The morning at the book bindery seemed to drag for Isaiah, and he noticed that Nathaniel seemed restless, too. The work was coming along and the pile of boxes of bound books kept growing—ready to be shipped in a matter of days. Strange how Isaiah was already feeling like the outcome of this shipment reflected on him as well as Nathaniel’s business.

  Isaiah was at the sewing frame this morning, pushing the thick needle through the holes in the folios to hold the pages tightly together. His hands knew the work by this time, and in a way the methodical movement was soothing. But Isaiah’s mind kept drifting back to Bethany.

  If it weren’t for Isaiah’s father’s crime, Micah would still be Amish. He’d still be engaged . . . in fact, he might already be married, considering the baby on the way. If Abe had forgiven the community instead of harboring a grudge, if he’d done the right thing even when it was hard . . . if Abe had practiced what he preached even a little bit, these lives would be moving merrily forward.

  A community was a safe place—the strength being in people who stuck together and took care of one another. But communities suffered together as well. What hurt one person hurt everyone, and perhaps Abe’s crime had proven that more clearly than anything else could have. Isaiah wasn’t the only one floundering because of his father’s sins.

  The clock showed nearly noon, and Isaiah’s stomach rumbled. He clipped off the last thread and removed the pages from the frame. It was a neat, tight job of sewing, and he couldn’t help but feel some elemental pride at doing a job well. He was hungry, though.

  “Nathaniel, I thought I’d get some lunch,” Isaiah said.

  Nathaniel looked up at the clock on the wall. “Yah. It’s that time. Go ahead. I’ll finish up here first. When you get back you can start working on those covers. How many literary journals are left?”

  “Twelve journals. So, six more bindings of two journals per book. We’re almost done.”

  “Yah, we’ll be able to deliver this order with a few days to spare, so we’ll be in good shape. Good. I’m pleased. Go get yourself some lunch.”

  Isaiah headed out of the shop and down the street toward the bakery. He stood in line with a few Englishers and some Amish women who looked over their shoulders at him and gave him a stiff hello. Whatever conversation they were having in Pennsylvania Dutch died off, though, and they stood in silence the rest of the time.

  Isaiah ordered a roast beef and cheese sandwich, a bag of chips, and two fresh brownies, and when he’d collected his food and paid he headed back toward Glick’s Book Bindery. He headed around the back of the store to eat in the little strip of grass between the stores when he spotted Bethany getting down from a buggy. He stood there watching her as she said something to Tessa Weibe, who was driving, and when Tessa’s gaze moved over Bethany’s head and met his, he saw something there he didn’t expect: antagonism.

  Bethany turned and Tessa flicked the reins, and by the time Bethany had seen him, the buggy had already masked Tessa from view.

  What had that been about?

  He headed over to meet Bethany and she gave him a wan smile.

  “I came to help Daet,” she said.

  “I’m glad.” And he was—deeply, strangely glad. He’d missed her. “You hungry?”

  “Yah, actually.”

  “I have more food than I can eat,” he said with a small smile. “Come on. Let’s go sit by the stables.”

  “I could go get my own lunch, you know,” she said, but a smile tickled her lips.

  “It’s okay. You know the bakery—the sandwiches are massive.”

  There was a little bench that lined one side of the stables and they headed in that direction. When they sat down Isaiah gave Bethany half his sandwich and put the rest of the food between them.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said.

  “I had to get away,” she said. “Mamm and Tessa will have my life planned between them, and they both seem to think they have a right to it because I’m carrying their grandchild.”

  “Is it that bad?” he asked.

  Bethany took a bite and gave him a dry look as she chewed.

  “I guess it is,” he said. “At least you have people who care.”

  “Tessa is convinced Micah will come back,” Bethany said. “I’m not so convinced.”

  “What will you do?” he asked.

  “I’ll go away for a while,” she said.

  His heart sank. “For how long?”

  “A little less than a year—long enough to recover,” she said.

