Plain Pursuit (41 page)

Carley sat nervously aglow, and Noah thought she’d never looked more beautiful as her eyes glistened with anticipation. They’d only discussed keeping Jenna while Dana attended school for the next four years, but there seemed to be an unspoken understanding by all parties that Jenna would be staying with them—for good.

And regardless of their closeness in age, Carley had assumed a parental role with Dana, despite their rough beginning. They had spent the past couple of weeks running around for school supplies and clothes and leasing Dana’s house, and Carley had talked to Dana at length about her decision. Noah knew it would be hard for Dana to leave Jenna and that it was a choice she struggled with, but in the end Dana said she felt like she was making the right decision for everyone.

“Oh!” Carley said. “I almost forgot. I told Dana she could take my luggage to school with her. It’s in our closet. I’d better go get it.”

“You sit.” He patted her leg and smiled, saying, “I’ll go get the luggage.”

Noah walked into the bedroom he shared with Carley. He smiled at the quilt he’d bought her at the mud sale, now a permanent part of their lives, their memories. Things had certainly come full circle, in so many ways.

After he pulled the three-piece luggage set from the closet, he noticed the letter he’d written to Samuel so long ago, on the nightstand by the bed. He reached for it, the way he’d done over and over since Samuel handed it to him at the wedding. He couldn’t help but wonder how many times Samuel might have read the letter before he turned it over to him.

Samuel had told him it was the only letter Noah sent him that he kept—although he’d read a few others before tossing them in the trash. When something invoked by God, and God alone, touched a man, he took it with him forever.

As was the case with this letter. Noah remembered writing it the day after he found out Samuel’s wife had died. He’d written plenty of letters to Samuel prior to that. In the beginning, he’d tried to explain his choices to Samuel. But looking back, he realized those first letters resonated with bitterness about the shunning. Hearing of Rachel’s passing had prompted him to try harder to reach his brother at a time when he knew Samuel needed him the most. He recalled God’s voice spilling onto the pages. He’d hoped and prayed for a return letter that never came. But when Noah and Samuel needed God the most, the letter had resurfaced.

Dear Samuel,

My heart is breaking as I write this letter. I am filled with so much regret
about so many things. But mostly at this moment, I am filled with sorrow
about Rachel. Had I known of her passing, Samuel, I would have been there. I can only try to imagine what she must have meant to you, having never
experienced that kind of love myself. I wish that I could have known her.

Perhaps my being there would only have caused you further pain. And despite my desperation to be a part of your life, I would never want to inflict
more heartache. It’s just that you are my brother, a part of me. Yes, there is
Ivan, Mary Ellen, and Rebecca, all of whom I love and miss. But, Samuel,
you and I stood out from the rest, had a bond I didn’t think could ever
be
breached, no matter what. I was wrong.

My calling from God to become a doctor took me by surprise more than
anyone. When I vowed to live by the Ordnung, I was too young to foresee what
God truly had in store for me. But either way, I took vows and broke them.

Then, of course, there is the book. It pains me now more than you could
know. And this is my penance, Samuel. The loss of my family.

But I want you to understand the powerful message in my calling. So I
am going to tell you a story that might help you to understand my message from
God, and why it couldn’t be ignored, why I broke my vows.

I was sixteen. Looking back, it seems awfully young to recognize the event
as my calling, but I remember knowing that it was beyond a doubt. Therein
is where I made my mistake. I should have followed my heart and declined
membership in the community by baptism. But breaking Mamm and Daed’s
heart wasn’t an easy thing to face either.

My rumschpringe was in full swing, and I spent a lot of my time hanging
out with a kid you didn’t know. He was an Englischer, and he had a
car. Remember all those times I snuck out of the house late at night? I would
go hang out with Paul Simpson. He was like most Englisch kids, except for
one thing. He would disappear for weeks at a time. When I finally confronted
him about it, he said he was on dialysis. In case you don’t know what that
means, his kidneys were failing. He was going to die without a kidney transplant.
He’d go through periods of good health, then decline, and I wouldn’t see
him for a while.

I was young and stupid, didn’t understand anything about such an illness, but I tried like heck to get him to take one of my kidneys. I even went so far
as to go to the hospital and find out my blood type, only to learn that it wasn’t
a match with Paul’s. He had some rare blood type and none of his family was
a match either. He was on a long list, waiting for a donor.

He died two days before his seventeenth birthday. I never said anything to
you or Mamm and Daed. I’d just been baptized, and I was torn between my
vows and my own strong calling from God. I was so completely distraught over
not being able to save Paul’s life, and the message I kept getting from God was,
“But there are many lives for you to save.” Maybe I couldn’t give a kidney to
save a life, but I knew in my heart that I was meant to be a doctor.

I tell you this now so that maybe you will understand, if only a little, why
I did what I did. There is no excuse for my writing the book—selfish bitterness
only, at the loss of my family, particularly you. Do you remember the fish we
caught at the pond? A happy memory for me. I wanted to share some of those
happy recollections with the world. Unfortunately, my mind and heart were
clouded with darkness, and stories ended up in that book that should not have.

While I might not understand your grief, Samuel, I understand loss. Please
accept my most sincere condolences about Rachel. Mary Ellen wrote to me that
you have a son, David. I will continue to hope and pray for reconciliation between
the two of us, that perhaps you might feel lenient about the shunning. I will also
pray that I will be able to meet your son and somehow be a part of his life.

My brother, my friend, may God bless you during these difficult times—
now and always.

Noah

Noah placed the letter back on the nightstand. He knew he’d read it again.

