7. A Ride and a Rift
A RIDE AND A RIFT
Elizabeth couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but stand there in the circle of lamplight, staring at John while his words echoed in her ears.
I love you. I’ve loved you for years.
Her heart was hammering so hard she thought he must hear it. The darkness pressed in around them, the only light the single lantern John held, casting shadows that danced across his face.
He looked terrified. And determined. And completely vulnerable.
“I loved you when we were young,” John continued, words pouring out now like he couldn’t stop them.
Like a dam had broken and years of held-back feeling were flooding through.
“When you were sixteen and brought water to the forge. When you’d laugh at something Sarah said.
When you’d come to Sunday singings and I couldn’t look away from you. ”
His voice was thick with emotion, with years of silence finally breaking. “I thought... I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too.”
Elizabeth’s hand went to her mouth, tears already streaming down her face. Her mind was reeling, rearranging everything she remembered. All those moments when she was young—when she’d felt his eyes on her, when her heart had fluttered at his nearness, when she’d waited and hoped and wondered.
“But then Eli asked to court you,” John said, and the old pain was clear in his voice. “And you said yes so quickly...”
He shook his head, his jaw clenching. “I thought I’d misread everything. That what I felt was one-sided. That you wanted him, not me. So I stepped back. I let him have you because I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“No,” Elizabeth whispered, the word torn from her. “No, no, no?—”
“I thought you didn’t want me.” Her voice broke. “I thought... John, you never said anything. You never asked. You were always so quiet, so distant.”
John’s eyes widened—shock and disbelief warring in his expression.
Elizabeth’s words tumbled out, years of misunderstanding crashing down like a wave. “I thought I was imagining the way you looked at me. I thought I was being foolish, seeing something that wasn’t there.”
She was crying harder now, her whole body shaking. “So when Eli asked, when he was so sure, so confident... I said yes because I was tired of waiting for something I thought would never happen.”
“I only chose Eli because I thought you weren’t interested,” she said, her voice raw. “Because I thought if you’d wanted me, you would have said something. You would have asked.”
John made a sound—half laugh, half sob. His free hand came up to his face, pressing against his forehead as if trying to hold himself together.
“And I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d chosen him,” he said hoarsely. “Because I thought you wanted his confidence, his boldness. Because I thought I’d already lost you.”
They stared at each other, the weight of it settling between them like something physical.
All this time.
All these years.
A misunderstanding. A mutual silence born of fear and misread signals and two young people too afraid to speak.
“Ach Gott,” Elizabeth whispered. “All this time?”
John’s hand came up slowly, carefully, trembling as it moved toward her face. This time he didn’t pull back. His fingers touched her cheek, gentle and reverent, as if she might disappear if he wasn’t careful.
“All this time,” he confirmed, his voice breaking on the words.
Elizabeth leaned into his touch, unable to stop herself. His hand was warm against her skin, callused from years of work but infinitely gentle. Tears streamed down her face, and his thumb brushed them away with such tenderness it made her chest ache.
They stood there in the darkness, the lantern between them casting golden light across their faces. Behind them, far back now, she could just hear Brian’s voice drifting through the night, still talking softly to the injured horse.
But here, in this moment, the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
“I watched you marry him,” John said quietly, his hand still on her face. “Stood there and watched you say your vows and thought I’d never hurt so much in my life.”
His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “And then when he left you... when he abandoned you and Naomi...” His jaw clenched. “I wanted to hate him. But all I could think was that at least now—maybe now—I could tell you. Could let you know.”
“But you were grieving. You were scared. You were pregnant and alone and the last thing you needed was me adding to your burden.” He shook his head. “So I waited. And kept waiting. And told myself I was being patient, being honorable. But really I was just being a coward.”
“You were never a coward,” Elizabeth said fiercely, her hand coming up to cover his where it rested against her cheek. “You stayed. You helped. You were there when I needed you.”
“But I never told you.” John’s eyes held hers, full of regret and longing. “Never said the words you deserved to hear.”
Elizabeth’s throat was too tight to speak for a moment. She pressed his hand harder against her face, anchoring herself to the warmth and solidity of him.
