Bookends Page 35

  Nate’s eyes focused on his at last. Defeat and discouragement poured off him like sweat. “It’s like this: I owe a bookie in Vegas twenty grand. He has every right to collect it.”

  “Maybe to collect it, but not to threaten you.”

  Nate slumped in his chair. “You don’t know Cy.”

  Things were finally starting to add up. “So that’s what your little … uh, bookkeeping adjustment was about, then?”

  “I was desperate, Jonas.” Nate looked like he meant it. “I never wanted to hurt you.” Looked like he meant that, too.

  Hard to tell with a habitual liar like Nate.

  What now, Lord?

  He could walk out that door, climb in his Explorer and never look back. Let Nathan pay the penalty for his mistakes. Jonas felt a knot of righteous indignation building in his chest. Since when did loving somebody require paying all his debts?

  The silence in the cell was deafening.

  I paid all yours, son.

  Jonas sat up, gripping the back of the chair. But he’s not even sorry, Lord. Probably lying through his teeth.

  He brought his thought pattern to a grinding stop, a grim smile stretching across his face. As if he were always repentant. As if he never stretched the truth.

  You know the truth, Jonas. Tell him. Tell him about me.

  “I need you to wind this up.” The officer standing behind them looked up from his clipboard, pointing at his watch. “Five more minutes, okay?”

  Jonas took a deep breath, exhaled a prayer for guidance, and fixed his eyes on Nathan’s dark brown ones, so much like his own.

  “Brother Nate, I know you don’t know or care about God right now.”

  A guilty look stole across Nate’s flaccid features.

  “Sure, you showed up in February singing a sweet gospel tune, but it didn’t take long for you to hit a sour note. I wish like anything it’d been the real thing, Nate. Chances are good you wouldn’t be sitting in here.”

  “I don’t need a sermon, Jonas.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.” Jonas stood, flexing his leg muscles. “What you need is a Savior.” He folded his arms over his chest, regarding his brother with fresh eyes. “Know what today is, Nate?”

  His brother lifted his shoulders. “Nah. Lost track.”

  “Good Friday.”

  Nate snorted, leaning back to look at him. “What’s so good about it?”

  “Two thousand years ago, a man died on your behalf, Nathan. An innocent man died so sinners could be set free.”

  “Oh, free is it? Yeah, I’d like that.” Nathan staggered to his feet. “You’re so perfect, Jonas. You gonna die for me when Cy comes lookin’ for me? You gonna pay my debts? You gonna set me free?”

  Jonas swallowed the knot in his throat. “I would if I could. Fact is, I’m not good enough. I’m a sinner too. Jesus died for both of us. I was in a jail of my own making. Made out of anger and bitterness about dad’s death—”

  “Save your breath for somebody who cares.” Nathan swung at the air in front of Jonas, then stumbled toward the wall, propping one shoulder against it. “Look, if you wanna do somethin’ useful here, pay Cy off. I’d be much obliged. His address is in my wallet. They got it at the desk. I’ll pay you back somehow, count on it.”

  I’ll pay his debt, Lord, but only if you say so. Jonas felt his chest tighten. “Nate, I’ll look into it.”

  His brother’s eyes took on a hopeful glow. “What about helpin’ me get outta here? Can you do that?”

  No. Leave him to me, son. Go.

  The vise in his chest turned another notch. “I’ve already given you the key you need to be set free. Without that, you’ll still be in prison, no matter where you are.”

  Jonas took a step toward the door, dreading what had to come next. “I love you, Nathan. Always have. Always will. No matter what you do, you’ll always be my brother. When you’re ready to talk, come find me.”

  Now, Jonas. Leave him. Nathan is in my hands. Go.

  Jonas did the hardest thing he’d ever done in his adult life.

  He turned his back on his brother, put one foot in front of the other, and walked out. He left Nate behind bars, without a nickel to his name. And he stopped at the front desk only long enough to slip a small piece of paper out of Nate’s wallet and into his own.

  Twenty-four

  An egg is dear on Easter Day.

  RUSSIAN PROVERB

  Emilie tossed and turned in the predawn darkness.

