The Scent of Cherry Blossoms: A Romance from the Heart of Amish Country (9 page)

Mamm seemed perplexed, and guilt nibbled at him. He didn’t need to see the fear in her face to know he and Annie were crossing boundaries. The Plain people, Amish or Mennonite, were very clear about those who broke their vow to God concerning the church; it was equal to divorce.

Even Annie’s parents weren’t divorced. They didn’t live together,
but they’d never divorce. Mamm opened her mouth to speak but said nothing. The phone rang, and she quickly headed out of the kitchen and toward the cash register, where it sat.

Aden wanted to apologize to Annie and assure her that Mamm was only being protective of them, to tell her they were perfectly safe enjoying each other’s company while working … and during the walks they went on after work. But the words jammed inside him, and he didn’t even try to stutter his way through. Matching his silence, Annie loaded the plates and cups in the dishwasher.

He put the brush down and wiped his hands on a towel before moving next to her. What he’d give to be able to say a sentence without stammering. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Sh-she’s worried.”

“I noticed.”

Her answer surprised him. “You did?” When she continued working, he put his fingers under the stream of clean water and flicked sprinkles at her.

She barely flinched.

“A-Annie?”

“You and I both know it’s forbidden to get close to anyone of the opposite gender from another faith. I don’t know about you, but I knelt before God and the church and promised to remain loyal.”

“A-a-and?”

She wiped her forehead with her wrist, her hands dripping with water. “That’s all I know, Aden.” She sounded desperate to drop the topic.

He nudged her with his shoulder and waited for her to look up.
“M-me too.” His emotions were everywhere all at once—from friendship to obvious sparks of interest. But how could he really know what he felt after only a few days of getting reacquainted?

He and Annie just needed a little time to figure things out.

Or maybe that was the opposite of what they really needed, but it’s what he longed for. It’s what he’d dreamed of for years, but he’d never dared to cross that line. What did she want?

Mamm walked into the kitchen. “You ready?”

Annie pursed her lips. “Ya.”

Aden grabbed the towel off his shoulder and passed it to her.

She dried her hands and gave the towel back. “Bye, Aden.”

He wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew if she walked out that door right now, nothing between them would be the same. Roman would return next week, and this time with her would be no more than a memory he’d cling to for the rest of his life.

Annie followed his Mamm out of the kitchen. The swinging door swooshed back and forth. Water dripped in the sink. Drip.
Plop
. Drip.
Plop
. The refrigerator hummed. When he was an old man, water would still drip in sinks. Doors would still swoosh. Refrigerators would still run. And he’d still know that he’d let the only woman who ever mattered, ever would matter, walk out of his life. He’d done his best over the years to keep his distance, to live as he’d been taught. He couldn’t keep doing that. He just couldn’t.

Aden hurried out of the kitchen, but they’d already left. He went outside, caught off guard by the brightness of the day. He blinked and saw them crossing the parking lot. “Annie!”

She turned, said something to his mother, and walked back to him.

He motioned for her to go into the diner, and then he turned to his mother. “W-wait here.”

Mamm rubbed her forehead. “Ten minutes.”

Aden wouldn’t need that long, and if Mamm thought she had the right to dictate his life, she was mistaken.

Annie went inside the diner and leaned against a table, waiting for him to speak.

“M-meet me t-t-tonight?” His question was direct and needed a one-word answer.

But she didn’t respond for several moments.

He waited for her reply.

At this rate he’d need a lot longer than ten minutes. Maybe years.

But he understood her hesitation. A positive answer meant they would begin a secret courtship. But how else could they decide what they truly wanted out of this relationship?

“Aden.” She fiddled with the buttons on her coat. “I … I want that more than you know, but if my people find out, I’ll be set in front of everyone, and if I don’t repent, I’ll be excommunicated. It’s not just me who’ll get hurt but my mother and Daadi Moses too. If my mother hasn’t already borne enough embarrassment to kill her since Daed walked out, our relationship, if discovered, will surely finish the job. Even your mother wants to put space between us.”

He reached into his pants pocket and passed her the folded paper, hoping it said everything he couldn’t.

She gasped lightly before she had it fully opened. “Aden.” She traced the various hues he’d sketched with the colored pencils.

“You’re all I c-can think about.”

Her eyes met his. “It’s beautiful.” She paused, studying it again. “Okay. I’ll meet you in the cherry tree orchard tonight.”

I
rritability snapped throughout Roman like harsh flicks of a whip in the hands of a crazed animal trainer. It was Friday afternoon, and he hadn’t spoken to Marian since Wednesday night. He couldn’t stand seeing himself as she saw him—too weak to go on a simple date and too uptight to admit it.

Trying not to think about her, he loosened the generator’s fan belt. He’d repaired and replaced numerous items on the machine, but its real problem was a broken water pump. He unbolted it from its mount and removed it and the attached fan. He placed them on the table and grabbed the putty knife.

He maneuvered himself as best he could, wishing he could get out of this wheelchair. The more pressure he used to scrape the gasket residue off the mount, the more difficult it became to get positioned right. He set the brake on his wheelchair. Scraped some. Adjusted his chair. Reset the brake. Cleaned another spot. Repositioned his chair. Reset the brake.

Would this be his lot for the rest of his life? Constant tiny shifts and locking into place to accomplish almost nothing?

