The Atonement

by Beverly Lewis

  Dorothea nodded drowsily.

  “Our friend Lucy’s here now,” Clinton told his wife, leaning near. “I’ve been telling her how you kept me at arm’s length all those years.”

  Dorothea gave him a momentary smile and closed her eyes again, sighing deeply.

  Clinton looked steadily at her, his gaze nearly reverent. He turned to Lucy before resuming his story. “It was after Barry’s death that Dottie surprised me a week later by sitting in the row in front of me at church. As before, she warmed to my attention, and soon we were again seeing each other every weekend. Our dates consisted of lengthy discussions about life and the choices she’d made, many of them poor. Dottie was down on herself and realized we were polar opposites in temperament and ethics. ‘You’re nice and I’m naughty,’ she would say.”

  Polar opposites. Lucy thought suddenly of Tobe.

  Clinton stopped and inhaled slowly. “Just when I thought Dottie was going to surrender her past, her sadness . . . she broke up with me.”

  Lucy winced.

  “Nearly every time we were together, Dottie said she didn’t deserve someone as kind and good as me. Yet only after the breakup did I really begin to think there was no hope for us.”

  ———

  Another four seasons came and went, and Clint kept busy with his accounting work, especially at tax time, his client list growing as word spread of his integrity and competence.

  One day, he picked up the society page in the newspaper and saw a picture of Dottie Kreider alongside an article. She was hosting a holiday house tour, and the man posing beside her was Phil Buchner, a linebacker from Clint’s old high school team. He read the article, curious to know if she was married, and was tempted to look up Phil in the yearbook. That night, he hurried home to search his rec room bookshelves and found it. Holding the yearbook, Clint realized how futile this was. He and Dottie had no future together. That was apparent—God had not answered his prayers, at least not in the way Clint had desired. Why torture himself further?

  Clint dropped to his knees, asking the Lord to come into Dottie and Phil’s lives in a powerful way, to draw them tenderly to Him. “Bring godly people across their paths,” he prayed whenever he thought of Dottie.

  Then, late one night, he received a call from a gas station down near Quarryville. Phil had been drinking . . . Dottie’s car was totaled . . . would Clint mind coming for her?

  Without delay, he got out of bed, pulled on jeans and a shirt, and headed out, his heart in his throat. By the time Clint arrived, the police had filed the accident report, and Phil had been arrested, the car towed away.

  When Dottie saw Clint, she threw her arms around him, sobbing. Clint wondered if she, too, had been drinking, but that was not the case. She was battered and bruised, but the paramedics determined there were no broken bones. Dottie wanted desperately to talk, which she and Clint did over coffee and brownies at a nearby twenty-four-hour coffee shop. Dottie had witnessed her life flash before her, and she’d despised what she’d seen. She pleaded with Clint to take her back, and he gently reminded her that she was the one who’d kept leaving. “I assumed you’d married Phil.”

  Shaking her head, she looked most serious. “I’m ready for your church, your kind of life . . . and your Jesus,” she said sincerely. “I’m a mess, Clint, but if God’s Son is anything like you . . . I want to know Him.”

  The following Sunday, Dottie went with Clint to his church. At the end of the sermon, she walked the aisle to the altar and never looked back on her old life.

  ———

  “That day totally changed her self-worth . . . her sense of who she was,” Clinton said, tears on his face.

  “Your prayers were answered at last,” Lucy said, her heart deeply moved. He had such patience.

  Dorothea’s eyes were half open now, her head nodding.

  Clinton raised his wife’s slender hand to his lips. “None of us deserves God’s great love,” he whispered. “That’s why Christ came and bridged the gap. And that’s where the footbridge comes in.”

  Dorothea looked at Clinton fondly. “Tell Lucy . . . darling.”

  The door opened, and the nurse entered to check Dorothea’s vitals, then asked Lucy to leave so she could administer a shot.

  Lucy stepped outside, leaving Clinton with his wife, trying to imagine what Clinton might tell her about the bridge.

  Chapter 38

  CHRISTIAN WAS FINISHING UP a few chores when one of Caleb’s farmhands came by the house to say that Dale Wyeth had called. “He wondered if ya might come over at your convenience, sometime today or tomorrow.”

  Christian thanked him, then hitched up and headed over to Dale’s place. There, he was warmly welcomed and ushered into Dale’s kitchen, where the plans for a goat shelter were sketched out and laid on the table. Dale’s work on the hen house seemed to be going well enough that Christian wasn’t sure why he needed to sign off on Dale’s next big project.

