Zane appreciated the meeting more than he thought he would. The vets had all served in Afghanistan and Iraq. Some had pretty severe injuries—from lost limbs to obvious brain trauma. What impacted Zane most was that their physical injuries weren’t their biggest hurts. What happened to others—or what they inflicted on others—was what haunted them. One man talked about horrible nightmares after an accidental attack on civilians. Another talked about a car filled with children that exploded at a checkpoint he manned. A third talked about a shootout that left a little boy dead.
He couldn’t help but question his involvement in war, once again, after listening to their stories.
On the way home, after he turned onto Juneberry Lane, he slowed even more than usual when he reached the Lehmans’ drive. He peered down it, as always. Dresses hung on the line, blowing in the breeze. Burgundy, green, and blue. And black aprons. But no one was in sight. His heart ached at the thought of not even catching a glimpse of Lila while he was home.
Home.
That was what he longed for—and it wasn’t the house his parents lived in. He wanted a wife to love. A family to care for. A safe place of his own.
It was milking time. Lila was probably helping her Dat.
After he parked his truck, he sat in it for a long while and then headed toward the field, stopping when he reached the halfway point. He stared at the gate. The first time he saw Lila he’d been standing at that gate.
He thought of the gate a lot. Of him on one side and her on the other. He imagined her there again. He continued on but stopped when he heard a voice.
“Go set the table.” It was Lila.
Zane stepped toward the edge of the poplars, hiding in the shadows, as Trudy skipped from the barn. He stayed put, afraid Lila might follow. Just as he’d decided to turn around and go back home, he saw her walking toward the house. And then she stopped and looked toward the weathered boards of the fence, her gaze soft. Her expression had a sweetness to it that he remembered from when they were young.
For a moment he thought she’d seen him, but then she kept on going. He waited a moment to make sure Tim wouldn’t follow and then headed back home, feeling like a coward. He couldn’t help but note the irony of him in his uniform. Yes, he was a soldier, but he was more afraid of a certain girl than anything else in the world.
That night, as he thought about the veterans he’d met, Zane did some research on pacifism. He felt good about his work in Afghanistan, but there was still the possibility that he could get into a firefight. How would he handle that?
Sitting at his parents’ computer, he came across information about a group of American deserters from the Vietnam War to the present who resided in Canada. The older ones were doing their best to support the younger ones. It turned out the Canadian people were mostly welcoming to the deserters, but the government wasn’t that hospitable.
Most of the ex-soldiers claimed to be apolitical. One said he
was disgusted by the prevalent racism of the soldiers he served with in Iraq and couldn’t bear to be a part of it anymore. The majority of the people Zane served with weren’t racist, but the ones who were definitely impacted morale. Other deserters wrote that their personal philosophy about war had changed after they’d actually experienced it. “I couldn’t stomach the thought of killing any more people,” one deserter wrote. “I had no idea the emotional toll it would take on me. I’ve killed sons, fathers, brothers, husbands. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
Zane closed down the site and pushed back the chair. He wasn’t thinking of deserting. He felt good about the work he was doing. But what if he’d ended up in the infantry instead of civil affairs? What if he’d had to kill someone? Or even lots of people.
He’d been denying the possibilities of what could happen to him, but what could he do about it? There was no use dwelling on it.
His father was right. He had been indecisive before, but now he had a plan. He’d finish out his time in the Army and then go to college on the GI Bill. His time working in the civil affairs unit made him want to study social work. Maybe he could work with Afghan immigrants in the U.S. Or maybe veterans like his dad. There were lots of possibilities.
Going to college, getting a degree, and then finding a job were what he needed to do to get that
home
he so desperately wanted someday, God willing.
On his last day of furlough, Zane went with Mom to the store to pick up shaving cream, blades, toothpaste, and soap. All things that the PX on base in Afghanistan sometimes didn’t have. After they were done, Shani said she needed to stop by the quilt shop.
Zane groaned.
“You could come in and tell the women thank you for the work they did on your quilt.”
