He looked down and saw Sarai, her hands on her hips, her chin tipped up. He nodded toward the tools he’d forgotten on the ground. “Can you bring those hammers up to me?”
“Sure.”
Sarai picked them up and started up the ladder. She appeared over the edge of the roof, and as she came up, the tools in one hand, he reached out to catch her free hand to give her some balance as she came up the last rung onto the sloped roof. He gave her a gentle tug to keep her moving in the right direction, but his tug was a little too strong, because he pulled her right up to him, her dress brushing against his pants. She looked as surprised as he felt, her blue eyes wide. He could see a stray eyelash on her cheek, and the spattering of faint freckles covering her nose, and his breath caught.
“Oh...” she whispered, then held up the hammers. “For you.”
“Thank you.” He swallowed. There was a time a few years ago when he might have taken advantage of a moment like this one, but not anymore. He took a careful step back.
“You know, if I were you, I’d just move back to Redemption.”
“I have some things holding me back,” he said.
“Like what?”
He squatted down and started to pry up nails and damaged shingles. “Like the fact that I like myself better in Ohio.”
He didn’t have quite so many regrets out there, not so many reminders of things he’d messed up.
“Why do you like yourself better in Ohio than here? You’re the same man.”
“No, I’m not,” he replied.
She eyed him but didn’t say anything. Arden pried up two more nails and tossed a split shingle to the side.
“Look, in Ohio, I’m the middle son of a new farmer in the area. I’m just Arden—someone people don’t know very well yet. They know I work hard, and if you’ve got a broken fence, I’m the one to ask because I can fix a fence faster than your cows can get out. They know I’m looking to get married, and they know that I was courting Mary and she left me for Marvin. These are all families coming from different communities. We’ve known each other for four years. We don’t have any other history.”
“Sounds lonely,” she said.
“It’s not.”
“Your history is who you are.”
He rocked back on his heels and looked up at her. “No, it isn’t.”
“Of course it is! My history tells people what I stand for and who I come from. If you know my history, you know me.”
For her, maybe. He could understand what she meant, but it was different for him.
“My history here in Redemption doesn’t tell anyone the truth of what’s inside of me,” he replied. “It shows who I used to be, not who I am now.”
“And who are you now?” she asked.
“I’m Arden Stoltzfus, middle son of an Amish farmer,” he repeated. “I’m a hard worker and a solid friend. I’m a Christian, and I try to do what’s right.”
She was silent again, but this time he shut his mouth. She’d asked, and that was his answer.
“That’s it?” she said after a couple of beats.
“That’s it.”
“Well, I think you’re more than that,” she said.
His breath caught, and he tried to shove away a little surge of hope that she’d say she saw more in his character.
“You’re your history, too,” she concluded.
And that whisper of hope evaporated. Right. Of course. And this was exactly why he was currently so glad to face the tough life in Ohio. Everyone here in Redemption knew all his mistakes, his ungraceful moments, his embarrassments... People here knew too much.
“So are you going to help me or what?” he said.
Sarai went down to her hands and knees, and she started working on the shingle next to him, prying up the first nail.
“You say my history is a big part of who I am, but you judge me for my history,” Arden said.
“Maybe I do...a little bit,” Sarai said. “But it doesn’t make it any less a part of you. You’re just running away from who you are, Arden.”
She pulled up the second nail with a squeak, and Arden tossed it into the pile for her.
“Oh, I’m definitely running away,” Arden replied. “But I’m running from who I was. Ohio is a fresh start for me, and maybe no one really deserves a clean slate, but I’m going to take it all the same.”
A buggy turned into the drive, the clop of the horse’s hooves floating across the summer breeze toward them. Arden pulled off his hat and wiped his forehead. He recognized the farmer with the reins in his hands. It was Job Peachy.
“My father’s here,” Sarai said.
Arden watched as the buggy rattled up the drive. Job was a big man, and his beard was bushy and streaked with gray. Sarai stood up and brushed off her hands. Arden grabbed another loose shingle and pulled it off the last nail that held it in place. He had a job to do.
“I’d better go down there and talk to him,” Sarai said.
