An Amish Reunion

by Amy Clipston

  Meghan sneezed again.

  This time the clerk handed her a tissue. “I really am sorry,” she said.

  “The entire hotel is being remodeled?”

  “Well, not everything. The pool is open.” She grinned, but it faded quickly. “The second and third floors haven’t been tackled yet. But yesterday we had two large leaks on the third floor, so we had to close half the wing.”

  “And the second floor?”

  She leaned forward again. “It’s a bit musty. But fine otherwise.”

  Meghan huffed. Between the dust, must, and leaks, she couldn’t let Grandfather stay here. She couldn’t stay here. “Is there another hotel near Birch Creek?” Maybe she’d missed one on the internet.

  “I’m afraid not. Just some lovely bed-and-breakfasts.”

  “Any in Barton?”

  She shook her head. “We could use one or two, if you asked me. But don’t tell my boss I said that.”

  “Where is your boss?” Meghan had a few words to share with him. This wasn’t the way to run an establishment.

  “In Aspen.”

  “Colorado?”

  “Yes. He does very well for himself, owning the only hotel around.” She started tapping the keys on her keyboard. “I’ll look up your reservation.”

  “I’m canceling it.”

  The woman peered over her glasses. Then she nodded. “I understand. Name, please?”

  After completing the cancellation, she went back to the car. “That took a while,” Grandfather said as she got in.

  Meghan explained the situation to him.

  “I don’t mind a bit of dust,” he said.

  “Your allergies will.”

  “Pshaw. I don’t have allergies.” He turned from her and looked out the window.

  “Grandfather, you deserve much better accommodations than they have here.”

  He turned to her. “Because I have money?”

  Yes. But she knew that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. “Because you need to be comfortable.”

  He didn’t say anything for a minute. He just stared at the dashboard in front of him. Then he spoke. “Take me back to Cevilla’s, then.”

  “What?”

  “That’s the most comfortable I’ve been in a long time.”

  Meghan was stunned. “You can’t stay with Cevilla!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . . it’s unseemly.”

  He chuckled. “That’s an old-fashioned word coming from you.”

  She pulled out her phone and started searching for another place to stay. She’d take a bed-and-breakfast at this point, even though it would be primitive. Better than dusty and leaky.

  Grandfather put his hand over her phone. “I want to stay with Cevilla. If you need to chaperone me, you can sleep on the couch. It’s comfortable enough.”

  She hadn’t slept on a couch since her college days, and even then, only once or twice. She thought about her expensive, high-quality mattress at home. Everything else in her life might be falling apart right now, but at least she had her soft bed, where she’d been spending more and more time lately.

  “Please, Meghan.”

  She looked into his gray eyes behind the silver-rimmed glasses. He’d had cataract surgery three years ago, improving his vision, but he still insisted on wearing glasses. He said he felt naked without them. “I’ve worn them since I was a child, and I’m not about to stop now,” he’d said. He could be so stubborn—like he was at this moment.

  Did she have the right to refuse his request, though? Couldn’t she spend one night on a couch to make him happy? He’d given her so much over the years and asked for so little in return. She put her phone back in her purse. “Are you sure she won’t mind?”

  “I’m sure.” He smiled. “Thank you, Meghan.”

  She pulled out of the hotel parking lot and headed back to Birch Creek. The whole reason she’d made this trip was for her grandfather, and if he wanted to stay at Cevilla’s tonight, she wouldn’t refuse him. But tomorrow she would find them a proper place to stay.

  Cevilla had just finished her nighttime prayers and was about to climb into bed when she heard a knock on the front door. She frowned. More surprise visitors? Twice in one day was a bit much, so she assumed this had to be someone from the community. A slight stab of panic went through her as she wondered if there was an emergency of some sort. That was the only reason someone would come over unexpectedly at this hour. Everyone knew she always turned in early.

