“You were busy,” Arden said.
“It’s tomorrow’s work, actually,” she said. “I was just getting a start because I wasn’t ready for bed yet.”
The kitchen was well stocked. He noticed the tall jars of flour on the top of some cupboards and two large gunnysacks filled with what he guessed were potatoes and possibly onions leaning against one wall. There were glass jars of dried fruit, chocolate chips and nuts lining the back of one counter—delicacies that cost quite a bit. He knew that because his mother didn’t use dried fruit in her baking anymore, and when she used nuts, they were measured out carefully. He’d been grocery shopping with her, and he’d seen the prices and watched her pick up a package and put it back again.
“Pecans don’t make the pie,” she would say cheerfully.
Mamm made pecan pie for his birthday and then never again for a full year.
Sarai pulled down a juice pitcher, three lemons and a jar of white sugar. She worked quickly, cutting, juicing, squeezing the lemons, and mixing it all up with water and sugar. Then she poured two tall glasses and handed him one.
He took a sip. It was the perfect mix of tart and sweet.
“Should we sit on the porch?” she asked. “I don’t want to wake up my grandmother.”
“Yah, that would be nice.”
Sarai picked up the air rifle and tucked it under one arm.
“In case the coyotes come back,” she said, casting a smile over her shoulder.
He followed her through the sitting room. It was large enough to hold a small prayer service, and the hardwood floor shone with a recent polishing. There were two couches in the room, a large rag rug in the center, an unlit woodstove in the center of the wall shared with the kitchen, and a basket of knitting supplies sitting on the seat of a wooden rocking chair. Two big windows were cranked open to the porch outside, letting in a cool breeze.
Sarai led the way out. The porch was broad and spacious, and a wooden swing hung on one side. It was the only seating available, so Sarai leaned her air rifle against the side of the house, and they sat down, glasses of lemonade in hand. They began to gently swing. From the backyard, Arden could make out the soft contented clucking sounds from the coop.
Sarai took a sip of her lemonade and sighed softly.
“You’re tougher than I thought,” he said.
She looked over in surprise. “Am I?”
“Definitely.”
She laughed. “Good. I like to surprise people.”
“You’re a good shot, too,” he said. “What do you practice on?”
“Tin cans, old apples, anything small enough to be a challenge and that Mammi won’t mind me filling with holes,” she said.
She was definitely tougher than he’d given her credit for. “Well, it paid off.”
“You’re not quite what I thought you’d be, either,” she said.
“Yah?”
“You’ve matured.” She looked at him thoughtfully.
“Danke. It’s nice to hear. Am I not half the fool I used to be?” he asked with a short laugh. He meant to sound cool and joking, but he cared about her answer.
“You don’t seem to be.”
He drank half the glass of lemonade and then put it down on the ground.
“Arden, can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Yah, of course.”
“What is keeping you away from Redemption? I mean, really. Sure, you were a questionable youth, but you’re a grown man now. I don’t understand why you’d like yourself so much better in Ohio. It shouldn’t matter.”
He looked out across the dark lawn, illuminated by the light coming from inside the house, a golden glow on the grass. He hadn’t told anyone this, not even his parents. When he looked over at Sarai, all he could see were those blue questioning eyes and her lips parted ever so little...
“I...did some things that I regret,” he said. “And I don’t like the memories.”
“The flirting?” Sarai looked at him earnestly. Was that the worst she could think of?
“That, too.” He smiled wanly. “Look, I did a lot of things I regret, but some things you can’t undo. You can’t fix them. And I won’t be able to come back until I can fix it.”
“Fix what?” She frowned. “Lizzie’s married. I don’t think she picked a terribly good man, but she’s got a family of her own now. Most of the other girls whose hearts you broke are married or courting, too. If you think you’re that unforgettable, Arden Stoltzfus—” There was the glitter of humor in her eyes.
“It’s not that.” He sighed. “Okay. You’re a woman of your word, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?” he said.
“Tell me what?” she asked.
“Promise you’ll keep it between us first,” he said.
