Chapter 13
Chapter 13
L eo stared at Esther, trying to read past the bland expression and flat tone, but she was still a blank.
“You lied to your Amish aunt? You told your family we’re married?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t have let me stay with you otherwise, and you said you needed me with you at all times.”
“But you lied. To your Amish aunt.” Was it a double sin to lie to an Amish person? It seemed like it should be.
“You said sometimes you have to find the gray area when you’re a spy.”
“You certainly have my words on repeat today.”
“You said I should brand your words into my soul, to memorize them all,” she added helpfully.
Leo dropped his face to his hands, inhaling hard through his fingers. “So I did. But you lied to your Amish aunt. What’s going to happen when she tells your parents you’re married?”
“She can’t,” Esther said, unconcerned.
“Because she doesn’t have a phone?” he asked.
“There’s a community phone, at the pole.” She pointed behind him. “But it doesn’t matter. My parents are in Haiti for the next four months. Mission work.”
He blinked at her. “Your parents are in Haiti?”
She nodded.
Her parents were out of the country? “You’re alone?”
She shook her head.
“Who do you have?”
She pointed to the center of his chest. He sank into a chair. The first licks of flame were beginning to give off some heat. Leo shuddered and had immediate regrets when his shoulder awoke and began to throb. A groan leaked out and Esther sprang into action.
“Come on, you need to rest. I’ll stoke up the fire and get some food for us,” she said.
“You haven’t slept all night,” he said, but he allowed her to pull him out of the chair and down the hall to a small bedroom. She peeled back the covers and held them, indicating he should slip inside. He wanted to argue, but the bed looked so inviting, the mattress so soft.
He eased into it with another groan. Esther pulled the covers up to his chin and perched on the edge of the bed. Her hand smoothed over his forehead, exactly as his mother might have done, if she’d ever been the motherly sort. He had a vague flicker of recollection about the touch. Maybe his grandmother had done it once a long time ago. Or maybe it was written into the heart of every man to yearn for a touch like that—so soothing, so tender, so filled with care. He closed his eyes and leaned into it. She skimmed her palm along the side of his face, her thumb sliding over his cheekbone.
“You should get some sleep,” he made himself utter, suddenly remembering anew she’d been up all night.
“I’m fine, Leo. I need to see to the fire and make food.”
He wanted to argue, to tell her she should go to sleep, cuddled up beside him so he could keep her safe and she could keep him warm. It was cold in the room, so cold. Esther was the only warm thing, her hand so soothing and hot. She shifted, adding another quilt on top of him. The weight was so heavy. It pulled him under. He fought it, tried to stay awake, to focus on her hand, her scent. Vanilla, he thought, and then the darkness came for him, dragging him under once more.
H e woke to darkness, in the room this time. He’d slept the day away, not the first time it happened. But this time he hadn’t meant to; this time he had someone in his care and keeping. He sat up quickly and had immediate regrets when his head swam, his shoulder on fire.
He stumbled from the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen/sitting area. On the stove sat a pot of soup and a loaf of homemade bread. Esther sat in a chair, twirling her braid in her fingers. “Hi, Leo. How are you feeling?”
Leo blinked, trying hard to take it all in. The room was dark, save for an old-fashioned lantern that gave off a surprising amount of soft, glowing light.
“I don’t know. How long was I out that time?” he asked.
“Six hours.”
“Six.” He sat down hard at one of the kitchen chairs. Unlike the main house, this room only had two.
“You must be hungry,” Esther said. She rose and began ladling soup into bowls. She set one before him and sliced the bread thickly before spreading a generous layer of butter on it. Leo hadn’t realized he was hungry before this moment, but now he was starved. Saliva filled his dry mouth. He swallowed, fighting his gag reflex.
“Did your aunt make this?” he asked, already guessing the answer.
“No, I did,” Esther said. She dished her own food and sat down beside him. She picked up her spoon and set it down when he remained staring at her. “What?”
