squared his shoulders. “I must get some things from my room.”
“Of course.” Tillie stepped aside. Ethan bolted out of the kitchen.
Left alone with Ethan’s mother, Leah almost fell apart. “I’ll watch after him,” she whispered hoarsely. “I promise.”
“I know you will, Leah, for I know you love him too.”
Leah nodded mutely, stunned by this serene woman’s ability to calmly embrace whatever adversity life gave her.
So unlike my mother,
Leah thought.
In minutes Ethan was back, a homespun sack over his shoulder. “Tell Simeon and Charity and Elizabeth I am sorry I did not get to see them. Tell them I will write to them.”
“I will tell them.”
He took Leah’s elbow and started toward the back door.
“Son,” Tillie called. They turned and she held up the lamp. “Each night you are gone, I will set this in the window of yourroom. It will burn for you, a light to show you the way back home if you want to come.”
Ethan nodded and led Leah into the night.
In the car, Leah laid her head against the headrest and allowed the bottled-up tears to flow unchecked.
T EN
E arly the next morning, Leah told Kathy’s family she was leaving for home. She had the perfect excuse. Bad weather had been forecast, and she thought it best to beat it home before New Year’s Eve. She thanked them for allowing her to stay and gave them the small gifts she’d bought for them. She hugged Kathy goodbye, then drove straight to Jonah’s, where Ethan was waiting for her.
“Is that all you’re going to take?” Leah asked incredulously.
All Ethan held was a small duffel bag, a battered suitcase, and the sack he’d carried from home the night before.
“It is all I own,” Ethan told her. “Too many possessions make a person prideful. And material things are not what is important in life.”
“Wait till you meet my mother,” Leah said, half under her breath. Leah’s mother was a collector of beautiful things—clothes, furniture, jewelry.
Ethan tossed his belongings into the car and got in. He looked tired. Leah felt sorry for him. Ethan was leaving behind him all he had ever known. It was a huge step. But she was excited, too. Ethan was coming home with her. They could be together whenever they wanted.
Ethan did not sleep during the trip but stared broodingly out the window as the miles slipped away. Icy cold rain fell in globs, smacking the windshield with squishy sounds, slowing them down and making the trip twice as long as usual.
By the time Leah turned into the long driveway leading to her house, it was dark and the sleet had turned into heavy, wet snow. She pulled into the garage and exhaled with relief. “Let me turn off the security alarm.” She quickly punched in thecode and led Ethan inside the house. “Wow, it’s cold in here.”
Ethan followed her tentatively. She flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. “Oh no! The electricity’s out.”
“Really,” Ethan said. “How will we manage?”
The silliness of the problem made Leah giggle. The Amish didn’t use electricity. “Okay, I get your point. But with no electricity, there’s no heat.” Without power, Leah felt marooned. Outside, the winds had picked up. Driving snow pelted the house. “This blizzard could last a while,” she said.
“Would that be so terrible?”
“I guess not.” Her mother and Neil wouldn’t be home until late on New Year’s Day—or later, if the roads became impassable. Still, they wouldn’t be worried about her because they thought she was at Kathy’s. Two days alone with Ethan. Leah was certain she could handle it.
“Do you have a fireplace?” he asked.
“In the living room.”
“Firewood?”
“In the garage.”
“I will build you a fire, Leah.”
She found a flashlight, several candles and a stash of matches. Ethan laid a fire in the stone hearth and lit it. Soon the flames danced and warmth seeped into the large room. Leah collected blankets, afghans and pillows and made a
“Of course.” Tillie stepped aside. Ethan bolted out of the kitchen.
Left alone with Ethan’s mother, Leah almost fell apart. “I’ll watch after him,” she whispered hoarsely. “I promise.”
“I know you will, Leah, for I know you love him too.”
Leah nodded mutely, stunned by this serene woman’s ability to calmly embrace whatever adversity life gave her.
So unlike my mother,
Leah thought.
In minutes Ethan was back, a homespun sack over his shoulder. “Tell Simeon and Charity and Elizabeth I am sorry I did not get to see them. Tell them I will write to them.”
“I will tell them.”
He took Leah’s elbow and started toward the back door.
“Son,” Tillie called. They turned and she held up the lamp. “Each night you are gone, I will set this in the window of yourroom. It will burn for you, a light to show you the way back home if you want to come.”
Ethan nodded and led Leah into the night.
In the car, Leah laid her head against the headrest and allowed the bottled-up tears to flow unchecked.
T EN
E arly the next morning, Leah told Kathy’s family she was leaving for home. She had the perfect excuse. Bad weather had been forecast, and she thought it best to beat it home before New Year’s Eve. She thanked them for allowing her to stay and gave them the small gifts she’d bought for them. She hugged Kathy goodbye, then drove straight to Jonah’s, where Ethan was waiting for her.
“Is that all you’re going to take?” Leah asked incredulously.
All Ethan held was a small duffel bag, a battered suitcase, and the sack he’d carried from home the night before.
“It is all I own,” Ethan told her. “Too many possessions make a person prideful. And material things are not what is important in life.”
“Wait till you meet my mother,” Leah said, half under her breath. Leah’s mother was a collector of beautiful things—clothes, furniture, jewelry.
Ethan tossed his belongings into the car and got in. He looked tired. Leah felt sorry for him. Ethan was leaving behind him all he had ever known. It was a huge step. But she was excited, too. Ethan was coming home with her. They could be together whenever they wanted.
Ethan did not sleep during the trip but stared broodingly out the window as the miles slipped away. Icy cold rain fell in globs, smacking the windshield with squishy sounds, slowing them down and making the trip twice as long as usual.
By the time Leah turned into the long driveway leading to her house, it was dark and the sleet had turned into heavy, wet snow. She pulled into the garage and exhaled with relief. “Let me turn off the security alarm.” She quickly punched in thecode and led Ethan inside the house. “Wow, it’s cold in here.”
Ethan followed her tentatively. She flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. “Oh no! The electricity’s out.”
“Really,” Ethan said. “How will we manage?”
The silliness of the problem made Leah giggle. The Amish didn’t use electricity. “Okay, I get your point. But with no electricity, there’s no heat.” Without power, Leah felt marooned. Outside, the winds had picked up. Driving snow pelted the house. “This blizzard could last a while,” she said.
“Would that be so terrible?”
“I guess not.” Her mother and Neil wouldn’t be home until late on New Year’s Day—or later, if the roads became impassable. Still, they wouldn’t be worried about her because they thought she was at Kathy’s. Two days alone with Ethan. Leah was certain she could handle it.
“Do you have a fireplace?” he asked.
“In the living room.”
“Firewood?”
“In the garage.”
“I will build you a fire, Leah.”
She found a flashlight, several candles and a stash of matches. Ethan laid a fire in the stone hearth and lit it. Soon the flames danced and warmth seeped into the large room. Leah collected blankets, afghans and pillows and made a
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