The Atonement

by Beverly Lewis

  Thinking of Wendell, Lucy did her best not to cry again, glad for the comfort in the promise Dale had read.

  Once they returned to Dale’s pickup, Lucy was ready to start making phone calls on Kiana’s behalf. She soon learned the first two waitressing jobs she inquired about had been filled that morning. “This is what I’ve run into before,” she said to Dale, feeling frustrated. “I’m always too late.”

  “I understand that, but it’s been my experience that God is never too late. Sometimes it seems like the eleventh hour has just chimed, and then the answer comes.”

  Lucy tried to keep a positive outlook. “I can just imagine what Kiana would say if something fell into place for her. I know she’s not givin’ up.”

  “And neither are we,” Dale added, pointing to the next circled ad.

  She dialed the number, and it rang six times on the other end before going to voicemail. “I’m not sure what to leave as a message—I don’t really have a phone number they can use to contact me,” she admitted, hanging up.

  “Use my number as a callback,” he suggested, jotting it down on a small note pad he pulled out of the glove box. “And leave your name rather than Kiana’s.”

  Lucy dialed the number again, and this time it was busy.

  Dale placed the last two calls. The final one was answered by a hiring manager who suggested Kiana come in person to interview for a retail position at a craft store in Bird-in-Hand, tending to shelves and welcoming and assisting customers. Lucy found herself holding her breath as Dale took it upon himself to say that he would see to it that Kiana got to the interview this coming Monday afternoon.

  Is he doing this for Kiana . . . or to impress me? Lucy wondered.

  When Dale put away his phone, he asked how to locate Kiana to tell her about this possible breakthrough. “I can drive you to the shelter where she stays,” he offered.

  “If she’s still there.” Lucy considered several other locations where Kiana might have gone, one of which was the Salvation Army’s program. “No matter what, if we can find her, I know she’ll be thrilled about this news.”

  “We could go in search of her tomorrow afternoon,” Dale said now. “Since there’s so little time before the interview.”

  “Well, it’s our visiting Sunday, so maybe after my family returns home.”

  They decided on a time before supper when Kiana would perhaps be at one of the soup kitchens. “One way or other, I think we can find her,” Lucy said, excited about Dale’s help.

  On the ride home, Lucy pointed out Ray and Martie’s house. “My sister’s a writer for a newspaper based in Ohio,” she explained. “She has a weekly column.”

  “So, like an Amish blogger?” Dale asked, a twinkle in his eye when he turned to glance her way.

  “A what?”

  He explained, but Lucy still didn’t understand.

  “I’d be hard-pressed to have ever seen a blog,” she said.

  “You’d be surprised what people write about. Some have whole blogs dedicated to old-fashioned topics like the art of preserving food or raising livestock.”

  Lucy laughed. “Seems like a peculiar place to learn ’bout all that. My Dawdi used to say you learn the most just by doin’. Why, think of what you’re going to learn once you get your laying hens!”

  Dale chuckled. “I need to finish building my chicken house first. Once it’s complete, your father has said I can purchase some hens from him.” He also mentioned the goats he was planning to purchase from a Mennonite family in Conestoga.

  Lucy found this very interesting. “Do you own a plot of land?”

  He laughed. “A plot? I guess that’s the best description of a patch that’s just big enough to plant the necessary vegetables. I had a good crop of lettuce, radishes, tomatoes, cucumbers, and squash this year, by the way.”

  “Round this time of year, I’m always amazed to think our lovely garden is the culmination of my spring plans. Well, my twin sisters’ and mine.”

  “With the three of you planting, weeding, and harvesting, it must be more fun. Working together always is.” He grinned.

  “It’s how we’ve done it since I could pick up a hoe,” Lucy said. “A gut way to help out Mamm, too.”

  He talked about his drafty old farmhouse then, saying it was on the outskirts of Bird-in-Hand, only a few miles from his store. “It’s about a third as large as your father’s.”

  “You might need only a modest coal stove to make it toasty—if you’re thinkin’ of disconnecting from central heating. That or a woodstove could heat the main level real nice.”

