CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

 

Isabelle

 

The house was just as I remembered it, the barn’s red siding glinting in the afternoon light. The clothesline was filled with clothing flapping in the breeze: Mamm’s solid-colored dresses and white aprons, Dad’s broadfall trousers and button-up shirts. Soon it would be too cold to hang the washing on the line lest it freeze. My heartbeat quickened, and my breath hitched. Lord, I was nervous.

A bird called out in the sky as if offering encouragement, and I looked up, watching as it flew out of sight. The absence of power lines was strange to me now. I’d been away a long time. Long enough that the outside world was the norm, and this way of living was not.

My hand shook as I knocked on the door and then stood back, holding my breath. I let it out in a long gust when I heard soft footsteps approaching from the other side. The door opened and my mom’s face sent a spear of emotion ripping through my chest. “Mamm,” I croaked. I meant to go on. To say hello, something, but my words were gone, stolen by the very sight of her.

My mother brought her hand to her mouth, sucking in a breath of shock. For a moment we simply stared at each other and then she stepped forward and pulled me into her arms. That was enough. The dam broke and a keening cry came up my throat as I gripped her, burying my face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of security. The scent of the mother’s love I’d missed so desperately for so many years, years filled with both almost unendurable grief, but also moments of profound joy.

We gripped each other for long minutes, shaking in each other’s arms until she finally pulled away, glancing behind her. There my father stood, watching us, his face older, filled with the same desperate sorrow that filled my mom’s.

“Come in, Isabelle,” my mother said. I didn’t miss the fact that she checked beyond me, likely making sure no one in the community had seen me, their ex-communicated daughter. I didn’t care. They had welcomed me, at least for now, and my heart calmed. I entered the house where I’d grown up, placing the bag I’d carried from the car by the front door.

My dad and I sat at the kitchen table as my mom went about making garden tea. It was cold in their house and I put my hands between my knees, keeping my wool coat on. I watched my mom move around the kitchen and was grateful for the few minutes in which to gather myself. She placed a steaming mug in front of Dad and me, and then sat with one of her own. Wrapping my cold hands around the warm mug, I looked at them. I’d have liked to catch up, to reminisce and tell them all that had happened to me since I left, but I needed answers. I’d driven here to put my heart at ease, at least on this matter. Looking at them now, their rigid though kind expressions, the way their own hands shook, I knew they hadn’t done anything to purposefully hurt me. I knew it in my heart and soul. “Did Ethan steal from you?”

My dad glanced at my mom and then pressed his lips together, looking away, seeming to come to a decision. “Yes. Not just us, but thirty other families in the community.”

I exhaled a sharp breath, sadness, anger, devastation piercing my heart. “And yet you let me go with him anyway.”

My mom reached across the table, laying her hand on mine and then removing it just as quickly, as if she hadn’t planned on the gesture and immediately reconsidered it. She sat back, clasping her hands in her lap. “Isabelle, you were pregnant, daughter. You married him before you told us. What were we to do?”

“I did not abide by your actions,” my father said sternly. His eyes moved away but not quickly enough to hide the pain in them. “But I wanted to protect you, too, in what way I could.” Protect me. Another man wanting to protect me, but going about it for misguided reasons. I didn’t only want to be protected. I wanted honesty. Love.

My father looked at my mamm, and she unclenched her hands in her lap and took one of his. “To bring in the legal system is not our way, Isabelle, you know this, but even if it were, how would it be to put the man tasked with your care in prison? Who would provide for you when we could not?” He shook his head, muttering some Swiss Amish word under his breath, a curse presumably, though it was too soft for me to hear which one. “We thought with the money, he would at least take care of you . . . your child.”

“And the others?” I asked, incredulous. They had simply let Ethan walk away with stolen money.

“They were not happy.”

“No, I imagine not.” I rubbed at my temples, disbelieving. My God. That day I’d driven out of here with Ethan, was all that money in suitcases in the trunk? Or had he cashed it out later somehow? My mind spun. It was . . . unfathomable. “How much?” I asked.

My mother studied my father. His expression didn’t change. “Close to a million dollars.”

I closed my eyes for a second. It’s what I had thought. “He knew you wouldn’t press charges. He knew.”

My mom and dad regarded each other again. “He must have, yes.”

