The Waiting Read online

  Jorie continued to handle the foal, brushing it gently, stroking its back, lifting its hooves one at a time. He knew it was part of a daily ritual she had, to make sure the foal was comfortable with a human touch.

  “I owe you an apology, Jorie.”

  Finally, she spoke. “For what in particular?”

  He was surprised that she didn’t sound mad, for she had every right to be. “Accusing you of neglecting Maggie. Last night she told me what really happened.” He looked embarrassed. “It’s why she stopped humming. She was feeling guilty.”

  “I don’t deny that it hurt me you wouldn’t have more faith in me than that,” Jorie said. “But . . . apology accepted.” She slid the stall open to slip out, then shut it and locked it tight. She stood and looked at him, knowing he had more to say.

  He wondered what she was thinking; he knew there was a deep hurting behind those blue eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t forgive me so easily. I’ve made quite a few mistakes lately.”

  She walked past each stall, checking its lock to make sure each was tightly hitched. “Was everything Ben said true?”

  He fell into step beside her. “He got things mixed up, but there was some truth in it. It’s true that Mary Ann had chosen you for my wife. But that wasn’t why I asked you to marry me.” He stopped himself. “That’s not really the whole truth. At first, I didn’t want to even consider you because of the very reason that people were telling me I ought to. But then Sylvia started talking about taking Maggie from me and I panicked. That was the first time I asked you to marry me.”

  She finished checking the last latch and turned toward him, listening. He couldn’t read what she was thinking; her face remained expressionless.

  “The second time I asked you, I really believed that you were the right one for us. For Maggie, for Ephraim, for me.”

  She just kept looking at him with mild interest.

  “The third time, that was when I asked you for me, Jorie. Just for me.” His voice broke a little as he added, “To be the wife of my heart.” He walked up to her. “I’m sorry that I hurt you, especially what I said to you after the storm. I knew better. Look how each horse gets tended to every night – I don’t know why I didn’t think you’d do the same for your scholars. For Maggie, in particular.”

  He saw her expression soften, ever so slightly, and took a step closer to her. “I think I just wanted a reason to be angry with you. It felt easier to be angry with you than . . . to try and stop loving you. Knowing it’s really Ben you love.”

  There, he said it. And she didn’t deny it. It pained him to even say it aloud, that she loved Ben, but at least the truth was out in the open. He turned to go and stopped when he heard her speak.

  “You’re not the only one who’s been making mistakes.”

  He spun around to face her, but she avoided his eyes, fixing her gaze down on her clasped hands.

  “Ben was right, Cal.” Her voice broke over the words. “He was right about me wanting him to be more like you.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Don’t misunderstand. I never coveted my friend’s husband. I never, ever wanted Mary Ann to be gone. Never that.” She looked away. “But I can’t deny that I’ve always thought . . . highly of you. And then, this winter, that feeling grew into something else.” She tucked her chin to her chest. “But feelings can’t be the only thing that guides us, can they?” She lifted her face, her expression strong and clear.

  She was so strong, his Jorie, the strongest person he had ever known. But he reminded himself that she wasn’t his Jorie . . . she was Ben’s Jorie. He wiped the tears off of her cheeks with a gentle brush of his hands – not the touch of a lover but that of a friend.

  On an unseasonably hot afternoon in early June, Jorie led two mares and their foals out to pasture. As she closed the gate behind her, she stopped to watch the foals chase each other in play. It was a sight that never failed to pull at her heart. What was it about being young that brought such joy and abandon, even to animals?

  She heard someone call her name and turned to see Ben standing there. She hadn’t seen him since that awful day at the schoolhouse, when he raised his fists against Cal. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a few days; his beard was scruffy and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles. He looked so hurt, so frightened and broken, and she found she couldn’t bear it. She knew she should be angry with him, but it was no use. She felt her anger slip away, like an ocean wave from a shoreline.

  Ben stared at her for what seemed like forever.

  She came up to him, her gaze moving over his troubled face.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t come any closer, Jorie.”

