to play in the snow as much as he did.”
“You’re just the same. Remember how excited you got yesterday at the first flakes?” His voice was low and teasing, and Anna had to struggle not to meet his eyes.
“I confess. We’re all kids about something, ain’t so?”
Ben nodded, but for some reason the words seemed to set up a more serious line of thought for him. They’d nearly reached the woods, where the farm lane ended, and he drew the buggy to a stop.
With the snow muffling every sound, Anna felt as if they were alone in the world. She had to say something.
“The...the hemlocks are beautiful in the snow. Look how it’s bending the branches down. It’s as if they’re...”
“Anna.” His voice was low, but it halted her foolish chatter in an instant. “There’s something I must say to you. I’ve owed you an apology for three years, and I haven’t been able to find the words to tell you how sorry I am.”
“Don’t, Ben. Don’t.” She put out her hand to stop him and then realized it was much safer not to touch him. But she saw, quite suddenly, what she must say to ease the tension between them.
“It worked out for the best, ain’t so? I don’t mean you going away, but the fact that we didn’t get together.” Anna took a breath of cold air and forced herself to go on. “Moonlight and kisses don’t make a solid basis for marriage. We’re such completely different people now.”
Her throat was getting so tight that she didn’t think she could say anything more, but maybe that was enough. She risked a glance at Ben’s face, but his somber expression didn’t tell her anything.
Finally he nodded. “If you feel you can forgive me, that’s all that counts. I hope we can be friends again.”
Anna forced herself to smile. “Friends.” That was all she could manage, but it seemed to be enough.
Ben clucked to the horse and they turned back toward the farmhouse.
* * *
Ben did his best not to fidget as the three-hour Sunday morning service drew near the end. He’d been trying to efface himself, in the hope he could fade into the mass of black-coated men. What a wimp he’d turned into while he was away—after all, he’d grown up sitting on the backless benches for worship, and he didn’t even remember thinking it was that hard.
Hard was definitely the word for this bench. He shifted his weight slightly and earned a frown from his eldest brother, Daniel. Dan had always felt responsible for the younger ones, and that didn’t seem to have changed. His greeting had been restrained, and he’d glanced at Daad as if taking his cue from him. Joseph, so close in age to Daniel that they might as well have been twins, had followed his lead, but as they’d lined up to enter the basement when worship was being held, Joe had given him a quick smile and a wink that warmed his heart.
You didn’t expect this to be easy, he reminded himself. It seemed he was saying that a lot lately.
The final prayer, the final hymn, and the long service was over. Bishop John King, passing close as he moved through the congregation, inclined his head gravely. Ben nodded back, guessing what the bishop was thinking—that if Ben intended to stay, he’d have to make his confession before the church. It was an intimidating thought, but the forgiveness granted to the sinner afterward was sincere and complete. The wrong was wiped out as if it had never been.
Daad put a hand on his shoulder. “Not until you’re ready,” he said softly. “Meantime, help the boys set up the tables for lunch, ja?”
Ben’s throat tightened. Daad, for all his strictness with his boys, had always seemed to understand. If he ever had a family, would he have that gift? If.
“Here, Ben, give us a hand.” Joe and Dan were making short work of converting the benches to the tables that would seat them for the after-church meal. “Or have you forgot how?”
Ben grinned at the familiar joshing and grabbed the end of the table Josh was struggling with. “Josh and I will get more done than you two. Come on, Josh.” Together they raised the wooden planks easily, fitting them into the brackets that turned them into tables. Typical Amish ingenuity, he thought. The benches and tables had to be hauled from one home to the next for services, so why not make the best use of them?
Already some of the women were carrying bowls and platters down the stairs from the Fisher family’s kitchen. Each family took a turn to host worship, but it only made sense to do winter worship at a home that had a warm, dry basement instead of a barn.
They were finishing the last table when Ben spotted Anna coming down, her arms around a huge coffee urn. Anna had made it easy for him to forgive himself for the hurt he’d offered her. At least he didn’t have to worry about that. So why didn’t her rational acceptance make him feel more content?
“Let me take that.” He discovered he’d moved to help Anna before he’d consciously decided on it. He grabbed the urn. “It’s heavy.”
For an instant she resisted, but then she let go and smiled. “Over here on the end of the table,” she said, gesturing to the long table that was already becoming covered with the fixings of the after-church lunch.
He set it down in the spot she indicated. “I see...” Ben lost his train of thought when he heard his mother’s name, coming from a small knot of women a few yards away.
“...saying that it’s not fair for Elizabeth Miller to just stop doing her home visits. She’s our midwife, and she shouldn’t be pushing us off on someone second-best, like Anna Zook.”
Ben recognized Etta Beachy’s strident voice even though her back was to them. Obviously some things didn’t change. Etta was known as the biggest blabbermaul in the church district.
He didn’t realize he’d taken a step toward the woman until he felt Anna’s hand on his arm. She shook her head.
“Don’t say anything,” she murmured. “Your mamm wouldn’t like it, and I don’t need defending.” Her smile flickered. “Your mamm would say that the irritating people in the church are sent to teach the rest of us patience.”
Ben gave a reluctant nod. Anna was right, and that sounded exactly like his mother. But still, he didn’t like to hear the woman talking that way about Mamm. And what made her so sure that Anna was second-best?
It seemed he’d lost some of his patience while he was living Englisch. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it lightly. “If so, Etta fills the role to perfection, ain’t so?”
Anna tried to suppress a giggle and didn’t quite succeed. Her eyes danced even as she shook her head at him.
How could he have ever thought her plain? When her face lit with laughter, she had an elusive beauty that intrigued him.
Whoa, don’t go there. He eased his hand away from hers. “Denke. For keeping me out of trouble.”
She glanced away, and a slight flush rose in her cheeks.
“And imagine that Ben Miller, sitting in worship like he belonged there.” Etta apparently wasn’t finished with his family yet. “He ought to be in the penitent seat. Why hasn’t he confessed?”