  Dale nodded brightly. “Things are starting to fall into place, thanks to all the help I’ve gotten, especially from your dad.”

  When her father’s farm came into view, Lucy thanked Dale for the ride home.

  “It was my pleasure,” he said, looking her way.

  She smiled and pointed at his homemade shirt. “Do ya remember how to get to Riehls’ to return Abe’s clothes when you’re ready?”

  Dale said he did. Then his eyes grew serious. “Do you plan to attend the next grief group?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  He made the turn into their lane. “If you do, would you like to discuss the class together sometime?”

  “Well, I’m awful busy,” she said, surprised Dale would ask her. Besides, she’d already looked ahead to the rest of the curriculum and wasn’t sure she was brave enough to attend.

  Thanking him again, Lucy got out of the truck before he could come around to open her door for her, as he had last time.

  Then, swiftly, lest her family observe her with Dale and misunderstand, she hurried around the side of the house and up the steps to the porch. It was too chilly to sit outside and brood, but she would have much preferred time to just sit and contemplate the day’s events, particularly Wendell’s passing. Thank goodness it was peaceful.

  “Someone needs to gather the eggs,” she heard Mamm say as she poked her head out the back door, meeting Lucy as she came in.

  Quickly, Lucy dropped her purse at the door, briefly telling about her trip to town, as well as the frightening accident. However, Lucy did not mention Dale Wyeth, nor the time they’d spent together. No sense in calling any attention to that. . . .

  Chapter 28

  ALL THROUGH SUPPER, and afterward during family worship, Lucy remained preoccupied with the events of the day. She was relieved no one asked about her lack of conversation at the meal, not to mention her arrival home in a red pickup truck with an Englischer!

  She recalled Dale’s question and wondered if she ought to return to the grief group. I can do the assignment, at least, she thought. That way I can change my mind later if I decide to go.

  Lucy headed upstairs to begin the requested list and sat for a moment, thinking, What am I thankful for?

  The old frustrations began to build as more and more of the things she was not thankful about crept in.

  Just start writing, she told herself.

  Ignoring the first thing that came to mind, she scribbled down the obvious: food, shelter, good health, and family, then decided to elaborate. She included Martie’s encouragement and love, and Faye, but felt convicted that she hadn’t thought of Lettie just as quickly, so she jotted down her name, too, along with Mamm . . . and Lucy’s many nieces and nephews. And beloved Dawdi Flaud and Mammi, too. Her thoughts went then to Wendell, and she was thankful that he hadn’t suffered in his passing, as well as that Belinda had been there to comfort him by sharing about God’s grace. Kiana and little Van are also people I’m grateful for. Last of all, Lucy wrote the name of her friend Tobe Glick.

  “Tobe,” she said and felt a strange wave of sadness mixed with sincerest appreciation. I should’ve listed him first.

  Sighing, she opened the desk drawer and slipped the list inside, then went to stand beside the middle window. Lucy looked out over the farmland as far as she could see to the south. There was still faint light in the fading sky, and she decided
the best way to further contemplate the week’s blessings was to take a walk.

  Downstairs, she donned her warm black jacket and let Mamm know she was going out for a while.

  “Might wanna take along a flashlight,” Faye said, overhearing.

  Lucy nodded. “Gut idea.”

  “You all right?” Mamm asked, clearly concerned.

  “No need to worry.”

  Ever since she’d divulged that Tobe had asked to court her, Mamm had been hovering like a mother hen.

  Dear Mamm, she thought. I know she cares.

  Outside, Lucy was met by the familiar smell of woodsmoke as she meandered south on Witmer Road, toward the much-traveled Lincoln Highway in the distance. Tourists populated the main thoroughfares this time of year, eating out and spending the day at Dutch Wonderland with their children before returning to hotels or bed-and-breakfasts.

  She briskly walked past Uncle Caleb’s property, then down toward the sheep farm next door to him, on past to the local blacksmith’s shop, too. She was glad Faye had suggested the flashlight, knowing now she’d be out long enough to use it. For sure.

