2. Questions Without Answers
QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS
The supper dishes were still warm in Elizabeth’s hands as she carried them to the washbasin.
The kitchen had grown quiet after the meal—Levi had excused himself to check on a mare that was due to foal any day now, and John had eaten quickly, barely meeting anyone’s eyes, before disappearing toward the barn with a lantern and a piece of harness that needed mending.
Again.
Elizabeth set the dishes in the basin with more force than she intended. The clatter made Sadie glance up from where she was wrapping the leftover bread in a clean cloth.
“Careful, child. Those plates belonged to Levi’s mamm.”
“Es dutt mer leed,” Elizabeth murmured. I’m sorry.
But she wasn’t sorry about the dishes.
Naomi dozed in her basket near the hearth, her small chest rising and falling with the deep sleep of a well-fed baby. The fire crackled softly, and outside the window, the last of the daylight was fading into deep blue twilight.
Elizabeth poured hot water from the kettle into the basin and began washing, her hands moving through the familiar motions while her mind churned elsewhere.
She’d been thinking about John all afternoon—ever since that moment in the barnyard when their eyes had met and he’d looked away as though it hurt him.
As though she hurt him.
She didn’t understand it.
Sadie moved beside her, drying the dishes Elizabeth handed her and stacking them with careful precision on the shelf. They worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the splash of water and the soft clink of pottery.
Finally, Elizabeth couldn’t bear it anymore.
“He looked at me today like I’d hurt him,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes on the soapy water. “And I don’t know what I’ve done.”
Sadie set down her dish towel. Her shoulders sagged, just a little.
“You haven’t done anything, child.”
“Then why?—”
“Elizabeth.” Sadie’s voice was gentle but worn. “I gave you my answer this morning, and I haven’t a better one tonight. The Lord puts certain things between two people on purpose, and a mother who pulls them apart only makes the seam weaker.”
Elizabeth blinked back tears. “But you see it. You know something’s wrong.”
“I see a young woman who’s borne more sorrow than a body should.
I see my son carrying a burden he won’t name.
I see the two of you stepping past each other like the floor might give way.
” Sadie’s hand closed over hers on the basin’s edge, warm and rough.
“What I won’t do is speak words Gott gave him to speak.
That’s not love, child. That’s stealing. ”
The words landed hard.
“Then what do I do?” Elizabeth whispered.
Sadie was quiet a long moment. When she spoke again, it was slowly, like a woman laying stones one at a time.
“My mamm used to say: there’s a season for silence, and there’s a season for breaking it. The trouble is, you don’t always know which season you’re in until you look back.” She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “Ask the Lord. He’ll tell you sooner than you think.”
Elizabeth looked down at the dishwater, her vision blurring.
“And if I’m wrong?”
Sadie’s smile was tired but kind. “Then you’ll have been wrong with a brave heart. That’s not nothing.”
After the kitchen was clean and the fire banked for the night, Elizabeth climbed the narrow stairs to her room with Naomi in her arms. The baby had woken briefly, fussing for milk, and Elizabeth settled into the rocking chair by the window to nurse her.
The lamplight cast soft shadows on the plain walls. Outside, darkness had fully settled over the farm. Elizabeth could see the faint glow of a lantern in the barn—John was still out there.
Always out there.
She looked down at Naomi, whose small hand had curled around Elizabeth’s finger as she nursed. The baby’s eyes were half-closed, her lashes dark against her cheeks. She looked so much like Eli in these moments—the shape of her face, the curve of her chin.
But she had Elizabeth’s nose. And when she smiled, it was all her own.
“Du bischt so schee,” Elizabeth whispered. You are so beautiful.
Naomi’s eyes fluttered closed completely, her breathing deepening into sleep. Elizabeth continued rocking, not quite ready to put her down yet. The motion soothed them both.
And as she rocked, her mind drifted backward.
She must have been sixteen the first time she’d really noticed John Miller.
He’d come with Eli to help Noah at the forge, and while Eli had joked and tried to make her laugh, John had simply nodded his thanks and looked at her.
Not the way boys usually looked at girls—quick and appraising.
Steady. Gentle. Like he was trying to memorize something precious.
She’d felt her cheeks warm under that gaze and hurried back inside.
When Eli had asked to court her after a Sunday singing a few weeks later, she’d said yes because it felt like the natural thing to do.
Because Eli was handsome and confident and made her feel noticed.
She’d glanced back once as they walked away and seen John standing by the barn, his face very still.
He’d raised a hand in what might have been a wave or a goodbye, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.
She hadn’t understood the weight of that moment then.
On her wedding day, during the final hymn, she’d looked up and caught John’s eye across the room. He’d been standing with the other young men, his face carefully composed. But his eyes had been full of something that looked like grief. By the time she’d dared to glance back, he was gone.
When Eli disappeared, it was John who’d shown up at the cottage door with firewood and lamp oil and a sack of flour.
“You’re not alone,” he’d said simply. “Whatever happens. You’re not alone.”
He’d fixed the loose shingles, reinforced the porch steps, made sure the cottage was tight and warm before winter. Never said much—just worked quietly and left. But he’d come back. Again and again.
And the night Naomi was born—through the pain and fear, Elizabeth had heard his voice downstairs.
Pacing. Praying. When Naomi had let out her first cry, he’d exhaled like a man who’d been holding his breath for hours.
Later, Sadie had brought him to see the baby.
He’d stood in the threshold, hat in his hands, and looked at Naomi with such tenderness Elizabeth’s heart had ached.
“She’s perfect,” he’d whispered.
Then he’d looked at Elizabeth. “Are you all right?”
Not how is the baby. Not congratulations. But are you all right.
Like she was the one who mattered most.
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears as the memories settled over her like a quilt—one square at a time, forming a pattern she’d been too blind to see.
He’d always been there. Quiet. Steady. Loving her in the only way he’d allowed himself—by being present when she needed him, by fixing what was broken, by never asking for anything in return.
And she’d been too busy surviving to let herself see it.
But she felt it now. The way her heart lifted when she heard his footsteps on the porch. The way she listened for his voice at meals. The way her breath caught when their hands accidentally brushed passing a dish or a tool.
This wasn’t just gratitude. This wasn’t just loneliness looking for comfort. This was something deeper. Something that had been growing quietly in the dark, like roots reaching through soil.
“Ach Gott,” she whispered, pressing her face against Naomi’s soft hair. “What do I do?”
She rose carefully and carried Naomi to the cradle, laid the baby down gently, then moved to the window.
The lantern light still glowed in the barn.
Her hand pressed against the cool glass. What if I’m wrong? What if he’s only ever seen me as Eli’s wife? As the mother of his niece?
But Sadie’s words came back to her: There’s a season for silence, and there’s a season for breaking it.
She didn’t yet know which season she was in.
“Your Onkel John,” she whispered to Naomi’s sleeping back. “He’s a gut man. The best man I know. And I don’t know how to tell him.”
Even as she said it, the lantern in the barn went out. Darkness settled over the farm like a held breath.
Elizabeth stayed at the window a moment longer, Naomi warm against her chest, before finally returning to bed.
But sleep was a long time coming.
And when it did, she dreamed of willow trees and quiet hands and eyes that had been watching her all along.