  She threw on her housecoat, grabbed her cane, and hurried as fast as she could toward the front door. The sensor lights had flickered on right away. Noah had installed them last year so she wouldn’t have to fumble in the dark or carry a flashlight anymore. They were low lights, but bright enough to see. She started to open the door, but then she remembered she’d locked it. She’d lived here more than twenty years without locking her doors, but after the vandalism at Carolyn Yoder’s bakery a few months ago, she heeded her nephew’s warning to lock them. She thought it was a shame, and she wasn’t afraid of mischievous high school kids. But Noah had been insistent.

  She turned the lock and opened the door. The front porch sensor light was already on, illuminating her unexpected guests. Richard stood there, with Meghan right behind him. He was grinning beneath the light, but Meghan looked grumpy. Cevilla glanced down to see she was carrying two suitcases.

  “I thought you were going to the hotel.” Cevilla tugged her housecoat closer to her, feeling a little self-conscious.

  “Change of plans,” Richard replied, looking almost giddy.

  “We’re sorry to impose.” Meghan set the suitcases down. “But the hotel is unacceptable.”

  “They’re still renovating?”

  Meghan’s mouth dropped open. “You knew about that?”

  She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure. It’s been a while since I’ve been in that area of Barton. But Trevor is always tinkering around with that place. He can afford to, since he has no competition.”

  “We noticed,” Meghan muttered.

  Cevilla opened the screen door. “You’re welcome to stay here. Although, as you already know, I can’t provide five-star accommodations either.”

  “That’s all right by me.” Richard shuffled into the living room, and then turned to her. “Thank you, Cevilla.”

  “We’re staying only one night.” Meghan picked up the suitcases and went inside. “Got that, Grandfather?”

  Richard didn’t answer her.

  Chuckling, Cevilla shut the door and twisted the lock. Meghan didn’t seem to like having her plans altered. But Richard obviously was game to make the best of it. “You can have my bedroom,” she told him. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Richard shook his head. “No. I’ll sleep on the couch. I insist.”

  Meghan put the smaller of the suitcases next to the sofa. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

  “Meghan, I’m perfectly happy with the couch—”

  “Grandfather, you need a good night’s sleep. Case closed.” She crossed her arms and turned to Cevilla. “I’ll be taking the couch.”

  Cevilla smirked. “This is my house, young lady. I will decide the arrangements.”

  Both Richard and Meghan grew quiet.

  “Richard,” Cevilla said, turning to him, “you will take my bedroom. Meghan, you’ll take the room upstairs. I will sleep here. Any objections?”

  “No,” they both said at the same time.

  “Then I’ll show you to your room, Meghan.” Cevilla nodded at her and started up the stairs. These two needed to realize who was in charge here.

  CHAPTER 4

  Meghan’s cheeks burned as she followed Cevilla up the illuminated stairs, which the old woman clearly had no trouble navigating. She did move a bit slow, though, and that was fine with Meghan. She needed the time to get over being embarrassed by her and Grandfather’s argument.

  When they reached the second floor, Cevilla walked to the end of the short ha
llway and stopped in front of a door on the left. “This room is a lot plainer than what you’re used to,” she said, opening the door. She went inside and turned on a small lamp on a table by the bed.

  Meghan followed, taking in the tidy room. A double bed against one wall had an old but lovely quilt spread over it. A small dresser sat near a door she assumed led to a closet.

  “You can put your things in there.” Cevilla pointed at the dresser. Then she gestured to the door. “The closet is empty, so if you have anything to hang, you can put it in there. The bathroom is across the hall. You’ll find towels and washcloths there, along with soap and shampoo. There’s a battery-powered lamp just like the one in here on the vanity. It’s easy enough to find. Breakfast is at 5:30 sharp. I don’t abide lollygaggers. Any questions?”

  “No, ma’am,” she said, her tone meek. When Cevilla started to leave, she added, “I do appreciate you letting us stay here.”

  Cevilla’s eyes softened. “You’re welcome. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but the bed is comfortable. You should try to make the best of it, like your grandfather is.”

