Rachel's Dream Page 13

  He waited for her to continue.

  Her face glowed. “My dream is made up of three parts.”

  He lifted a curious brow.

  “The first is to marry a good, honest Amish man.”

  He grinned. “Okay. Simple enough. What’s the second?”

  She gave a shy roll of her eyes. Her cheeks took on a rosy shade of pink as she looked down at her hands. “To have tons of children.”

  “Oh!” He chuckled.

  “I really want a large family, Jarred. A continuation of what my grandparents started. How about you? Do you want kids?”

  He considered the unexpected question. “I’ve never really considered it. But,” he gestured with a lift of his chin, “it’s certainly something to think on.”

  Rachel stood and looked down at him. “Right now, Dr. Zimmerman, I hate to change the subject, but I’ve made a very important decision.”

  He eyed her.

  “Mamma told me that if you truly love someone, you can give them what’s most important to you.”

  He waited.

  “Jarred, I’m giving you what’s dearest to me. Cinnamon.” After a brief pause, she continued in an emotional, serious tone. “Because I love you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It was hard to believe it was already the first of August when Jarred stared at the blank sheet in front of him. He was checking out buggies since he was expected to be driving one before beginning classes to join the church. And Rachel loved him.

  A warm sensation filled him until a wide smile pulled the corners of his lips up. He planned to marry her—after he joined the church, of course.

  Paperwork cluttered his kitchen table except for the area he’d cleared to write his folks. With a slow, undecided movement, he reached for his black pen. Before ink touched paper, he thought of Matt. Of Jarred’s shock when the car had hit his brother. He tapped the tip of his pen against the glass top for a few seconds, then laid it down again.

  Rachel would write a heartfelt letter. But I’m not Rachel. Maybe I’m not as strong as her. If my folks don’t reply, I’ll feel worse than I do now.

  His fingers shook. They’ll never forgive me. He closed his eyes and sighed in frustration while contemplating whether or not to contact them. Rachel’s kind, concerned face popped into his thoughts. The tighter he closed his eyes, the more he could hear the convincing timbre of her soft, urgent voice: “Write a letter, Jarred. To your parents.”

  When he opened his eyes, the sun’s rays shone through the open window and onto his face. He blinked and turned to avoid the brightness. But his mind lingered on Rachel’s advice. Should he take it?

  Decide this like you determine everything else, based on pros and cons. He leaned forward to prop his right cheek on his hand and stared straight ahead at the off-white wall.

  I could finally apologize for what’s been a heavy burden on my shoulders for most of my life. At the same time, it would be an opportunity for me to tell my parents how much I love and miss them. Cons?

  Resting a firm hand on his hip, he stood, shoved back his chair, and hooked his thumbs over the tops of the pockets of his blue jeans. With great focus, he contemplated the blank page and what to do about it.

  What’s the worst that can happen? Pondering the loaded question, he tapped his socked toe against the tile. They might tell me they never want to hear from me again. Or maybe they won’t even respond. Are these two scenarios worse than my current situation?

  He shrugged and watched as the rays dimmed to a softer shade. Write a letter, Jarred. Rachel’s soft, but convincing voice haunted him. He remained standing, silently ordering the beat of his heart to slow. At that moment, reality hit him; he squared his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest.

  A combination of shame and embarrassment fought inside him until he bowed his head and prayed.

  “Dear Lord and Savior, please give me faith to cope with what happened. Help me not to fear because You are by my side. And please forgive me for not having the strength You expect from me. Amen.”

  As he lifted his head, he pivoted and returned to the table. Taking a deep breath, he scooted the chair closer to the glass top and took the pen between his fingers.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I hope this finds you well. I’ve been searching my heart and feel compelled to write to you. I wish I could relive my fourth birthday party. I never would have taken the ball outside. I miss my brother terribly. And I miss you. I wish the driver had hit me instead of Matt.

