Page 10 of Unforgiven

“I don’t think she’s that oblivious. At least, not anymore. So there’s no need to worry about her.” He cleared his throat. “This has to do with me.”

Concern for his friend made Seth study him closer. If Elias was hurting, he was doing a good job of hiding it. “Let’s go on inside.”

“Danke.”

Looking at the horse, Seth added, “Want to unhitch Lightning?”

“We might as well, I reckon.”

When he stepped toward the horse, Seth stopped him. “I got it.” He carefully unhitched the lines from the horse and moved him over to a grassy area where another hitching post stood. After attaching the lines to it, he strode to the barn, found an old bucket, and used the spigot outside to fill it with water before carrying it to Lightning’s side.

Elias watched it all, an expression of bemusement playing on his features. “You can still tend to a horse better than most anyone around.”

Seth felt like rolling his eyes. Even his good friends didn’t seem able to look beyond his jeans, T-shirt, sleeve of tattoos, and short English haircut. It was as if his changed appearance had changed his heart and his mind. What he would’ve been happy to tell Elias—and anyone else who took the trouble to ask—was that he was still very much the same man he’d always been. He still did love working with horses. He’d even considered being a blacksmith or working in a livery, but that dream ended when he realized that no Amish person would give him their business.

Though Seth didn’t regret the things he’d done that landed him in prison, he did regret that he was never going to be able to remove it from anyone’s memory. He wasn’t a completely different person because a man died in a fight with him and he’d served time, but the experiences had altered him. He thought he was stronger because of his hardships. Unfortunately, even his parents weren’t willing to associate with him anymore.

Running a hand down Lightning’s flank, he said, “I might not be Amish anymore, but my brain still works.”

“Thank the good Lord for that,” Elias muttered and followed Seth inside.

Like always, his modest house’s interior brought Seth a sense of comfort. The floors were a dark-stained hickory, the walls a vanilla white. His kitchen had stainless-steel appliances and his living room a large couch covered in fawn-colored suede. The decor was sparse for an English home, fancy for an Amish one, and luxurious by his own standard.

It was also clean and tidy—a consequence of his upbringing, his years incarcerated, and a natural inclination toward order. The house was warm, thanks to the gas fireplace he’d installed last year. Outside, the October weather was crisp. Because the sky was overcast, the inside was shadowy. Until he turned on the lights.

Elias whistled softly. “Last time I came over, we sat out on the porch. When did you connect the electricity?”

“A while back. I figured there was no reason to stay in the dark since I decided not to be baptized in the Amish faith.”

“I reckon I would’ve done the same thing.”

Seth led the way into the kitchen. “Would you care for a glass of water? Soda? Coffee?”

“You got coffee made?”

“I don’t, but it’s no trouble.” He headed to the coffee maker.

“Wait. You got a Coke?”

He grinned. Elias looked so hopeful it was almost comical. “I do.”

“I’ll have that, then.”

Seth detoured to the fridge, then opened the door and pulled out two cans of soda. He wasn’t particularly thirsty but knew Elias would have something to say if Seth didn’t join him.

After handing him one of the cans, Seth sat down on the rocking chair next to the fireplace. The rocker had been his grandfather’s. He hardly used it, preferring the comfort of the couch, but there was something in Elias’s eyes that put Seth a little on guard. Like he was about to hear something that he was going to need to have all his wits about him for. The hard discomfort of his dawdi’s chair would serve that purpose.

“What’s the favor, Elias?”

“I want you to talk to Lott.”

Lott—Bethanne’s younger brother.

Seth had never expected the Hostetlers to thank him for what he’d done. To his surprise, both of Bethanne’s parents had come to the prison to thank him in person. And Bethanne had sent him a long letter. In it, she’d not only thanked him for fighting off Peter Miller but also apologized for her decision to leave a gathering with Peter. She was sure what had happened was all her fault, that she should’ve known better than to go out walking with Peter in the dark.

Seth knew she was wrong. The fault didn’t lie with her but with Peter. And Seth was pretty certain he was at fault too. If he hadn’t gotten so angry when he spied Bethanne trying to fend off Peter, he might not have pushed him so hard.

Seth had never written Bethanne back, mainly because he knew word would get around that she’d received a letter from the penitentiary. He figured she had enough to bear without being reminded about Peter’s attack or having to answer questions about why Seth Zimmerman was writing to her—or both.

---