  Trombone music filtered through her subconscious.

  Behind her closed eyelids, sunlight sparkled across Church Square. Everyone was dressed in white. No. Only she was dressed in white. A long, white gown, radiant as the sun at noonday.

  Jonas was wearing black, naturally. His black suit? No! A tuxedo. My, my. He stood in place, smiling, as if waiting for her to join him.

  Sara was covered in pink lace, head to toe, bearing a basket of delicate flowers. When had the child worn anything so fancy?

  Near the front, a very pregnant Beth sat, glowing, in a pale blue dress, Drew proudly stationed beside her in his Sunday best suit.

  One would almost think they were attending a summer wedding.

  The trombones grew louder. What is it they were playing? Nothing remotely like “Here Comes the Bride.” It sounded more like a hymn. An Easter hymn, perhaps? Yes, written in 1708, she was sure of it. “Jesus Christ Is Ris’n Today.”

  Hmmm. Odd choice for a wedding.

  On the other hand, if it were Jonas she was about to marry, they could play the theme from Lassie and she would be happy.

  Emilie stretched and rolled over in her sleep, grinning. Trix would like that for certain.

  The trombones grew louder, crowding out her pleasant dream until she sat up in bed with a start, one hand fumbling for the alarm clock.

  Easter music.

  It wasn’t her wedding day—it was Resurrection Day!

  She squinted at the clock, then tossed her covers aside and leaped out of bed, her feet barely touching the floor for the next twenty minutes as she dashed from bedroom to bath, dressing for the Easter dawn service at God’s Acre, while the trombones played on.

  “Lucky for you, sleepyhead,” she chided herself, one eye on the clock. Without the trombone choir making their way through town from three in the morning on, she might have slept through the whole service. Instead she pulled on warm clothes and ratty old shoes, then hurried down the gloomy street.

  Temperatures hovered in the forties and a light rain was falling. Emilie was relieved her new Easter dress would make its debut later in the morning. At six—in the dark—Jonas would have to settle for her at her frumpiest.

  He was waiting for her at the side door of the church, scowling dramatically and pointing at his watch until she ran up and planted a kiss on his surprised face. “Sorry I’m late, dear man.” She curled her hand around his elbow. “I was having the most marvelous dream.”

  “What was the occasion?” he murmured, steering her through the door.

  “Our wedding,” she said airily, swallowing a giggle when his eyes turned to saucers.

  “Uh … are we getting married?”

  She shook her head and lifted a finger to her grinning lips. “Hush now, the service is about to begin.”

  Welcomed into the sanctuary by the trombone choir, they joined the crowd of several hundred packed into the sanctuary. The mood was quiet. Reverent. Emilie closed her eyes, letting the sacred morning surround her. Pastor Yeager stepped into the pulpit, arms raised, face triumphant.

  “The Lord is risen!”

  The congregation trumpeted their response, “The Lord is risen indeed!”

  Soon, with the instruments and choir leading the way, the congregation quietly filed out, headed for God’s Acre, much like the early Moravians had done in Herrnhut in 1732. The history and the majesty of the simple procession filled Emilie’s heart as fully as the antiphonal music filled the air. Those leading the group played their instru
ments first, echoed by those following, the notes lifting everyone’s spirits despite the soggy atmosphere.

  Walking side by side with Jonas, Emilie longed to speak a word of comfort to him. All day Saturday he’d been polite but taciturn, almost brooding. Silence was the order of the hour now, so she could do nothing more than squeeze his hand and pray he’d share more with her later, perhaps when his brothers arrived in time for the Easter egg hunt.

  Proceeding through the stone archway leading to God’s Acre, they were handed a program and joined the other worshipers gathered around the old, flat gravestones. The minister faced due west, the congregation faced expectantly east—though it was unlikely they’d have a true sunrise to gladden their hearts this dreary morning.

  For Emilie, thoughts of the resurrection alone sufficed.

  You are risen in my heart, Lord. You are risen indeed!