  For a moment, Jarred went on to tell them about his mentorship under the late Dr. Stevens, his recent graduation from Purdue University’s College of Veterinary Medicine, and his plan to join the Amish church with Rachel.

  He blinked at the sting of salty moisture.

  I am truly sorry for what happened. I love you. Jarred

  With slow, deliberate movements, he creased the paper into thirds. A nervous bead of sweat dripped down his neck. Before he could second-guess his actions, he shoved the letter into the envelope and sealed it. Stretching his legs, he relaxed in the chair, pulled in a deep breath, and dropped the letter onto the table.

  Mail it.

  After taking a swig of water, he dutifully stood and proceeded outside to the mailbox. The warm breeze caressed his forehead. It was like a good-luck kiss. He placed the envelope in the mailbox, flipped up the red flag, and nodded in satisfaction.

  He wasn’t sure what would come of his correspondence, but he was fully aware that nothing in life was guaranteed. Now communication between him and his parents was in the Lord’s hands. Jarred reasoned that was a good place for it to be. Offering a nod, he whispered a quick thank-you prayer.

  Quick steps took him toward the white fence surrounding the barn. Leaning against it, he focused on Rachel. He yearned to talk to the girl who’d recommended the heartfelt message. He wanted to hear her voice. Gaze into her eyes.

  He’d heeded her advice. She’s probably wondering about Cinnamon. I can’t wait to see her again.

  He considered Rachel’s cinnamon-colored gift to him. She’d given him what she loved most. She’d also confessed her dream to him. The first two parts, anyway. He contemplated her question about wanting children. As he imagined a house full of kids, he wondered about her third wish. What was the rest of Rachel’s dream?

  *

  Rachel cut up bell peppers and set them to the side as she considered how her relationship with Jarred had blossomed since she’d met him. She smiled a little. She always did things in steps, and freezing vegetables was no exception. A warm breeze floated into the kitchen through the window in front of her. The pleasant aroma of fresh produce and newly cut grass filled her nostrils, and she breathed in satisfaction.

  As she sliced peppers into strips, she looked out the window. Her gaze automatically drifted to Old Sam’s pasture before landing on the Kauffman barn. Outside, Paula looked over the fence. As Rachel studied the filly, she thought of Jarred and pictured his pickup leaving their drive. She could envision him waving good-bye and hear the crunching of loose gravel under his tires.

  The recollection prompted a smile, and she thought of when he’d join the church with her this fall. She loved conversing with him. They could talk about Cinnamon. About animals he healed.

  While the large fan behind her purred lightly, Rachel continued cutting the red and green veggies into cubes on the large wooden board, then rinsed the white seeds off and laid the clean slices onto doubled paper towels.

  I’m not sure when I’ll see him again. I miss him terribly. I miss Cinnamon.

  She rolled her shoulders to relax. She’d wanted to repay him with something wonderful for his special attention to Cinnamon. As she’d watched them together inside his barn, she’d known without a doubt that they belonged together. She’d given him what she loved.

  She took a deep breath and let it out as she held her hands under the faucet. She ran the nearest dish towel over her palms to rid them of moisture. Then she con
tinued her task at hand, still contemplating the kind animal doctor and that they loved each other.

  As an Amish girl, she’d been taught to look at a person’s heart and not to focus on a person’s good looks. But her approval of Jarred’s physical appearance came without thought or planning. She couldn’t help it. In fact, she admired everything she knew about him.

  His compassion. Patience. Kindness. Faith in God’s power to heal.

  She’d never been courted by anyone, but she looked forward to spending time with him. Jarred’s kind, gentle manner was so comforting, their moments together passed quickly. When she watched him with Cinnamon, she saw a man who truly loved her horse with all his heart. Thank goodness, he’d come to her aid. But she’d never expected to fall in love with him.