“I could,” he responded. But he wouldn’t. Mom parked on the side of the building, and Zane could see Lila’s buggy parked in front of the little shed. Her horse was probably inside, sheltered from the sun. The weather had turned hot, nearly ninety degrees.
Mom put the van in Park and opened her door. “Aren’t you coming?”
Zane shook his head. The less he said the better.
“But you said you would.”
He shook his head. “I said I could.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mom said.
Zane stared straight ahead. “Would you let it go?” She’d done a better job not meddling in his life the last two weeks—the best ever in fact. Until now.
Mom made a funny squeak and then climbed down and shut the door. He watched her hurry into the shop. He could tell she was upset by the way her shoulders slumped, just a little. He didn’t mean to disappoint her, but if Lila had wanted to see him she would have e-mailed him back or, better yet, walked down the lane to say hello.
A minute after Mom disappeared inside the door it swung open again. A girl in a Kapp appeared. Zane looked away quickly, not wanting Lila to catch him staring.
A moment later, she was gone—he assumed back into the shop.
Mom had taken the key, probably on purpose, so he couldn’t run the air. He opened the door to cool off, but even so, within a few minutes sweat trickled down the side of his face. He felt bad about not thanking Lila’s grandmother and Eve. And Trudy’s teacher. They’d all put a lot of work into his quilt—and here he was, hiding in a hot van because he was too afraid to
say hello to the person who had been his best friend from the time he was thirteen until his senior year of high school. He’d gone into unknown villages in Afghanistan with Jaalal, having no idea who they’d meet. It wasn’t that he wasn’t unafraid in Afghanistan, but he’d never hesitated. He did what he was supposed to.
Three Englisch women stopped in front of the quilt store and then went in. They looked as if they might spend some time shopping. He could slip into the shop and then into the back room without having to say more than a hello to Lila.
He pushed the van door all the way open and stepped down, slamming it behind him. When he reached the door of the shop, it swung open and two of the women stepped out. The third was saying, “Thank you for the directions!”
Zane moved aside, and the third woman exited, holding the door for him. He thanked her and stayed put for a moment until he realized the door chime hadn’t stopped singing.
“Zane?” Lila stepped toward him.
“Hello,” he said.
“Can I help you with something?”
His face grew even warmer. “I wanted to tell the quilters thank you.”
“Oh,” Lila said. Her face was full of color, and she seemed more confident than the last time he’d seen her. “It’s that way.” She pointed to the back of the shop.
“Denki.” His heart began to pound, and he started through the shop. But then stopped. He would stop being cowardly. He turned back toward her. “Did you get my e-mail?”
For a moment her eyes glazed over, and he thought she was going to give him that flat affect that she managed so well when she didn’t want to discuss something. But then a flash of life flew through her eyes and she said, “I did. It was good to hear from you.”
That caught him off guard. Finally he managed to say, “But you didn’t answer.”
“I didn’t have time the day I read it, and I haven’t been back to the library since.”
He cocked his head. It was a feeble excuse.
And she knew it. He locked his eyes on hers. She remained silent. He turned to go.
“I was afraid to,” she said.
Without turning around he asked, “Why?”
“It’s probably best that I don’t answer that,” she responded.
He shouldn’t have bothered asking her. He kept on walking toward the voices in the next room. When he entered Mom stopped whatever she was saying and said, “I’m so glad you came in!” She introduced him to Beth, and he shook her hand. Then he hugged Leona and Eve.
“Thank you for the quilt,” he said to all the women. “It means a lot to me.”
“It was our pleasure,” Beth answered.
Zane felt as if he might choke up. All of the women, besides his mother, believed in nonresistance. But they’d made a quilt for a soldier.
Beth smiled at him. “Tell us what it’s like over there,” she said.
Zane told them about the geography—the high mountains, the deep valleys, and the storms that rolled in without warning. He told them about the lizards the size of small dogs and the camel spiders.
All of the women listened attentively, including his mom.
“What about the people?” It was Lila’s voice, coming from the doorway.
