Marrying Jonah Page 16

  “Sarah?”

  “It’s over, Jonah. The baby is gone.”

  He blinked, trying to gather what she was saying and find the meaning in the words. “The baby?”

  She pushed herself up on the bed and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “There is no baby.” She seemed to pull herself together, but he could feel the distance between them. He wanted to hold her but he couldn’t make his arms reach for her. She seemed as prickly as a porcupine. “Do not touch” signs were posted all around. “Just go.” She pointed toward the door, but didn’t meet his gaze.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to stay, but if leaving made her happy . . .

  Mute with shock, he stood and made his way to the door. Once there, he turned back to look at her once again.

  She had left the light on but had returned to lying down. Her prayer kapp was askew, but at least she wasn’t crying.

  He quietly closed the door behind him and made his way to the living room.

  The baby was gone.

  He wanted to ask her exactly what that meant, but with her tears he had to assume that she’d had a miscarriage. He collapsed onto the sofa and pressed a hand to his forehead. There was no more baby.

  The baby that was the very reason they were together.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. But he knew that the pregnancy wasn’t as real to him. He hadn’t gone to any doctor appointments. He hadn’t looked at the home test and watched the indicator turn. He hadn’t done anything but hear her words and marry her. Albeit reluctantly.

  Now he had no idea what to do or what to say. He had no words to make it better. No words to take away her pain. He wished Hannah was there. Or maybe even his mother. A woman to help him understand what she was going through.

  Her mother. He should call her mother. He was surprised that she hadn’t called her already. Or maybe in her grief she hadn’t been thinking.

  He pushed to his feet and headed for their garage-based phone.

  Sarah’s mother came almost immediately. He felt useless as he let her in and walked her back to Sarah’s bedroom.

  “I’ll take it from here,” she whispered, then slipped inside.

  Jonah stared at the closed door, then made his way to his room. He had done all he could do.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hilde stayed through the night. In the morning she made the men bacon and eggs, then went back home. Sarah never came out of her room.

  Jonah had asked his mother-in-law what he needed to do, and she had told him to “just be patient.” He wasn’t sure what that meant, but the look on her face said he should have understood. So he’d nodded like it all made sense and walked her to her tractor.

  Sarah didn’t come out of her room for three days, not even for church on Sunday. Jonah knocked on the door several times, but she never answered. When he tried the knob, he found it locked. She had shut him out.

  Jonah finally decided that she was leaving her room, but only when she knew she wouldn’t bump into him. The occasional dish left in the sink and the milk disappearing from the fridge were the only clues he had. What he didn’t know was why she was avoiding him. At least she was eating.

  Be patient, her mother had said. He supposed that meant not to push Sarah. He had no idea what she had suffered. He had no idea why she hadn’t come in to wake him during that night.

  He had thought they were progressing, beginning to learn each other’s likes and dislikes and doing everything in their power to become the couple they were destined to be. Yet this was tearing them apart, and he was helpless to stop it.

  * * *

  Jonah took the tractor into town the following day. He made the excuse that he needed to get paint for the new barn, when in fact the paint was already waiting for him to get to it. He asked Sarah if she needed anything, through the door, of course. But he got no answer. He could only say a little prayer that her mother was bringing over anything that she needed.

  The first stop was the hardware store. He might not need paint, but he could use a few brushes and some white for the trim. He parked out front and went inside. It smelled like a hardware store should, like sawdust, rubber, and old coffee. He nodded hello to Hershel Bryant, the owner, then made his way over to where he kept the paint supplies.

  He walked down the aisle slowly, looking for the right kind of brush, when a voice floated over to him from the aisle next to his.

  “It’s sad really.” He wasn’t certain, but it sure sounded like Ivy Weaver. Ivy was nice enough, he supposed, but she had gained a reputation on her extended rumspringa as being what the English called “a little fast.” He wasn’t sure by whose standards, and he wasn’t about to ask.

  “You don’t really believe that story, do you?” He didn’t recognize the second voice, but knowing Ivy, it could have been anyone, English or Amish.

  “What? That she trapped him into marrying her?”

  He stopped in his tracks. Could they be talking about him?

  “It’s entirely possible,” Ivy returned.

  “So you don’t think she was ever pregnant?”

  “No. See, it’s the perfect plan. She told him that she was pregnant, and he married her. What was he supposed to do? But now that it’s time for her to start showing, she conveniently loses the baby.”

  “And she still has herself a husband.”

  “Right.” Ivy laughed. “I wish I’d thought of it myself.”

  “Whatever. Like you’re ready to get married and settle down.”

  “I might be.” Ivy’s tone took on a wounded note, and he could almost see her pout. “One day, anyway.”

  Her companion laughed and they moved away. He could still hear their voices, but not the words they were saying. Not that he needed to hear any more. He’d heard plenty.

  He grabbed the brushes he needed, not really caring about painting anymore. He needed to get out of there and get a breath of fresh air. He felt like he was choking. As if a giant hand was squeezing the air from him.