  She nodded, her throat inexplicably aching. Then again, her emotions had been all over the place lately. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry if I’ve come across as rude.”

  Cevilla walked over to her and patted her hand. “Whatever has got you in knots, give it to the Lord. He’s more than happy to untangle it for you.”

  Meghan nodded, unable to speak. Did God even care? She used to think so, but now she had no idea.

  “Gute nacht,” Cevilla said in her unfamiliar language. “I’ll make sure the coffee is hot and sugar free when you get up in the morning.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cevilla nodded and closed the door.

  Meghan sat down on the bed, squeezing back tears. The woman didn’t know what pain, failure, and heartache lay just beneath the surface. They were like thorns she couldn’t pull out. She wasn’t sure if she ever could.

  Richard watched Cevilla make her way down the stairs with slow, deliberate movements. He could relate. His knees creaked and groaned when he went down a flight of stairs, and he tried to avoid them as much as possible. He met Cevilla when she reached the bottom. “Everything all right with Meghan?” he said, holding his hand out to her on instinct.

  She looked at it with a raised eyebrow. “She’ll be fine.” She continued to stare at his hand. “I don’t need help down one step,” she said.

  He withdrew his hand. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

  Cevilla looked up at him and stepped down. “It’s a nice habit.”

  He nodded, glad that she wasn’t upset. While she and Meghan were upstairs, he’d had second thoughts about staying here, especially when Cevilla had put a stern end to his argument with his granddaughter. Maybe Cevilla didn’t want them there. Maybe she was only being polite. He had just burst into her life after all these years, and Meghan wasn’t acting her usual sweet, if a tad high strung, self. But he wanted Cevilla to get to know her, to learn that she was a lovely young woman when her life wasn’t falling apart. Showing up on her doorstep tonight probably wasn’t the right way to do it. “I’m sorry about our argument, and our imposition.”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” She held up one finger. “That’s the last apology I’ll hear out of you. I’m glad you’re both here.” She put down her hand.

  That was a relief. But one thing wasn’t sitting right with him. “I’ll take the couch,” he said, his tone insistent.

  She rolled her eyes, which made her look youthful, again reminding him of the girl he’d known in Arnold City. “We’ve settled this already.”

  “Yes, we have. I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

  She lifted her chin, her expression becoming stubborn. “No, you won’t. And since I’m older—”

  “By three months—”

  “Like I said, I’m older,” she continued with a smile. “I will decide the sleeping arrangements.”

  He sighed, knowing he had to admit defeat. “I don’t suppose I can convince you otherwise?”

  “Nope. It’s settled. All I need is a quilt and a pillow, and I’m all set. Now, get your suitcase and follow me.”

  Cevilla was still like her younger self, willing to take charge of a situation. Not because of arrogance, but because of an innate self-confidence. He’d admired that about her back then. He’d been on the shy, quiet side. And when he failed the eye test and was unable to serve in the Korean War, he’d felt like he was letting down his country and his community. She’d talked him through that, and he was able to serve in his own way—writing letters to his friends who were overseas and volunteering at hospitals when they returned.

  Not all of them had returned, a fact that had hit their community hard. Shortly after the end of the war, Cevilla left, and that had hit him even harder.

  His stomach suddenly growled. He’d forgotten that he and Meghan hadn’t eaten supper. She had planned to order in when they got to the hotel.

  Cevilla turned around, giving him a scolding look. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hungry, Richard? I would have fed both you and Meghan as soon as you walked in the door. I’ll go get Meghan and then make you two a bite to eat.” She started to move past him, but he touched her arm.

  “I already know what she’ll say,” he said, unable to keep the sadness out of his voice. “She hasn’t had much of an appetite lately.”

  Cevilla nodded. “Then it will be dinner for two.”

  He liked that idea—and he was glad she felt comfortable enough to just stay in her housecoat. He certainly didn’t mind.