“Knock, knock.” Marian’s voice sent a chill up his spine.

“Come on in.” He continued his work, hoping he sounded indifferent. There was no way he’d let her know how vulnerable he felt or how disappointed he was in his inability to do something as simple as taking out a girl.

She made no other noise, so he glanced up.

Standing at the far end of the table, she studied him. “Need a hand?”

“Nope.” With the mount finally clean, he shifted from the generator to the worktable. He removed the first of four bolts holding the fan.

“Is that the water pump you told me about the other night?” She walked closer.

“Ya.”

“It doesn’t look broken.”

He held it up and pointed at the hairline fracture going through the cast iron.

She frowned. “That little problem brought the whole farm to a halt?”

“Don’t be fooled, Marian.” He sounded as unyielding as the iron in his hand, and he wondered if it bothered her. “A tiny fracture can ruin the strongest thing on this planet—be it an element of nature, man-made, or man himself.”

She removed the new water pump from its opened box and turned it one way and then the other, studying it.

“Be careful with that.” He removed the last of the four bolts and separated the fan from the water pump. “It may be the last of its kind.”

“It doesn’t look new.”

“It’s not. But it’s solid.”

Once they’d figured out the problem, Ernie’s Englischer mechanic had spent a full day searching the Internet and making calls to find a replacement water pump. After he’d found one, he had FedEx overnight it, and it’d been delivered this morning. Even though it wasn’t new, it was sound and should last for years, giving Ernie time to save enough money to replace the generator.

She set it on the table. “Things ended on an awkward note the other night.”

“I know. I was there.”

“But for the life of me, I can’t figure out what went wrong.”

Roman scoffed. “It all started when you insisted I come to your place to pick you up.”

“That’s how dates work.”

Roman faced her squarely. “Look at me, Marian. I don’t
work
normal.”

“Then you should have said so,” she snapped. “You balked at coming to get me, and I asked if there was a problem. If you had answered honestly, we would’ve made other plans.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” He wheeled himself to the far end of the table and picked up the small can of High Tack. “We had an awful time, and you get to blame me. Are you done with your pity dates for the year, or do I have to go through that one more time just to prove that you don’t have the heart for cripple dating?”

“You know, Roman,”—she grabbed the arm of his wheelchair and
turned him to face her—“I had a pretty nice time, but I really appreciate knowing you didn’t.”

Roman set the can in his lap and leaned away from her. She’d had a nice time? He had, but he’d assumed …

She released his chair. “The problem isn’t that you were dishonest with me or that you’re in a wheelchair.”

He didn’t know where she was heading with her argument, and he didn’t want to know. Whether she admitted it today or next month, he knew they had no future. “I’m glad you have me all figured out, Marian, but I’ve got too much to do and no time for your opinion on my problems.”

He went around her and returned to the generator. He opened the small can and used the attached brush to apply the sealant between the gasket and the mounting surface.

“Roman.” Marian sounded dismayed. “Is that it? One date that didn’t work out and you’re giving up?”

“You can’t tell me what I should do, think, or feel. You’re not the one sitting in this chair, needing someone to help get you up in the morning or in and out of rigs or into homes because steps block the way.”

He grabbed the cast-iron water pump by the shaft. It rotated, pinching his fingers, and he jerked his hand away. The pump fell onto his knee before it crashed to the floor.

Marian rushed to his side. “Are you hurt?”

The water pump lay on the concrete floor, a few mounting pieces scattered. Nausea roiled, and he feared he was about to throw up on her. He bent, reaching as far as he could, trying to grab it.

Marian picked it up and handed it to him. A jagged line ran the length of it, and his heart sank. He brushed his fingers over the fracture. “It’s ruined.”

Marian jerked straight pins from her apron and took it off. She folded it and held it out to him. “Put this on your leg and press down.”

He looked where the ten-pound iron pump had banged into his knee and saw blood seeping through his pants. He had diminished feeling in his thighs, but his emotional turmoil was what had kept him from noticing it until now. Instead of taking the apron, he backed away from her. “Just leave. Please.”

“No. We need to go inside and get your leg cleaned up and bandaged.”

“Marian, this is a disaster. My uncle is counting on me, and that pump was his only hope.”

She put her apron back on, avoiding eye contact with him. “If that man found one pump, I’m sure he can find another. But right now, that’s not the problem. Your leg is.”

“Marian, look at me!”

When she did, he saw more strength in her than in himself.

He clutched the hand rims of his wheelchair. “I’m not joking around.” He moved himself a little closer, trying to look assertive. “Go away.”

She peered down at him, looking both sincere and angry. “Now I understand why you didn’t have enough to say to keep on writing. You’re not the same Roman I knew.”

He scoffed. “You just figured that out? You must’ve graduated at the top of your class.”

She started to leave, then turned to him. “If you ever grow up and let go of self-pity, let me know.”

He held up his hand. “Just go, Marian. Nothing about me will ever change for the better.”

She stared at him for a moment before leaving and closing the door behind her.

He looked at his bleeding leg. As soon as Marian left the farm, he’d go inside and tend to it.

The broken water pump in his hand mocked him. Ernie had trusted him to fix the generator, and all he’d managed to do was make things worse. How was he going to tell his uncle?