  Isaiah swallowed his bite of sandwich with difficulty. “Will you let me know where you went?”

  “The less anyone knows the better,” she said quietly. “Too many people know about this already. If I’d been smarter, I wouldn’t even have told you.”

  “Don’t say that . . .” He reached out and put his hand over hers. “You can trust me.”

  “You’re Micah’s friend, so I guess . . . you’re safe, in a way.”

  He pulled back his hand. “Micah’s friend? Is that how you see me at this point? Nothing to you?”

  “I’m just staying, you care about how this turns out,” she said, and tears misted her eyes.

  “Yah, I do.” He cared more than he had any right to, and the thought of Bethany just disappearing somewhere was a difficult one to embrace. Her family loved her, and she’d have a plan . . . but the man in him wanted to be part of it. Even though he had no right to ask.

  “Have you talked to Micah?” Bethany asked.

  “When I drove him home,” he said.

  “And?”

  “He—” Isaiah sighed. “The fact that he’ll be a father made an impact. He doesn’t want to just leave his child to be raised by another man.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’ll come back,” she said hesitantly.

  “No . . . I agree there,” he said. “He is very certain he wants to be in his child’s life, though.”

  “He’d ruin me . . .” she whispered.

  “I’ll try to talk to him again,” he said.

  “What use is that? He isn’t listening to anyone!”

  This whole situation had gotten incredibly complicated. All he knew was that if Micah did go back to Pittsburgh, he’d find a letter waiting for him from Isaiah promising him that he’d stand by his word.

  “I promised him that I’d look out for you while he’s away,” Isaiah said. “Maybe that will be enough for him to give you some space, if he knows I’ll tell him how you are and . . . how the baby is.”

  “Do you think?” she asked, leaning forward. “Would that be enough?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s something,” he said, and he nudged her hand holding the sandwich. “Eat, Bethany. You need energy.”

  She smiled faintly and took another bite. They ate in silence for the next few minutes, and Isaiah felt a strange relief at just being next to her on this bench. She caught him looking at her and a smile turned up her lips.

  “What?” she said.

  “Nothing. I just think you’re probably my last friend right now.” He opened the chips and then passed her one of the brownies.

  Bethany accepted the brownie and looked at him somberly for a moment. “Isaiah, we’ve been raised to be honest always. But I wonder if that wasn’t just a ploy to make us be good kinner while we were young and everything was simple.”

  “Is that all it was?” he asked. “I don’t think so. If we can’t trust one another with little things, what about the big ones? We have to stand for something.”

  She swallowed. “I know.”

  “My daet got sucked into more trouble because he wanted to save me,” he said. “And because he was bitter. But small things turned into very big things more quickly than he anticipated.”

  She nodded. “I did want to be a good woman, Isaiah. I’m not sure I’ll manage it, though.”

  “You already are a good woman,” he said, shaking his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just keep my secrets, Isaiah,” she said, her eyes filled with pleading. “I’ll live with the consequences, but please keep my secrets. I’m tired of everyone deciding for me. I’m sick of it! I’ll choose what I do; I’ll choose what I tell my child, too. That will be mine, and I’m not being pushed into anything.”

  “You know I will. . . .” He frowned. “I’m not pushing you into anything!”

  “You’re the only one who isn’t right now,” she said, and nudged his arm with hers. “You’re a good man.”

  And she might be the only one who thought that right now, too. Isaiah took the wrappers from her hands and dumped their trash into a garbage can. He looked up as a car honked from the street, beyond, and they carried on toward the building through the patchy sunlight.

  “Beth . . .” he started, and he looked over at her to find those deep, brown eyes meeting his. Her lips parted, and for a millisecond that felt like an eternity, they looked at each other. She was beautiful—more so than he’d ever thought before in his younger days of that wild crush he’d had on her. She was stronger than he’d realized, too, and more vulnerable. She was deeper and kinder and more compassionate . . . and while he might have pined from afar for years, looking down into her dark brown eyes today, his gaze flickering down to her pink lips, this was a much more dangerous position to be in.

