Chapter 23
The next Service Sunday was held at Menno and Amanda’s hog farm.
Tabitha didn’t think anyone really looked forward to worship at a hog farm, with the whole area smelling like hogs, but it was only right that they get their turn at hosting.
So everyone came. In Shepherd’s Hill, everyone in the community mattered, and every offer of hospitality was received with gratitude.
That was part of what made an Amish community so special.
The service was a lengthy and sober one, as all Amish church services were.
It was held under a big tent, Menno and Amanda not having the barn space to spare to house a worship service.
Today, the first preacher was speaking about forgiveness.
It was a popular topic for Amish communities, and perhaps there was good reason for that.
The closer a community was, the better opportunity for meaningful friendships.
But there was also more opportunity for offense.
The closer people were in community, the more opportunity to forgive, forgive, forgive.
Tabitha sat in her spot next to Katherine Blank on the wooden church bench.
Katherine cradled her baby on her lap, and her toddler sat between them.
Tabitha held a handkerchief rolled up into the shape of a baby doll for the toddler to play with.
The older boys were with Katherine’s husband on the other side of the service.
And the preacher talked on about forgiveness, how it was the only way to keep a community together, and how this community was built in order to walk each one of them to their home in heaven—never alone, always with people who cared.
The words from the German Luther Bible were so familiar that she murmured along. “‘Denn so ihr den Menschen ihre Fehler vergebet, so wird euch euer himmlischer Vater auch vergeben, Wo ihr aber den Menschen ihre Fehler nicht vergebet, so wird euch euer Vater eure Fehler auch nicht vergeben.’”
It translated to say, “For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”
Tabitha felt a tickle on the back of her neck, and a shiver slid down her arms. They were commanded to forgive. It was not a recommendation. It was not a nice thought. It was a command from Gott himself.
Forgive. And an image of Kelsie in her sleek Englischer clothing, her elegantly made-up face, her easy manners . . . and Michael when he was that charismatic man she’d married once upon a time . . .
She was supposed to forgive.
The rest of the service slipped away into a blur, and Tabitha thought about the two people who had betrayed her.
Kelsie wanted to feel better about herself—about that much Tabitha was sure.
And Tabitha’s Englischer friends would have told her that she didn’t owe Kelsie a thing, that if Kelsie felt bad for her actions in life, then it was her own problem.
They would have told her to focus on herself, on her own future and her own plans.
But Tabitha’s Amish conscience whispered otherwise.
When the first sermon ended, Tabitha slipped out to get some fresh air.
Some young mothers with little ones did the same to get the kids some movement and bathroom breaks.
Amanda was busy in the house getting food ready to serve once the second sermon was done, and Tabitha intended to go help her when she spotted Jonas by the pump, getting a drink of water from his cupped hand.
He released the pump handle, and the flow of water lessened, then stopped.
He shook the excess water from his hand.
When he noticed her, their gazes met, and Tabitha breathed out a shaky sigh.
Why did this man have to make her heart skip a beat?
Jonas started in her direction, and she could feel the curious looks from the women standing in the grass, watching their little ones run and play. Jonas straightened his straw hat as he stopped a couple of feet away from her.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” She smiled, then dropped her gaze. She didn’t want anyone to think she was flirting with Jonas. That would be very wrong.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m just not drawing undue attention toward us,” she said.
“Besides that.” He met her gaze directly. “I know you better than that, Tabby. You’re upset.”
Had she been that obvious?
“I have a lot on my mind.” Tabitha realized she was still holding the rolled handkerchief doll, and she wondered if the little girl was missing it. Katherine stood over by some other young mothers, and she passed the sleeping baby into her sister’s arms. The toddler was picking grass at her feet.
“Michael?” he guessed.
“And Kelsie.” She shrugged. “I have to forgive her, and it’s hard.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
It was a sweet thought, but this was an internal problem, and there was nothing her friend could do for that.
