River of Mercy (37 page)

He was genuinely happy for his mother. These days she seemed always cheerful and content. That Doc adored her was never in doubt. Of course, Gideon had seen the way he'd looked at Mamm long before they became man and wife, as though she were far more like a blessing on his life than a good and faithful friend. They suited each other well.

“So what's on your mind, son? You said you wanted to talk.”

Gideon nodded and decided to jump right in. “I wouldn't want you to think I've mentioned this to anyone else, Doc. I wouldn't do that. But there are some things that have me plenty bothered, and I need to talk about them to someone I trust.”

Doc remained quiet but inclined his head as if to encourage Gideon to have his say.

“Just so you know, Doc, all this is connected in one way or the other to Samuel Beiler. You'll see what I mean.”

Now Doc leaned forward a little, his previously mild expression turning more solemn. “All right. Go on.”

Gideon made no attempt to soften the remarks he'd heard from Solomon Miller and Reuben Esch the night they'd visited him, nor was he able to completely conceal the feelings of disgust and anger their comments had stirred up in him. And when he related the rumor supposedly circulating about Samuel Beiler and Rachel having an “understanding,” he saw those same feelings mirrored in Doc's expression.

“So he's actually insinuating they're to be married?” Doc's tone was sharp.

“That's what the fellows told me.”

Doc stood, and with his hands knotted into fists behind his back, he began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. He stopped only when Gideon spoke again.

“That's not all, Doc. Something else happened today that's got me upset too.”

He went on to explain then about his encounter with the three Beiler boys. “True, there's no way to know just how Joe got those bruises and marks on his face. But what with the stories I've heard over the years about Samuel's treatment of his sons, I don't mind telling you I got a strange feeling when I saw Joe.”

Doc turned to face the fire but only for a moment. When he again turned back to Gideon, his expression was taut with emotion. “You're right—there's no knowing how the Beiler boy got those marks. He could have been injured in a fall or another accident. I know you won't repeat any of this, Gideon, including your suspicions. It wouldn't be fair to Samuel, nor to his sons either. We'll keep our concerns between ourselves. But I'm glad you told me.”

Gideon also got to his feet. “What do you think about all this, Doc?”

“If you don't mind, son, I'd rather mull it over for a time before saying something I might regret later. Anything I'd say wouldn't be based on fact, after all.”

Disappointed, Gideon gave a long sigh. He'd counted on getting Doc's opinion. “Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned any of this—”

“No,” Doc interrupted. “I'm glad you did. Let's just say you're not alone in your concerns. That's all I dare say for now, but you did nothing wrong in coming to me. Nothing at all.” He paused before going on. “We'll be talking about this again. Perhaps soon I'll be able to explain more than I can now. All right?”

His even tone gave no indication of any hidden meaning. Even so, the way Doc was looking at him gave Gideon a strong hint of something being left unsaid, possibly something important.

Clearly, he would have to be patient. He wasn't surprised when Doc changed the subject. But his next words did surprise him.

“Perhaps I'm out of line asking you this, son, but I've wondered…do you ever think about coming home? Back to the People?” It was as if Doc somehow knew the direction his thoughts had taken on the way out from town.

Gideon fumbled for a reply. “I…suppose I do. Sometimes.”

Doc remained silent, as if waiting for more.

“Why would you ask me that?”

Doc shrugged. “I'm curious, that's all. And your mother…well, you know. She never stops hoping. But I imagine you know that.”

Gideon gave a nod. “I'm sure.”

He hesitated before saying anything more, and in the meantime Doc brought up another remark Gideon wouldn't have expected. “I want to be certain you understand that there's always a place for you here. Just because your mother remarried doesn't mean the farm isn't yours for the future. This place is your inheritance by rights, and I wouldn't want you to think I'm unaware of that. We'd welcome you back with open arms. I hope you know that.”

Gideon stared at him. “Doc…I don't want the farm. Farming just isn't for me. I want to earn my living doing exactly what I'm doing now—working as a carpenter. Maybe even having my own business someday.”

Doc was obviously caught off guard. “Well…I hadn't realized. You're quite certain?”

Again Gideon nodded, even more vigorously. “I've known for a long time. In fact, my job is one of the reasons I might shy away from coming back. I don't want to give it up.”

Doc frowned. “Why do you think you'd have to give it up? You could still work in town and live Amish. I know Gant values your work. And I'll admit we could use your help around here, at least on a part-time basis, but I see no reason you couldn't manage both. Whether you want to farm or not, this place is going to be yours someday.”

“Samuel Beiler would never let me keep my job with Gant!” Gideon burst out. “And as bishop, he has the power to make me quit.”

Doc studied him. “Is that the only reason you haven't come back?” he asked quietly. “Your job?”