  She took a step toward him and he flinched, backing away again, lifting his palms to stop her.

  “I lost all of my inheritance – every cent of Cal’s savings – in a card game. Every blasted dollar.”

  She took his hand in hers as if she were cradling a wounded bird.

  “Please, Jorie. Please. Don’t touch me. I’m filthy,” he said. He tried to pull his hand free, but she tightened her grip. She wanted to comfort him and he made it so hard.

  She took a step closer and wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face against his chest. He started to cry then and let her hold him until he stopped. After she released him, she struggled to find words to fill the silence and break the uneasiness that lay between them.

  All that she could think to say was, “Please. Go to Cal. Talk to him.”

  It was so hot that the thick air shimmered in waves before Cal’s eyes. Sweat dripped off his hair and down his neck. He was planting a section of the vegetable garden to cultivate for fall vegetables when he looked up and saw Ben. It had been more than a week since Ben had disappeared. Cal dropped the shovel, wiped his forehead with a rag, and walked up to his brother.

  “A garden’s the sign that life keeps going on, that people are home and happy to be there,” Ben said, his hat brim covering his eyes. “Isn’t that what Mom always said?”

  Cal nodded.

  Ben lifted his head and peered at Cal’s eye. “You did more damage to my hand than I did to your eye.” He held out his hand. His knuckles were still bruised and scabbed.

  Such a terrible thing, Cal thought, an Amish man bearing marks of violence on his hands. “Oh, you gave me a shiner. Folks at church wanted to ask but didn’t dare.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Ben’s mouth.

  “Have you seen Jorie yet?”

  “Yes.” Ben’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, Cal. Sorry for all of the trouble I’ve brought on you. I’ve just been so . . .”

  “Angry.”

  “Yes. Angry. Since the war.”

  “It’s not just the war, Ben. You’ve been angry a long time. You’ve been clinging to your anger with every ounce of humanity left in your body.”

  Ben’s chin lifted a notch. “It wasn’t easy following you, Cal. You cast a deep shadow for me. For Matthew and Ephraim too.”

  Cal choked down a retaliation, which would have been futile. “Don’t go making me an excuse for your choices.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben said, his voice tinged with irritation.

  Cal took off his hat and spun it around in his hands. He was trying to remain calm, but he had some things to say to Ben, things that would be hard for him to hear. “You’re always looking for a shortcut. You lead Jorie into thinking you’ll marry her, but never quite get around to it. You stay as close to being Amish as you can, but never choose to baptize. You find the one loophole to being a conscientious objector and make the rest of us think you’ve been cuckolded.”

  Ben looked away. “So Jorie told you,” he said, his voice flat.

  “Es macht nix aus,” Cal said, frustration in his voice. It doesn’t matter. “You’ve got to stop blaming others. Blaming me, blaming Jorie, blaming the Army.”

  Cal saw something shift over Ben’s face. It looked as if he wanted those secrets spilled, like it would be a relief to spew
it all out.

  Ben let out a deep breath. “Have you ever found yourself in a situation when you did one thing that led to another? And that led to another thing? Until suddenly you find yourself at a place where there is no going back, and no escaping.”

  Now, finally, Ben was talking from the heart. Cal pointed to a tree with a large canopy. “Let’s get out of this hot sun and sit.”

  After they sat under the shade of the tree, Cal waited patiently for Ben to start talking.

  “I had a friend in Vietnam. Another Amish guy like me, a stretcher bearer.” Ben’s voice was rough, as if his throat kept tightening up, choking off the words.

  The humidity of the warm day was oppressive, even in the shade, but Cal thought Ben looked as if he felt cold. His face had grown pale and his hands were trembling.