  From afar, he had no hope. But standing inches from her in the warm summer sunlight, his heart pattering in his chest, he could do something he’d been longing to do again ever since that night in the buggy.

  Isaiah stepped closer and tentatively touched her waist. When she didn’t pull back he dipped his head down, his lips hovering over hers until he closed the whisper between them and she leaned into his kiss. Her breath tickled his face when she let out a sigh, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer against him.

  She tasted like the chocolate brownie she’d just eaten, and she was warm and soft and fragrant, so that his head echoed with the pounding of his own heartbeat. When he pulled back she blinked blearily up at him, and then her fingers fluttered up to her lips.

  “Why did you do that?” she whispered shakily.

  He could ask her the same thing, but it wasn’t gentlemanly to do so. “Because I wanted to,” he admitted, his voice low and gruff. And he wanted to do it again, pull her back into his arms and keep her there, forget about the demands of the world around them.

  “Isaiah, I can’t—” she started.

  “I know,” he said, and he ran a finger down her soft cheek and let his hand drop. “I’m not asking you for anything. I promise. I just . . .”

  He’d wanted to kiss her. It was wrong, it was ill-timed, it was bad for both of them. And yet he’d wanted to kiss her so badly that it had overridden everything else in his head.

  The back door opened, and Nathaniel poked out his head.

  “Oh, Bethany. You’re here? I thought I heard voices.”

  “Yah.” She stepped away from Isaiah, making him feel like a flood had suddenly swept between them, and she licked her lips. “I came to help, Daet.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Your mamm thought this was a good idea?”

  “Not really,” she said. “But I had to get out, and she agreed that if I was with you, I couldn’t come to too much harm.”

  Nathaniel smiled at that. “Your mamm is a wise woman. Come on, then. We’ll see if we can finish this order today. Are you done with your lunch, Isaiah?”

  “Just finished,” he said, and he cleared his throat. Had Nathaniel seen them?

  Bethany went inside ahead of Isaiah and Nathaniel pulled an envelope from his pocket. “This came for you while you were out. The bishop dropped it off.”

  Isaiah looked down at the envelope and recognized his daet’s printing immediately.

  “Thank you,” he said, but his voice sounded distant in his own ears.

  A letter from his daet . . . He looked up and found Nathaniel’s gaze still locked on him, a meaningful look in his eye.

  Yah. Nathaniel knew more than he was saying, and Isaiah felt his face heat.

  “We’d best get to work,” Isaiah said hurriedly and followed his boss inside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Isaiah went back to his workstation, and for the next couple of hours he worked on leather bindings, ensconced in the strange perfume of glue, leather, and paper. Bethany worked with equal fervor, and a few times he’d look up at her to find her gaze flicker in his direction and her cheeks would flood with pink.

  What was it about Bethany that made him take these risks with her? He wasn’t the one for her—she needed to find a future with Micah, not him. And he needed to find a future, period. But he was also wondering what Nathaniel thought of him right now. Bethany was vulnerable and pregnant, and if Nathaniel thought the worst of him . . . He just hoped he didn’t.

  Isaiah finished with his last binding, putting it in a book press to keep it flat while it dried over the next several hours. Then he headed over to Bethany’s table to collect the last of the sewn folios for his next batch.

  Bethany clipped the last thread, and when he stopped at her side she leaned toward him, almost imperceptibly, and he felt like all the blood in his body yearned toward her in response. Whatever this was that drew them together, it was dangerous, and he knew it. Even her father’s back didn’t seem to dampen it.

  “You said you’d try to help me,” she whispered.

  “I will.”

  “This—whatever this is—isn’t helping!” She looked up at him and pressed her lips together.

  “You kissed me, too,” he whispered.

  She looked away. “Well, I won’t do it again.”

  “Okay.”