“No, not at all. But it's important to me. And so is Emma!” he blurted out, not thinking. “But I know I can't come back just because of her. That wouldn't be right.”

He stopped, feeling heat flame his face at the realization that he'd said more about his personal feelings than he should have. An Amish man had no right bringing up a relationship—or even the hope of a relationship—to anyone else, even a family member.

Even so, he added, “Besides, I don't know if she'd have me even if I did come back. Her
dat
probably wouldn't even let me in the front door. Levi doesn't like me, not a little bit.”

“Emma?” Doc gave a faint smile, as if Gideon's words weren't exactly news to him. But his expression quickly sobered. “Well, I can't tell you what to do, of course. But I will say this. If the time comes when you're sure you'd like to come back and live Amish, I don't think you should let the threat of losing your job stop you, nor would I worry all that much about Levi Knepp. Things have a way of working out.”

He drew in a long breath before going on. “The most important thing for you, son—for any of us—is to heed God's will, though His will may not always seem like a possibility. Sometimes it won't even seem to make sense. But as I said, things have a way of working out in the long run if we let the Lord put us where He wants us. You just follow where He leads and let Him take care of any obstacles.”

The strangest feeling settled over Gideon as he listened to Doc's advice. He knew in that instant he had to think through very carefully what he'd just heard because he sensed he'd been given something that might be really important. Something that might actually make a difference in his life.

“Are you going to tell me what you and Gideon talked about?”

Susan waited until Gideon had gone upstairs before asking the question Doc had been expecting. He had to smile a little. His wife was seldom predictable—except when it came to Gideon.

He moved a little closer to her on the sofa. “Nothing much really, at least nothing that should concern you. He was just looking for a bit of advice.”

“And he came to you? I'm glad, David. He's always respected you, you know.”

She really did look pleased by the idea. “And I've always liked your son, Susan. He's a good lad with a good head on his shoulders.”

As he would have expected, she obviously was still curious. “Advice about what?”

He smiled even more. “Really, dear,” he chided.

“Well, I can't help but wonder. You have to admit it's unusual. Gideon seldom seems to want advice from anyone.”

“As I said, it's nothing for you to fuss about. We had a good talk together, that's all. Man to man.”

Her mouth tightened, but David could tell she wasn't actually upset. She seldom became genuinely aggravated with him, but when she did, there was no mistaking the signs.

Inside his boyhood room, Gideon stood, looking around. For some reason, anytime he spent the night, he found comfort in its very plainness. There was nothing decorative or “fancy” about it, of course, although the bed quilt Mamm had made just for him warmed and brightened the surroundings.

She unfailingly kept things the same here. A couple of wooden toys he'd played with as a child, a few small mementos he'd made in school, and a slingshot were neatly lined up on his chest of drawers, just as they always were. No doubt there was plenty of oil in the lamp beside his bed, and knowing Mamm, the linen was most likely changed on a regular basis even though he didn't spend all that much time here.

The thought brought a smile…and a bittersweet tug at his heart.

Things had been so simple then. The boy who once slept here night after night, like most young Amish boys, had thought life would probably always be uneventful and uncomplicated. When he wasn't too tired to stay awake, he had daydreamed a little about the future, but he never imagined the challenges or trouble that waited there.

Admittedly, he had also thought about going away, seeing more of the world than this farm and the small, sleepy town of Riverhaven. He had even thought about following the mighty, mysterious Ohio River to unknown places and the adventure he would never find in the Plain community.

He sighed. Now he would give a lot to believe life could ever be that simple and problem free again. At the moment, he simply felt tired and troubled. He was tempted to flop into bed without changing clothes and find the peace that only sleep could bring. Old habits took over though, and he found himself unable to tumble into Mamm's clean bedding in his everyday work clothes. He kept a change of nightclothes here, so he took the time to change and then went to bed.

And stayed awake. Tired as he was, he couldn't sleep. He didn't feel the least bit drowsy. He heard every creak in the old farmhouse, every outside noise that filtered in through the windows, and he finally thought he could hear his own heartbeat.

Before long, the fatigue he'd been feeling earlier completely disappeared, giving way to an uncommon tension that made his body feel as tight and drawn as a brand-new chicken-wire fence. His head actually ached from the strain.

Yet amid the physical discomfort, all he could think about was what Doc had said regarding God's will. Just how was he supposed to know what God wanted for him, what His will for his life might be? He didn't like to think he might make a mistake about something this important, something that could change—or not change—the direction of his entire life. That was a pretty scary idea.

After another hour or so of tossing and turning, questioning himself and wondering, Gideon couldn't stand it any longer. Ignoring the chill that he knew awaited him once he threw off the quilts, and paying no heed to the cold that gripped his feet, he got out of bed. Then, for the first time in a very long time, Gideon Kanagy knelt beside his bed and began to pray.