The Atonement

by Beverly Lewis

  “Hungry’s a gut sign.”

  Lucy set down her bushel basket and went to give Lettie a hug. “You’re a caring sister.”

  Pulling away, Lettie laughed.

  “Well, so are you,” Faye said.

  Some time later it was Lettie, again, who seemed to want to talk. “You were out helpin’ Dat hitch up last evening,” she said, trying to sound casual-like.

  “Jah?”

  “Just curious if you know where he was off to.”

  “Did ya ask Mamm, maybe?”

  “Oh, she seems to know, but . . .” Lettie stopped.

  Lucy decided to tell what she knew, at least in part. “Dat signed up for a class at the nearby community church.”

  Faye’s head popped up. “A class?”

  “It’s a support group,” Lucy said, not revealing more. After all, she still had no idea why their father needed such a class in the first place.

  “Really?” Faye looked astonished. “What for?”

  Lucy felt cornered. Did anyone else in the family know about the meetings? Besides, wasn’t it Dat’s or Mamm’s place to fill in the twins—and if so, they’d better get round to it quick! “Sometimes, I guess, certain folk need to draw support from others who’ve been through similar circumstances.”

  Faye shook her head like she didn’t understand, and Lettie frowned. “Certain people,” she murmured, staring at Lucy.

  What’s Lettie thinking? Lucy wondered.

  Lucy reached higher into the tree and picked off the largest apple so far that morning. “That’s a big one,” she said, relieved her sisters had not pressed for more. “Is it overripe, though?”

  Lettie frowned. “Looks kinda wormy to me.”

  They had a good laugh, and Lucy hoped that was the end of the questions about Dat’s Thursday group. But knowing Lettie, there would be more to come.

  After Lucy did her part serving hamburgers and baked beans to the homeless folk who’d come through the lunch line, she went out and visited with Kiana and Van. Kiana seemed more discouraged than usual. “You’re struggling today,” Lucy said softly.

  “I’m sick of living like this.” Kiana glanced at Van, who was busy with his second helping of baked beans. “The new shelter has a limit on how long you can stay, and frankly, I’m nervous there.” She shook her head, tears welling up. “I have followed through with every lead for work—waitress, receptionist, whatever I can find—but I keep hitting a wall. Even if I do get a job, I don’t know who to trust with Van.”

  “You need some help,” Lucy whispered.

  “And besides, service jobs don’t bring in enough to pay for an apartment and childcare anywhere safe.”

  An idea came to Lucy. “What if I do some checkin’ around for you out in the country, maybe? Would ya wanna move out of the city if something comes up?”

  Kiana’s face brightened, and she smiled at her son. “If I could find a way to get around, I’d love that.”

  Heartened by their conversation, Lucy agreed to get in touch if she located work and a place to stay for a while, till Kiana could get her feet on the ground.

  On the ride home, the barns and silos on the east side of the road gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Seeing the creek running through their pastureland, she remembered leaping in it as a girl, splashing about, and exploring grassy paths here and yon. What a gut life that would be for little Van, too, she thought. Ideal . . . if I can find something.

  Her hunger pangs signaled suppertime. Mamm will be pleased my appetite’s returned. Lucy was also eager to read what Martie had written for the week’s column in The Budget, as well as to look through the newspaper for job opportunities and places to live.

  She was smiling as the driver pulled into their treed lane. Immediately, Lucy spied a beat-up red pickup parked close to the back of the house. “What on earth?” She didn’t know a single soul with a truck, let alone such a loud-looking vehicle. Except little Jesse. As she paid the driver, she had to laugh in spite of herself.

  Hurrying around the opposite side of the house, Lucy avoided walking past the truck. It seemed out of place parked there. Does it belong to the new feed salesman, just maybe?

  Slipping past flower beds golden with marigolds and mums, and over past the small white gazebo to the south, she heard her father’s voice even before she saw anyone. Then there was another voice—an unfamiliar one—and Lucy could see Dat leading a tall blond man toward the stable. Dat was gesturing and talking right fast, more outgoing than she’d seen him in recent years.

  Since he found out he couldn’t trust me . . .

