Chapter 17 #2
There was a time before he left when she would have talked it all out with him before she made a decision like that.
She would have sought him out, and they would have talked for as long as it took.
But she hadn’t done that this time. Of course—he understood.
But it underscored how different everything was now.
“Can you do it? Can you sit down with the woman who broke your marriage?” he asked.
“I’ll have to, won’t I?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’ve had no peace about it since I told the lawyer no,” she replied. “I think Gott wants me to sit down with her. I think he’s calling me to forgive, properly and completely.”
“Oh.” It was very difficult to argue with a woman when she felt Gott telling her to do something that sounded very good and right, something Scripture asked of them.
“I don’t know what she wants,” Tabitha said, “but she did invite me to the funeral, and I didn’t go. Until I find out what she wanted, I think it will just keep eating away at me.”
“You said that when you heard he’d died, you . . .” He hated to remind her of her confession to him, but he had to know. “You said you felt relief.”
“My emotions have caught up a little bit,” she said.
“I’m angry with him still, and I’m resentful about his broken promises and the beautiful life we had that he threw away.
It was a beautiful life for a while, and he tossed it aside like it was worthless.
But I did my best. I gave him everything I knew how. ”
There it was—the grief. She’d never really opened up about Michael as a husband before, as the man she’d loved and devoted her life to, and it struck him in that moment that she had well and truly been married before.
It wasn’t just some mistake in the past. It had been a vow from her heart, and it had been her life entwined with Michael’s.
“And you’re . . . missing him?” he asked.
“I’m grieving him, I suppose,” she said. “I’m grieving what we should have been, and what was never mine, and . . . Jonas, I did love him.”
“Yah, I know.” Of course she had loved him.
Jonas was more comfortable with her resenting him, though.
Now that Michael was dead, she could remember him any way she liked, and Jonas was tempted to remind her of the lies, the deception, the manipulation.
But when someone died, people preferred to remember them better than they’d actually been. Was she going to do that?
And was it wrong of him to want to stop it?
“So I’m working through a lot right now,” she said. “I’m not in a position to move on with anyone, not while I’m sorting all of this out.”
“You deserved better than Michael, Tabby,” he said. “You really did.”
“I know, but I also married him.”
“And divorced him—for really good reason.” Even though the Amish didn’t divorce, and Jonas couldn’t even say that he believed in divorce, he understood why she’d done it.
“I know. But, Jonas, if I can’t find a way to forgive Michael from my heart, I won’t be right with Gott. I have to forgive him.”
“I don’t.” Jonas cast her a rueful smile, and she smiled sadly back. He knew he did. He was just being difficult.
“I’m okay, Jonas. I’ll go and talk to Kelsie. And I’ll ask Gott to give me the ability to forgive her as well.”
Kelsie didn’t deserve Tabitha’s forgiveness either, but no one deserved forgiveness. And the act of forgiving did something inside of a heart. It humbled a person. It refocused them on eternity, instead of on earthly wrongs. Forgiveness was important.
“You shouldn’t go alone,” he countered.
“I most certainly have to,” she retorted. “This isn’t the sort of thing I can do with someone else watching me.”
“I can go with you,” he offered almost before he realized what he was saying.
She shook her head. “It’s a sweet offer, but this is going to be private. Don’t worry for my safety. We’re meeting at a café in town. It’ll be very public and well lit, if that is your worry.”
That wasn’t his worry. He was concerned about her heart, about her blaming herself, about this other woman manipulating her or convincing her that she was the problem. That was his concern. Tabitha had been through enough, and she didn’t deserve any more punishment at this woman’s hands.
Abram’s boots sounded on the stairs, and the screen door opened. Private discussion over, it would seem.
“The casserole is in the oven, Daet,” Tabitha said. “I’m about to make a salad.”
Abram made a face. “She’s making me eat healthier.”
Jonas smiled faintly. “There’s a lot of cheese in that casserole, if that makes you feel any better.”
Abram did brighten at that, and Jonas stepped toward the door. He looked back to see Tabitha’s earnest, sad gaze fixed on him.
“Have a good night, Jonas,” she said.
“Yah, you too,” he replied. “If you need me—”
“I’ll be fine,” she cut him off. “You have your own things to take care of.”
That was a pointed reminder of the promises that he’d made, and he felt a twinge of guilt. But Tabitha was his friend, and he had never hidden that fact from Christina. He wasn’t sure that she’d understand their current connection, exactly, but he hadn’t lied.
“Have a good night,” he echoed, and he headed out the screen door, shutting it solidly behind him.
He might not be able to be her friend anymore, but she did need support. Was he the only one she’d told about her plan to visit with Michael’s widow? Or was there someone else who could be there to pick up the pieces if need be?
Jonas could only pray that Gott was providing someone better than him to step in and take care of her, because Tabitha deserved some gentleness after all she’d endured.