  He wasn’t sure he believed that, though, because even as she said it, he brushed her fingers with his behind the table and her hand stretched toward his. He twined his fingers through hers, but she wouldn’t look up at him again. They simply stood there, their hands clasped together and his heart pounding in his chest.

  Nathaniel turned and glanced toward them, and Isaiah released her hand and picked up the stack of sewn folios. She was right, of course. Whatever this was brewing between them wasn’t helpful to her, and it wasn’t who Isaiah wanted to be either.

  The hours chugged by, and when they finished the last bound collection of journals, putting them into the book presses and winding down the wheel, Isaiah let out a sigh. This had been a huge order, and the sight of boxes of bound books waiting for shipment left Isaiah with a sense of pride. Those journals would sit on a library shelf somewhere, their sleek, burnished bindings speaking of quality. They would last for generations.

  “Those last books will come out of the book presses in the morning,” Nathaniel said with a satisfied nod. “Thank you both for your hard work. I think we can leave early today—we’ve earned it. And Bethany, I’ll just feel better when you’re home.”

  “I can get started on the next project,” Isaiah said, “if you want to take Bethany back—”

  “You should rest, too,” Nathaniel said. “You’ll do better work rested, I promise. But first, I owe you your wages.”

  Nathaniel nodded toward the back room. “I’ll write you a check.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come on, Bethany, let’s get our things. . . .” Nathaniel gave his daughter a pointed look, and she startled slightly and then followed him. It looked like Nathaniel wasn’t going to leave them alone.

  Isaiah didn’t want to be the guy who was a threat to Bethany’s happiness in the future, but it seemed her father might suspect he was just that. Bethany glanced back at him before she disappeared into the back room, but her expression didn’t betray her feelings. Isaiah sighed.

  He had no choice but to wait.

  Isaiah touched the letter in his front pocket. He’d been waiting to read it when he was alone, and as Bethany and her father headed toward the back room to collect their things and for Nathaniel to write that check, Isaiah sliced open the envelope.

  What would this letter be—more explanations? More excuses? He unfolded the cheap prison paper, and as he scanned the handwriting, his heart hammered to a stop.

  Dear Son,

  I’ve been wondering if I should tell you about this, and I’ve started and stopped writing this letter about five times already. I’m not sure they’ll give me more paper if I crumple up this one. I’ve been praying, asking Gott what I should do, seeking His guidance and His will, asking what would be right, and I have no answer from above. Either I’m no longer able to hear Him when I’m surrounded by concrete and inmates, or I have crossed a line and He has given me up. I think the right path to take is so far in the past that it may no longer even matter.

  But I’m worried about you, Isaiah. Gott must be our all in all, but the physical body still needs certain comforts to survive. I know that the farm is gone, and that things must be hard for you and your sisters. You must be strong in the faith, regardless. Don’t let this time of trial beat you down. I have let you down, but Gott is still true. I know our community, and they have either sided with you and wrapped you in support or they have all taken a step back. From what your sister tells me, I believe it is the latter. And your sisters will need your support now more than ever.

  What was it about his father’s way of speaking—the spiritual language, the preacher’s cadence, that turned Isaiah’s stomach so much these days? Words were supposed to be more than flowery decoration. What was it his uncle had always said about his daet . . . that he was “fancy” in his heart? And Isaiah could see exactly what his uncle meant now, because the religious tone meant very little to Isaiah right now. He wanted to hear from his daet, not from the preacher. The preacher was a fraud. His daet . . . well, they had a history together, at the very least.

  He turned back to the letter:

  I’ve let you down—all of you—and I worry about you constantly. I pray for you, but I don’t know if Gott even listens to me anymore. I’m not worthy, but then I never was, and we are all sinners, short of the glory of Gott, are we not? I can only hope that Gott will remember my kinner. It’s wrong that you all be punished for my mistakes. They should have left you some of the land, at least, to live on, but there is nothing I can do about that now. However, I do have something that might help you . . . something for you alone.