Things had been different since the wedding. Far from perfect, and Samuel still struggled with the shunning. But their relationship was on a new path toward healing. And shunning or no shunning, Noah and Carley had spent the past two Sundays eating Sunday supper with Samuel and his entire family. Reuniting with Samuel and his other siblings was a blessing. And getting to know David . . . well, he felt even more touched by God’s goodness.

He recalled a difficult conversation a few days after the wedding. Noah and Carley opted not to take any type of honeymoon, since the clinic had become popular in the Amish community. A badly scraped knee would become an emergency, especially if it was one of his siblings’ children, providing opportunities for them to get to know their uncle.

Samuel had showed up at the clinic right at closing time one evening, asking Noah to take a walk with him. An intense conversation ensued, one that Noah had known was coming. David’s life expectancy hadn’t been discussed since that day in the hospital when Samuel questioned how long the kidney would last. But Samuel brought the matter up again.

Noah explained to him that even though a kidney usually only lasted ten to fifteen years, there had been much success with second kidney transplants. Samuel shared his fear with Noah. He broke down and cried. And Noah cried along with his brother. The memory of Paul shot through his mind, his face as clear as the last time Noah saw him. He and Samuel had both sat down on the side of the road, and for the first time in sixteen years, they had prayed together.

Noah’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard Carley calling his name. But he knew that no matter what happened in the future, Samuel’s heart had opened. Things would never be the same for either of them.

“They’re here,” Carley said when he rounded the corner. They both headed toward the door.

Carley’s heart was pounding with hope and faith that she would be a good role model for Jenna.

“Me and Jenna have already said our good-byes,” Dana said when Noah opened the door. She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes.

Carley and Noah had known this would be a huge adjustment for Jenna, and they had turned Noah’s extra bedroom into a beautiful little girl’s room. Noah had faced the demons in his blue box, giving the books to the library to keep or distribute as they wished. The Amish keepsakes he’d held on to no longer represented regret or bitterness, but instead hope for the future. He displayed a small box he made as a boy in his and Carley’s bedroom, and a cedar birdhouse hung in the backyard.

Once the keeper of past regrets, the pink room now represented something entirely different. It would be home to Jenna, filled with the sounds of laughter, playing, bedtime stories, and love of family.

Standing in the doorway of Carley and Noah’s home, Jenna looked into Carley’s eyes as if for the first time. Something was very much on Jenna’s mind.

Squatting down to face her, Carley’s heart pounded. “What is it, Jenna?” she asked.

Jenna twisted her mouth sideways and seemed to be in heavy thought.

Carley worried whether the transition was causing Jenna to have second thoughts.

Jenna ran toward Dana, who leaned down to her level. Carley watched the little girl whisper into Dana’s ear. Then Dana squatted completely down to face Jenna, cupping the child’s cheeks in her hands. “It is perfectly fine with me. Maybe you should ask Carley.” Dana tearfully smiled in Carley’s direction.

Jenna slowly walked to where Carley was still kneeling, and Carley’s heart filled with worry. Perhaps Jenna wasn’t going to stay after all.

“What is it, Jenna?” Carley asked again. She gently stroked Jenna’s hair.

Jenna looked away from Carley and down at the floor. “Dana said that if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with her if I call you Mommy.”

A lightning bolt of joy hit Carley’s heart. She tilted her head back, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tears from spilling over. “That would be just perfect with me,” she said with a smile.

Then Jenna looked up and smiled the brightest smile Carley had ever seen. “Mommy,” she began slowly, “can we go get an ice cream?”

Carley felt Noah’s hand on her shoulder, and her heart overflowed with love and gratitude for
her many blessings. She took Jenna into her arms, squeezing her tight. “You bet we can.” She tearfully glanced toward heaven.

Thank You.

Acknowledgments

A HUGE THANK-YOU TO MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS FOR YOUR constant support and encouragement.

To my husband, Patrick, thank you for the multiple roles you play in my life—companion, best friend, and soul mate forever. You complete me, and life with you makes all things possible. I love you, sweetie.

To my sons, Eric and Cory, keep it real and follow God’s plan for you. You boys mean more to me than either of you will ever know until you have little ones of your own running around. I love you both with all my heart.

Mother, I’m so proud to dedicate this book to you, and even prouder to be your daughter. You are an amazing woman, and I hope you are still whitewater canoeing well into your eighties and nineties!

Thank you to all my “sistas”: Laurie, Rene, Melody, Dawn, Valarie, Sue, Carol, and Mindy. You gals rock! And to my mother-in-law, Pat, for cooking for us when the deadlines crept up on me!

Reneé Bissmeyer—as cliché as it sounds, you truly are the wind beneath my wings, pushing me to keep going even when times are tough. God has truly blessed us with this lifelong friendship.

A special thank-you to Amy Clipston and her husband, Joe, for sharing details about Joe’s kidney transplant and his pending operation. I keep you both in my prayers. Amy, you are such a doll. I hope we get to meet in person soon, dear friend.

To Tamara Stephens, renal transplant coordinator, thank you for lending your expertise with regard to the hospital scenes and kidney transplant issues. Your time and efforts are very much appreciated. Take care always.

Barbie Beiler, it seemed fitting to borrow your name for the
Englisch
friend in
Plain Pursuit
, as I know you help your Amish friends the same way you have so graciously assisted me throughout the writing of this novel and the previous book. Your Amish and Mennonite background helps me to keep the stories authentic. Thanks also to Barbie’s mom, Anna B. King. You offered me your experience of growing up Old Order Amish as you read the books prior to publication. Many thanks, my friends.