  They went into the kitchen and Cevilla headed straight for the pantry. “Let’s see, I have the makings for sandwiches, of course. Oh, here’s some chicken soup Mary Yoder brought over last week.” She pulled out a mason jar, and he could see carrots and celery floating in the broth. “I can heat this up with some fresh bread.”

  “Sounds great.” He leaned against his cane. “May I help?”

  “I don’t know . . .” She shut the door to the pantry and shuffled past him. “Can I trust you with a knife?” She gave him a wink.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “The bread is over there.” She pointed at an old-looking wooden box on the counter. “You’ll find a knife in the drawer under there and a plate in the cabinet above.”

  Richard moved to the counter, his own shuffling gait matching Cevilla’s. They were quite a pair. He looked at the box—an actual breadbox. He hadn’t seen one in years. He pushed up the sliding door and pulled out half a loaf of bread. Behind him he could hear Cevilla placing a pot on the stove.

  His heart skipped a beat. He and Nancy used to cook together, especially in the early years of their marriage—before the maids and cooks, before he’d worked long hours that had kept him away from home more than he was there. He touched the crust of the bread. Those were simpler times. He missed them.

  “Don’t cut the slices too thick,” Cevilla said.

  Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he chuckled. “Still bossy as ever.”

  He heard her sniff. “Not bossy. I’m merely giving you guidance.”

  He looked at her over his shoulder, thankful his neck muscles had loosened. She was stirring the soup. “I never minded bossy.”

  “Guidance.” She lifted one finger before glancing at him over her own shoulder, meeting his gaze. Then she smiled. “All right, bossiness. But with good intentions.”

  “Of course.” He turned to finish slicing the bread, making sure the slices weren’t too thin or thick. Then he brought the plate to the table, placing it next to a white, covered butter dish. “What would you like to drink, Cevilla?”

  “Tea, of course. I already have the kettle on.”

  “That suits me just fine. How about I finish stirring that soup while you make the tea?”

  She paused, and then nodded.

  Richard went to stand beside her and took the spoon from her. Steam rose from the pot,
and the soup was already bubbling.

  Before long the kettle whistled, and the meal was ready. He filled two soup bowls halfway and carried them one at a time to the table. Cevilla did the same with the teacups.

  They settled into their chairs, and Cevilla closed her eyes. Richard realized she was praying and followed suit. When she said, “Amen,” he opened his eyes and met her gaze. His heart tripped again. “This is nice,” he said, unable to stop smiling.

  She nodded, returning his smile. “Yes,” she said softly. “It is.”

  He was about to dip his spoon into the soup when he noticed Cevilla wasn’t eating. “Is something wrong?”

  She folded her hands under her chin. “I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Richard stilled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. You’re a man of means, Richard. You could have traveled anywhere in the country. Probably anywhere in the world. Yet you show up here, in this tiny Amish town most people have never heard of. I know Meghan needed to get away”—she tilted her head and met his eyes—“but I can’t help thinking there’s more to your visit than what you’re letting on.”

  He set down his spoon. He’d thought about how to tell her what he had to say, if the subject ever came up. He just hadn’t expected it to come up so soon. “You’re right,” he said, holding her gaze, his hunger forgotten. “I am here for another reason.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  A lump formed in his throat, and he had to clear it before he could say what was on his heart. “I came here to see . . .” He cleared his throat again. He hadn’t been this nervous since . . . since he’d almost told her the truth about his feelings decades ago. “To see if I still felt the same way. About you.”

  A puzzled look crossed her face. “I don’t understand.”

  He didn’t understand much himself. His marriage to Nancy had been happy, filled with love and mutual respect and admiration. The thought of dating someone again hadn’t entered his mind for years, until he fell and ended up in the hospital. What he hadn’t told his daughter and granddaughter was that he’d been lucky the bump on his head hadn’t killed him. “Folks your age,” the doctor had said, “have to be careful. One misstep and . . .”