  In the distance, a train whistle blew, the sound melancholy this late-September evening. Soon, the leaves would color to gold, orange, and red, eventually falling and drying up, to be crunched underfoot. As a child, Lucy had always looked forward to that. She thought now of her school-age nieces Cora and Emma Sue and recalled her promise to visit, making a mental note to do so.

  As twilight fell, she heard a catbird’s song, its faltering series of short notes coming from the blacksmith’s woodshed, it seemed. Lucy knew the bell-like sound by heart, and on this night, it soothed her just as Dale’s reading about the heavenly Father’s many mansions had reached into her heart. Very soon that catbird would be flying away, just as Wendell Keene had left . . . and Lucy’s own Dawdi Flaud. The forest would shed its leaves and open up, permitting autumn sunlight to shine down into its depths.

  A dog’s yapping startled her. As the barking grew louder, she guessed it might be the Glicks’ red spotted spaniel. Running loose?

  Shining the flashlight down the road, Lucy searched for the dog. She passed a stand of mature trees, and her brother James’s apple orchard, the sound of crickets, tree frogs, and locusts thick as she went. Farther along, there was another farmhouse, one built with a greenhouse off the south side of the main house. It belonged to Leon Miller—Lucy knew from Mamm that Dat had been sweet on his daughter Minerva many years ago. It had been strange for Mamm to mention that another girl had caught Dat’s eye back when. Does my father know whether Mamm was courted by anyone before him? Or was Dat her one and only love?

  These thoughts stirred up Lucy’s memory of selling her engagement necklace. Now, if only her plans for Kiana and her little boy might pan out.

  The woodsmoke seemed to thicken overhead, and the dog barked again, much nearer this time. “Who’s there?” she called into the dusk.

  “Spotty Glick . . . and his dutiful master” came the reply.

  Lucy couldn’t help but smile. “Out walkin’ your dog, Tobe?” she said even before she could see her friend.

  “I was comin’ to see you. Was thinkin’ of storming your house.” Tobe chuckled, his silhouette outlined in the dim light. “Just jokin’.”

  She stopped to wait for him and Spotty to cross the road, thinking how nice it was that she’d bumped into him like this.

  “Here,” she said, giving him the flashlight. “Since it looks like we’re walkin’ together.”

  He accepted it. “Which direction do you want to head—the same or back toward your house?”

  “The way I’m goin’, if that’s all right with you.”

  “So, I received your letter.” He paused, the words hanging in the air between them.

  He doesn’t seem upset, she thought.

  “I’d like to talk about it.”

  She murmured her agreement.

  “You made an interesting point, Lucy. You don’t feel you should tie me down . . . but that wasn’t what I asked you. And what’s all this talk about not bein’ right for me? Help me understand what you mean.”

  “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “No explanation at all?”

  She sighed. This wasn’t what she needed tonight, but maybe it was good to talk it out in person. “I honestly think you should only stay to purchase your father’s farm if that’s what you want.”

  Tobe was silent. She could hear his footsteps on the pavement, and the dog’s tags tinkling. “You never said I wasn’t right for you,” he replied at last. “Is that what you really meant?”

  She inhaled sharply, wishing she could change the subject. “What if we courted and it didn’t work out, and you were stuck here?”

  “I’m willing to take that chance.”

  She sighed. “Well, it ain’t fair to you, Tobe.”

  “That’s what people do when they care ’bout someone,” he said. “They take a risk. It’s the same with anything in life. Nothing’s guaranteed except the love of our Father in heaven.”

  She felt like she could cry. You wouldn’t want me. Not if you really knew me.

  “I can’t take the risk,” she said, her voice pinched. She sniffled.

  “Are you okay?” Tobe asked.

  She nodded, then realized he probably couldn’t see her.

  “So there’s nothin’ I can say to convince you otherwise?”

  “Nothin’ at all.”

  He paused a moment, then said, “Well, wherever you’re walkin’, I’ll go with you, till you’re ready to head home.”