Without turning, Zane told the women about Jaalal, Aliah, and Benham, and the work to get a new well dug in one village. He told them about a two-year-old girl who’d fallen into a fire and how badly she’d been burned, and the drive to get safe
cookstoves for all of the families they came in contact with. He told them about the work his unit was doing to get schoolbooks for girls in another village and the hygiene skills Casey and her team were teaching. He told them about the different tribes and the villages and the threat of the Taliban. “Usually a village forms an allegiance with whoever will protect them the most. Often it’s about survival, not principles.”
“Of course,” Leona murmured. “They want safety for their children, just as we do.”
Zane nodded. “That’s what I’ve thought about over and over. We all want the same thing. A safe place to live. Viable work. Hope for the future.”
“What about religion?”
“We don’t talk about that much,” Zane said. “Although Jaalal did ask about my faith, and I told him I was a Christian. He’s positive about our faith—he said he knows Christians have donated money and other supplies to help the Afghan people and others around the world too.”
Beth said, “Could we make some quilts for the children?”
“And receiving blankets,” Leona added.
“That would be great,” Zane answered.
“In fact,” Leona said, standing, “I have a couple of baby quilts and blankets I could send with you. Do you have room?”
“I can make room,” Zane said.
“I’ll get them,” Lila said, hurrying to the cupboard under the windows and retrieving a stack of blankets and then two quilts.
“Who were those for?” Zane asked.
“They’re just samples we keep around,” Leona said. “We’ll make more.”
“I’ll go wrap them,” Lila said, heading back into the shop.
The other three women started talking about what leftover material they had and what patterns they could use. Zane turned
and headed back into the shop after Lila. She stood at the counter with a sheet of brown wrapping paper.
“This is really cool,” he said. “I know the mothers who receive these will be thrilled.”
Lila nodded but didn’t lift her head. He couldn’t see her eyes, but her cheeks were red. Perhaps it was the heat.
He stopped in front of the counter. He’d regained his courage. He had to try, one more time.
But before he could speak she raised her head. “I’m sorry I told you to go away, the farther the better, that day.” Her voice caught.
He winced. “I went as far away as possible.”
She met his eyes. “I didn’t mean Afghanistan.”
Zane swallowed hard, nodding in response. He knew she didn’t. “Would you respond to a letter?”
“Not if you sent it to the house.”
“What if I sent it here?” He took a business card from the holder on the counter as he spoke and held it up.
She lifted her head and met his eyes. “Probably. But only until I get married.”
He nodded, reading between the lines again. She would marry soon. It didn’t matter. If only she’d answer his letters for a couple of months even. He’d take whatever he could get. He exhaled. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll send the letters here.”
Without responding, Lila flipped the brown package over and taped the bottom and then the sides. Then she handed it to Zane. “I’ll be praying for the babies who receive these.”
He nodded as he tucked the package under his arm.
“And for you.”
He held out his hand to her, and she took it. As they shook, he said, “Friends?”
She nodded and then quickly pulled her hand away.
He felt a lump rising in his throat and couldn’t speak. A
moment later Mom entered from the back room. “Shall we get going?”
After he followed his mother to the door, he turned and waved to Lila. She waved back and smiled, not like he remembered from when they were children, but at least it was kind. And it appeared to be genuine. That was a start.
16
T
he next day, Gideon baptized Lila, Daniel, and Jenny during the Sunday morning church service in his and Monika’s shed. As Gideon poured the water over Lila’s head and it cascaded over her face and sent a shiver down her spine, she was overcome with a sense of peace and a sense of God’s presence. Joining the church was the right thing for her. She could sense how pleased Dat was, and she knew her mother would have been as well.
It was the only thing she was certain about, actually. Well, that and that she hadn’t been fair to Reuben when she told Zane he could write.
On Monday she left after breakfast to work in the quilt shop. After parking her buggy, unhitching her horse, and feeding and watering her in the shed, she unlocked the shop, raised the blinds, and tucked her lunch and thermos away in the back room in the cupboard.