  She went to the back door and stepped inside the house. There, Lettie and Faye and Mamma were huddled at one of the windows, peering out with gaping mouths, like birds waiting for worms. When they realized Lucy had appeared, they scattered, the twins rushing across the kitchen to finish setting the table, and Mamm to the gas range.

  “What’s goin’ on?” asked Lucy, mystified by their odd behavior.

  Mamm was first to speak. “Your father’s got himself a new acquaintance—an Englischer fella who wants to learn to live like us.”

  “Well, not exactly like us,” Lettie spoke up, eyes blinking.

  Lucy was surprised and moved to the counter, where her mother’s apple pie was ready for the oven. She pinched the crust to make the edges deeper, recalling the lighthearted time in the orchard that morning.

  Mamm continued. “Your father met him at the community church over yonder.”

  The twins exchanged curious glances.

  Mamm waved her hand. “Nothin’ to fret over. Sounds like the young man’s interested in God’s grid.”

  “Solar energy?” Faye asked, forks in hand.

  “I believe so.” Mamm glanced at the twins, and Lucy wondered why she didn’t say more. It made her all the more curious.

  “I need to freshen up a bit,” she said, leaving the kitchen and going all the way to the top floor, suddenly wanting to be alone. She was concerned why her father, of all people, was hosting such a guest.

  She went immediately to the sunroom area upstairs and pinched off a few dead blossoms on her African violets, then sat in one of the cushioned white wicker chairs, trembling. What’s he thinking?

  She sighed heavily—but no, she wouldn’t let herself fall into any of that. She simply could not. Getting up, Lucy crept to the window, then stepped back a bit so as not to be seen. It was possible to be spotted this high in the house, she recalled now, feeling ashamed anew.

  Below, her father’s face was animated as he and the clean-shaven fellow stood outside the stable now, near Hurricane Henry’s stall, and not far from Sunshine, their older mare.

  Lucy watched her father shake hands with the young man and, of all things, motion toward the house.

  She cringed. “Nee . . .”

  Chapter 9

  MARTIE SMILED AT THE SIGHT of Ray reading her column in The Budget as he sat at the head of the table, waiting for an early supper. “I enjoyed readin’ it. Too bad it’s not out twice a week.” He winked at her and set the paper aside.

  “Ach, that’d be too often for this writer to keep up.” She carried a platter of meatloaf to the table. “Did ya happen to see that red pickup go down the road earlier?” she asked.

  Young Jesse’s eyes went wide.

  “I mean lickety-split,” she added, reaching to tie the terry cloth bib around Josh’s neck in the wooden high chair between her and Ray.

  “I must’ve been out fillin’ silo.” Her husband folded his hands, ready to pray the silent grace and get on with the meal.

  Martie bowed her head, her heart filled with gratitude for the plentiful meal and for her precious family. These boys, lively as colts!

  Ray cleared his throat to signal the end of the prayer, and they lifted their heads on cue. Promptly, Martie reached for the platter of meatloaf and passed it to Ray, then dished up some for Jesse and Josh, and finally for herself. There were fluffy mashed potatoes with creamy gravy, an
d buttered carrots with parsley sprinkled on top.

  “What’s this now about a pickup?” Ray asked when his plate was full.

  “Aw, prob’ly nothin’,” she said.

  “Maybe it was the man your Dat invited to drop by the farm,” Ray suggested casually. “Your brother James said he met a fella at a meetinghouse last week.”

  “James knows ’bout this?” Martie was surprised, but then again, everyone’s business was known fairly quickly around here.

  “Seems so.” Ray smacked his lips and reached for more potatoes and gravy. “Says the young man’s mighty curious ’bout simple ways.”

  “Goin’ Plain, ya mean?”

  “Well . . . not so far as that.”

  “What, then?” She’d never heard of an outsider interested in the Old Ways without also wanting church membership.

  Ray glanced at her, gave her a smile, and returned his attention to his food. “Guess there are some English who wanna live more independently, is all. Not be so reliant on electricity and whatnot.”

  “S’posin’ it’s not too peculiar, what with some folk worryin’ over the state of our world.”

