Their Amish Reunion. Lenora Worth

Campton smiled over at him and shook her head, her misty green eyes centered on Jeremiah. “No, son, we are the thankful ones. You made a great sacrifice, doing what you did after our Edward died. He would be so proud of you.”

      Jeremiah didn’t feel proud. He’d done his duty and he’d followed orders, but he didn’t know how he could ever wipe the stench of death and destruction off of his body.

      “I did what I had to do at the time. I thought I’d make a difference, but so many died. So many. In spite of being wounded I managed to be whole and survive. I got to come home.”

      Judy nodded and patted his hand before she sat back in her comfortable chair and took a sip of tea, her faithful housekeeper and assistant, Bettye, hovering nearby. Looking into Jeremiah’s eyes before skimming her gaze over his blue cotton shirt and broadcloth pants held up by black suspenders, she said, “But you’re not really home quite yet, are you?”

      “No, ma’am,” Jeremiah said, his coffee growing cold on the Queen Anne table centered between the two chairs. “I wanted to thank you and the Admiral for allowing me to stay in the guesthouse for this past couple of weeks. I needed to get my bearings and being here helped.”

      “I wish the Admiral felt like sitting here with us this morning,” she replied. “He so loves talking to you. Makes him feel close to our Edward.”

      Admiral Campton had taken a turn for the worse over the last year. He had a private nurse and was resting in his bed now, but some days he managed to get up and sit out in the garden he’d always loved. It was a garden Jeremiah had helped landscape and plant all those years ago, he and Edward working side by side with the hired yardman.

      “I’ll go up and see him before I leave,” he finally said. “I won’t be that far away. You can get in touch with me if you need anything.”

      Mrs. Campton nodded, her pearl earrings shimmering along with her short white hair. “I know you’d come immediately, Jeremiah. But your family is depending on you. I think God’s timing is always perfect, so you go on and get settled. But I expect you to visit whenever you’re in town. Please.”

      Jeremiah saw the anguish on her face and heard it in that plea. They’d lost their only son and now they had no grandchildren to carry on the Campton name. When he’d called and asked to come by for a short visit, they had immediately taken him in and sheltered him, because they understood what he’d been through. He loved them like he loved his own family but he couldn’t be a substitute for their son. And they couldn’t fill the void inside his heart, kind as they were to him.

      “I will always come and see you,” he said, getting up to stand in front of the empty fireplace. Staring up at the portrait of Edward in his dress uniform hanging over the mantel, he said, “I only knew him for a year or so but he changed my life forever.”

      “Do you regret knowing him?” Judy asked, her tone without judgment.

      “No,” Jeremiah said, turning to smile at her. “He was one of the best friends I’ve ever had, and he did not pressure me in any way to join up. I regret that I didn’t understand exactly what I’d be getting into. I don’t mind having been a SEAL. But the torment of war will never leave me.”

      “You have PTSD, don’t you? Post-traumatic stress disorder is a hard thing to shake and I suspect you, of all people, know that.”

      Judy Campton was a wise and shrewd woman who’d been a military spouse for close to forty years. She and Ed, as the Admiral liked to be called, married late in life and had Edward a few years later. Like his father, Edward had lived and breathed the military. And he’d given his life for that loyalty.

      “Jeremiah?”

      He looked around the big rambling room with the grand piano, the exquisite antique furnishings and the rare artifacts from all over the world. This place brought him both peace and despair. “I have nightmares, yes. Bad memories. Moments where I have flashbacks of the heat of battle. But I’m hoping that will improve now that I’m home.”

      “Or it could get worse,” Judy replied. “I can give you the names of some good counselors.”

      Surprised, he shook his head. “I don’t need that right now.”

      “I see.” Mrs. Campton didn’t look convinced. “There is no shame in getting help. I used to volunteer at the veteran’s hospital about thirty miles from here. I’ve seen a lot of men and women improve by just talking about things.”

      “I’ll be fine,” Jeremiah said, “once I’m back where I belong.”

      “As you wish,” Mrs. Campton replied. “But call me if you ever need me. I’ll be right here.”

      With that, he made his way to her. When she tried to stand, he said, “Don’t get up. I only wanted to tell you denke. I owe both of you so much.”

      She gripped his arm and pushed with a feeble determination, so he helped her up. “And as I said, we owe you. Having you home brings a little bit of Edward back to us. Now, you go to be with those waiting to see you again.”

      “I’ll tell the Admiral goodbye before I leave.”

      He helped her back into her chair and alerted the nearby housekeeper that he was going upstairs. Then he turned and headed toward the curving staircase.

      “Jeremiah,” Judy Campton called, her gaze lifting to him. “Don’t tell him goodbye. Tell him you’ll be nearby.”

      Jeremiah nodded and took the stairs in a rush.

      Once he left here, he’d head straight back to his parents’ house and he’d be living there from now until...

      Until he could make amends, prove himself worthy and...maybe one day ask Ava Jane to marry him.

      His sister, Beth, and his mother, Moselle, had welcomed him with open arms the other day since the bishop had told them of Jeremiah’s wish to come home and help out. The bishop had talked this over with the ministers, too. They were all in agreement that as long as he followed the rules of the Ordnung and worked toward being baptized, he would be accepted back.

      “Du bliebst Deitsch,” the bishop had warned him. You must keep the ways of your people.

      Mamm, perhaps too tired to turn down the help of her only son, had rushed into his arms the minute he’d walked into the familiar house two days ago. Then she’d stood back and said, “Go and see your daed.”

      “He doesn’t want to see me,” Jeremiah replied, every pore of his body working up a cold sweat, his too-tight shirt straining at his shoulders.

      His mother put her hands in Jeremiah’s. “He needs to know his son made it home.”

      When he hesitated still, she added, “Do this for me.”

      Jeremiah couldn’t deny his mamm. So he nodded and made his way into the hallway that lead to what used to be a sewing room in the back. His father lay there in a hospital bed, his body gaunt and pale, his once-thick dark hair now thin and streaked with gray. A shroud of sickness hovered over him, but with his eyes closed, he looked at peace and as if he was only napping.

      Jeremiah blinked away the hot tears piercing like swords in his eyes. Had he caused this in his daed? Standing at the foot of the bed, he remained silent and asked God to give him the strength he needed.

      I need forgiveness, Lord. I need my earthly father to know that I made it back to him. And You.

      Now this morning, as he stood in the same spot and again prayed about how to approach his father, he could at least know that he’d never turned away from God. God had been there with him in the raging seas when he’d swum through treacherous waters and on the smoke-covered battlefields when he’d crawled with the snakes. God had been there when he’d held a buddy in his arms and watched the life leaving his eyes. God had been there when Jeremiah had woken up in a hospital and cried out for home. And for his God.

      He had scars