When she finally found her voice, it came out small and broken: “I thought... after Eli... I thought you could never want me. That I was too broken, too complicated. A widow with a baby, living in your family’s house out of charity.”
John’s expression turned fierce. “Charity?” His voice was rough with emotion. “Elizabeth, you were never charity. You were—you’ve always been?—”
He struggled for words, his hand tightening slightly against her face. “You were surviving. You were being strong and brave and raising your daughter alone when you had every right to fall apart. You were never broken.”
Tears were streaming down Elizabeth’s face now, hot and fast. “I felt broken.”
“You weren’t.” John’s voice was certain, absolute. “You were the strongest person I knew. And I was a coward. Watching you, loving you, but too afraid to speak because I thought?—”
He stopped, shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I should have been honest. Should have told you months ago. Years ago. Should have told you when we were sixteen years old and I first realized I was in love with you.”
Elizabeth let out a shaky breath. Her hand was still covering his, pressing it against her cheek. She could feel his pulse in his wrist—rapid, strong, alive.
“We’ve both been afraid,” she said softly.
“Jah.” John’s smile was sad. “Both too afraid to speak. Both sure the other person didn’t feel the same. Both wasting time being silent when we could have been?—”
He didn’t finish. But Elizabeth knew what he meant.
Together. We could have been together.
“I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” John said, and there was steel in his voice now. Determination beneath the vulnerability.
“Neither do I.”
They stood there for another long moment, hands clasped, his palm warm against her face. The lantern light made everything feel golden and unreal, like a dream she might wake from.
But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. John was real. His love was real.
And hers?—
Elizabeth’s breath caught as the realization settled over her fully.
She loved him too.
Had maybe always loved him, even when she’d thought she was in love with Eli. Even when she’d married another man. Even through all the grief and fear and loneliness of the past year.
John had been there. Steady. Constant. Loving her from a distance because he thought that’s all he was allowed.
“I can’t change the past,” John said, his voice rough. “Can’t undo the years we lost. Can’t bring Eli back or make any of it different.”
His thumb brushed across her cheekbone again, wiping away tears that kept falling. “But I won’t waste any more time being silent.”
He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was uneven, the words coming out the way a man speaks who has carried them for years without practice.
“I—I don’t know how to say this right. I’ve never said any of it.” He swallowed. “I love you. I love that bobbli. I don’t know what to ask for. Just—if there’s any way you’d let me be hers. Be yours.” His hand tightened against her cheek. “If you’d have me.”
Fresh tears spilled down Elizabeth’s cheeks. Her throat was so tight she could barely speak.
“I thought...” She had to stop, to swallow past the emotion clogging her voice. “I thought after Eli... after everything... that I was too broken for anyone to want. Too complicated. Too much trouble.”
“You were never too much,” John said fiercely. “You were—you are—everything.”
Elizabeth’s hand came up to cover her mouth, trying to hold back the sob that wanted to escape. But it came anyway, breaking free with a sound that was half laugh, half cry.
John’s other hand came up, and now he was holding her face in both hands, the lantern set carefully on the ground between them.
Elizabeth stared at him through her tears. This man who’d loved her in silence for years. Who’d taken her in when she had nowhere else to go. Who’d made a cradle for her daughter with his own hands.
Who was standing here now, in the darkness on a country road, finally speaking the words he should have said years ago.
“Jah,” she whispered.
John’s eyes widened. “Jah?”
“Jah.” Elizabeth’s voice was stronger now, more certain. “I’ll give you a chance. I’ll—” She let out a shaky laugh. “I love you too, John. I think I’ve loved you for a long time. I just didn’t let myself see it.”
The smile that broke across John’s face was like the sun rising. Pure, brilliant joy.
“You love me?” he asked, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Jah.” Elizabeth was crying and laughing at the same time now. “I love you.”
John made a sound—something between a laugh and a sob—and pulled her into his arms.
Elizabeth went willingly, her face pressed against his chest, his heart beating steady and strong beneath her ear. His arms wrapped around her, careful of her bruised shoulder, holding her like she was something precious he’d been afraid he’d lost.