Their Amish Reunion. Lenora Worth
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to what used to be a sewing room in the back. His father lay there in a hospital bed, his body gaunt and pale, his once-thick dark hair now thin and streaked with gray. A shroud of sickness hovered over him, but with his eyes closed, he looked at peace and as if he was only napping.
Jeremiah blinked away the hot tears piercing like swords in his eyes. Had he caused this in his daed? Standing at the foot of the bed, he remained silent and asked God to give him the strength he needed.
I need forgiveness, Lord. I need my earthly father to know that I made it back to him. And You.
Now this morning, as he stood in the same spot and again prayed about how to approach his father, he could at least know that he’d never turned away from God. God had been there with him in the raging seas when he’d swum through treacherous waters and on the smoke-covered battlefields when he’d crawled with the snakes. God had been there when he’d held a buddy in his arms and watched the life leaving his eyes. God had been there when Jeremiah had woken up in a hospital and cried out for home. And for his God.
He had scars on his body and scars in his soul.
But how did he heal this rift that had separated him from this man? The man who’d loved him and taught him all the ways of being a real man. The man who’d cried out in anger that Jeremiah was never to enter this house again.
Talk to him.
Both the bishop and his mother had said the same thing.
So Jeremiah took a deep breath and used his military training to focus. And then he sat down in the hickory rocking chair beside the bed and let out a long shuddering sigh of both relief and regret.
“I’m home, Daed. I’m home for gut.”
Isaac Weaver didn’t respond. He kept right on sleeping in that deceptively peaceful way. But Jeremiah talked to him anyway, in gentle, hushed tones that held both respect and sadness.
He began to tell his story of taking a bus across the country and finding a job in Coronado, California, where the US Naval Special Warfare Command was located. He’d lived in a hut of an apartment with two other roommates who were planning to join up, and he had worked at restaurants and on farms while studying to get his GED. He’d saved up some money and passed the test, thanks to the books Edward had encouraged him to read and to his well-educated and worldly roommates who to this day still called him Amish. He’d then joined the Navy and immediately asked to enter the SEAL Challenge Program. He’d entered the Delayed Entry Program as an enlistee, so he could be sure he knew what he was doing and get some extra training and instructions before the real stuff began.
The instructors and counselors had warned him that training and duty would wipe out everything about him and change him. And still, he had insisted he was ready.
“No one can ever be ready for such a thing,” he whispered in anguish. “But I couldn’t fail. I would have had to go back to fleet—regular Navy for two years—that is.” He stopped, shuddered a breath. “I didn’t fail. In spite of everything, I made it through.”
His father never moved, seemed to barely be breathing.
Jeremiah sat quiet for a while, his prayers centered on his father and this farm. He made a list in his head of all he needed to do. And he was just about to go on to explain boot camp and how the grueling training he’d undergone in a facility in Illinois, known as The Quarterdeck, had just about done him in. So close to his home and yet he couldn’t reach out or visit.
He never got that far, however.
Because he heard feminine laughter in the front of the house...and smelled lavender and fresh soap.
Standing, he peeked up the narrow hallway to the front of the house and saw three women hugging his mother and sister.
And one of those women was Ava Jane Graber.
* * *
Ava Jane glanced up and into the other room.
Jeremiah stood staring at her, his expression full of surprise and hope. He looked so different today. He was wearing the standard uniform of an Amish man: work shirt, broadcloth pants and dark work boots. He pushed the straw hat back, as if he’d become irritated with wearing it again.
Ava Jane couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. This had been a very bad idea. She should have stayed at home, where she belonged.
Jeremiah started toward her and then halted, his boots creaking against the hardwood floors.
Her mother and sister stopped talking and stared at her, and then they both glanced to the end of the hallway.
Deborah’s curious stare held shock. “So, Jeremiah is back.”
Beth nodded, her glance dancing over Ava Jane before settling on the others. “Ja, indeed he is. Home to help out.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Mamm said, patting Mrs. Weaver’s hand. “And to see that he’s visiting with his daed.” She sent Ava Jane an apologetic smile tempered with a motherly warning.
“Isaac rarely responds to anyone these days,” Moselle Weaver said. “We hoped Jeremiah might bring him back.”
Ah, that explained why Jeremiah was in his daed’s room. But Ava Jane wondered what would happen if Isaac Weaver should wake and find his wayward son sitting there.
Dear Lord, help me to be kind. Help me to find grace.
Jeremiah was now coming toward her, determination gathering like a thunderstorm in his eyes. He made it a few feet into the room and stood firm, his expression almost serene. “Hello, Mrs. Troyer. Deborah.” His eyes moved from them to her. “Ava Jane.”
Mamm hurriedly greeted him and turned back to Beth and Mrs. Weaver.
But both Beth and Deborah stood mystified by this encounter, knowing expressions passing between them like kinder playing volleyball.
“We only came to drop off this food and offer our help,” Mamm said, holding up the baking dish full of chicken potpie. “I believe Ava Jane has a chocolate pie for you, too.”
Ava Jane’s hands were shaking so much she thought she’d drop the pie.
But before that could happen, two strong hands took the dish right out of her grip. “My favorite,” Jeremiah said, his smile soft, his tone quiet. “Denke.”
The rest of the women started scurrying here and there like squirrels after acorns. Nervous chatter filled the big room and echoed off the crossbeams, but Ava Jane couldn’t hear what the women were talking about. She only heard the roar of her pulse pumping against her temples.
So she stood there like a ninny, wondering what to say or do. Ava Jane needed the floor to open up and swallow her. Needed the wind to lift her up and out into the wide-open spring sky. Neither of those things happened.
“How are you?” Jeremiah asked, true concern in his eyes.
“Fine, thank you,” she managed to say. “And how are you?”
A loaded question. What are you doing here? How did this happen? Explain everything to me and help me to understand.
His smile reminded her of the old Jeremiah. Her Jeremiah.
“I’m gut. Better than when I first arrived.”
“So...you’re going to stay here with your family now?”
“Ja. I was staying with the Camptons in their guesthouse.”
The Camptons.
Like a cold splash of water, sharp-edged anger hit her in the face. “That makes perfect sense,” she said, regaining her equilibrium and her strength. “Why didn’t you continue to stay with them?”
Jeremiah’s expression shifted and went dark. “Because they are not my family. I belong here. And I’m going to prove that to everyone, Ava Jane. Especially to you.”
Shocked