For a moment we were all quiet, as I looked back and forth between these two people, so misguided, but so faithful in their beliefs. I didn’t understand them, maybe I never completely had. But I couldn’t hate them either. They were my parents and I still loved them. “I had a daughter,” I said softly. “Her name was Elise. She was beautiful.”

My mom put her fist to her mouth and choked out a small sob. I saw my father’s arm flex. He’d squeezed her hand. “We know,” he said so softly I almost didn’t hear, and then louder. “We know of the crime against you and Ethan and . . . Elise.” He said her name on a whispered breath, and the tone was one I recognized. It was the one he used when he said his prayers.

“We have mourned her too,” my mother said, her voice pained. My eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t fall. There was something deeply comforting in the knowledge that others had grieved for her sweet little life in addition to myself. They hadn’t known her, but they had loved her. I could see it in their eyes, and it brought me peace. “You didn’t come to us,” my mom said.

I shook my head. “I didn’t know if I’d be welcomed. And I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t bear the thought of being turned away. Not then.” I shook my head, the memory of that time still causing echoes of pain. “I got a job, though.” I smiled, a genuine one as I pictured Graystone Hill. “It’s only a couple of hours from here, and it’s wonderful. It helped me begin to recover.” For several minutes none of us spoke.

“You have people who care about you?” my mom asked softly, her eyes full of a mother’s sadness. Hope.

I thought immediately of Brant and my heart raced from both longing and despair. I missed him. I was heartsick.

I was carrying his child.

In some ways my mother’s question was complicated, but in some ways it was not. I had created a life at Graystone Hill that I loved, and the people there were my family. “Yes,” I answered.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I reached across the table. My parents only hesitated for a moment, but then they took my hands in theirs and we sat there for a minute, tears streaming down both my mom’s and my face. I knew I couldn’t stay, just as I knew they’d feel uncomfortable for not believing they could show more than a little hospitality. I was still an outcast, and I didn’t want them to experience shame in their community. God, I loved them. Had missed them. I squeezed their hands one last time and then got up. “The bag by the door contains the money Ethan stole from your community, plus a little more. Please pay them all back. Tell them . . . well, tell them how sorry I am.”

My mom and dad looked completely shocked. “It is not your crime, daughter,” my dad said, and I heard the raw emotion in his voice. No, it wasn’t. But I still carried the regret of the part I’d unwillingly played. Paying them back would help make amends. Before I’d left for my parents’, I’d researched a struggling charity that did wonderful work helping victims of violent crime get back on their feet physically and emotionally. They were currently fundraising to build temporary housing for their clients and I’d stopped by on the way to Ohio, making a very large, anonymous donation to their cause. 

Now, I would work on forgiving myself. I managed a small smile and a nod. There was nothing more to be said. I knew their beliefs, their rules, and I knew our lives simply didn’t mesh any longer. When I got to the door, my mom touched my arm and I turned, surprised that she’d followed me. “Our post office box is still the same,” she said, quickly regarding my father where he still sat.

She wanted me to write to her. And in that moment, I knew I would. I nodded, my eyes moving over my mom’s pretty face one last time—memorizing it—before I left, closing the door behind me. Outside I took a deep breath. I’d received the gift of a loving goodbye this time, and it would sustain me.

I pulled my coat tightly around me to ward off the chill, heading toward the Graystone Hill truck parked a quarter of a mile away off a side road where no one was likely to spot it. Hesitating, I gazed at the old barn in the middle of the field, picturing the hayloft, the place where I’d once spent so many happy hours.

On a whim, I turned, heading toward it, stepping over the rows of fall vegetables. The still-familiar smell washed over me as soon as I stepped into the large, drafty space. I closed my eyes and inhaled the smell of hay, of horses, of old barn wood. Of childhood and dreams and endless possibility. My dreams had never been plain, never modest, or solid-colored. I hadn’t known how to fit into that box. Always alone. Always. Until Brant. My soul had felt a unity with him I’d never felt with anyone else. But now . . . I sighed, running my hand along the edge of one of the empty stalls. A soft whinny caught my attention, and I moved to the end where a chocolate-brown mare stood. Her mane was coarse under my palm as I pet her. My eyes snagged on the tiny window in the hayloft, the portal I’d used to live out a thousand different stories in my head. My heart lightened. Strangely, this place that I’d been banished from was reminding me who I was. Helping me reclaim my soul. Helping me remember the girl who’d managed to hold on to her limitless dreams despite the many boundaries surrounding her.