  She contemplated her encouragement to write his parents. While she stared out the window, she considered the dire situation between Jarred and his parents and frowned, wondering if her advice had been the right course of action. I should have considered the consequences before I advised him. I’m hardly qualified to tell him what to do, especially in such a fragile situation, despite that the suggestion came from Old Sam. At the time, contacting them seemed the obvious thing to do.

  She raised an eyebrow. Why did I advise him? How on earth would I even guess what he should do? I’m not in his shoes. I haven’t suffered the past twenty years because my parents blamed me for the loss of a sibling. She lowered her gaze to the floor. And his heart has already been broken.

  When she looked up at the countertop, she took in the plate-sized piles of green and red. With great care, she slid the peppers into freezer bags, laid them into long rows, then sealed the bags. She imagined their contents in chili this winter, but to her dismay, even that delicious thought didn’t chase Jarred and his agonizing situation from her thoughts.

  She hadn’t known him long. At the same time, it seemed like they’d known each other forever. The length of our relationship doesn’t matter. I care about Jarred. A lot.

  Because of that, she feared her advice to him might worsen his family situation. Look at the glass as half-full. She didn’t know Jarred’s folks, so she couldn’t predict their reaction to his attempt at communication. It was possible that the message could harm their relationship.

  Rachel prayed with all of her heart that his honest words would spark the love they surely had for their child, and that the three hearts could mend.

  She pressed her lips together as she thought about her dream. She’d told him the first two parts, but the third would stay her secret, safe within her hope chest.

  *

  The following morning, Rachel sat opposite Old Sam in his barn and poured out her concerns about the advice she had offered Jarred.

  Buddy’s soft hair tickled her wrist as she stroked his head. Pulling her hand away, she giggled as he made himself comfortable on her shoes. His softness reminded her of a baby blanket Mamma had knit for a neighbor.

  Every once in awhile, a cricket chirped. Birds flew in through the opened doors and perched on the upper windowsills. The fresh aromas of oak and straw filled her nostrils. Rachel eyed the new bales lined up against the wall by Ginger’s stall. She had glimpsed the filly in the pasture before coming inside.

  “Sam, I wonder if I should have stayed out of this.”

  A long silence ensued until he looked up from his work. He furrowed his brow as their gazes locked. “Why? You did your best to help.”

  She interlaced her fingers and leaned forward. “Jah, his situation with his parents is dire. It’s also sensitive. I mean, they sent him away. He and his folks haven’t seen each other for two decades. I suggested to him that he write to them. Like you advised.”

  She gave a quick shrug and shook her head. “But I shouldn’t have done it. What I’m afraid of is …”

  Sam looked at her to continue.

  “That their response will make him feel worse than he already does.” She lifted her palms in the air helplessly.

  After another long pause, Sam put down his tool and eyed the others, as if deciding which one to use next. A breeze floated in, moving some loose pieces of straw to the area around her feet.

  Buddy stayed put. Rachel sat very still while her awareness of the severity of the dilemma of Jarred’s relationship with his parents grew inside her until she had to shift to a more comfortable position. She sat back in her chair, stretched her legs, and sighed in relief that she’d unleashed what worried her. With a reproachful glance, Buddy adjusted his position, too.

  As Sam stood at the end of the bench to sand a corner of wood, Buddy pawed at a fly buzzing around his nose. While slow steps took Sam away, Rachel mentally coached herself to be positive. She tried to be patient while Sam returned to his seat. The bottom of his chair made a brief, irritating noise as he pushed closer to his bench. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled a small knife from his carving tool box and cut into the wood. As he spoke, his voice was reflective.

  “God presents us with challenges, Rachel. But this situation you’ve shared with me …” He shook his head and his voice softened to a tone that was a combination of regret and reality. “It’s something that can never have a happy ending, you see.”

  She frowned while he pressed his legs together in a straight line. “You’ve got to know that.”

  Rachel’s heart sank. As she considered the disappointing words, she lowered her gaze to the now-sleeping canine. After a long pause, she offered a nod of agreement.

  “You’re right, Sam. It can never be good.”

