Chapter 2 #3
Jalon turned and looked toward the house, this time focusing on the small, half-finished dawdi haus set off to the side.
The plan had been for his parents to move into it after Jalon married.
But as Jalon knew better than anyone, plans changed.
He took in the farmland again and thought about Phoebe.
Thought about his future. Thought about how he could continue to play life safe, to live in the tight box he’d constructed for himself ever since .
.. He shook his head. There was no need for that part of his past to drive his decision. Not this time.
By the time he finished chopping and stacking the firewood, Jalon had made his decision. Now all he could do was pray he was making the right one.
Monday evening Jalon returned home later than usual.
He’d stopped by the bank after work, and after signing more paperwork than he’d ever seen in his life, he now owned his own home and farmland.
That should have made him happy, or at least a little satisfied.
But before the ink was dry the doubts started to surface again, and not without good reason.
His father hadn’t been truthful about how far behind he was on the payments.
In fact, the bank was ready to start foreclosure proceedings, and it had taken Jalon his entire savings to pay off the outstanding balance.
Which meant his father had left Birch Creek knowing he was already in arrears.
Why had his father lied to him? Then again, his father was good at hiding things.
Jalon tried to reassure himself that he’d have a healthy bank balance soon enough.
He’d been racking up overtime at work, and their current project would continue for several months, if not all the way until the end of summer.
But he’d have to cut back on his hours once spring came.
He would need that time to prepare the fields and put in the crops.
Still, he could even be optimistic about that.
Leanna would help, and not only with the farmwork.
She could also help out a little financially from her job with Daniel Raber.
If he had to, Jalon could ask Freemont to spare a couple of his sons to make sure all the planting was finished in time.
God willing, he’d have a decent harvest in the fall.
Yes, he had to let go and trust God completely. That was the only way he could bypass his misgivings about all this and focus on the positive. Maybe even in a couple of years he could quit construction completely and run the farm full-time.
He was heading for the barn to feed his horse when he heard a buggy come up the driveway.
He turned and recognized it right away—Solomon Troyer’s.
He walked toward the buggy. He’d stopped by Sol’s last week and ordered a birdhouse for Phoebe.
Another impulsive decision, but it served two purposes.
One had to do with giving Sol a little business in his new woodworking venture.
Sol had worked as a carpenter for years, only to lose his job when his drinking got out of control.
Now that he was also setting his life right, Jalon wanted to show his support.
The second reason was that he wanted to make Phoebe smile.
When Sol pulled to a stop, Jalon came alongside him. “Hey Sol. What brings you by?”
“I’ve got some paint chips. I wanted to show them to you, to make sure they’re the colors you want.”
“You didn’t have to geh to so much trouble,” Jalon said as Sol got out of the buggy.
“I want to do this right, considering it’s a special gift.”
Jalon hid a smile. Sol had asked if the birdhouse was for someone special, since Jalon had requested the house be painted delicate, feminine colors that made him think of Phoebe—light blue, yellow, and pink.
Her letters were always upbeat, but he had a sense that she wasn’t completely happy at her aunt’s house.
Sol showed him the paint chips and Jalon nodded.
“Those are fine.” A few years ago, if someone had told him he’d be buying a pretty birdhouse Sol Troyer made to give to a girl he hadn’t formally met, Jalon would have scoffed.
Not just at the idea that he would make a frivolous purchase, but because up until recently, Sol had been undependable.
But like Jalon, Sol had made a lot of positive changes in his life.
Quitting drinking was a huge one. Sol could drink Jalon under the table, and at his worst point he had pushed everyone away, including Jalon.
Then the day came last year when he confessed his drinking in front of the church.
That had been a turning point for Jalon too.
While Jalon had tried to quit drinking over the years, he’d never fully succeeded until he saw Sol courageously admit his drinking and ask for forgiveness. Jalon hadn’t had a drink since.
“Want to come inside for a bit?” Jalon asked. “I don’t have much to offer food-wise, other than some sandwich fixings.”
Sol shook his head. “ Danki , but I’ve got to get back home. Mamm ’s got supper waiting for me.” He paused. “How are things going?”
Jalon understood his meaning. They’d briefly talked about their battle with sobriety last week, and Jalon was surprised Sol was bringing it up again. “ Gut ,” he said. “You?”
“Staying at it. Seems easy sometimes. Then at other times ...”
“I know.” Again he thought of Phoebe, how her letters had helped keep him from temptation. That and a lot of prayer. “I bought this place,” he said, suddenly needing to change the subject. He gestured to the house.
“Really? The farm too?”
“ Ya. Thought I’d try to make a geh of it.”
Sol rubbed his chin. “Huh. Never thought you’d work on a farm again.”
Jalon brushed his hand along the flank of Sol’s horse. The animal twitched. Sol didn’t know the reason why Jalon had chosen construction over farming, and Jalon didn’t want to get into it right now. “Plans change.”
“That they do.” He tilted back his straw hat. “I wish you luck. If you need any help, let me know. I don’t know much about farming, but I’ll help out any way I can.”
“I will.” Jalon appreciated the offer, knowing it wasn’t made lightly. He also knew Sol could now be counted on to follow through on his word.
After Sol left, Jalon went inside, slipped off his boots, and went upstairs to his bedroom. Supper could wait. He took a pad of paper and a pen and started to write.
Dear Phoebe,
It’s okay if you want to wait until spring to meet. But I’ll admit that if I had my way I’d be in Dover tomorrow.
He paused. Too much? It was the honest truth. He left it in and continued his letter, writing two full pages and leaving out two important things—purchasing the house and farm, and his past. He could have told her about both, but he held back. He’d been forthright about enough, at least for now.
He signed the letter, folded it, then took his checkbook and went downstairs to the kitchen where his mother had kept envelopes and stamps.
He pulled out two envelopes—one for Phoebe, the other for his cousin Adam.
He actually had Adam to thank for meeting Phoebe, since it was Jalon’s mail to him that had accidentally arrived at Phoebe’s house.
He wrote a check and slipped it into Adam’s envelope, something he’d done every month since he had his first job and bank account at age fifteen.
He’d lost track of how much money he’d sent over the years.
The amount wasn’t important. The checks signified so much more than financial support, most importantly letting Adam know that Jalon never forgot about him .
.. or about what happened. Or that it was my fault.
Guilt slammed into him. Guilt over what he’d done, over Adam’s situation, and now even a little extra guilt for planning his own future. Did he deserve all this happiness, knowing that because of him, Adam’s life had changed forever?
Jalon smoothed the envelope. Money wasn’t enough.
He knew that. However, it was all he could offer.
Even if the farm was a success, even if he and Phoebe were to marry, he would always carry the knowledge that he was responsible for what happened.
He couldn’t take it back. He could only pay his penance, something he intended to do for the rest of his life.