My dream portal. If only it were real. If only I could teleport Brant here.

If only he could love me.

Oh, if only so many things.

I crooned to the mare for a moment, rubbing my cheek against her velvet one, finding comfort in her gentle presence.

“I figured I’d find you with another man.”

I opened my eyes, whirling around. Brant was standing there, watching me, his lip quirked up teasingly, but the expression in his eyes so very, very serious. His smile slipped. My heart pounded. We both stared from across the space.

“She’s a . . . a she.”

“Ah.” He glanced at the horse behind me and then moved slowly forward, closing the distance.

“Did you teleport here?”

He chuckled, coming to stand only a few feet from me. “No. My journey involved a car, a highway, several dirt roads, and a short walk through a field. I saw you heading this way when I arrived.”

“Oh,” I breathed. “W-what are you doing here, Brant?”

“I went to Graystone Hill. I”—he cleared his throat—“I went after you, but you weren’t there.”

“No.” I glanced at the horse, her somber eyes looking between us. “I had to ask them about the money.” I felt my shoulders droop slightly. “Ethan had started stealing long before his Ponzi scheme.  He . . . stole the money because he knew they wouldn’t press charges, knew they’d never sue him. He got away with it.”

Brant took a step closer. “Belle, I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I mean, it will never be okay, but . . . I’m okay. Or I will be. I returned what he took, and gave the rest to a good cause so we can put all this ugliness behind us. My parents, they didn’t have anything to do with the man that broke into our house. That wasn’t their doing. It was just . . . just a random crime.” My voice broke but I gathered myself. Random. How I hated that word. My voice faded away, but I took another breath, feeling the terrible weight of the idea that my own parents had had anything to do with the death of their granddaughter lifting.

Brant took another step closer, seeming nervous as he reached for me. I lifted my hand, reaching back, needing him despite the hurdles that still separated us, the insurmountable things that perhaps there’d be no solutions for. Maybe he didn’t love me, but he was here. That had to mean something.

“Belle,” he murmured. Then he pulled me into his arms, holding me, cradling me, seeming to take part of the burden I carried as his own, because more of that heavy sadness lifted, freeing me and allowing a full breath to move through my body. When he pulled back, he took my face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe at the tears I hadn’t realized were slipping down my cheeks. “I was on the phone most of the way here.”

I frowned, confused. “With who?”

“Edwin Bruce.”

“Why?”

Brant dropped his arms, turning and  taking a few steps to the empty horse stall next to the one the chestnut mare occupied. He rested his hands on the ledge. “Giving it all away.”

“Giving all what away?”

Brant smiled as he turned back to me, shaking his head as if he realized he was making this difficult. “I struck a deal with Edwin Bruce. He’s my new business partner. He’s going to take over the running of my clubs and retain ownership of the one I was in the process of purchasing from him. He’s going to run it all, and I’m going to move to Kentucky, make some bourbon, and put it exclusively in our establishments. We’ll split the profits fifty-fifty.”

I stared at him, my brain buzzing with confusion. “You can’t do that.”

“I already did.”

I stared some more, attempting to understand the full scope of what he was saying. “Why, Brant? Why would you do that?”

His expression turned so serious, so filled with reverence, I almost gasped. “Because I love you. I’ve loved you since that moment I showed you my secret hideaway.” He smiled gently. “Maybe even from the first moment I saw you. Asking you to marry me, us being together, never had a thing to do with Graystone Hill, Belle. Not for me. I justified it to myself that way, made it seem halfway rational . . . because I needed that. But it wasn’t rational, was it? Us? It’s always been crazy and wild and wonderful. The only reason I asked you to marry me was because I was so damn in love with you I couldn’t see straight. And I still am. I always will be.”

“Brant,” I choked, unbridled joy bursting through my chest, flowing between my ribs, melding with my bones.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.” He shook his head. “I have a lot to tell you, Belle. So much . . .” He looked off to the side as if considering the secrets we still needed to share. There was time, though. We had all the time in the world. “But the most important thing is that I love you. And I”—he glanced at my stomach—“I love that baby growing inside you.”

I sucked in a surprised breath, bringing my hand to my stomach over my coat. “How—”

He walked the few steps to me, placing his hand over mine. “I was looking for the address to your parents’ house. I opened your bedside table drawer.”

