“I want to see it with you.” She started to cry.
He cried too. “Oma is very sick, Leah. My family needs me. And I need my family. I do not want to be as Eli. He belongs nowhere.”
Belonging. It all came down to belonging. She, of all people, understood what Ethan meant. She hung her head and struggled to regain her composure. “When will you go?”
“There is a bus I can catch to Indy. Another will take me to Nappanee.”
“No.” Leah shook her head dully. “I’ll drive you home. I brought you here. I’ll take you back.”
Leah’s mother expressed surprise and regret at Ethan’s announcement. Leah had hoped she would say something to persuade him to stay, but she didn’t. She merely hugged him and told him he’d always have a place to come to if he ever changed his mind.
Unable to sleep, Leah roused Ethan after midnight and said, “Let’s get it over with.”
He asked her to let him drive because it would probably be the last time he ever did so. The trip was long, but for Leah not nearly long enough. She did not tell him of the trust fund, mostly because the money would not impress him. He would be happy for her, but it would mean nothing to him.
It was close to five A.M. and morning was already turning the slate sky pink when Ethan stopped at the edge of the Longacre property. He got out of the car slowly. Leah watched him look across the partially plowed fields at the old farmhouse that had been home to his family for more than a hundred years. Flickering lights could be seen through the kitchen window. The household was rising. High up on the second floor, in the window of Ethan’s room, a lone lamp glowed. His mother had kept her promise.
A lump of emotion clogged Leah’s throat. “You’re home,” she said.
“Would you like to come in?”
She shook her head. “Not this time.”
“What will you do?”
“Drive back.”
“The trip is long. You should rest first.” He looked concerned.
“I can make it.” She started to get back inside the car, but he caught her arm and crushed her against his chest. “Oh, my Leah. I miss you already.”
“You’ll get over it.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart hurt.
He held her at arm’s length. “I will never forget you. And I will never love another as I have loved you.”
“Your fling is over. You’ll be baptized. You’ll marry an Amish girl,” she said with resignation.
“You were not part of my fling,” he said fiercely. “You were part of my life. You will always be in my heart, Leah. Until angels close my eyes.”
His face blurred through her tears. “Go,” she said. “Go back. Go home.”
She watched him as he hopped over the split-rail fence fronting the road. She watched him walk quickly toward the house, toward his family, and out of her life forever.
TWENTY-THREE
The road stretched long in front of Leah. She followed it in a trance, driving by rote, every cell in her body feeling numb. Her world lay in shambles. Neil, the only father she had ever loved, was dead. Ethan was gone, lost to her forever, claimed by his Amish heritage. She had no one. Nothing.
She began to rouse herself from her stupor when her eyelids threatened to close. Realizing that she needed to take a break, she picked up some fast food at a drive-through restaurant window, then got back on the highway and drove to a rest area.
The rest area looked clean, but it was crowded with people. Some had settled on blankets and were having picnics. Kids ran and played. A family tossed a Frisbee to one another. The spring day, scented with new growth and sun-kissed air, only depressed Leah more. How could the world be so happy when she felt so sad?
Leah found a deserted picnic table near the edge of some woods and sat down heavily. She opened the bag, but the smell of the food made her feel queasy. Still, she tried to eat it. She had another three hours to drive.
“Whatcha doing?”
The little girl’s voice startled Leah. She turned to see a child of about five looking at her from a nearby pathway.
“Eating lunch,” Leah said.
“I ate lunch already.”
“That’s good.” Leah wished the girl would go away. She just wanted to be by herself.
“My mom and me are running away,” the little girl said.
Startled by the child’s admission, Leah asked, “What are you running away from?”
“Everything. That’s our car.”
Leah glanced around and saw a battered old car with a trailer hooked to its rear bumper. The back door of the car stood open, and a woman was rummaging inside for something. “Oh, you mean you’re moving,” Leah said.
“My dolls and my bed and my toys are locked up. We’re taking them a long way off. But I’m not scared.” She offered Leah a brave smile. “Mom says I’m her big girl. Mom’s got a job in …” She looked thoughtful. “In someplace. I can’t remember.”
Leah suppressed a smile. “Where’s your dad?”
The child shrugged. “He went away.” She looked sad momentarily, then cocked her head. “Do you like french fries? I do.”
Leah was about to offer her one when the girl’s mother came hurrying over. “Cindy! Cindy, I told you to stay near the car.” She stooped by the child and took her by the shoulders. “Stop going off and scaring me. And stop bothering people.”
Cindy’s lip stuck out and Leah quickly said, “It’s all right. She’s no bother.”
The woman stood. “You can’t turn your back for a minute.” She looked both apologetic and embarrassed. “I’ve told her a hundred times not to wander off.”
“I was just about to offer her some of my fries. Is it all right?”
The woman looked tired and worn out “That would be nice of you.”
“Here, Cindy.” Leah held out the small bag. “Take a bunch.”
Eagerly Cindy helped herself. She and her mother thanked Leah; then they hurried to the car. Leah watched them with memories of her own many moves flipping through her thoughts. At the car, Cindy said something to her mother; the mother nodded, and Cindy raced back to Leah. “This is for you,” she said. She held out a perfect white feather. “I found it.”
Leah took it. “Why, thank you. It’s very pretty. It must have come off a beautiful bird.”
“It didn’t come off a bird. It fell off an angel’s wing,” Cindy explained patiently. “My mom told me so. It’s from our guardian angel. She’s with us on the trip, you know.”
A lump formed in Leah’s throat. “Are you sure you want to give it to me?”
Cindy grinned. “I have two.” She darted back to the car and climbed in, and Leah watched until the car and trailer pulled out of sight. Thoughtfully Leah returned to her car. She placed the feather on the seat beside her and stared at it for a long time. Finally she started her car and left the rest area.
As she drove, Leah couldn’t get Cindy out of her mind. So trusting, Leah thought, confident that her angel and her mother will always take care of her. Just like my mother has always taken care of me. The thought took her breath away. True, they had never had a family like Ethan’s. But they’d had a family. They were a family. Through all the turmoil, moves, marriages, and changes, Leah and her mother had always been together. And her mother had fought off every adversary that had threatened to keep them apart.
Leah considered her life. like the feather beside her, it could blow away in an instant. What couldn’t change was who and what she was, who and what she had become through the adversity of cancer, her father’s desertion, Neil’s death, Ethan’s love. No one could see into the future, but all at once Leah knew she had a future. A gift given to her by Gabriella, Neil, Ethan, her mother and even her grandmother. She could have it, if only she would reach out and take it. Yes, she hurt. Yes, her heart felt battered and bruised. But bruises healed. Hearts mended.
Determination began to replace her depression. And when she turned into the familiar driveway, she wanted to see onl
y one person. She wanted to be held just like a small child. She wanted to cry. Then, in a few days, she wanted to sit down and make some plans. Her mother would help her, Leah was sure.
Leah picked up the feather, jumped out of the car, and hurried to the front door. Throwing it open, she called, “Mom! I’m home.”
And in the deepest part of her heart, Leah Lewis-Hall knew it was true.
Lurlene McDaniel, Until Angels Close My Eyes
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