  Somehow he managed to pay and get back out to his tractor without being seen by Ivy and her friend. He didn’t want them to know that he’d heard. He wasn’t sure how to take Ivy’s theory. He wasn’t sure he could look her in the face and not say a word about it.

  He swung up onto his tractor and started for home, his breath still stagnant in his chest.

  * * *

  Jonah sat down at the table, looking across at Sarah’s empty chair. It had been days since she had left her room, nearly a week since she had lost the baby, and Jonah was running thin on patience. The ladies in the church were bringing over meals and Sarah’s mother came over every other day while he was at the farm. But he was torn between wanting to help Sarah and wanting to shake her out of whatever funk she had fallen in.

  There had been that brief time when it looked as if they just might overcome anything thrown their way, and then this had to happen.

  But did it?

  He pushed that voice aside. It was hateful and evil and had no place in his thoughts, but it had surfaced regularly since that day in the hardware store.

  He knew—knew—that Sarah hadn’t lied to him, but the doubts still plagued him. He hadn’t seen the pregnancy test. He hadn’t gone to any of the doctor’s appointments. He didn’t even know the doctor’s name. For all he knew, she’d taken a Mennonite driver into Pryor for an afternoon of shopping away from the prying eyes of the district. They hadn’t bought any baby things. She hadn’t started decorating anything or sewing little baby gowns or crocheting booties and whatever else women did when a baby was on the way.

  Was that because she was too busy settling into the house?

  Or was it because there wasn’t a baby, there never was, and she knew it? Why should she crochet for a child who didn’t exist?

  “You don’t know that.” He pounded one fist against the table, rattling his silverware in the process.

  “You don’t know what?”

  He turned to find Sarah standing
behind him. She looked the same as always, morose and tired, but she was out of her room and that was a good sign, jah?

  “Nothing.” He stood as she walked around the table to her chair and sat.

  “I have some casserole heated, if you would like some.” Really, what else was there to say? She hadn’t been out of her room when he was in the house in days.

  “Danki.”

  She continued to stare at nothing, so he moved to the kitchen to get her a plate. He hadn’t set her a place. He hadn’t known she would pick tonight to venture out to the table at suppertime.

  She took the plate from him without a word and scooped up a helping of the chicken-and-noodle casserole one of the ladies had brought over.

  “You didn’t make a vegetable?”

  “Huh?” He hadn’t expected her to say anything and he hadn’t been listening. Having her back across the table from him would have been welcome if not for the conversation he’d overheard earlier.

  “Why didn’t you make a vegetable? Green beans, corn, something.”

  Jonah looked at his plate piled high with the casserole. “It’s got English peas in it. Why do I need another vegetable?”

  She frowned and stirred her fork around in her supper. “You’re supposed to make a vegetable.”

  White-hot anger flashed through him. His fork clattered onto his plate as he stared at his wife. “Well, pardon me for not knowing that another vegetable was required.”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “Why are you being so touchy?”

  “You tell me. You stay in your room for days on end, and then when you do come out it’s to criticize my cooking skills.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing. I simply said that you should have made another vegetable to go with supper.”

  “That, my dear wife, is criticism.”

  She scoffed. “I don’t see how.”

  “How about you wouldn’t have food in front of you right now if it weren’t for me, and maybe you should just be thankful.” This argument was getting out of hand. He could hear their words, hear how ridiculous they were, and yet he was powerless to stop it.

  “You didn’t make this casserole. I know for a fact this is Lettie Miller’s recipe. So I should thank Lettie.”

  “I heated it up.”

  “Big deal.” She pushed back from the table and stood.

  He had never felt like thwarting someone as much as he did in that moment. His anger, his frustration, his hurt and sadness had all festered inside him leaving him toxic from the inside out. At least where it came to her.

  “And when you heat up the next one, be sure to warm some vegetables to go with it.”

  With a growl, Jonah shoved his plate toward the opposite wall. It broke with a clatter, sending food sliding down the paint and onto the floor.

  * * *

  Saturday came and brought with it more of the same. Sarah came out of her room for meals, but they ended up in an argument over the dumbest things each time. He knew they were both on edge. He couldn’t get the conversation between Ivy and her friend out of his head.

  He didn’t believe it, or at least that was what he told himself, but the doubts still plagued him. Sarah could have tricked him, could have lied to him, and he had just blindly believed her. He had taken her at her word, demanded no proof. She could have told him anything and he would have believed her. What a fool he was!

  But deep down he knew that she had told him the truth. He had to believe that or he would go insane. Each time he took out Ivy’s words, turned them over in his mind, thought them through, examined the evidence, he knew that Sarah hadn’t tricked him. So why did it bother him so? Because people were talking about it like it truly happened that way.

  And Sarah . . . where had the girl he had married gone? She had been so shamed at having to marry him. She had been full of dread and trepidation to move into his parents’ house. But she had kept her chin up through it all, even his mother’s catty remarks about her household skills and her placement with the fancy Amish. Where was that girl?