“Oh.” I nodded, recalling the moment that little word had popped up—pregnant. I’d felt deep joy and then the flicker of sorrow that had accompanied it. I’d gone riding after that, spent time coming to terms with the fact that I was going to be a mother again. I hadn’t even had the emotional strength to think about the state of my relationship with Brant. It had been all I could do to come to peace with the thought of another baby. I’d gone to Brant’s secret spot, his portal, and I’d sat there, talking to Elise, telling her how much I loved her. Still. Always. Reassuring her that no other child would ever take her place, as there was only one her.

That choir had risen inside me, making my chest feel full and achy with overwhelming joy. And somehow, sitting there, I’d known, deep, deep inside where a mother’s intuition lies, that that feeling was Elise offering her blessing, her love. Brant was looking at me as if he knew at least part of what I was thinking, as if he understood my turmoil.

“I know you must be feeling so conflicted, Belle, but we’ll work through it together, okay?”

I nodded, sniffling, and then moved forward, burying my head in his chest and taking the comfort he offered.

“I’m going to try my damnedest to protect you, Belle.” I tipped my head back, opening my mouth to speak but he beat me to it. “I know I can’t promise to protect you from everything though. Life doesn’t work that way. What I can promise is that I’ll be there to hold your hand, to love you through whatever life throws our way. To love you with every piece of my heart. Deal?”

I let out a soggy laugh, nestling into him again. “Deal,” I answered, my voice muffled against his solid chest. We stood that way for a long time, giving each other strength, whispering words of love and promises for the future. After a time, Brant took my hand and we walked out of the barn, heading to Graystone Hill. Heading home.

 

**********

 

Even though we’d both driven to my parents’ homestead, Brant insisted we drive back in one car. Together. He’d send two of the men to pick up the truck tomorrow. Truth be told, I didn’t want to spend another minute apart, and so I agreed wholeheartedly.

We spent the two-hour ride home talking about all that had happened while we’d been apart: Brant’s father’s explanation about the truth of that tragic day, Brant’s realization about the things he’d been unwilling to admit about his mother, my visit with my parents and the discovery that I was pregnant. We went through it all, piece by piece together, and though I could tell Brant was still struggling with some of his own memories and his father’s confession, there was a relieved set to his shoulders as he discussed the deep-seated fears he’d carried his whole adult life. We both had scars, emotional and physical, that we would always, always carry, but as he took my hand in his, I felt such profound relief at the knowledge that neither one of us had to bear them alone.

We spoke of the tiny, beloved life that grew within me, my fears and my hopes, and I knew that the next eight months would bring emotions to the surface that I’d have to experience and sort through one by one. But again, I wouldn’t have to do it by myself. I had someone to turn to in the dark of night when everything might feel too big—too dark and vast—to face alone.

As we pulled onto the road leading to home, the tears I’d shed—both happy and sorrowful—as we’d spoken and planned had dried on my face, and hope soared in my heart. Brant and I turned to each other and smiled, his hand finding mine again, squeezing, reassuring.

The lights of the stable were still on. It might just be a few of the men working late, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Bess, a pregnant mare, was foaling early. “Brant,” I said as we shut the doors to his car. “I’m going to make a quick stop at the stable. Bess is due to foal soon and still has weeks but you never know. It’ll only take a minute or two.”

His gaze paused on my face for a moment and something in the way he looked at me told me he understood the strength I drew from caring for another mother, especially now. “I’ll meet you inside.” He glanced toward his dad’s dark window. “Looks like Dad is asleep. We’ll have to tell him about the baby in the morning.”

I grinned at him, nodding, knowing how happy it would make him.

I walked quickly to the stable and though the lights were on, no one seemed to be there, and when I looked in on Bess, she was casually munching on some hay, still as pregnant as she’d been earlier that day, exhibiting no signs of labor. I sighed, reaching up and stroking her mane. She let out a warm breath through her nose, a horse sigh that seemed to say, it’s been a long ten months. I laughed softly. “I bet,” I murmured.

“Hi, Isabelle.”

I whirled around, surprise causing me to let out a high-pitched gasp. I brought my hand to my chest, releasing a small nervous laugh when I saw who it was standing in the stable doorway.

“Hank, you scared me to death. What are you doing here?”

He narrowed his eyes, and moved toward me. “You should have told me about the money.”