The Atonement

by Beverly Lewis

  Faye was just around the corner sewing, the treadle of the sewing machine going mighty fast. Lettie, meanwhile, was chopping cabbage for a slaw and looked her way. Lucy waited, expecting her to comment on this, since everyone in the family knew that Lucy liked to change her room every six months or so. Surprisingly, Lettie returned her focus to her work, keeping mum.

  “Sure,” Mamm agreed with a smile. “I s’pose it’s that time, ain’t so? And I have some time before I’m needed back here in the kitchen.”

  When they got to the third floor, Lucy opened all the windows to air out the space.

  “Seems to me if I leave something in the same spot for too long, I quit seein’ it anymore,” Lucy said to her mother.

  “That’s true of more things in life than just furniture,” Mamm replied with a glance around. “You do have a cozy nest up here.”

  “Lettie asked me recently why I moved my bedroom upstairs in the first place,” Lucy told her. “Has she ever mentioned this to you?”

  Mamm shook her head. “It’s beyond me why she’d bring that up now.”

  They pushed the bed into the middle of the room, all four legs on coasters. Next, they moved the dresser out and away from the wall, sliding it carefully across the floor. Dat had put sliders beneath all of her heavy furniture, making it easier for Lucy and her sisters or whoever helped with the seasonal task.

  When the two pieces had been switched, Mamm brushed her hands on her apron. “That took no time at all.”

  Lucy caught her mother’s eye. “This might sound silly, but talkin’ with Tobe on Sunday night set me to pondering many things.”

  “How could I think it silly, my dear, knowin’ what you’ve gone through?”

  Lucy flushed. “Honestly, I don’t think I can ever move forward with a new fella. Maybe never.” The last words caught in her throat, and she drew in a deep breath. “The truth is, Tobe wants to court me.”

  “Oh my.” Mamm seemed taken aback. “He said as much?”

  “Jah, asked me right out.” She felt so vulnerable telling Mamm this. “Obviously he doesn’t know anything ’bout my past.”

  “I daresay no one amongst the People knows.”

  In the distance, Lucy could hear Lettie and Faye laughing about something below, an odd contrast to the tension swirling in this room.

  “How could I possibly agree, Mamm?”

  “Are ya sure you can’t?” Her mother’s eyes bored into her.

  “It’s not possible, nee.” Lucy didn’t have it in her to explain everything that was erupting inside. “There’s more, too,” she added quickly. “I want to sell my necklace. The one from Travis.”

  Mamm managed a smile. “Ach, I didn’t even realize ya still had it.”

  “I’d like to give the money to a young homeless mother and her little boy.”

  “Perhaps you should consider puttin’ it in the alms box at church on communion Sunday. Jah?”

  Lucy remembered the way Kiana had looked at her upon receiving the scarves and mittens. “Kiana has nothin’ ’cept her little boy, Mamm.”

  She told her about trying to locate somewhere safe for Kiana and her son to live, and a job, too. So far, nothing feasible had come up.

  “Has the Lord Gott put this on your mind?” Mamm’s expression was soft now.

  “Ain’t sure, really.” Lucy rose and went to the dresser, found the necklace in the little fabric pouch, and showed it to her mother. “This cost a perty penny.”

  Mamm shrugged at that. “You’re kind and generous to think of doin’ this, Lucy. But just how would you give her this money you’re talkin’ about? In cash? And then what, Lucy? She could be robbed.”

  “Well, I’d deposit it for her in a bank to keep it safe. They have so many needs: decent clothes, an apartment, household items, a car . . . things like that.” Lucy folded her hands, pleading. “Oh, Mamm, if only you could meet Kiana and Van—all those poor, precious people I see every Friday. They deserve a gift of hope.” Lucy surprised herself as the words spilled out. “If Kiana could just get back on her feet, maybe return to her family . . . if her father could lay eyes on his little grandson—well, things could soon change for the better.”

  “Remember that Kiana has to want this for herself and for her son. It can’t be just your doin’.”

  “I believe she does. A girl in her situation—with a young child—wouldn’t she want to live a normal life?”

