Noblesville
Anthony
Anthony cut the straps on another pallet of two-by-fours and sent a look skyward. Clouds had been rolling in from the east since midmorning, and now in early afternoon, they looked dark and heavy. If he didn’t miss his guess, his crew was going to get soaked if they stayed on-site. Not that any of them would melt in the rain. They’d worked in summer rains before. As long as there wasn’t any lightning, a little rain didn’t hurt anything. But none of them were keen on working in a downpour. Ladders and tools got slick when they were wet.
Could You hold it off until evening, Lord? It’d help me out a lot.
He cringed. He’d offered up another selfish prayer. But selfish prayers were pretty much the only kind that left his heart these days. Pleas for God to help Marty smile again because he couldn’t hardly stand to look at her sorrowful face across the table. Pleas for God to let his business prosper so he could be on the road, busy, useful, successful. Pleas…Always pleading. God was probably weary of listening to him.
He dropped his pocketknife into the pouch on his tool apron and slid four boards from the stack. Balancing them against his hip, he turned toward the sawhorses set up on an even patch of ground on the south side of the structure. He’d kept his promise to work sunup to sundown, and now into their third day, the framework was complete and sheets of plywood covered most of the long back wall. The two-story building with its framed gambrel roof and trio of shed dormers was taking shape.
Hammers clanged against nails, electric drills whirred, saws buzzed, and the team’s voices and bursts of laughter all combined to create the unique sound of a building site. Even though he’d listened to it numerous times before, he never tired of construction noise—the sound of hard work, sweat, and accomplishment. His ears rang with the noise as he headed across the smashed grass and patches of dirt.
Steve Kanagy intercepted him halfway to the sawhorses and took hold of one end of the stack. “I’ve been watching the clouds.” He glanced up, his eyebrows rising. “Looks like we’re gonna get wet.”
Unless God answered Anthony’s selfish prayer. Anthony wouldn’t blame Him if He didn’t. “Probably will. If we stay.”
Steve laid his end of the load on a sawhorse and shot Anthony a puzzled look. “If?”
Anthony settled the other end on the second sawhorse and brushed his palms together. “We worked late Monday and Tuesday, all the way past suppertime. If we need to quit a little early today, we’ll be all right.” To his relief, all the materials delivered to the site had been quality, which meant he could focus on assembling the structure. The garage with a loft apartment was going up in good time.
“I don’t suppose anyone would complain if we took an early night.” Steve bent over and picked up the handsaw from under the sawhorse. “If we were on a job back home, we’d shut down a little early and get cleaned up for Bible study. How about we do our own in the hotel this evening? It’d be good for all of us, ’specially after working the longer days.”
Anthony couldn’t argue with Steve. Bible study was always a good idea, and if they were in Pine Hill, they’d all attend gatherings in various houses of fellowship members. But…He yanked off his ball cap, slapped his leg twice, then settled it back over his sweaty hair. “Who should lead it?”
“I figured you would. You’re the boss.”
Anthony cringed. True, he was the owner of Hirschler Construction. He drew the blueprints, coordinated the subcontractors, and hired the men to work at the sites. He was in charge. On the job. But in their fellowship, the deacons hosted Bible studies. He wasn’t a deacon. Those positions were filled by family men. Like Porter Mullet or Steve, the two men on the team who were closest to Anthony’s age.
He shifted his gaze to the dark clouds. They didn’t show any signs of leaving. He couldn’t see it, but he knew the sun was behind the thick bank somewhere, because heat radiated through them and caused perspiration to break out under his arms. Or was fear of looking like a fool in front of his men making him sweat? He hadn’t led anyone in Bible reading—not even Marty—in more than a year. He read on his own. Every day. He couldn’t bring himself to set aside the decades-long habit. But what verses would he read? What would he say to this group of men who worked together like a well-oiled machine?
Steve cleared his throat. “I need to get these two-by-fours measured and cut for door and window casings. Let me know if you decide to quit early. It’ll take a while to get all the tools locked up in the trailer and tarps tied down over the materials. Might wanna give us a half hour or so’s notice.”
“Sure.” Anthony strode away from the sawhorses and stepped through the wide opening meant to hold a garage door. He could have entered the building between studs. The sixteen-inch clearance left enough room if he turned sideways. But he always used the framed openings even before the sheathing went up. Another habit. But not nearly as important as daily Bible reading.
He stopped in the middle of the concrete floor and looked up. He examined the joists above his head where the second-story floor would be laid, and then his gaze shifted to the roof joists. The crisscrossing always reminded him of a giant spiderweb. Above the web of joists, the gray clouds were starting to form little scoops along the bottom. Those clouds would surely send down raindrops. Anthony lowered his scowl to the smooth floor. He’d be foolish to make his team work through a storm. Better shut things down for the day.
He cupped his hands beside his mouth. “Men! You, men!” It took almost a full minute for everyone to stop using their tools and shift their attention to Anthony. “Let’s get everything put away before the rain starts. We’ll have some supper and turn in early. If we’re lucky, the rain’ll leave before morning and we can get started first thing, same as we’ve been doing.”