  “We mustn’t forget that this is God’s green earth,” Ray said, his meatloaf disappearing quickly from the plate. He looked at Jesse and Josh. “The Lord God has His mighty hands wrapped around the world He’s created, protecting it—and us—till it’s time to call us Home.”

  Ray certainly had a way of putting things back into perspective. Martie reached for the serving bowl of cooked carrots and put a small amount on young Josh’s plate. “Lookee there,” she cooed encouragingly. “You like these, Bobbli.”

  “He’ll use his fingers if you don’t give him a fork, dear,” Ray observed.

  “Jah,” she said, still marveling that her baby was old enough to hold a utensil.

  Across the table, to Ray’s left, there came a thunk. Young Jesse frowned like he might let loose with a wail—his toy pickup must have fallen off his lap. Quickly, he looked to his father for permission to get down and retrieve it. When Ray gave the nod, Jesse scrambled down off his stool. Jabbering in Deitsch, he happily retrieved the toy beneath the table and returned to his seat, all smiles once more.

  I wonder when he’ll stop insisting on bringing it to the table, Martie thought with a sigh. Carries that truck nearly everywhere!

  Things had been much too quiet in the kitchen, yet Mamm and the twins were surely busy preparing supper downstairs as Lucy still stood at the largest window at the far end of her room. Earlier, she’d crept all the way down the two flights of stairs only to see that Dat was sitting on the back porch with the stranger. She’d also snatched up the Intelligencer Journal, hoping to look through the ads to find some work options for Kiana.

  Silently, ever so cautiously now, she raised her bedroom window, impatient to overhear the conversation below. She couldn’t remember feeling this nosy, not since she’d overheard the bishop’s wife telling about their driving horses falling through the stable floor into the cellar below. Miraculously, the mares had survived.

  Her body tense, Lucy leaned near the windowsill, careful not to bump the screen.

  Dat’s voice floated right up to her. “Oh, there’s still a Bann on getting electric from the public grid. On radios and televisions, too.”

  “I noticed gas grills on a few Amish properties as I drove through the neighborhood to get here,” the young man said, his voice smooth. “Is that common?”

  “Perty much.”

  “I’ve also seen some Amish teens around town with cell phones. May I ask what your church’s view is on that?”

  “Plenty of unbaptized teens have ’em. And some contractors and businesspeople use ’em—folk whose livelihoods need a quick way for customers to reach them.” Dat sighed. “It’s a sore point with our ministerial brethren. I mean, how can we expect to keep anyone away from the Internet with a device ready in hand, twenty-four hours a day? Temptation’s all wrapped up in a schmaert phone!”

  Lucy certainly hoped her father wasn’t getting too familiar with this man. She held her breath. How much longer would Dat linger? She must get out to the hen house soon . . . gather the late-afternoon eggs.

  “Come again tomorrow, Dale, if you’d like,” she heard Dat say. “I’ll show ya how to raise chickens and goats, and take ya over to see my brother’s shop, if you’re still interested.”

  “Wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

  “Ach, don’t think thataway.”

  “Thanks again, Christian. I appreciate your time.”

  “Glad to help settle all this in your mind.”

  Lucy frowned. Settle what?

  She stepped away from the window and went to sit at her corner writing desk, leaving the window open for now. She felt the air cooling the room and could hear the shuffle of feet as Dale Something took himself off to his truck and started it up with an unexpected roar.

  After supper that evening, Christian sat longer than usual at the table, waiting for Lucy and the twins to redd things up. He occupied himself by reading Martie’s column in The Budget, getting a kick out of how she was progressing these days as a scribe for the newspaper.

  As Sarah returned for the last of the serving dishes, he leaned toward her. “Put your jacket on, love. Take a walk with me.”

  Sarah nodded and carried the dishes over to the counter, then made her way without delay to the enclosed porch adjoining the large kitchen. He slid back his chair and rose to meet her there. Reaching for his old work coat, he motioned to the back door, letting her step out first.