“Pray for me,” she said with a weak smile.
“I always do.” He put a thumb under his suspender. “I’m sorry that my mamm made it seem like we were doing something wrong. You needed to talk, and there is nothing wrong with friends sharing about their lives.”
“She wasn’t completely wrong about that,” Tabitha replied. “I can’t lean on you like I did before. You have Christina now, and you have to be her rock, not mine.”
“We’re still friends, Tabby.”
“Of course, but a good friend knows when she needs to back off and give you space too.”
Katherine’s older son came up beside Tabitha, and she handed over the handkerchief doll so he could bring it back to his little sister. He smiled shyly and went back over to where his mother was starting to gather up the children to go back into the tent for the second sermon.
She should go back too.
“I told Christina about you,” Jonas said, ignoring the movement back toward the tent. “I’m not doing any sneaking. She knows we’re good friends. She’s been good friends with a single neighbor for years too. She sees him like a brother, so she understands.”
Well, Tabitha didn’t see Jonas like a brother at all, and that was the problem. That was what had pushed Jonas away. They’d been feeling far too much for each other with no future ahead of them.
“You said you see me like a sister?” she asked.
“Nee . . . that would have been a lie.” He caught her eye and held it. “I didn’t feel like you were family, Tabby.”
A shiver slid down her spine, and she dropped her gaze.
“I told her that we were good friends,” he went on, “and that we started to feel more, but you were divorced. I explained everything. She understands. She’s been single a long time, too, and she knows how things can get complicated.
But we both agreed that we wanted something simple and good—marriage and kinner. ”
“What about this neighbor of hers?” she asked.
“He’s a nice man. I met him. I think he’s halfway in love with her, but his wife passed away when giving birth to their first child. He lost both of them at once, and he’s still recovering from that. He’s not ready to get married again.”
“That’s too bad,” she murmured.
“What are you going to do?” Jonas asked.
“You mean with my life?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ll keep working, of course. At my age, there aren’t a lot of single, available men out there. Especially not someone looking for a working veterinarian, right? For the life of me, I can’t seem to fit in.”
“You could find a nice guy and quit,” he said. She shot him a rueful look, and he smiled. “That was a joke.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to fit into regular Amish life very easily, even without Michael, am I?”
“You’re special, Tabby.”
“Danke, but I also seem bound and determined to sit on the outside of the circle,” she said. “So I suppose I’ll have to do some thinking, too, about what my life will look like. Am I willing to be more traditional?”
“I can’t imagine you being more traditional,” he said, some disappointment flickering across his face. “Please don’t change too much.”
It was easy enough for Jonas to ask her to stay the same, although staying the same would likely mean staying alone. Maybe he did like her this way, and maybe she did love this life working with animals, but even Jonas would have a family he’d go home to. Would she?
Tabitha shook her head. “I’m only thinking right now. But with Michael’s death, I can’t blame anything on him anymore. He’s gone now, and whatever I make of my life is my responsibility.”
Sarah Mae and Miriam came ambling toward them, arm in arm. When they came close enough, Sarah Mae gave Tabitha’s arm a friendly squeeze.
“Hello, Jonas,” Sarah Mae said cheerily. “You don’t want to miss the last of the service, I’m sure.”
That was a dismissal if Tabitha had ever heard one.
“Nee, of course not,” Jonas said, casting Tabitha a smile. “I’ll head in.”
“See you,” she said.
Jonas fell in with another man as he headed for the tent, and Tabitha looked over at her friends.
“That looked intense,” Miriam murmured.
“He just wanted to make sure I was okay,” she replied.
“Are you?” Sarah Mae asked gently.
“Yah, I am. We’d better get inside before the preaching starts.”
Or she would be okay, eventually. Jonas couldn’t help her with her problems, or her solutions, and it was good to realize that, because running to Jonas for comfort was far too easy for her. Going forward, Tabitha would have to figure things out without Jonas at her side.