  By seven, they walked back toward the square. Some headed to their cars, while she and Jonas wandered into the social hall for a light breakfast served by the youth fellowship. Helping themselves to coffee and buns, they found a warm corner and sat across from one another, knees touching beneath the table, their gazes locked across the tops of their coffee mugs.

  After dutifully sipping her hot drink for as long as she could stand it, Emilie finally gave in and asked him. “Jonas, are you ready to talk about Nathan yet?”

  A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry to be so mysterious about it, Em. Yesterday was tough. Not knowing if he needed bail or when his hearing will be.” He groaned and bit off a piece of roll, chewing in thoughtful silence.

  “If you followed the Lord’s leading, you did the right thing, Jonas.” She threaded her fingers through his, marveling again at the strength and gentleness of his hands. “Though I must say, it feels backward for me to be giving you spiritual encouragement.”

  His sudden, broad smile shone like the sun bursting forth on a bleak horizon. “Emilie Getz, on this day of all days, it’s the best gift you could give me.”

  “Speaking of gifts.” She stuffed her hand inside her jacket pocket, relieved when her fingers closed around the bulky package. “I’ve been pinching my pennies lately, saving up for the perfect Easter present for you.”

  I hope this is right, Lord! Emilie slipped the box in front of him and held her breath as he yanked off the gold paper and lifted the lid.

  “A new bird book!” He grinned and reached over to tweak her nose. “You rascal. Does this mean we’re going birding sometime soon?”

  “You and Trix are, for sure.” She gulped, nodding at the gift. “There’s something else. Inside the book.”

  “Bet I know where to look, too.” He laughed and flipped to the section on herons, where a plain envelope waited for him. “Clever girl.”

  “I learned from a master.” She gazed at him, drinking in his warmth, sending it back in waves. “Go on. Open it.”

  He slid out the gold foil card and flipped it open. “A gift certificate! For … for …” She watched his Adam’s apple dip up and down twice. Watched him blink, hard. Watched his eyes move back and forth from her to the certificate to her again.

  “Emilie, you didn’t!”

  I did. “Round trip airfare to …”

  “Alaska!” He shook his head in wonderment.

  “You deserve it, Jonas.” She pointed at the fine print. “It’s good through the end of November. Surely sometime between Honduras and Thanksgiving you’ll find a few weeks to get away.”

  “No doubt. Thanks, Em.” He slowly shook his head. “Only problem is, it’s for one passenger.”

  She bristled. “Of course it is! It would be unthinkable for me to join you unless we were planning on getting married this summer. Which we’re not, of course.”

  He smiled an elfin smile. “Of course.”

  Their breakfast finished, they moved back over to the sanctuary for communion at eight, after which Jonas dropped her off at her house then zipped down Cedar toward his place. They both needed to change in time for the rest of the morning’s festivities.

  Emilie pulled her new outfit over her head, holding her breath. Another investment item from Judie. Pale pink angora in a straight sheath of a dress. The long sleeves made her feel modest. The wide, boat neckline and deep V in the back did not, though the woman in the shop assured her it was perfectly appropriate for church or anywhere else.

  She fussed with her hair, recapturing the style of Valentine’s Eve with some success, and added more makeup than usual especially on the bruises on her neck. Her good pearls would help as well, a triple strand that filled in her neckline and reminded her fondly of Barbara Bush. Stepping into her tallest black heels, Emilie climbed down the dark, steep staircase with great care.

  Waiting on the dining room table was yet another investment. A broad-brimmed hat in the very same pale pink, touched with satin ribbon and a tiny spray of white silk flowers.

  Easing it onto her head, Emilie tilted the brim until it was parallel with the floor, as the woman in the hat shop had insisted, then stood before the mirror in the hallway. And grinned.

  Even if she only wore it once—today—it was worth it to feel so gloriously feminine.

  She hovered by the front door, waiting for a black Explorer to come into view. When Jonas pulled up, she swept open the door in her best imitation of Grace Kelly and glided out, delighted to find him standing at the bottom of the steps with his mouth hanging open.

  “Emilie! You … you …!” He gulped. “You …!”

