I drew in a breath, coldness filtering through my veins. I shook my head. “I can’t . . . no, I mean, they were angry and disappointed that I’d gotten pregnant and was leaving with Ethan, but they never mentioned him being dishonest. They would have—”
“Are you sure?”
I bit my lip, picturing the way my mother had wrung the dishtowel in her hands, the look of heartbreak on her face, my father’s stony silence. They’d turned away when I’d tried to hug them goodbye. It’d broken my heart. But they’d never told me the man I was leaving with was a thief and a liar. “No,” I murmured. “Surely they wouldn’t have let me ride away with Ethan if they’d known something like that about him.” Aaron had kept the information from me in an effort to spare me hurt. My parents had been so angry, though. They’d have thrown that in my face, wouldn’t they? Oh God, I was so confused.
Brant’s eyes were filled with sympathy. “I’m sure you’re right. And even if they didn’t tell you, they would have gone to the police. They would have sued him for that money.”
I shook my head, staring unseeing into the apartment beyond Brant. “The Amish don’t sue.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Resist not evil, but whoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” I met Brant’s eyes. “We . . . they, believe that lawsuits are coercive and go against their beliefs about never using violence.”
Brant stared at me silently for a long moment. “So they just do . . . nothing?”
I sagged against the wall, allowing it to hold my weight because I didn’t feel capable at that moment. “They prefer to deal with issues themselves.”
“And how might they do that?”
I shook my head. “It just depends.”
“I . . . see.” There was something on his face that sent a cold bolt of fear through me. No. No, no.
“No, Brant. I know what you’re thinking and no. They don’t believe in violence. It’s the entire reason they don’t sue. They wouldn’t ever .
. . they couldn’t . . .” But what if they sent someone else, a voice whispered, sending sparks of horror through my system. No. Violence was violence. They wouldn’t condone it. Ever. My parents had broken my heart with their refusal to acknowledge me after I’d disappointed them so severely, but their hearts were good. They loved me.
They just loved their beliefs more.
Oh God, I felt sick, and full of self-contempt at even allowing these thoughts purchase in my mind.
Brant moved toward me, his arms suddenly around me, holding me up, supporting me. “Hey, Belle, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here. I told you you’d never have to deal with anything alone again and I meant it. You’re right about your family. There’s no way they were involved. Let’s not even entertain that idea. I’m here, okay?” He pulled me closer, rubbing slow circles on my back and after a time I felt better, calmer, cradled in his caring embrace. And it was different. Wonderfully different to not feel so alone, so bereft. All my life I’d felt a sense of separateness, first with my parents, my community, and then with Ethan. Without my family, no arms cradled me, no hands touched me to comfort, no gentle and loving words soothed. And I hadn’t even realized how much I longed for it. Not until now. Not until Brant. I was no longer alone and my soul sang with that thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Isabelle
I loved New York, I did. The sights and sounds, the hustle and bustle, the many different people with their vast array of styles. I loved the street performers and the food trucks, the plays and musicals, the sidewalk cafes and tourist attractions. It didn’t feel like home, but of course it wouldn’t. I’d never been out of the Midwest. It was going to take some time. But was it natural that I felt so lost . . . so out of sorts when I was supposed to be having fun and relaxing?
Loosen up. This is just a vacation. Live a little, Isabelle, I chastised myself. Aren’t you the girl who wanted adventure? Or maybe I’d just wanted stability. I couldn’t even remember anymore.
Brant worked during the day and then showed me the sights in the evenings. We spent several early nights and late mornings in his giant four-poster bed, discovering every secret place on each other’s bodies. I woke up happy, but during the day I missed him and didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d wander his apartment, my mood sinking, my heart constricting with longing for all the things this place could not provide.
“You look pale,” Brant said over dinner at the end of the week. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I feel fine,” I answered, spinning a forkful of linguine, but not bringing it to my mouth.
“Hey,” he said, reaching across the table and putting his hand over mine, “what is it?”
I put my fork down. “It’s just . . . I’m not sure what to do with myself during the day.”
“Not sure what to do?” He sat back. “Belle, the city is your playground. I have a driver that will take you wherever you want. See a show, try a new restaurant, go shopping.”
“Shopping?”
He picked up his plate, nodding to mine in question. I pushed my unfinished dinner toward him. At the sink, he turned back to me. “Remember, you do need a dress for my opening tomorrow night at least. Something formal.” He walked back to me, placing his hands on my shoulders and massaging. I breathed out, his touch calming me, as always. “I can’t wait to show you off.”
I smiled. I’d almost forgotten I needed to buy a dress, though Brant had told me a couple of times. “I’m going to look for a dress tomorrow.” I paused. “I did a search on the Internet . . . there’s a horse farm right outside the city that offers riding.”