Chapter 4 #2
“You geh ahead.” While the skating had been invigorating, reality had set in. He didn’t want her to spend the rest of her time pushing him around the pond. He knew she wouldn’t mind, but he would. “I’ll watch.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Geh on, have fun.”
As Leanna did figure eights on the ice, Adam thought about his decision. Despite his unease, he was oddly looking forward to seeing Jalon, not only because he missed him, but because he needed to confront him about the money, once and for all.
There was also something else he had to confront—his past. By going back to Birch Creek, he’d be surrounded with reminders of what happened to him. He could block most of that out while he was here in Mespo. He wouldn’t have that luxury once he got to Jalon’s.
He tensed at the thought, but it didn’t cause him to change his mind. If putting those memories to a final rest was the key to moving forward with his life, he was ready to do it.
Four days after Phoebe sent her last letter to Jalon, she received one from him.
When she read the contents, she was a little disappointed.
The letter was shorter than his previous ones, as if writing it had been an afterthought.
He told her about work and about eating at the Chinese restaurant. That was it.
Was he losing interest in her? Did he think she was boring?
Worst of all, was he writing to her out of obligation because she put off meeting him in person?
He said he understood, but did he really, or was he just being polite?
She wrung her hands as she walked back to the house, barely aware of the thick, heavy flakes of snow coming down.
There was a time when she hadn’t been so racked with doubt and worry.
Now she questioned every little thing, especially since living with Aunt Bertha.
She drew in a deep breath and tried to relax.
Don’t borrow trouble. Tomorrow has enough trouble of its own.
She’d heard that all her life, knew the concept was from the Bible, but had often dismissed it as a stale cliché. Now she saw the wisdom in those words.
She tucked the letter in the pocket of her coat and put the rest of the mail on her aunt’s bureau in her spotless, boring bedroom.
Everything was so dull in this house—from the grayish-white paint on the walls to the off-white blanket on Aunt Bertha’s twin-size bed.
She didn’t have a single bit of color anywhere—everything was gray, off-white, and lifeless brown.
There was nothing on the walls, not even a clock.
It struck Phoebe how the stark interior of the house matched the bleak, wintry surroundings outside.
Fortunately that would change in the spring, at least outside.
Once the snow went away, there would be plenty of green grass carpeting the yard.
Verdant leaves would appear on the trees, and by June there would be yellow flowers on the squash and zucchini plants in the garden.
Her aunt hadn’t mentioned anything about planting flowers, though.
God forbid the yard have too much color.
Somehow she’d have to sneak in a few flower seeds here and there.
If we’re still here ... and, Lord, I hope we won’t be.
She felt a little bad thinking that way, but she couldn’t help it.
To ease her conscience, she helped her aunt iron fabric while keeping her eye on Malachi through the window as he played in the backyard.
Her son enjoyed being outside regardless of the weather.
Today was frigid, but he dashed around the yard, catching the few snowflakes that fell here and there on his tongue.
She had enjoyed doing the same thing as a child.
Even now she wished she could join him. Aenti Bertha would have plenty to say if I did.
For supper she made a plain meal of stewed chicken, noodles, and bread.
Malachi had behaved himself during the day and she’d served supper on time, so Aunt Bertha had nothing to complain about.
But having a relatively peaceful day didn’t help Phoebe fall asleep that night, as her mind, and her worry, turned to Jalon again.
By morning she realized she was being silly about Jalon’s letter. So what if it was shorter than his usual ones? After supper she would write him back, just as she always did. She smiled and got dressed. Everything between her and Jalon was fine.
Later, after she’d mopped the kitchen floor, washed clothes, and then hung the laundry on the back porch to dry, she prepared lunch.
Aunt Bertha ate the meal in her usual stern silence, then left the kitchen.
Phoebe glanced at Malachi, who seemed to visibly relax now that Aunt Bertha was gone.
“Help me wash these dishes, Malachi,” Phoebe said.
“When we’re done, we can play a game of checkers. ”
He nodded and scrambled off his chair. “Okay.”
Thankful and a little surprised he hadn’t refused her request, she pulled a small stool over to the sink.
Her aunt’s diminutive height meant she couldn’t reach the top shelf of the cabinets, so she used the stool often.
Malachi played with the soap bubbles as they filled the sink.
Phoebe smiled at him. He was having another good day.
She slid her hands into the warm, soapy water, mentally composing her letter to Jalon.
She peeked at Malachi again. He was intensely focused on drying his plastic drinking cup.
Should she tell Jalon about him tonight?
Her anxiety rose again, as it always did when she contemplated telling Jalon she had a child.
She didn’t like hiding Malachi from him—and not only because she was afraid of Jalon’s reaction.
She loved her son. He wasn’t the reason for her shame. That was all on her.
“Phoebe!”
Her aunt’s shrill voice made Phoebe jump.
Whirling around, she saw Aunt Bertha marching toward her.
Great, what was she upset about now? “Malachi, get down,” Phoebe whispered through clenched teeth, in case that was the source of her aunt’s ire.
She wouldn’t put it past her to be proprietary about the stool.
Once again Malachi didn’t argue, and he stepped off the stool. She didn’t have time to ponder his sudden decision to start minding her because her aunt started waving a piece of paper in the air.
“Who is Jalon?” her aunt demanded.
Phoebe’s blood turned to ice. She hadn’t made it a point to check the mail this morning because she hadn’t expected another letter from Jalon until she responded to his last one.
Usually she collected the mail every day, sooner or later, and her aunt had never said a word about it.
Why had she changed her routine today? Then again, did the answer really matter?
“He’s a friend,” she said as Malachi leaned against her.
“A young woman does not have male friends .” She shook the letter at Phoebe. “A young woman of godly character, that is. I did not take you and the bu into mei home so you could conduct an affair behind mei back.”