  “You might want to talk this over with your father.” Mamm scooted forward to perch on the edge of the settee.

  Lucy prickled at the notion and got up to put away the necklace. Frustrated, she accompanied her mother down the two long flights of stairs. “There is something I do want to talk to Dat ’bout later tonight,” she said.

  Mamm looked her way but did not inquire.

  “Denki for helpin’ me with the furniture, Mamm. And for hearin’ me out.”

  Her mother gave her a quick squeeze. “I care ’bout ya, Lucy. Your Dat, too. Please don’t forget.”

  Christian walked back from Caleb’s place, choosing to take the narrow path that ran along the edge of the vast meadow south of his barn. The sky was clear blue, without a single cloud, and a flock of birds cut across a patch of sky right over his head. “Gonna be a nice, clear evening,” he murmured as he observed.

  Back in the barn, he was happy to see Lucy wander out to help feed the livestock. She rarely came on her own anymore. “Nice weather, ain’t?” he said as she moved from each of the mule’s feeding troughs to the driving horses.

  Lucy glanced over and smiled but said nothing.

  Normally her reticence pricked at his heart, but he let it go. It can’t be easy to still live at home, what with all she’s gone through.

  Christian forged ahead regardless, mentioning the forecast for the week. “Of course, we trust the Lord’s hand of provision, as always. For the weather . . . for everything.”

  “Jah.” Lucy leaned her face against Caney’s long nose.

  Christian collected the feed buckets and stacked them high.

  “I was wonderin’ if I might go with ya tomorrow night,” Lucy said, blinking in his direction, as though hesitant. “If you don’t mind.”

  At first he was speechless, reeling at her request. “Why, of course you can, Lucy.” His heart rejoiced. “You’re always welcome.”

  Long after his daughter had wandered back to the house, Christian found himself praying over this news, wondering what had transpired to change her mind.

  Chapter 19

  RIDING ALONE WITH DAT to the community church the next evening wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as Lucy thought it might be, partly because her father had called for a driver to take them. It was easier because Dat sat up front in the passenger’s seat and Lucy sat behind him with another Amishwoman, her babe in arms. Lucy didn’t know the woman, who was visiting her sister-in-law on Hunsecker Road, but she was friendly and her baby boy was adorable—a thick head of brown hair and bright blue eyes. Seeing the infant, Lucy’s insides turned to Jell-O, and she had to look away.

  She’d noticed her father’s notebook and folder on his lap and was glad she’d brought along a pen and a small tablet in her purse. Dat had said he was confident she, too, would receive the materials from the previous two class sessions if she wished. Lucy just hoped she wouldn’t be viewed as barging in on the rest of the group.

  The trip was quick compared to the same distance in a horse and buggy, and before getting out of the van, Lucy said good-bye to the sweet-faced mother and went to walk with her father toward the meetinghouse. Dat was quiet, even contemplative, his face solemn.

  “Are ya sure this won’t be a problem?” she asked. “My coming for the third class?”

  Dat shook his head. “I doubt the minister will mind at all. He’s very welcoming, as is everyone.”

  “How many more weeks will the course last?”

  He told her there were eleven more sessions in the outline.

  As they approach
ed the church building, she suddenly blurted, “I’ve decided to sell Travis’s engagement necklace. Mamm wants you to advise me ’bout my plan to give the money to a young homeless mother.”

  Her father jerked his head to look at her, mouth agape. “You still have it?”

  “Jah,” Lucy replied, wishing now that she had chosen a better time to bring up such a many-layered subject.

  “We best be talking ’bout this another time. Don’t want to be late for your first class.”

  She nodded in agreement—at least she’d managed to voice the words. Now Dat could think about it and maybe come up with a good solution for how to sell the necklace. Anything to get Kiana on a more stable footing.

  Lucy followed him into the entrance and immediately spotted his friend, Dale Wyeth, standing near the door, smiling and greeting two others ahead of them. She gasped—one was Clinton Holtz. My word, this must be the support group he mentioned! she thought. We keep running into each other.