  “We nearly had the same name too. Benjamin S. Zook. His ‘S’ was for Simeon, mine was Samuel. We had been put together in the same company because of our last names. One day, this Ben and I were taking supplies to the field medic. There’d been sniper activity in the area, so the captain insisted we carry weapons. Small guns. My friend and I talked about it, what to do. He said he wouldn’t carry a gun, no matter what. But I slipped the gun into my pocket.” Ben sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fastened on the garden. “We got a little lost on the trail, the overgrowth was so dense. Suddenly, we were face-to-face with an NVC – a North Viet Cong – holding a rifle to our faces. Ben – the other Ben – started saying the Lord’s Prayer, like a chant, especially the part about loving our enemies. And that sniper, he walked around Ben, as if he was listening to him, then he gave him a big smile – I’ll never forget that smile – and shot him dead. One bullet to the forehead. By the time he turned toward me, I had slipped my hand into my pocket, pulled out the gun, and fired it. I did it without thinking, like it was a survival instinct. Like I was hunting in the woods with you and Dad. I killed him, Cal. I . . . killed . . . a man.” He covered his face with his hands.

  Cal felt shock jolt through him, to think his brother – for that matter, to think any Amish man – took the life of another . . . he felt sick with disgust. But he worked to keep his face empty of judgment. This was why his people avoided war, for just such a thing as this. Who knew how he would have reacted had he been in the same situation?

  Ben dropped his hands and lifted his head to the sky. “I was stunned by what I had done. I just stood there, watching blood pour out of that sniper’s neck . . . like a kitchen faucet. A soldier heard the gun shots and came to help. He found me with those two dead bodies around me. He saw the dead sniper and congratulated me. He congratulated me! Told me I’d be getting a medal. For killing. He ran back to get the captain and that was when I switched dog tags with my friend. I knew I would be viewed as a hero and I couldn’t stomach it.” He gave Cal a sideways glance. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t even consider that folks back home would be told I was dead. I only thought about getting a medal for killing a man. I tried to put it out of my mind, that killing, but it kept coming back at me. I couldn’t sleep, and pretty soon I was acting like a nutcase. Couldn’t even get out of bed one morning. That was when I got shipped off to the looney bin in Thailand. The doctors kept slapping me with different diagnoses, different labels. First it was a nervous breakdown, then combat trauma, then a clinical depression.”

  He rubbed his face with his hands, wiping away tears. “They were all wrong. It was dread and fear and guilt – most of all, the guilt – that was churning around inside my belly for so long I just couldn’t take it anymore.” Emptied of words now, he rubbed his eyes with the arm of his shirt. “So tell me, Cal. How do I get rid of this crushing guilt?” His voice broke on the words.

  Cal spun his straw hat in his hands around and around, thinking hard. He took his time answering. “God doesn’t convict us of sin just to make us feel guilty. Conviction is meant to move us to confession and repentance. After confession comes forgiveness. It’s like the sun shining after a summer storm. There is peace and joy to be found in God. And there is forgiveness and eternal life. It’s never too late to make your soul whole. You’ve been dwelling on your sin and forgetting that we have a gracious God who loves to forgive the repentant sinner.”

  Ben dropped his head, hiding his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. “So you think it was a sin, killing that sniper?” His voice turned hard and cold again. “He would have killed me, you know. Is that what you preferred?”

  Cal’s gaze shifted to the road to watch a buggy with a high-stepping gelding drive by. He felt as if he was on the edge of a precipice – one wrong move and the conversation could slip down the wrong path. “I don’t judge you, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t think killing that sniper is all that’s troubling you.”

  Ben looked away.

  “Somewhere there is a family who doesn’t know what has happened to their son. You need to find them and tell them all that happened. I think Matthew would know how to track them down.”

  Ben fell silent, but Cal didn’t mind. Silence was good. When Ben finally glanced over at him, a question in his eyes, Cal added, “I don’t know what’s the cause of the hardness between you and Ephraim, but you need to make things right. He’s a sensitive boy, Ben. You’ve done something that has made him feel betrayed.”

  Ben gave a quick nod but didn’t explain. “What else? Go on. I know you’ve got something else you’re itching to say.”

  Cal nearly smiled. They knew each other so well. “It’s high time you start being the man God created you to be.” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “Think about all of the experiences God gave you – the good ones and the bad ones – and let God use them, Ben. Stop trying to hide from your past. Give your past to God.”