  “It’s getting late.” She could hardly talk, she felt so sad. Next to Martie, this was her best friend, and she was rejecting him. “I should head home.”

  “Then I’ll walk ya back,” Tobe said.

  He shone the light as they crossed the road to the opposite side, and halfway between there and the lane into her father’s house, Tobe picked up the spaniel and carried him. She was touched by his sympathetic nature. Tobe was as considerate of the family pet as of anyone who was weary, suffering, or downtrodden.

  Tobe talked about helping his father—and hers—drive their cows that afternoon from one pasture into another. His Dat had carried an old walking stick, he said, as they made their way across to the other meadow. “It has a wide crook in one end and is as smooth as ivory. Dat’s had that walking stick since I was a boy, and he’s talkin’ of letting me have it . . . if I decide to stay with the farm.”

  “Oh, you would cherish that,” Lucy said.

  “Well, the farm’s got a long history with our family, too, but none of that’s enough to keep me here.”

  She felt torn between getting back to the safety of home, and saying good-bye to this wonderful friend.

  When they reached the end of Dat’s lane, she gave Tobe a quick hug, something she’d never done before. “Be happy,” she whispered, worse than blue.

  “Hey, still friends, jah?”

  “Of course,” she agreed, certain things would never be the same. I’ve caused him such disappointment.

  “Gut Nacht, Lucy.”

  “Denki for walkin’ with me.”

  He turned to go, then came back to hand her the flashlight.

  “Can you find your way without it?” she asked.

  “This road? I could walk it in my sleep.”

  She smiled through her tears. That was Tobe. And to think she’d just given up her chance for a lifetime of happiness as his bride.

  Chapter 29

  “I HELPED JERRY GLICK move some of his cows and their calves to his westerly pasture today, but some of the calves got separated,” Christian told Sarah as they sat alone in the front room. Lettie and Faye had already gone upstairs, and he could hear them laughing and having themselves a good time. “Ach, you should’ve heard those calvies carryin’ on—crying and mooin’ like there was no tomorrow.”

  “The poor things.” Sarah sat on the rocking chair near the sofa, knitting
a brown sweater for their grandson Josh.

  “Then, soon as we drove the last calf through the gateway, there was a grand reunion, and the cries subsided that quick.”

  Sarah reached over and squeezed his hand. Looking down at her knitting, she observed, “Young ones need their Mammas, ain’t?”

  “That’s so,” he agreed. “Jerry Glick told me something this morning that was real surprisin’.”

  Sarah glanced up, her knitting needles poised in midair.

  “A while back, he offered Tobe a chance to take over the farm completely, eventually buy it outright. But Jerry’s downright perplexed—said Tobe didn’t jump. Tobe’s waiting, needs to think ’bout it.”

  “I wonder why.”

  Christian ran his big hand through his hair. “I mean, honest to Pete, this just don’t sound like Tobe to me. Does it to you?”

  “What . . . that he might want to go with his family?” Sarah asked. “Why’s that so surprising?”

  “But you know how Tobe’s always loved that farm. Besides, I thought he might have second thoughts ’bout leaving Lancaster County.”

  Sarah gave a pensive smile. “Perhaps he can’t bear to stick around, considering . . .”

  “Lucy sayin’ no?”

  She nodded.

  Christian shook his head. “I wish you’d seen him brighten up like a solar lamp when I mentioned Lucy’s name today.”

  “Tobe’s always been crazy ’bout her,” Sarah replied softly.

  What’s Lucy thinkin’? Christian wondered.

  According to the grapevine, Tobe had dated a few girls, but nothing had come of it, leading many, including Lucy, to speculate that Tobe was too finicky. But Christian doubted it. He had his own opinions regarding Tobe, but he would never call him prideful.

  Won’t be long, and Tobe could be gone for good.

  ———

  Lucy slipped indoors without being noticed, partly because her father was sitting in the front room with his head back, mouth wide open, snoring. Mamm’s hands drifted into her lap with her knitting, her head bobbing.