  Dale’s face lit up when he saw Lucy and her father, but she let her father do the talking, still feeling a bit tense at the Englischer’s attention, especially after their run-in. Outsiders are way too friendly. . . .

  Just as her father had said, the group’s leader, Linden Hess, made Lucy feel welcome by introducing himself and talking with her and Dat, and offering the handouts for the previous meetings.

  “Let’s sit there,” her father said, motioning to some vacant chairs.

  Dale took a place on the opposite side of Dat. Baffled by their obvious friendliness, she scanned through the pages of the sessions she’d missed.

  When it was time to start, Linden bowed his head to open in prayer. “Our heavenly Father, all of us here tonight are broken and hurting. We ask for Thy presence in this meeting—in the words we speak and in the way we open our hearts to one another. Guide our ways, and lift our spirits, in the name of our Savior and Lord. Amen.”

  Lucy purposely kept her face forward, hoping her father and his friend wouldn’t notice how distracted she felt. Her mind kept returning to Wendell Keene, hoping Belinda had been able to give him the help he needed. Working at the hospice had made death and loss an ever-present part of Lucy’s days.

  “What types of feelings have surprised you this week in your grief recovery?” Linden asked the group after his talk was finished.

  “Loneliness,” offered a woman on the far right.

  Another woman said, “Bitterness.”

  Clinton Holtz raised his hand. “Self-pity.” He paused and the leader waited. Lucy could see the older man’s shoulders rise and fall repeatedly, and knowing the source of his sadness, she felt more than a twinge of empathy. “My wife is so cheerful and sweet, yet she’s really suffering.” Clinton wiped his tears with a handkerchief. “I feel quite helpless . . . wish I might find a way to alleviate her pain . . . take it on myself.”

  Later, when Lucy was partnered with two other women—Sue Kaiser and Janey Marshall—they discussed the holes left when someone beloved passed away. Lucy listened as they talked about dreading the future, something she realized she had also experienced.

  Sue, the younger of the two, asked Lucy, “How has the Lord encouraged you this week?”

  Lucy forced a smile, trying to think of something pertinent to say, but nothing came to mind.

  Sue encouraged Lucy to join the conversation whenever she felt ready. “After all, this is your first time here. If you’re anything like I was, you’re second-guessing coming at all.” Opening her Bible, she read aloud Second Corinthians four, verses seventeen and eighteen. “‘For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.’”

  Lucy jotted down the reference in her little tablet, drawing encouragement from it. When our work is done and our suffering is finished, we can rest.

  Janey moved on to the next discussion question. “Are we able to relinquish our fears to God?” she asked.

  Easier said than done, Lucy thought, then chided herself.

  The week’s assignment was to make a list of all the blessings the Lord had brought into their lives—anything for which they could be thankful.

  When they disbanded, Sue lightly touched Lucy’s arm, smiling through her tears. “I’ll keep you in my prayers this week, Lucy. Remember, we’re all in the same boat.”

  Am I even coming back? Lucy thought as she thanked Sue.

  “It’s a surprise to see you here, young lady.” Clinton was standing right behind her.

  Lucy explained that her father had been coming to the classes, and she’d asked to join him.

  Nodding thoughtfully, Clinton motioned toward Dat. “That must be your father.”

  “Jah, since we’re the only Plain folk here,” she said, laughing a little. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”

  “Oh, we’ve met already, but I’d like to introduce you to the young man he’s talking to, my good friend Dale Wyeth . . . the salt of the earth.”

  She felt embarrassed. “Actually, I guess you could say we’ve already met. . . .”

  Clinton didn’t seem to hear her and led the way to Dale, who stood next to her father. She was relieved when Clinton took up the conversation, telling both Lucy and Dat that Dale’s father had been Clinton’s devoted friend.

  Dale added emphatically, “Mr. Holtz here took my dad under his wing, helping my father to get his hardware store up and running many years ago.”

  Lucy realized Clinton had likely loaned Dale’s father some money, charitable as Clinton seemed. And she took it all in, observing the seemingly effortless interaction between the three men—three generations connecting as friends.