  So Sarah had lost the baby. It was terrible and sad, but it wasn’t the end of the world. They were married now. It wasn’t like they couldn’t try again. One day. But not until she pulled herself out of the blues.

  Meanwhile he was elbow-deep in red. Paint, that was. He wiped an arm across his brow. He was sweating despite the cool temperatures. Painting was always more work than what it looked. But since the barn was up, it needed a bit of paint to protect it from the elements. With so much sadness floating around his house these days, he decided that red was the perfect color. It was bright and cheerful. Well, sort of. It was definitely a much happier color than white.

  He went back into the barn to get the second can of paint when he heard the sound of an engine approaching. A car engine.

  He shaded his eyes to see who was coming down his drive. The car was unfamiliar, one of those little four-door sedans that seemed to be all over the place. Could have been anybody, but most likely someone had gotten turned around and needed directions.

  The car stopped just in front of the house. The driver cut off the engine, then a woman got out.

  “April?” he breathed. It couldn’t be.

  The blonde smiled. “I found you.”

  Yes, you did. But how?

  “My, my, my, don’t you look cute dressed all Amish-y.”

  He looked down at himself, realizing that April had never seen him in anything but the English clothes he’d left at a donation site when he decided to come back home, when he decided there were no answers in the English world.

  “Uh, thanks.” He shook his head. “What are you doing here, April?”

  “I came to find you.”

  And she couldn’t have picked a worse time. He was happy to see a friendly face, a woman who didn’t complain about every little detail like separating the big forks from the little ones and how the dish towel should be hung to dry. But he didn’t need to see her now. It was too late for them and anything they could have had together. He was married to Sarah now, and Amish marriage was forever.

  She sauntered closer and he caught a whiff of her expensive perfume. At least he thought it was costly. Everything about her screamed money and privilege. He wasn’t sure what she’d ever seen in him. Not that they had been that serious. They’d just spent some time together during his sojourn to the English world.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Luke told me.” She leaned in close and pressed her lips to his cheek. Then she drew back and smiled. “I’ve missed you, Jonah.”

  His heart skipped a beat in his chest. He took a step back. “Did he also tell you that I’m married?”

  She gave a little shrug. “I just came as a friend.”

  How did she know that was the one thing he needed right then?

  “Jah, okay.”

  Her grin widened. “Jah,” she mimicked. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

  Well, he wouldn’t go that far, but it was nice having a friendly face smiling at him.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  He stopped. Should he? It wasn’t like there was anything between him and April. Not anymore, anyway. Why couldn’t he invite a friend in for a cup of coffee and a slice of the pumpkin bread his mother had brought over the day before? “Sure. Come on in.”

  He led the way to the porch and held open the door for her to enter. He knew his house paled by comparison to the ones belonging to his English friends, but he had kept it neat and clean. He’d even cleaned up the casserole from a couple of days before when he and Sarah had gotten into such a terrible argument. He’d been careful not to let her rile him to that point in the days since, but she still managed to get to him every time she ventured out of her room to criticize whatever he happened to be doing at the time.

  “Nice,” April said as she removed her coat. She looked around the small living room and he tried to see it through her eyes. It was coming along. Once he got the barn finished he
was going to start trimming the inside and getting all the rooms painted. The nursery was supposed to be the first project on the list, but now . . .

  “Let me take your coat.” His voice sounded rusty with emotions he didn’t want to name.

  He hung her coat in the front closet and gestured toward the kitchen table. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “That would be great.” She flashed him that winning smile once again. She really was a pretty girl. Long, blond hair like spun gold, soft brown eyes that didn’t accuse and blame.

  She settled down at the table while he went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

  “Where’s your wife?”

  “Resting.” It wasn’t much of an answer, but he didn’t feel the need to go into all the details, because one explanation would lead to another and another until the whole sordid story was out on the table.

  He sliced them each a piece of pumpkin bread and carried them to the table as the water boiled.

  April chatted about the people he had met in the English world and what they had been doing since he had come back to Wells Landing.

  He poured two cups of coffee and carried them to the table. Then he slid into the chair opposite her.

  “Very domesticated,” April drawled, taking the first sip of coffee.

  Jonah wasn’t sure how to respond, so he kept quiet and took a drink from his own cup.

  “Are you happy, Jonah?”

  The question seemed to come out of the blue and he nearly choked. Was he happy? No. Had he been? Almost. Now each day was a struggle. But what choice did he have? The Amish married forever. Good or bad, right or wrong, he was married to Sarah.

  “Jonah? Who’s here?”

  Great. Now Sarah was up. There would be a hundred questions about April and, he was sure, a few accusations. That just seemed to be Sarah’s demeanor these days.

  “A friend.”

  “Is that your wife? I’d love to meet her.” April’s words sounded sincere enough, and he had no choice but to believe her and no other options but to introduce them as Sarah came down the hallway.

  Sarah drew up short when she saw April sitting at the table. “Oh. Hello.”