weathered hands, darkened by the stain he used on the leather. “It was an accident, just that.”
“But?” His voice was gentle.
“But when I see him, I feel resentment. It’s as if I blame him for being alive when Ezra is gone.” She clasped her hands together. “That’s wrong. I know it. I have prayed to be able to forgive, to stop thinking this way, but God hasn’t taken the feelings away.”
“We forgive, as God forgives us,” Mose said. “But God is God. We are not so gut at it as He is.”
“I must forgive.” She could hear the desperation in her voice. “I can’t go on feeling this every time I see him.”
“Rachel, child, when we suffer a great loss, as you have, we start by saying the words. That is gut, but we still have to go through all the grieving.” His voice had thickened, as if he thought of his own losses—a son gone in an accident when a car hit his buggy, his wife dying of a stroke a few years after that.
Other people lost those they loved. Other people found a way to forgive and go on with their lives. Why not her?
“Gideon says that I never liked his friendship with Ezra.” The words burst out of her. She’d been denying them for days, and that had made her no gut at all.
“Is he right?” Mose’s voice didn’t condemn. It just asked the question.
“I don’t know.” Her fingers twisted together, as if they fought it out. “I hope not. But maybe—well, since Gideon didn’t have a wife, I guess it seemed like he was freer than Ezra. When the two of them went off together, even if it was just to an auction, it was like they were still having their rumspringa.”
The words that came out of her mouth surprised her. Had she really felt that? She stared at Mose, longing to hear him say she was wrong. He didn’t speak. He waited.
“Gideon was right, then.” She said the words softly, almost to herself. “I did feel that.”
“Rachel, Rachel,” he said. “That’s natural enough already. For sure a young frau wants to have her husband to herself. When there’s a boppli, she wants him home with her.”
Guilt was a rock in her chest. “Ezra worked so hard. I shouldn’t have questioned it if he wanted to go off to do something with Gideon.”
“Ach, child,” he chided gently. “Don’t start fretting about that, now. It’s foolish. You were a gut wife to Ezra, and he loved you. Don’t worry that you weren’t perfect. We’re not meant to be perfect this side of Heaven.”
“But what do I do?” Her throat was tight. “I have to make it right. I shouldn’t feel this way.”
“The Lord calls us to obedience, not feelings.”
“I don’t understand.”
His face hinted at a smile. “You try so hard, Rachel. Too hard, maybe. Just think about what you would do if you truly had forgiven. Then go and do that. Du Herr will take care of the feelings in His own gut time. Ja?”
She nodded slowly. Think what you would do if you had truly forgiven, and then do it. That was simple enough in one way.
And in another, given Gideon’s determination to be involved in her life, it was not simple at all.
“What are you doing?”
Gideon looked up at the question to find Ezra’s young son staring at him, his expression open and curious.
He set aside the trowel he’d been using to smooth the wet cement for the floor of the greenhouse. Squatting, he propped his elbows on his knees to pay attention to the boy. “This will be your mammi’s new greenhouse. Today I am making the floor.”
Joseph nodded. “Daadi gave the greenhouse to her for her birthday. I remember.”
“You have a wonderful-gut memory, then. Do you think she’ll like it?”
“It’s a nice floor,” the boy said, maybe wondering if that was all.
Gideon smiled. Young Joseph was a lot like Ezra had been at that age in looks, but not in character. Somehow he didn’t think Joseph was as daring as Ezra, who’d found far too many ways to get into mischief, usually dragging Gideon along
“But?” His voice was gentle.
“But when I see him, I feel resentment. It’s as if I blame him for being alive when Ezra is gone.” She clasped her hands together. “That’s wrong. I know it. I have prayed to be able to forgive, to stop thinking this way, but God hasn’t taken the feelings away.”
“We forgive, as God forgives us,” Mose said. “But God is God. We are not so gut at it as He is.”
“I must forgive.” She could hear the desperation in her voice. “I can’t go on feeling this every time I see him.”
“Rachel, child, when we suffer a great loss, as you have, we start by saying the words. That is gut, but we still have to go through all the grieving.” His voice had thickened, as if he thought of his own losses—a son gone in an accident when a car hit his buggy, his wife dying of a stroke a few years after that.
Other people lost those they loved. Other people found a way to forgive and go on with their lives. Why not her?
“Gideon says that I never liked his friendship with Ezra.” The words burst out of her. She’d been denying them for days, and that had made her no gut at all.
“Is he right?” Mose’s voice didn’t condemn. It just asked the question.
“I don’t know.” Her fingers twisted together, as if they fought it out. “I hope not. But maybe—well, since Gideon didn’t have a wife, I guess it seemed like he was freer than Ezra. When the two of them went off together, even if it was just to an auction, it was like they were still having their rumspringa.”
The words that came out of her mouth surprised her. Had she really felt that? She stared at Mose, longing to hear him say she was wrong. He didn’t speak. He waited.
“Gideon was right, then.” She said the words softly, almost to herself. “I did feel that.”
“Rachel, Rachel,” he said. “That’s natural enough already. For sure a young frau wants to have her husband to herself. When there’s a boppli, she wants him home with her.”
Guilt was a rock in her chest. “Ezra worked so hard. I shouldn’t have questioned it if he wanted to go off to do something with Gideon.”
“Ach, child,” he chided gently. “Don’t start fretting about that, now. It’s foolish. You were a gut wife to Ezra, and he loved you. Don’t worry that you weren’t perfect. We’re not meant to be perfect this side of Heaven.”
“But what do I do?” Her throat was tight. “I have to make it right. I shouldn’t feel this way.”
“The Lord calls us to obedience, not feelings.”
“I don’t understand.”
His face hinted at a smile. “You try so hard, Rachel. Too hard, maybe. Just think about what you would do if you truly had forgiven. Then go and do that. Du Herr will take care of the feelings in His own gut time. Ja?”
She nodded slowly. Think what you would do if you had truly forgiven, and then do it. That was simple enough in one way.
And in another, given Gideon’s determination to be involved in her life, it was not simple at all.
“What are you doing?”
Gideon looked up at the question to find Ezra’s young son staring at him, his expression open and curious.
He set aside the trowel he’d been using to smooth the wet cement for the floor of the greenhouse. Squatting, he propped his elbows on his knees to pay attention to the boy. “This will be your mammi’s new greenhouse. Today I am making the floor.”
Joseph nodded. “Daadi gave the greenhouse to her for her birthday. I remember.”
“You have a wonderful-gut memory, then. Do you think she’ll like it?”
“It’s a nice floor,” the boy said, maybe wondering if that was all.
Gideon smiled. Young Joseph was a lot like Ezra had been at that age in looks, but not in character. Somehow he didn’t think Joseph was as daring as Ezra, who’d found far too many ways to get into mischief, usually dragging Gideon along
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