  Dale looked her way and caught her eye.

  Feeling uncomfortable, Lucy glanced away.

  The last thing she needed was another fancy fellow flirting with her, no matter what praises Clinton Holtz had spoken about Dale Wyeth and his father.

  Chapter 20

  AFTER LUCY AND DAT ARRIVED HOME, they spent some time with Mamm in the kitchen, where cookies and hot cider were waiting. As soon as she could reasonably excuse herself, though, Lucy dashed off to her room. She was too on edge to discuss the possible sale of the necklace tonight, assuming Dat might’ve brought it up. Instead, she took a moment to read the latest job classifieds, searching for something that might be a springboard to a better life for Kiana and her son.

  Finding nothing, Lucy decided not to put off writing to Tobe Glick any longer. Before she changed her mind, she sat down at her desk and took out some nice stationery: Dear Tobe, I hope you’ll overlook my delay, she wrote. This week has nearly gotten away from me, but I’ve been thinking about what you asked me . . . and I have prayed about it, as you requested.

  In her best handwriting, she gave her reply. And when she’d signed off, Lucy slipped the letter into an envelope and sealed it shut. Tomorrow morning, her response would be in the mail.

  Tobe should have this by Saturday afternoon.

  The next afternoon, Martie hitched up the family buggy for the visit to Mammi Flaud’s, thinking she might arrive around the time Lucy got home from her work downtown with the homeless. Often the last person to finish up, Lucy had told Martie how important it was to make sure each pot and pan was scrubbed and everything put back in order. Martie smiled at the thought. Lucy could probably oversee the whole thing!

  When Martie pulled into Dat’s driveway, she directed the horse over behind Mammi’s cozy house. Getting out of the carriage, she tied the mare to the hitching post and helped little Josh out next as Jesse clambered down on his own. “We’ll mind our manners, Yunge, ya hear?” she said as they walked up the stone path.

  Her grandmother’s face brightened the minute she saw them. “Oh, kumme right in! I chust read your column, Martie. You do a fine job of representin’ our community round the co
untry.” She leaned down to peck Jesse’s head, and Martie picked up Josh so he could also receive a kiss on his chubby cheek. “My, yous are all dressed up nice.”

  Recalling Jesse’s howls at having a bath before leaving home, Martie smiled. “They got scrubbed real gut, let me tell ya.”

  Mammi Flaud beamed as she led the boys to the table and brought out some applesauce cookies she’d made just that morning.

  Martie waited for Jesse to get seated, hoping to goodness he would be polite; then she sat with Josh on her lap. “We had us a busy mornin’ of baking while Jesse made mud pies just out the back door,” she said, grinning at her firstborn. “Ain’t so, Jesse?”

  Jesse nodded, then held up his toy truck to show Mammi.

  “Well, I declare!” Mammi said. “Say now, if ya stay long enough, you might just see a big truck pull right into the driveway.”

  Martie sighed at this.

  Mammi continued with a glance at Martie. “Your father invited that young man from the classes he goes to on Thursdays to come by . . . Dale Wyeth. The fella with the pickup.”

  Jesse raised his eyebrows. “Bloh?”

  “Not blue, nee. You’ll see what color ’tis, Bobbli.”

  Frowning, Martie attempted to signal her grandmother not to go on anymore about Dale Wyeth and his truck. Alas, Mammi didn’t seem to understand, because she kept talking about that “Englischer with the loud truck—in color and otherwise.”

  Fortunately, Jesse himself somewhat changed the subject by telling Mammi in a faltering yet lengthy description about getting all the mud off his toy truck, and himself, in the bathtub earlier.

  By now, Mammi was laughing, her head tilted back. And since her grandmother was having such a good time, Martie didn’t have the heart to put a stop to the frivolous talk.

  Later, when the boys were finished with their snacks, Mammi went to her utility closet and brought out two big wooden puzzles for Jesse to play with on the floor. Josh, sitting not far from his brother, had been fighting off sleep, and soon conked out with his blanket next to his rosy cheek, his legs sprawled out.