  The sun’s fading rays felt light on Christian’s shoulders, and he chose to take the field lanes instead of the main road. The trees along the way were black with crows perched among the branches. He’d seen fewer hummingbirds around the flower beds in the last few days and felt the slight chill in the air, especially late at night when he awoke, restless, and went outdoors and sat on the back porch to pray.

  “Autumn’s officially here tomorrow,” he commented.

  Sarah gave him a sidelong glance. “Somethin’ more than that on your mind?”

  “There is, jah.” Christian wasn’t altogether sure how to bring this up. Knowing Sarah, though, it was best to just get it out and let the chips fall where they might, though he did have his qualms about it. Already he could sense her growing anxiety. “Nothin’ to fret over,” he prefaced what he wanted to say.

  “Oh?” She let out a small laugh. “Well then, why are ya workin’ your jaw like that?”

  Not a gut start . . .

  He sucked in a breath and began. “The fella who dropped by today—Dale Wyeth—well, I wondered what you’d think if I invited him to stay over for a couple days at some point.”

  “Whatever for?” Sarah’s voice was suddenly shrill.

  “Just to give him more time on the farm to observe and take him over to Caleb’s shop, too, maybe. I’d like to teach him what he’s itchin’ to learn.”

  “Well, surely the man has a job.”

  “He owns a hardware store—doesn’t have to be there all the time.”

  “Oh, Christian.” She sounded downright mournful. “Have ya forgotten so soon ’bout—”

  “How could I?”

  Sarah folded her arms and looked down at the ground. “Seems to me it ain’t a gut idea to let an Englischer near our family.”

  He’d guessed she might say as much. “Dale’s different, though. He’s not a bit pushy, and from what I gather, he’s a devout Christian. And this is all my idea—I’m tellin’ you first. Dale knows nothing about the possibility of staying here. He’s just very curious ’bout our ways, is all.” Christian slowed his pace. “And spending time with him is helping me like nothing else has.”

  “Helpin’ what?”

  “Ach, Sarah.”

  For a long time, she was silent. When she did speak, her voice cracked. “Just put yourself in Lucy’s shoes—imagine how she might feel.”

  Christian considered that.r />
  “I daresay you haven’t given this enough thought, dear.”

  “Which is why I brought it up to you now,” he replied as tactfully as possible. To her credit, Sarah had made a fair assessment of the situation.

  “It was wise not to simply jump ahead and invite your friend,” Sarah added.

  So she wasn’t budging. “Guess I’ll just give him a few pointers, then,” he replied.

  If it had been dusk, he might have reached for her hand. But given the way she looked—her arms a protective shield about her—Christian realized that, dark or light, his wife was not keen on having her hand in his just now. He was sorry he’d ever brought up Dale Wyeth.

  Chapter 10

  LUCY OPENED THE BACK DOOR to her grandmother’s small Dawdi Haus and stepped quietly inside. Mammi Flaud was sitting in her most comfortable chair, a gray recliner, a few feet from the oak hutch built by Lucy’s grandfather decades ago. Mammi’s eyes were closed and her gray-white head leaned back in sweet repose, but as Lucy moved inside, the floor creaked and Mammi awakened, her wrinkled face breaking into a sunshine of a smile.

  “Ach. I was tryin’ my best to be quiet.”

  “You’re chust fine, child.” Her grandmother leaned on the arms of the chair as she inched up to a stand, though still a bit stooped. “Your cousin Barbie Ann, over in New Holland, came by yesterday and dropped off a large bag of fabric leftovers,” Mammi said as they went into the kitchen and sat down for some coffee.

  “How nice for the quilter in you, jah?” Lucy was happy for this windfall her beloved grandmother had received. “Let’s have a look-see.”

  Mammi began to lay out an array of fabrics: solids, florals, polka dots, plaids, and even a holiday pattern.

  “Just imagine how much it would cost to purchase all this fabric,” said Lucy. “About how many quilts can ya make with this?”

  “At least two big ones, I’m guessin’.” Mammi picked up a paisley print in maroon, indigo, and navy.

  Lucy had to smile. “Like an early Christmas gift.”

  “Ain’t that the truth!” Mammi’s wrinkled face lit up. “Well, dear, how long can ya stay and help me organize?”