  She smiled in a genteel manner, lips closed, eyebrows lifted. “Yes, me.” She sighed as musically as possible, moving toward him. The brick steps were not conducive to gliding, but her entrance had produced just the reaction she’d been hoping for—a sort of bumbling paralysis.

  He recovered in a moment and opened her door. She lifted off the hat, realizing there was no way to steer both it and her tall body inside gracefully, then climbed in, carefully placing her new beauty in the backseat, praying for a minimum number of blond dog hairs to attach themselves to her chapeau.

  She turned her attention to the man behind the wheel, who looked every bit as polished in his black suit—not a tuxedo, but close enough—when a pale pink tie caught her eye.

  “And I suppose the tie is to commemorate the grand opening of Carter’s Run in a mere five days?”

  He grinned. “What else?”

  “Not a thing I can think of.” She waved at the street ahead, wishing she’d gone all-out and worn gloves. “Carry on, Jonas, or we’ll miss your family’s arrival.”

  Which was another reason for the new addition to her wardrobe. She’d met his family at Christmas, long before she and he were an item, as Beth called them. Making a good impression was on her mind, though if she only impressed the man at her elbow, that suited her fine.

  They parked where they could on the crowded street, then headed up the sidewalk, Emilie with her hat squarely on her head; Jonas bearing a large Easter basket boasting a soft, stuffed bunny and one huge plastic egg in the center. “For Sara,” he’d explained, swinging it next to him like he always toted such a thing.

  The rain had given way to hazy skies and warmer air, though on Emilie’s back it felt a bit breezy. When she stepped in front of Jonas to cross the street, she heard him whistle under his breath.

  “Man, do I like the view from back here.”

  “Jonas, please!” She whirled around, hands on her hips. “I checked the three-way mirror at the store and thought it looked quite demure.”

  “You’re right,” he chuckled. “De-more I see, de-more I like.”

  She would have swatted him if they weren’t almost at their destination: the picnic grove behind the Sunday school building. “Behave yourself, sir,” she cautioned, hooking his elbow. “There are children afoot.”

  Youngsters of every age dashed about the damp grass. Little girls ruining their white Mary Janes with bright green stains. Little boys soaking their pant legs in the near
by puddles. Emilie, ignoring the headaches such shenanigans would give their mothers, found the scene utterly enchanting. Someday, Lord.

  Across the parking lot, she spied two Jonas look-alikes moving toward them. Good heavens, would Lititz ever be the same with three Fielding men in one setting?

  Three, not four.

  The realization caught her by surprise, taking a bit of the sparkle off her morning, if only for a moment. Poor Nathan.

  “Emilie Getz, you remember Chris and his wife Connie? And Jeff and Diane? Welcome, everybody.”

  She extended her hand, giving each one an affectionate squeeze. The women were warm and gracious, complimenting her dress as she did theirs, without any trace of giving her an is-she-good-enough-for-our-Jonas? once-over.

  Jonas, on the other hand, embarrassed her nigh to tears asking her to twirl around so his brothers could see her dress from the back. She graced him with a V of her eyebrows to match.

  “Honestly!” she huffed, and the women nodded sympathetically. “Suppose we get down to the business at hand. Namely, an Easter egg hunt. Are you children game?”

  Five little Fieldings, ranging in age from three to six, nodded enthusiastically and took off with their baskets to join the growing circle of kids preparing for the egg hunt, wet grass or not. Jonas followed them over, making sure they were properly registered.

  From a distance, Emilie observed him with the children, feeling a warm tingle move through her system as she watched him swing Sara into his arms, then present her with her gift basket. He seemed intent on telling her about the egg inside, no doubt containing a special present for later, judging by the way he was wagging his finger.

  Seconds later, he was back by her side as the woman in charge blew a whistle, silencing the children with remarkable speed. “The youngest go first, please. Threes, that’s you. Go on now.” They toddled out, a bit confused with it all, till the fours soon followed, quickly showing them the way of it. Sara, in her adorable flowered dress with the full skirt and multiple petticoats, showed them off prettily each time she dipped down to scoop up an egg.