“Aren’t you supposed to pray?”
She gave him her amused smile. “If you’d like.” She reached for his hand and said a soft and sweet little prayer. Leo picked up his spoon and tried to concentrate on his food, but inside he felt like he’d been raked over broken glass.
“What’s wrong with you?” Esther said after a few minutes of heavy silence.
“I’ve been shot,” he said.
“That’s not what’s wrong. It’s something else. I’ve never seen you this uncomfortable before. You keep staring around the house like you smell a decaying possum hidden in the walls. Do you not like it here? We could try to find somewhere else.” She frowned, and he realized she thought it was about her when, really, it was about him.
“No,” he said. He couldn’t reach for her with his left hand, so he set down his spoon, crossed it over his bowl, and took her hand. “Esther, listen, this is the perfect hiding spot. No one could find us here, really. It was genius to think of it.”
“Then what is it?” she asked, staring up at him with big, worried eyes.
By the lantern light, she looked even younger and more innocent. “You’re Amish,” he said.
“Mennonite,” she corrected.
“Still, it’s…” He let her go and swiped a weary hand over his face, frustrated. “I knew you were innocent, knew you were na?ve, but this…Esther, do you know the things I’ve done? What I’ve become? Who I am?”
“Who?” she said, her tone soft and gentle.
“The opposite of all this,” he said, gesturing around them with his free hand. “You’re so pure. I don’t think I was ever this untouched, even when I was a newborn baby.” He tore off a piece of bread, bread she’d made from scratch with her own hands and baked in a woodstove, and shoved it in his mouth.
“Leo,” Esther said, regarding him with a serious expression. “I’m still me, and you’re still you. Nothing has changed.”
“No, nothing has changed because this is always how it was.” He had almost forgotten, almost allowed himself to set aside the differences between them and believe they could care for each other as more than impersonal coworkers, that they could be friends, real friends, the sort he hadn’t had since he was a kid, if even then. Esther had started to feel like she was family, like she was his. But who was he kidding? This was her family, her Amish family; this was where she belonged. Not with a broken down old drunk like him.
“Leo, hey,” she said, ducking low to make eye contact. His eyes had been circling the room like a panicky bunny. She made him focus on her, holding his gaze in an iron grip. “Eat your food.”
He tore off another piece of bread, following it with a bite of soup and then another. Soon he’d eaten two bowls of soup, three pieces of bread, and two glasses of lemonade—lukewarm lemonade. No ice for the Amish, apparently. And when he was done he took a deep breath and felt better, the momentary panic forgotten.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, now staring at the scarred oak table. It looked ancient. He wondered how many Dawdys had owned it.
“It’s been a long week,” Esther said, squeezing the back of his neck as she eased past him to wash the dishes.
“Indoor plumbing,” he remarked when she turned on the tap and water came out.
“Allowances are made for Dawdys . The toilet works, and there’s a gas water heater, too,” Esther said.
Leo breathed a sigh of relief. Electricity he could do without, no problem. But he hadn’t been looking forward to that outhouse. “Mind if I shower?”
“I was about to insist on it. You stink, Leo.”
He chuckled and stood, turning for the bathroom. Impulsively he pivoted back to the kitchen, to where Esther stood at the sink, her back to him. He rested his hand on her hip and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for supper, wife.” He said the last word flippantly, to tease her. It came out in a croak and a lead weight settled on his chest.
Either Esther didn’t notice or she pretended not to because she merely leaned against him for the briefest flicker and said, “You’re welcome,” in a normal and congenial tone.
His other hand reached out, as if to pull her against him again. He imagined pressing his face to her neck, inhaling her signature vanilla scent. She would tip her head to the side, close her eyes, and say, “Leo,” and then…
He blinked, and the vision faded. He backstepped one space away, then again, until finally he found the strength to turn, walk down the hall, and lock himself in the bathroom.