Their Amish Reunion

The memory of her sweet smile had held him together for so long, Jeremiah wondered if he’d ever be able to face her again. The real her. The one he’d left behind. Remembering her pretty smile was one thing. Coming face-to-face with her and seeing the hurt and condemnation in her eyes would be another.

Something he’d dreaded during the long bus trip across the country from California to Pennsylvania.

But he wasn’t here today to meet with the bishop about Ava Jane. He’d lost her and he’d accepted that long ago. He didn’t deserve her anymore. Twelve years was a long time. She’d made a good life with a good man. Or so he’d heard.

She had not waited for Jeremiah to come home because all indications had shown he never would come home again. At times, he’d thought that same thing. Thought he was surely going to die a world away from the one he’d left. At those times, he’d think of her rich strawberry blonde curls and her light-as-air blue eyes. And her wide, glowing smile. And he’d wish he’d never left her.

But he was here now, waiting inside the bishop’s home to speak to him. Here and needing to find some solace. He came back to help his family, whether they wanted him to or not. His younger sister, Beth, had tried to keep in touch, but her last letter had been full of fear and grief.

“Daed is dying, Jeremiah. Please come quickly.”

Bishop King walked into the sparsely decorated parlor where Jeremiah waited and stood for a moment. The man’s gaze was solemn and unreadable, but his dark eyes held a glimmer of hope.

“Young Jeremiah Weaver,” the bishop said before he took his time settling down in a high-back walnut chair across from Jeremiah. “Have you kumm back to your faith?”

Jeremiah held his head down and studied his hands, horrible memories of rapid gunfire and grown men moaning in pain filling his brain. Studied his hands and wished he could change them, take away the scars and calluses of war and replace them with the blisters and calluses of good, honest work.

He needed to find some peace.

That was why he’d come home to Lancaster County and his Amish roots. So he looked the bishop in the eyes and nodded.

“Ja, Bishop King, I’ve kumm home. For gut.”

Home for good. One of the hardest things he’d ever had to do in his life. Because the hardest thing he’d ever done was leave Ava Jane crying in the dark.

* * *

Ava Jane Graber grabbed her ten-year-old son, Eli, by the collar of his shirt and shook her head. “Eli, please stop picking up things, alleweil.” Right now. “You might break something.”

“Sorry, Mamm,” Eli replied, his mischievous brown eyes reminding her of her late husband, Jacob.

Jacob had drowned two years ago while trying to save a calf during a storm, but he used to love teasing her. Eli had inherited his father’s gift of mirth and his gift of getting into trouble.

Sarah Rose, soon turning seven, seemed to have Ava Jane’s sensibilities and logical nature. Her blue eyes grew as she twisted her brow. “Eli, you know Mamm doesn’t like it when we break things.” Putting her little hands on her hips, the child added, “And you break things all the time.”

Hmm. Her young daughter could also be a tad judgmental at times. Had she also inherited that from Ava Jane?

Ava Jane shook her head and gathered the few supplies she’d come into town to buy. “No, Mamm does not like it when you misbehave and accidentally break things.”

Smiling at Mr. Hartford, the general store owner, she paid for her items and said, “Denke.”

“You’re welcome, Ava Jane, and thank you for the fresh apple muffins,” the Englisch manager said with a wide grin. “Good to see you out and about today.”

“It’s a fine spring morning,” Ava Jane replied, her items and her children in tow. Mr. Hartford loved it when she brought him fresh baked goods to sell, but he also liked that she saved a couple of choices just for him. “A wonderful, beautiful day.”

“One of the Lord’s best,” Mr. Hartford said with a nod.

But when she walked out onto the sidewalk toward her waiting horse and buggy, her beautiful morning turned into something she couldn’t explain.

She looked up and into the deep blue eyes of the man walking toward them, her bag of groceries slipping right out of her grip. The paper bag tore and all her purchases crashed down, the sound of shattering glass echoing off the pavement.

“I think Mamm just broke something,” Eli pointed out, his gaze moving from her to the hard-edged man wearing a T-shirt and jeans, his dark hair curling around his face and neck.

“Who is that, Mamm?” Sarah Rose asked, her distinctive intuition shining brightly as her gaze moved from Ava Jane to the man.

Ava Jane couldn’t speak, couldn’t elaborate. But inside, she was shouting and screaming and wishing she could take her children and run away. Her heart had shattered right along with the jar of fresh honey she’d purchased.

She knew this man. Had thought about him time and again over the years.

Jeremiah Weaver.

The man who’d left her behind.

* * *

Jeremiah couldn’t stop himself. He rushed toward Ava Jane and the kinder with all the might he’d used to charge against the enemy while wearing heavy tactical gear.

“Ava Jane?” he called, fearful that she was going to pass out. Her skin, always as fresh as new peaches, turned pale, her sky blue eyes filled with shock, the pupils dilating.

He’d startled her. He had not meant to let her see him this way, here on the street in the small town of Campton Creek, where everyone talked too much about things of which they knew nothing. Wishing he’d had more time to prepare, Jeremiah couldn’t hide from her now.

“Ava Jane?” he said again when he’d made it to her side. “Are you all right?”

“Was denkscht?” she asked, anger in the phrase, her heart-shaped face dark with confusion.

What do you think?

Jeremiah saw a bench. “Kumm, sit.”

“Mamm?” the little girl said on a wail, fright clear in her eyes. “May we go home?”

Ava Jane looked from her confused daughter back to Jeremiah. “In a minute, Sarah Rose. Go with your brother to the buggy and wait for me.”

“You made a mess,” the boy pointed out, love for his mamm shining in his eyes. “I can clean it for you.”

Jeremiah could see Jacob in the boy’s eyes. Jacob, one of his best friends. Married to the woman he’d loved.

“I’ll clean it up in a bit,” Jeremiah offered, taking Ava Jane by the arm to guide her to the bench. Few people were out and about but those who were, including some Amish, had stopped to stare.

She pulled away. “I’ll get Mr. Hartford. Go now, Eli, and wait by the horses.”

The kinder did as she requested. Only when they were out of earshot did she turn back to him, her eyes blazing like a hot sky. “What are you doing here, Jeremiah?”

“I didn’t want you to see me yet,” he tried to explain.

“Too late.” She adjusted her white kapp with shaking hands. “I need to go.”

“Please don’t,” he said. “I’m not going to bother you. I...I saw you and I didn’t have time to—”