwise he knew he'd be tempted to brush her face with his fingers. Anything to relieve the worried expression in her eyes. “I didn't think we were going to cook today.”

“I wasn't planning to cook.”

“But?”

“But I felt like I needed to do something.”

“Deborah, did visiting the prison upset you? I know it was a scary place. Should I have gone to visit my father without you?”

She set down her wooden spoon, left it in the batter where it slowly sank. “I'm not upset with you, Jacob. After all, it was my idea to visit your
daed
. I've pushed and prodded and begged you to do this for months.”

“You did prod and push and I'm grateful. I am. But it was hard to see my father in his prison uniform. It seemed to make the pain of what our family's gone through fresh again.”

“I felt the same way. I had pushed so much of it away, I'd almost forgotten what Aaron must be going through.” She looked down at her batter, fiddled with the spoon for a bit, then eyed him again. “May I be honest?”

“That's the only way I want you to ever be with me.”

“Part of me has been glad he's been in prison. Even though him being in jail wouldn't bring my brother back, I didn't want him here, living his life while Perry was buried in the ground.” She winced as she said the last few words. “I'm sorry. You must think I'm full of vengeance.”

“I don't think you're like that.” Unable to resist, he reached out and pulled him to her, then gently tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. “I could never think that.”

“Sure?”

“Positive. I've felt that way, too. But now I hate to think of him suffering.”

“Me, too.”

“So, Deborah, do you wish we would have stayed home? Do you blame me for ruining our first Christmas together?”

“It's not our first Christmas together. We've seen each other many times over the years, and I imagine, God willing, that we'll be able to spend this blessed day together for many years in the future.”

Her words were sweet. But they hadn't answered his question. Not really.

He'd known Deborah all his life. Sweet Deborah, so strong, yet so timid in so many ways. She was giving him a way out. Glossing over her own discomfort so he wouldn't be hurt anymore.

But he loved her too much to continue in that vein. And so he pressed. “Deborah, how are you feeling?”

“Oh, I'm sad. And worried about you. And, to a certain extent, a little angry.”

“Angry?”

Looking chagrined, she said, “Do you ever look around at some of the other families in our town and wonder why God decided that your family couldn't be like them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did I have to have a brother like Perry? Why did I get a selfish, drug-dealing brother? I would have loved to have had a relationship with him like Lydia has with her brother. Why do my parents still insist on mourning him, so much so that I often feel like an afterthought in their lives?”

“I don't know those answers. Perhaps He gave you a family like that because He knew you would be strong enough to bear their burdens,” he said softly.

Taking care with each word, he added, “You know what I've decided? Christmas is bigger than all of us. It's bigger than dinners or stockings or trips to the mall. It's bigger than fancy meals and even visits to see family.

“At the heart of it, it's all about a baby. It's all about God coming to us in our form. It's about miracles and promises and faith. It's about finding peace in a life that isn't too peaceful. About finding peace in a world that isn't always good or perfect or fair.”

Quietly, he finished. “And that is what Christmas is to me. I don't need gifts or presents or music. I just need to remember what it is all about. I need to remember what is important. And, you, Deborah are mighty important to me. You will get through this, you are strong enough to get through it all just fine.”

“Do you think I'm strong, Jacob?” She bit her lip, then blurted. “Really?”

He took her hands. “I think you are the strongest person I've ever met, Deborah.”

Little by little, her worried expression eased and her lips tilted upward slightly. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” Gesturing to the batter, he said, “How can I help?”

“Jacob, you can't help me cook.”

“Sure I can. Cooking makes you happy and being with you makes me happy. Therefore I will cook, too.”

She laughed. “Get out a cake pan, then, husband. We'll make a cake, and then maybe even some sandwiches and soup.”

“And after our supper, I want to sit with you in front of the fire and give thanks.”

“That sounds like the perfect way to spend the rest of our Christmas.”

Chapter 22

Jesus was born in a manger because there was no room at the inn, you see.

B
ETH
B
YLER

Beth had acted like a coward and had stayed on the sidelines.

Oh, she'd smiled and chatted to his brothers and parents. But Beth didn't need to be older or wiser to know that it was far more important for them all to get to spend time with Chris.

More than once he'd looked at her, almost said her name. But then he would get pulled into yet another conversation and that moment would be forgotten.

After a lovely supper and many laughs in the kitchen while everyone insisted on helping clean up, Beth said she was tired and went to her room.

She didn't get ready for bed, though. Instead, she wrapped a quilt around herself, sat in the big, cushy chair near the window, and looked out at the moonlight glistening on the snow.

When she heard the light tapping at her door, she almost didn't answer it. But then her wish for the day to last a little longer outlasted any desire to observe propriety.

As she'd feared and expected, Chris was at the door.

She opened it a crack. “Chris, do you need something?”

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

She shouldn't let him in, but where he was concerned, she had no choice. Not really. “What will your parents say?”

“Nothing, because I don't intend for them to see me visiting you in the middle of the night.”

“Come in, then.”

Chris came in, closed the door behind him, and then leaned against it. “What a day, huh?”

“Yes. It's been a
wonderful-gut
day.”

“The best.”

It hadn't been one of the best for her. She'd been too aware of his impending departure to be completely happy. But she did know that it was one of his best days. “Yes.”

“I owe all of it to you.”

“You owe it to yourself, Chris. You are a
gut
man. You are a very good man. Your family loves you, as they should.”

“I don't want tomorrow to come. I don't want to leave them, or leave you. I don't want to leave this life.”

She sat on the side of the bed and tried to imagine what it must be like to leave one's identity behind. Especially to leave one's identity behind in order to adopt such a bad one. “Is it hard, becoming a criminal?”

He smiled. “Yeah. I used to kind of like it. It was an adrenaline rush. Constantly being on edge, living in fear. Plus, I knew I was good at it. Not everyone can be so good at pretending to be bad.”

“I imagine not.” She couldn't help but smile at the thought of trying to assume someone else's personality.

“But Beth, now? I'm dreading it. I don't want to continue to be someone I've grown to hate, not even if it's to the benefit of the greater good.”

“I'm dreading your leaving, too. And hating the thought of you having to give yourself up again.”