RECLAIM MY HEART(34)

The air conditioner hummed, blowing a cool draft into her face. She reached out and flicked the lever, redirecting the air upward.
“What do you want to do, Lucas?” she asked softly. “Do you want to just let this be? We could turn around and go home.”
That wasn’t the best choice, in her mind. But coercing him wouldn’t be the right thing to do.
“I meant it when I said I’d help you with this. I’ll support you in whatever you dec ctev be the riide to do.” The instant the words left her mouth, heat flushed through her and something profound tugged in the pit of her belly. Her mouth went dry and she was relieved to find him distracted, deep in thought.
“I don’t have to introduce myself,” he said, finally. “I mean, I don’t have to go there and announce my relationship to her. I could just, well—” his gaze lifted to hers “—keep that to myself, right?”
Tyne could see how desperately he wanted to meet his mother. “Of course, you could.” She smiled lightly. “You look like your father, Lucas. No one would ever mistake you for being Amish. I can’t imagine anyone suspecting a thing. We could stop under the guise of asking for directions.” She lifted her hands, palms up. “To Wikweko. That would work. You’ve got relatives there. That’s not even a lie.”
“Directions,” he murmured. “To Wikweko.”
He nodded. The smile he offered reflected immense gratitude, and Tyne felt another tight pull deep in her stomach. She didn’t even try to analyze it—didn’t want to, really—as he steered the car back onto the winding country road.
After several more miles, she said, “There. Could that be the place?”
Lucas slowed the car.
The small, white clapboard house sat back from the road. A sturdy split-rail fence surrounded the tidy yard. A large vegetable garden thrived along the south side of the house, a woman stood among the plants, bent at the waist, pulling weeds. The old man sitting in a wheelchair on the concrete porch had Tyne nodding.
“This has to be it, Lucas.” Her heart thudded an erratic beat against her ribcage.
He pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road, and with slow, deliberate motions, he put the car in park and shut off the engine. They both got out and met at the mailbox at the end of the narrow sidewalk near the front of the car. The woman in the garden straightened, looking at them while reaching to wipe her hands on the white apron tied around her waist. She started toward them, the skirt of her shin-length black dress brushing the thick vegetation.
Tyne stood beside Lucas, waiting for him to take that first step. The Amish woman was halfway to the gate, and still he hadn’t moved. Tyne turned to him. He looked frozen in place. It was difficult to watch such a commanding figure become overwhelmed with apprehension. She slid her hand in his, and the trembling of his chilled fingers had her whispering, “It’s okay, Lucas. This is going to be just fine. Come on.”
She took a step, giving his rigid arm a gentle tug, and he followed.
The three of them met at the gate, and when no one spoke, Tyne asked, “Ruth Yoder?”
Lucas and the woman hadn’t stopped staring at each other. The awe on Ruth Yoder’s face was answer enough, but she nodded. “I am.”
Mother and son stood, face to face, for the first time in thirty-five years, the gate standing between them an uncanny yet solid symbol of the emotions holding them at bay. Tyne’s breath caught as she waited to see if it would swing open wide or remain closed.
Finally, Lucas said, “I’m…?I’m…” He stopped suddenly and swallowed, emotion glistening in his eyes.
The woman smiled. “I know who you are.”
The strings of her bonnet hung loose, one trailing down her chest, the other draped back over her shoulder. By no means an unattractive woman, Ruth, with her natural glow, looked much younger than the early-to-mid-fifties Tyne had calculated her age to be.
“You look so much like your father. Tall like him too.” The woman spoke softly. She gave Tyne the barest of glances, then asked Lucas, “Your wife?”
He shook his head. “I’m not married. But you have a grandson. Zach is fifteen.”
Ruth’s smile tightened and tears sprang to her hazel eyes. “I wish I could invite you in.” She turned her head as if to look toward the house. Her voice grated as she added, “But that’s impossible.”
The man on the porch called, “Ruth? Who is it?”
The transformation in the woman’s face was painful to see. Her smooth features contracted and her eyes darkened. When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, the old man barked out her name a second time.
Coming to her senses quickly, Tyne offered, “We’re here asking for directions, sir.”
“Just some lost tourists,” Ruth told him. She offered Tyne a grateful smile. “He can’t see. He went blind years ago.” Lifting her gaze to Lucas, she said, “He’s very sick.”
“I need to go inside,” the old man demanded. “Come and take me inside.”
A gentle breeze blew a tendril of Ruth’s brown hair across her face. She automatically swiped it aside and tucked it under her bonnet, smudging dirt across her forehead in the process. Tyne noticed the rich, black soil caked under the woman’s short nails, evidence of her work in the garden.
Tyne had never seen regret expressed so clearly on anyone’s face before, and her heart twisted into a painful knot.
“I should go,” Ruth told Lucas. The sad, painful smile she offered them seemed to strain her lips.