  Creases deepened around his eyes. “The brother’s gone. No matter what the parents say in response to the letter, there’s no way to bring him back. And his death happened at Jarred’s party. That can’t be changed, either.”

  He paused before leaning into his work. The knife cutting into the oak made a light whistle that was barely audible. His thick brows knit together as he etched. Finally, he laid down his tool and glanced up.

  “I’m sorry, Rachel. I know you expected something more positive. But the way I see it, there’s no one to blame for what happened. Not really the parents, because sometimes things happen that we don’t prepare for. Accidents.”

  “And certainly not the four-year-old or the seven-year-old. You’re sure the adults weren’t responsible, Sam? They’re our protectors.”

  Sam shook his head before giving a slight shrug. “Responsible, yes. After all, they were in charge. But I don’t believe they’re to blame. There’s a difference.”

  He brushed some chippings off the board. “It’s odd that they sent the other son away after the death. With the one already gone, one might think they’d want to keep the living child close. It’s not an easy thing to comprehend.”

  “But, Sam, the parents blamed Jarred.”

  He tapped his tool lightly against the bench. “Are you sure about that?”

  Rachel leaned back and rolled her tense shoulders while contemplating his question. “If they didn’t, why would they send him away?”

  She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her thighs as she waited for him to explain. Buddy whined and turned over onto his back. Dutifully, Rachel ran an affectionate hand over his belly.

  “You’re high maintenance, you know that?”

  Sam rested his hands on his lap. His gaze locked with Rachel’s while she sat very still and listened.

  “There could be a number of reasons to send their offspring away. Of course, I wouldn’t understand any of them, but, young one, I’m not a mind reader. And neither are you. Only they can answer that.”

  *

  At four the next morning, Jarred emptied Cinnamon’s trough and stepped back while dirty water flowed down the small incline next to the barn. He proceeded inside and grabbed a rake from a metal hook. Letting out a deep sigh that was regret mixed with happiness, he made his way into Cinnamon’s stall.

  He glanced at the attentive horse and smiled a little. “I’ll give you the best life I can, boy.” He ch
uckled. “But Rachel set the bar high.”

  Without thinking, he raked dirty straw into a pile. Cinnamon pushed his nose against Jarred’s arm. In response, Jarred laughed.

  Flies buzzed around manure. A mouse scurried to the corner. In the distance, the tomcat looked on. From Jarred’s perspective, the scene in his barn looked perfect because the story of the sick horse had a happy denouement. Cinnamon’s recovery was nothing less than a miracle, and he gave God all of the thanks and praise. Now it was time to move on to his mother and father.

  As he worked, he considered his horse. The straw dust pooled around Jarred, forcing a sneeze. He sniffed and considered the thousands of horses he’d help in the future and hoped his career would be filled with blessings like this one, because there was nothing as satisfying as watching a struggling animal pull through.

  He was fully aware that it wasn’t really his talent that saved them. It was all about his Lord and Savior taking over. With human hands, Jarred’s abilities couldn’t compete with God’s touch.

  He closed his eyes a long moment in satisfaction as he breathed in the familiar barn scents. He considered the earthy smells a natural remedy for stress. They eased his mind. The aroma of oats calmed the tense speed of his pulse.

  His thoughts migrated to the letter he’d mailed. As he focused on Rachel’s advice, he could almost hear her soft, encouraging voice.

  I miss her. I miss my parents and Matt. My attention to animals can’t compensate for what happened at my birthday party, but at least helping them is therapeutic.

  The realization prompted a dull ache in his chest. Be positive.

  He lifted his chin with new determination and paused for a moment. His fingers lingered on the oversized rake while he focused on contentment.

  Rachel’s a large part of Cinnamon’s happy story. He leaned forward to rest both hands on the handle, recalling the day he’d fallen in love with the cinnamon-colored gelding.

  “You’re unique and special in every way, boy.”

  Cinnamon threw back his head.