Todd Bender descended his ladder as quick as a fireman sliding down a pole. Pat Gingerich and Nate Schrock pocketed their hammers and began climbing down from the roof joists. Myron Mast started winding the cord for the drill, and Porter Mullet hopped off the scaffolding. The men merged into cleanup with the same practiced ease they applied when putting up buildings. They didn’t need any more instruction, so Anthony snagged a tarp and a half-dozen bungee cords from the tool trailer and headed for the pallets of two-by-fours.
The first rumble of thunder reached his ears. Or maybe it’d already been thundering and the noise of construction had covered it up. Either way, Anthony was glad he’d made the decision to take an early night. While he fastened the tarp into place, his thoughts moved on to the evening hours stretching ahead. Steve would probably repeat the idea of doing a Bible study before the men went to their rooms for sleep.
Anthony chose another selfish prayer. God, gimme something to say to them that won’t let ’em know how unworthy I am to share Your Word.
God had ignored the one about rain. Anthony sure hoped He wouldn’t ignore this one.
7
Pine Hill
Marty
But now thus saith the LORD that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.
When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.
For I am the LORD thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour.
Marty followed along in her Bible, which was draped open on her lap, while the leader read aloud from the forty-third chapter of Isaiah. She’d heard the passage before, had clung to its promises in past times of hardship. But this evening the scripture seemed to taunt her. She was weary of battling the ever-crashing waves. Even if He walked alongside her—and she suspected He’d abandoned her long ago—she wanted out of the searing flames.
She scanned the faces of the others seated in chair
s forming a circle in the Bontragers’ living room. If one of them—just one—showed a sign of uncertainty or derision, she would feel so much better. They all appeared attentive, focused, certain. Defeat slumped her shoulders. She no longer had anything in common with these fellowship members.
“ ‘Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.’ ” Deacon Bontrager lifted his gaze from his Bible and sent a smile around the circle. “The children of Israel must’ve been encouraged by these words. They’d had a long, hard journey. They were ready for something new.”
So was Marty. But what was available to her? Leave the fellowship? Anthony would never choose to do so. Leave her husband? Heat filled her face. She ducked her chin and waved her hand to stir the air. She shouldn’t even consider it. He was a hardworking, God-fearing, well-respected man. Deep down she still loved him, even if resentment had nearly drowned the emotion. Besides, divorce was unheard of within the fellowship. Her parents and brothers would be too ashamed to take her in, and there wasn’t anywhere else for her to go. Even if she found someplace to settle, she could never live with the guilt of such a decision. She was stuck here in her raging river. Somehow she must reconcile herself to it.
While the men in her Bible study group discussed the scriptures and how they applied to today’s challenges, she listened but didn’t participate. Even though they sat intermingled, unlike the separation of genders in chapel, none of the women spoke in front of the men, just as they never spoke during worship service. It didn’t matter. What Marty longed to say would only shock and dismay her fellowship members.
Deacon Bontrager offered a prayer at the end of the discussion time, and the women rose as one and went to the kitchen. Edith Bontrager always prepared a snack, and the women always served it. Marty went, too, out of habit. The others chatted as they chose a task. Marty didn’t join the conversations, but she held dessert plates close to the cake pan while Edith transferred squares of moist pineapple upside-down cake from the pan to the plates. Sally Lehman and Twyla Troyer took turns adding a fork to each plate and then delivering the treats to the men, their exits and entrances through the narrow kitchen doorway perfectly timed. Lucinda Wengerdt and Judy Eicher poured coffee and filled a tray with the cups, a sugar bowl, and a cream pitcher.
The deep male voices drifted through the opening, adding a low rumble to the women’s higher-pitched chatter. Although the sounds were far from intrusive, Marty found herself wishing her hands were free so she could cover her ears. The mix of voices reminded her too much of family gatherings around the table on Sundays or at holidays. Something she and Anthony would never host because they didn’t have a family.
“That’s the last one.” Edith stepped past Marty, put the spatula in the sink, and washed her hands. When she turned around, Marty held the plate to her. Edith put up both hands. “No, that’s yours.” The older woman’s eyes crinkled at the corners with her smile. She put her hand on Marty’s back and urged her toward the doorway. “Chet and I each had a piece when the cake came out of the oven. He said it smelled so good he couldn’t wait, and of course I couldn’t let him eat alone.” Her merry laughter pierced Marty to the core. “We’ll be fine with coffee now, so you enjoy that piece, Marty.”
She wasn’t really hungry, but she carried the plate to her chair and sat. Lucinda offered her a cup from the tray, and Marty took it, giving the woman a tight smile. As soon as they were done eating, the deacon would pray again, and then she could go home. To her empty house. She’d spent the past week and a half bemoaning her loneliness, so why did she want to escape the company of the study group? Maybe she was losing her mind, the way some women on the prairie had more than a century ago, driven mad by the endlessly howling wind and the isolation. When she’d read about prairie madness in a book, she’d scoffed at the notion, but now it didn’t seem so farfetched. Loneliness did strange things to a person.