Her jaw dropped. “We’re not having an affair. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Aunt Bertha sneered. She cast a scathing look at Malachi, then back at Phoebe. “Haven’t you before?”
She couldn’t respond to that, not without explaining the details of Malachi’s conception, and she wasn’t going to say a word about that in front of her son.
“I promise,” she said, keeping her tone as even as possible, “Jalon is just a friend.” Again, no need to explain to her aunt anything different.
“A letter he sent to someone else was accidently—”
“Do you expect me to believe yer lies after the way you have conducted yerself in the past?” Somehow she managed to shake her head and, as short as she was, look down on Phoebe at the same time. “I should have known you could never be trusted.”
“ Aenti , please listen—”
“I don’t want to hear another word.” She took the letter and tore it in half.
“ Nee ,” Phoebe said, instinctively reaching for the letter.
“You will not write to him again,” she said, tearing the halves into fourths with slow, agonizing movements. “Or any other man.”
She might as well be ripping Phoebe’s heart. “There is nee other man.”
“Then you admit you are conducting an affair while under mei roof?”
“How can I do anything when you control mei every move?” At her aunt’s arched brow she added, “Please, Aenti . I’m lonely. I don’t have any friends here. I’m not allowed to geh to singings or have a job or even meet with the ladies to quilt.”
“And whose fault is that?” Aunt Bertha ripped the letter into even smaller pieces.
“You flout God’s rules as if they don’t apply to you.
You think highly of yerself , even though you can’t control that bu of yers .
You have shamed yer familye .” She leaned forward, a fine sheen of perspiration on her upper lip.
“You will not shame me. You are forbidden to write another letter, including to yer parents. I’ll write them myself, explaining yer transgression. ”
“But—”
“And because I can’t trust you, I will collect the mail. You will not geh near it.” She turned around, taking Jalon’s destroyed letter with her.
No more writing to Jalon? No more letters from him? She couldn’t allow that to happen.
“What if he wants to marry me?” Phoebe blurted, desperate not to let her aunt take away the one thing other than Malachi that made her happy.
Aunt Bertha faced her again, narrowing her eyes. “So he is more than a friend.”
Now she was in a pickle. She was tempted to tell her what she wished in her heart, that Jalon was not only more than a friend, but that he might possibly, someday, love her.
Not only was it a lie, but when he found out about Malachi, it was an almost sure thing he would run the other way—and she wouldn’t blame him.
“ Nee ,” she admitted. “He’s only a friend. ”
Aunt Bertha tossed a cold glance at Malachi again, causing him to grip the skirt of Phoebe’s dress. Her eyes shifted back to Phoebe’s. “It would be a miracle if any decent Amish man ever married you.” With that, she left, taking the remnants of Jalon’s letter with her.
Phoebe couldn’t hold it together anymore.
She sank to the floor, tears spilling without her making a sound.
She should be angry, but all she felt was defeat because what her aunt said was true.
She had flaunted God’s rules—not with Jalon, but in the past. She had thought highly of herself, believing the freedom the world had to offer was better than her Amish faith and way of life.
And she had brought shame to her family.
But how could she survive living with Aunt Bertha without Jalon’s letters?
“ Mamm? ”
She looked at Malachi. At the sight of his pale face and fearful eyes she quickly wiped her tears away and scooted closer to him. Her lips formed an empty smile. “Well,” she said, unable to stop herself from sniffing, “that was quite a show, wasn’t it?”
“Why is Aenti mad? Why did she make you cry?”
Phoebe didn’t know how to answer that. While her aunt’s words held a ring of truth, she was being cruel and unreasonable. If she didn’t want Phoebe and Malachi here anymore, why was she still allowing them to stay?
Appearances. That’s all it is. Her aunt was acutely aware of what others thought.
Phoebe had noticed it at church. When they were in public together, there was little trace of the hard woman Phoebe saw behind these closed doors.
If word had gotten out that she had refused to give her and Malachi a place to live, it would have made her look less devout.
“Because she believes she’s doing the right thing,” Phoebe finally said.
Maybe deep inside she thought she was. At this point Phoebe didn’t care.
“Can we geh home now? Please?”
His question almost made her cry again. “ Nee , sweetheart. Not yet.” She pulled his slim body into her arms. “It’s going to be okay.”
He moved back enough so he could look into her eyes again. “ Aenti Bertha doesn’t like you very much.”
Phoebe smoothed back a lock of his hair. “ Nee. She doesn’t. But I’m trying to change that. Yer mamm is trying to be a better person.”
“You’re already the best person I know,” Malachi said as he hugged her neck.
The most important person in her life thought she was worth something, and that would be enough to get her through.
“ Danki, sohn. ” She squeezed him tight before pulling away.
“But there’s always room for improvement,” she couldn’t resist adding, because it was absolutely true.
“Now, why don’t we finish these dishes?”
“Then can we play checkers?”
“ Ya. ”
They made quick work of the dishes, then played two games of checkers before she tucked Malachi into bed. For once, he seemed ready to take an afternoon nap. Then she went to her own room and sat on the edge of her bed.
The dishes and game had been a distraction, but now that she was alone, staring at the plain white wall of a bedroom she was never completely comfortable in, the pain returned.
She was trapped in a cage of her own making.
But at least here Malachi had food to eat and a roof over his head.
By herself, Phoebe couldn’t give him even that.
No, she had to stay here, and that meant following her aunt’s rules, despite how unfair they were.
Which also meant she couldn’t write to Jalon anymore.
Her throat constricted around the lump forming there.
Was her aunt right? Would any decent Amish man ever be willing to marry her?
Not out of force or obligation, but because he loved her?
Maybe Jalon would have been the one man who could overlook everything and love her anyway. Now she’d never know.