Seeing Your Face Again (17 page)

“So I'll have to go?” Debbie's voice broke.

Bishop Beiler gave her a sympathetic glance. “Not on my part. But I'm not the one who will make the call. There is only so much a bishop can do…”

Debbie finished the sentence for him, “…when there is an
Englisha
girl in the midst who might be leading people astray.”

“I didn't say that because I know that's not the case. And I will tell them so. But our people tend to go by how things look.” The bishop paused, and his words hung in the air.

“It doesn't look good, does it? My fingerprints are all over both cases. I give a young Amish boy impossible dreams so he rushes out into the world. I open the way for the bishop's daughter to do the same. My own parents even take her in. People will believe I helped set that up even though they know I tried so hard to talk her out of it. I guess that won't be accepted as a very good excuse.”

“You are a wise young woman.” Bishop Beiler frowned again. “You see how things stand.”

“If I married Paul all would be forgiven. Is that not true?”

Bishop Beiler shrugged. “Nothing like love to cleanse sins.
Yah
, I'm afraid that's true, though it doesn't make me happy in the least that things stand like that.”

“I
can't
do that though. I don't love him. In fact, he's an example of the type of person I'm trying to avoid out there in my world.” Her response was heated, but she couldn't help it.

Bishop Beiler raised his eyebrows. “You're sure of this? Paul Wagler has quite an upstanding record among the people. He's not a man any of our young women would turn down, Debbie.”

“And yet I have,” Debbie snapped. “He comes on too strong for my taste. I'm just not attracted to him.” There were nicer ways she could have said this, especially to the bishop.

Bishop Beiler studied the tines on his pitchfork. “I suppose there are many things that must be decided in the future. But let's don't rush into them, Debbie. Please take your time. There are those who will seek to hurry things along, but our people believe a person needs to take all the time that's necessary—even if it seems time is running out. Perhaps you'll come to see the wisdom of returning Paul's attention now that Alvin is gone.”

Debbie bit back a quick retort. “Do you think Alvin is really gone for good then?”

“He hasn't responded to Deacon Mast's letter.” Bishop Beiler studied the ground. “But there's always hope. Yet I must tell you this, Debbie, simply because you're so closely involved. I fear there
is false hope stirring in your heart. Alvin apparently has some serious problems he's running away from.”

Debbie stared, unable to speak.

Bishop Beiler continued. “Alvin's
daett
has come to Deacon Mast for financial help. Seems like there isn't enough feed in the barn to last the winter, let alone money in the bank for the spring planting. And yet Alvin left with a large amount of money, we believe. Why would he leave his
daett
in such straits?”

Debbie struggled to find her voice. “Alvin
stole
family money? Is that what you're saying? That he abandoned the farm? Is his father making this claim?”

Bishop Beiler winced. “Edwin is speaking only the best of his son, but Deacon Mast fears the facts may be otherwise. Already men have been assigned to look into the affairs of the Knepp farm. This is a great shame among us, Debbie. And that may be what Alvin is running from.”

“Alvin's no thief!” Debbie protested. “I refuse to believe it.”

“No one is saying he is.” The bishop looked up as Emery rattled into the barnyard on the manure spreader. “I'm only telling you this because it wouldn't be fair to hide the matter from you. You need to know.”

“Thank you,” Debbie managed to say. She turned and stumbled out of the barn and into the chilly air outside. Now the world had really fallen in on her. Alvin was suspected of theft!

Sixteen

A
lvin labored over his letter to Deacon Mast. The paper and pen were spread out on the kitchen table in his little apartment. It was high time he got the thing written and in the mail or Deacon Mast would draw his own conclusions based on his nonresponse. Not that the letter would produce a different ending, but it was better this way.

He'd struggled a few days over the issue and thought about what it would mean. He knew in his honesty that the sorrow it would cause his parents was what held him back more than anything else. That and Debbie's disappointment in him, but he didn't wish to think about her right now.
Mamm
and
Daett
's heartache was enough pain to bear. That pulled at his heart even as he tried to tell himself there was no other way this could be done. If he returned to the community,
Mamm
and
Daett
would rejoice, as would most of the community, but their compassion would soon turn into pity and, from there, to scorn. He was certain of this. The people might not desire to have such emotions, but how could they feel otherwise? With the failure of
Daett
's farm, Alvin would be just another
boy who couldn't succeed in any venture. He couldn't even successfully leave home for the
Englisha
world.

How this would be put back together later, he had no idea. But perhaps he didn't need to understand. Life had settled into a muddled sort of existence. It went on day to day with ever-lessening stabs of homesickness. He never thought he'd like city life—and he didn't. But perhaps it was the noise and the soot in the streets that was helping deaden the pain in his heart. In a way he was thankful for even the ugly things in life.

Alvin clenched his jaw and picked up the pen.

Dear Deacon Mast,

I received your letter and am thankful for your concern and words of advice. I wish there was a way things could be otherwise, but right now there isn't. I will not be returning home anytime soon—not until I find peace in my heart on some matters. I understand that such a move isn't acceptable to you or the community, so you may do what you wish. If
Da Hah
ever straightens things out where I can return, I will beg for your forgiveness and understanding for having caused the grief that I have. Until then, I wish you and the community nothing but the best.