  He stood, put his hat on his head, and adjusted the brim. “Ben, this time in Vietnam, all that happened over there – it’s a chapter, not the whole book.”

  Ephraim had gotten in the habit of stopping by Dr. Robinson’s office when he was passing by the cottage and saw his car. Mrs. Robinson said she appreciated his help, cleaning out the animal cages – their patients, she called them. Dr. Robinson even let Ephraim sew a couple of stitches on an ear of an anesthetized cat that had gotten into a fight. Not too bad for a first time, the doctor had said, but he took out the stitches and redid them.

  Today, when he was at the Robinsons’ feeding the cat with the sewn-up ear, Jerry Gingerich dropped by to pick up Rex. He couldn’t believe how Jerry practically gushed over Dr. Robinson, shaking his hand, thanking him again and again for saving Rex’s leg. It made Ephraim feel uncomfortable. It was easier to hate Jerry than to see something good in him.

  On the way back to Beacon Hollow, Ephraim was coming up the drive as Ben was walking down. Ephraim scowled when he saw him and crossed to the other side of the drive, ignoring him, but Ben blocked his path.

  “Ephraim, I’m sorry about the cougar,” Ben said. “I really am. I wish I could make it up to you somehow.”

  Ephraim gave him a suspicious look, wondering how sincere he was. He actually looked quite contrite. “Then help me k-keep the c-cougar k-kits safe from Jerry Gingerich. He’s going out t-tonight to trap them and k-kill them, I heard him say s-so himself, just now, over at Dr. Robinson’s.”

  Ben tilted his head. “You know where the kits are?”

  Ephraim nodded. “I’ve been f-feeding them every d-day since you murdered their mother.”

  Ben winced. “Sheesh, you put it like that, Ephraim, it makes me sound heartless.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Even if we built a cage for them, they’re going to grow. They’re not pets. They need to be free and wild.”

  Ephraim turned away. “You s-said you wanted to help m-make things right.”

  Ben sighed. “But I can’t help you do something stupid.” He leaned his elbows against the fence with one boot heel resting on the low railing. He was quiet for a while, then slapped his hat against his knees. “Why not? I’ve done plenty of
stupid things.” He pushed himself up with his foot. His hand fell on Ephraim’s head, propelling him up the drive. “Let’s go trap us some cougar babies.”

  Before sundown, Ephraim and Ben had two cougar kits, safe and sound and mewling in a burlap sack, and headed back to Beacon Hollow through the Deep Woods. When they emerged at the opening of the woods, Ben said, “Ephraim, go to Jorie’s with this sack and tell her what’s happened. She’ll know what to do.”

  “Aren’t you c-coming with me?”

  “I can’t, little brother. There are a few things I need to take care of.” He patted Ephraim on the back. “Jorie will know what to do.” He looked out at the setting sun. “I have no idea what that will be, but she’ll figure it out. She’s always had a sense of knowing what to do.”

  He started down the road, then spun around as if he’d just remembered something. He reached in his pocket and handed Ephraim a folded piece of paper. “Give her this.”

  Ten minutes later, when Ephraim knocked on Jorie’s door and showed her the wiggling sack, she couldn’t believe her eyes. “Oh, the poor darlings, they must be hungry.”

  As soon as Ephraim heard her call them darlings, he knew that Ben, for once, had given him good advice. These kits weren’t darlings, they were monsters. He had cuts and scratches all over his hands and face to prove it.

  “What do you think we should feed them?” she asked.

  “They l-like p-peanut butter sandwiches.”

  Jorie looked at him as if he were crazy. “How about milk?”

  Ephraim shrugged.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jorie said. She came back a few minutes later with two large bottles used for foals, filled with cow’s milk. “Let’s go down to the barn and find an empty stall so you can let them out of this sack.”

  In the barn, the horses sniffed the air – detecting the smell of an enemy – and started making nervous sounds but settled down as Jorie called to them in her soothing voice. She pointed to an empty corner stall. Ephraim slid it open and closed it behind them, setting the sack on the floor so the kits could scramble out.