Читать книгу Their Amish Reunion - Lenora Worth - Страница 15

Chapter Three

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Jeremiah said, his hand over Mrs. Campton’s, while they sat in the stately den of the big house he remembered so well.

Judy Campton smiled over at him and shook her head, her misty green eyes centered on Jeremiah. “No, son, we are the thankful ones. You made a great sacrifice, doing what you did after our Edward died. He would be so proud of you.”

Jeremiah didn’t feel proud. He’d done his duty and he’d followed orders, but he didn’t know how he could ever wipe the stench of death and destruction off of his body.

“I did what I had to do at the time. I thought I’d make a difference, but so many died. So many. In spite of being wounded I managed to be whole and survive. I got to come home.”

Judy nodded and patted his hand before she sat back in her comfortable chair and took a sip of tea, her faithful housekeeper and assistant, Bettye, hovering nearby. Looking into Jeremiah’s eyes before skimming her gaze over his blue cotton shirt and broadcloth pants held up by black suspenders, she said, “But you’re not really home quite yet, are you?”

“No, ma’am,” Jeremiah said, his coffee growing cold on the Queen Anne table centered between the two chairs. “I wanted to thank you and the Admiral for allowing me to stay in the guesthouse for this past couple of weeks. I needed to get my bearings and being here helped.”

“I wish the Admiral felt like sitting here with us this morning,” she replied. “He so loves talking to you. Makes him feel close to our Edward.”

Admiral Campton had taken a turn for the worse over the last year. He had a private nurse and was resting in his bed now, but some days he managed to get up and sit out in the garden he’d always loved. It was a garden Jeremiah had helped landscape and plant all those years ago, he and Edward working side by side with the hired yardman.

“I’ll go up and see him before I leave,” he finally said. “I won’t be that far away. You can get in touch with me if you need anything.”

Mrs. Campton nodded, her pearl earrings shimmering along with her short white hair. “I know you’d come immediately, Jeremiah. But your family is depending on you. I think God’s timing is always perfect, so you go on and get settled. But I expect you to visit whenever you’re in town. Please.”

Jeremiah saw the anguish on her face and heard it in that plea. They’d lost their only son and now they had no grandchildren to carry on the Campton name. When he’d called and asked to come by for a short visit, they had immediately taken him in and sheltered him, because they understood what he’d been through. He loved them like he loved his own family but he couldn’t be a substitute for their son. And they couldn’t fill the void inside his heart, kind as they were to him.

“I will always come and see you,” he said, getting up to stand in front of the empty fireplace. Staring up at the portrait of Edward in his dress uniform hanging over the mantel, he said, “I only knew him for a year or so but he changed my life forever.”

“Do you regret knowing him?” Judy asked, her tone without judgment.

“No,” Jeremiah said, turning to smile at her. “He was one of the best friends I’ve ever had, and he did not pressure me in any way to join up. I regret that I didn’t understand exactly what I’d be getting into. I don’t mind having been a SEAL. But the torment of war will never leave me.”

“You have PTSD, don’t you? Post-traumatic stress disorder is a hard thing to shake and I suspect you, of all people, know that.”

Judy Campton was a wise and shrewd woman who’d been a military spouse for close to forty years. She and Ed, as the Admiral liked to be called, married late in life and had Edward a few years later. Like his father, Edward had lived and breathed the military. And he’d given his life for that loyalty.

“Jeremiah?”

He looked around the big rambling room with the grand piano, the exquisite antique furnishings and the rare artifacts from all over the world. This place brought him both peace and despair. “I have nightmares, yes. Bad memories. Moments where I have flashbacks of the heat of battle. But I’m hoping that will improve now that I’m home.”

“Or it could get worse,” Judy replied. “I can give you the names of some good counselors.”

Surprised, he shook his head. “I don’t need that right now.”

“I see.” Mrs. Campton didn’t look convinced. “There is no shame in getting help. I used to volunteer at the veteran’s hospital about thirty miles from here. I’ve seen a lot of men and women improve by just talking about things.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jeremiah said, “once I’m back where I belong.”

“As you wish,” Mrs. Campton replied. “But call me if you ever need me. I’ll be right here.”

With that, he made his way to her. When she tried to stand, he said, “Don’t get up. I only wanted to tell you denke. I owe both of you so much.”

She gripped his arm and pushed with a feeble determination, so he helped her up. “And as I said, we owe you. Having you home brings a little bit of Edward back to us. Now, you go to be with those waiting to see you again.”

“I’ll tell the Admiral goodbye before I leave.”

He helped her back into her chair and alerted the nearby housekeeper that he was going upstairs. Then he turned and headed toward the curving staircase.

“Jeremiah,” Judy Campton called, her gaze lifting to him. “Don’t tell him goodbye. Tell him you’ll be nearby.”

Jeremiah nodded and took the stairs in a rush.

Once he left here, he’d head straight back to his parents’ house and he’d be living there from now until...

Until he could make amends, prove himself worthy and...maybe one day ask Ava Jane to marry him.

His sister, Beth, and his mother, Moselle, had welcomed him with open arms the other day since the bishop had told them of Jeremiah’s wish to come home and help out. The bishop had talked this over with the ministers, too. They were all in agreement that as long as he followed the rules of the Ordnung and worked toward being baptized, he would be accepted back.

“Du bliebst Deitsch,” the bishop had warned him. You must keep the ways of your people.

Mamm, perhaps too tired to turn down the help of her only son, had rushed into his arms the minute he’d walked into the familiar house two days ago. Then she’d stood back and said, “Go and see your daed.”

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Jeremiah replied, every pore of his body working up a cold sweat, his too-tight shirt straining at his shoulders.

His mother put her hands in Jeremiah’s. “He needs to know his son made it home.”

When he hesitated still, she added, “Do this for me.”

Jeremiah couldn’t deny his mamm. So he nodded and made his way into the hallway that lead 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 at his blunt words, she ignored the rush of embarrassment surging through her and accepted that he held bitterness in his heart, too. Gut. She hoped he had a lot of guilt and bitterness left to deal with.

Regretting her harsh wishes, she nodded and swallowed her pride. “Your mamm needs you now. But you don’t need to prove anything to me, Jeremiah. Nothing at all.”

Praying they could leave now, she turned to face her mother. But before Ava Jane could form a good excuse, her mother announced, “We’ve been invited to stay for dinner. I’ve accepted only because after we eat, we are going to give Moselle and Beth a rest while we clean the house and wash up the laundry.”

Her mother’s tone brooked no argument. Ava Jane took a long breath and reminded herself that she had come here for Beth and Mrs. Weaver. Not for him. She could share a meal with these two friends. She’d be just fine because she would not let Jeremiah’s presence affect her. At all.

But before she could hurry into the kitchen, Jeremiah moved closer. “I have everything to prove to you. But mostly, I have everything that is left in me to give to God.”

With that, he spoke briefly to his mother, then nodded to the other women and turned to walk out the back door.

Ava Jane’s face burned with shame.

She’d never once stopped to wonder about what he’d been through out there. And she had to consider—did he truly have anything left to give to God? Or her?