Yours truly,

Alvin Knepp

Alvin folded the letter and slid it inside an envelope, sealed it, and then grabbed a thin coat and headed into the hallway toward the elevator. There was really no reason he had to mail the letter right this moment, but he wanted to. It was as if he needed to get the deed done and out of his hands so he could move on with life. How that would be done, he wasn't sure, but this felt better than if he left the letter in his apartment a moment longer.

He needed a breath of fresh air anyway. Back in the apartment he still couldn't bring himself to turn on the television—except for very short periods of time. He felt little interest in what he saw: people who chattered about world news, intense conversations, movies he could make little sense of, and baseball games that went on forever.

He knew he was strange in that way, but it was a subject he didn't own up to at his job. Not that many people asked, but Carlos, who worked with him in maintenance, had this love affair with the New York Yankees. Alvin had embarrassed himself terribly when he asked who they were and Carlos had been shocked.

“The Yankees! You don't know who the Yankees are?” Carlos thought Alvin had lost his mind.

Which he probably had, Alvin thought with a wry smile.
Yah
, he'd left his mind back at the farm. There he knew about life even though his
daett
wouldn't let him run the farm efficiently. He knew how to fix the machinery when it broke down, and he knew where he belonged. Here, well, he tried, and that was the best he could do.

The elevator pinged its arrival, and the doors opened. Alvin walked in. The halls were usually empty this time of the night. Getting out on the ground floor, he dropped the letter in the lobby mailbox. He didn't want to go back upstairs—not yet. Not when he knew the letter would head back to the community in the morning. This was a stressful-yet-momentous occasion. The letter was necessary, but it was also final and, thus, painful.

Alvin pushed open the front door and stepped outside. The coat he had on did little to cut the chill, but he'd experienced worse at home on winter days when he worked outside. He hadn't been raised pampered, he thought as he headed down the street with his chin up. He was a hardy farm boy. It finally dawned on him that the direction he was walking was going away from his usual bus stop. Maybe he wanted new scenery tonight—as if that were possible in the city. Every street and sidewalk looked like the one before.

His brisk walk soon brought him to a gray, pillared entrance to
a park. Alvin stopped and stared. Was it possible? A large expanse without buildings in the city?
Yah
, the
Englisha
did keep such things, now that he thought about it. That way they could experience a little of what
Da Hah
gave country people to enjoy every day. It wasn't the farm, but it was better than the sidewalks! Even with the dusting of snow on the ground Alvin thought it was wonderful.

He walked past the pillars, and once he was away from the street he stopped and wiped snow from a stone bench. He sat down and allowed the peacefulness of the area to settle his spirit. He would have to come here more often. It certainly beat anything offered on the television. Here things were as they should be. Here the world showed only the work of
Da Hah
's hands. In the summertime there would likely be more people around, but that didn't matter. They would come for the same reasons he came, and he would consider them friends.

In the distance the forms of a man and woman came into focus. They came up the same path he'd been on. They nodded and smiled to him as they passed seemingly absorbed in their conversation. Alvin shifted on the cold bench as the thought of Debbie flashed in his mind. He pushed it away, but it persisted. Her face was coming to him from the apartment complex or somewhere near. Only it wasn't Debbie after all.
Nee
, it was the woman he'd seen in the apartment building who reminded him of Debbie. Was he feeling drawn to her…just as he'd been drawn to Debbie?

Even if he were drawn to her, she was still an
Englisha
girl and forbidden to him. He had seen her a few times when she walked in and out of the building with her dog. The beast was a special breed. Large. A Saint Bernard? Maybe. He didn't know much about dog breeds, and his attention had been taken up with the girl, not her dog. She'd hardly given him a sideways glance—and that was
gut
. That way temptation wouldn't go beyond comparisons to Debbie at home.

No doubt Paul was already taking Debbie home from the
hymn singings. Why was he still thinking about Debbie anyway? She was surely gone from his life by now. Was that girl like Debbie? Sweet and charming and wholesome? Her name was Crystal—if he trusted the name stenciled on her purse she always carried over her shoulder. She'd gotten off on the fourth level the one time they'd been in the elevator together. He'd never seen her with friends, but he could have missed them.

Having these thoughts wasn't right. He would have banished thoughts of her from his mind the first time they came if Crystal hadn't looked so like Debbie. Somehow that justified thinking of her. What were the chances that he would run into a girl in this huge city who lived in the same building and resembled the girl he was in love with? Not very high. Maybe that meant
Da Hah
had a hand in the matter.

Alvin pushed away his thoughts as the couple again appeared on the path. They were chatting away and passed him without notice. Alvin figured he'd blended into the stone bench by this time. He was half frozen to its surface in the falling dusk. It was high time he got back inside the apartment and warmed up before he took sick with a cold or worse.

He rose and put his hands in his pockets. He followed the couple out of the park. When they turned left after the stone pillars, he headed right. Bold thoughts raced through his mind. Things he'd never dreamed of before. He would speak with that girl—Crystal! He would knock on her apartment door and introduce himself. Or maybe he would just smile and say hi the next time they rode together in the elevator.