“Marty, what do you hear from Anthony?” Deacon Bontrager pinned her with a serious look. “Are things going smoothly for him now?”
Marty swallowed the tiny bite of cake she’d carried to her mouth and forced a smile. “I haven’t talked to him since Saturday evening, but at that time he said things were ready for the men. I’m sure he and the team are making good progress.”
“Give us ten days, Marty, and then I oughta be home,” he’d told her at the end of the call. She had vacillated between eagerness to see their separation end and a strange desire to let it go longer.
The deacon nodded, his expression solemn. “That’s good to hear. Edith and I prayed he wouldn’t have any other delays with the project. I know it’s hard on him to be away for so many days at a time.”
Marty wouldn’t have guessed that based on how many projects he chose to take on outside Pine Hill. Of course, as he often reminded her, if he limited himself to Pine Hill, he’d quickly run out of things to do. He needed the jobs in other communities.
Edith reached across the little gap between their side-by-side chairs and gave Marty a soft pat on the knee. “I tell you what, when it gets too lonely at your house, you come over here. With school out, I’ve been helping my daughters-in-law by taking a grandchild every day of the week. By noon I’m pooped. You could entertain while I take a nap.” Laughter rolled around the circle, women’s heads nodding in understanding.
Marty managed a halfhearted chuckle. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m keeping myself busy working on a quilt. For next year’s relief sale.”
“Oh, Marty…” Twyla sighed, longing glowing in her blue eyes. “I wish I had time to sew on quilts. My sewing machine is always making shirts and britches. The twins are growing so fast I can’t hardly keep up.”
What would Twyla say if Marty admitted she would cheerfully give up her entire day to sew for one child, let alone two?
“What pattern are you making?” Lucinda spoke around a bite of cake. Her round face and figure gave evidence of her penchant for sweets. “The trip-around-the-world quilt you made last year was so pretty. Are you doing another one?”
Marty shook her head. “Flying geese this time, using solid colors of muslin. I have enough sky blue for the sashing and background on the blocks, but every ‘goose’ will be a different color.” She closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning the finished product. She moved her hand as if it rode in a roller-coaster car. “Reds to oranges to yellows to greens to blues to purples.”
Edith released a little gasp. “I can’t hardly wait to see it. It will probably look like a rainbow.”
A rainbow baby…Pain sliced through Marty’s chest. She set her half-finished cake and the barely touched coffee on the end table behind her. Her hands trembling and tears burning the corners of her eyes, she retrieved her Bible and stood. “Thank you for the cake and…and everything, but I’m not feeling very good. I think I better go.”
Edith stood, too. “Would you like Chet to drive you?”
“It’s only three blocks. I can walk.”
“Then let one of us walk with you.”
The woman only meant to be kind, but Marty didn’t want kindness. She wanted to be left alone. She shook her head and wriggled between chairs. She nearly stumbled, but she caught her balance and took the final two steps to the front door. As her hand closed on the doorknob, someone touched her arm. She angled her head and found herself looking into Deacon Bontrager’s concerned eyes.
“Before you go, let’s pray together.”
A hysterical laugh built in the back of Marty’s throat. Pray? Why? Who was listening? The others were rising, moving close. They would join hands and form a united circle, as they always did at the end of Bible study. Marty couldn’t join them. Wouldn’t join them. It would be hypocritical, given the thoughts parading through her mind.
&n
bsp; She wrenched the knob and flung the door open. “Please pray without me. I have to…” She fled.
Noblesville
Anthony
“Amen.” Anthony’s breath wheezed out behind the word. He’d done it. He’d read Scripture and prayed with his team of men. Not a selfish prayer, either. One incorporating elements of gratitude, adoration, and even confession, releasing the anger he felt toward Mr. Packer. And it had felt good. So good. Conviction filled him. When he was home again, he would read aloud from God’s Word and pray with Marty every day, the way they used to. They needed it.
He set his Bible on the bed and stood, and the men rose from their various places around the small motel room. “If you want to take some pizza to your room with you, feel free.” Each of the three boxes they’d had delivered from a nearby pizzeria still held at least a piece or two. This motel didn’t have small refrigerators in each room. The pizza wouldn’t last long without refrigeration, and Anthony hated to waste money.
Nate slid the last slice of pepperoni from the box and wrapped it in a napkin. “This’ll make a good breakfast. Thanks, Anthony.”
Myron closed the box on the cheese pizza and picked it up. “Me and Todd can share this. Late-night snack.” The youngest of the team grinned.
Steve nudged Myron with his elbow. “But not too late. Early start again tomorrow, right, Anthony?”
“Leave here by six thirty, like usual,” Anthony said.
Nate shifted from foot to foot, his hand on the doorknob. “Even if it’s raining?”
The rain that had begun shortly after they left the jobsite continued to patter on the motel’s flat tin roof. During their study time, Anthony had prayed it would let up by morning. He shrugged. “Unless it’s downpouring or there’s lightning, we can probably work. I always carry hooded slickers in the tool trailer. Since we got a late start with this project, I’d like to not let anything else slow us now.”
Ours for a Season Page 6