  Yet Christian looked it over and agreed it was a well-thought plan. Does he have something else on his mind? He noticed the framed pastoral farm scene on the opposite side of the kitchen, featuring the Twenty-Third Psalm. Like my Dat bought for Mamm’s kitchen years ago. He could not dismiss the coincidence.

  Dale asked for the name of the feed salesman the Amish farmers preferred, then took Christian out to see his new generator. “Little by little, I’m getting there,” Dale said, smiling. Was it Christian’s imagination, or was the young man more jovial than usual?

  They walked off the perimeter of his plot, and Dale mentioned possibly thinning out some of his white and red pines in the woods near his field to let the hardwoods grow. “I’ve read oak and maple are best for heating the house . . . though I’ll have to buy most of my wood.”

  Dale’s certainly serious about all this.

  Dale asked his opinion on what crops to plant come spring. “I’d like a much larger garden than I put in this year. I also need to have Lucy and her sisters come over sometime and show me how to preserve food.”

  “Honestly, my girls are busy enough as it is,” Christian told him, making this very clear.

  “There’s always next year,” Dale acknowledged as they turned back toward the house. “I still have much to learn.”

  About making friends with an Amishwoman? Christian wondered. How much has Lucy told him about her past relationship with an outsider? Anything?

  “Ah, yes . . . the footbridge.” Clinton seemed to enjoy telling Lucy how fond he and Dottie had always been of the lovely setting, even during high school days. “I tried to be casual about it when I suggested Dottie meet me there at the bridge on September twelfth that year of her accident. I’d chosen the spot not only because she thought it was such a pretty area, but because of her rejection of Christ all those years. The bridge symbolized, at least in my mind, the all-encompassing love of our heavenly Father, connecting humankind to His grace and love.”

  Lucy pondered this, starting to understand.

  “When Dottie arrived, I waited for her at one end of the bridge, slowly walking toward the center. As she met me there, I knelt on one knee and opened a small ring box. ‘Will you be my dearest love?’ I asked.”

  “She didn’t waver—it was as if Dottie had sensed what I’d planned.” Clinton smiled, tears rolling down his weathered face.

  Dorothea roused just then and lifted her head a bit, her eyes fixed on Clinton. “I said . . . yes . . . to my beloved,” she whispered huskily from her now elevated bed. “And yes . . . to my Savior.”

  Lucy was captivated by Dorothea’s radiance—like a bride on her wedding day. The sight was sweet, even sacred; Lucy almost looked away out of respect. But in spite of the intimacy of the moment, she could not take her eyes off the couple.

  Dorothea struggled to breathe, and Clinton rang for the nurse.

  Getting up with much effort, Clinton left his cane at his chair and stood over his wife, leaning against the bed rails. He bowed his head, one hand in hers and on
e raised toward heaven. “Be merciful, O Lord.”

  Dorothea gazed innocently into his eyes for a tender moment.

  Clinton leaned down to kiss her and placed his hand on her heart. Some time after the nurse arrived, Dorothea joined the church triumphant, as Clint described her heavenly homegoing.

  Lucy brushed away her tears, yearning for such a precious love of her own. And for all the rest of the day, she basked in their story, having seen them year after year, commemorating their engagement at the little bridge. The beginning of a love for a lifetime . . .

  Hesitant to return home just yet, Lucy slowed her scooter when she came to the footbridge. She pictured Clinton’s marriage proposal there—the towering trees much smaller decades ago, swaying gently around the couple. Lucy wondered how many times the bridge had been repaired or replaced over the years since that momentous day.

  Leaving her scooter on the roadside, she made her way down over the small embankment, planting herself on the sidewalk, gazing at the bridge ahead. Divine grace bridged the gap for Dorothea, she thought, recalling her father’s recent talk with her, as well. The kind of enduring love Clinton and Dorothea had experienced could only have come from the Lord. He, alone, had been the most important key to their relationship from the start. And despite all Dottie did wrong, Clinton was there for her. . . .

  When Lucy returned home, she went to the hen house, her mind occupied with thoughts of the upcoming grief class. Would Clinton feel up to attending the group so soon after Dorothea’s passing? She’d already decided she wanted to go to the funeral. Knowing Dale, he’ll want to be there, too. Clinton and Dorothea, like Kiana and Van, were another link between her and her newfound Englischer friend.

  When Lucy brought in the basket of eggs, Mamm and the twins were chopping vegetables. Mamm was silent, but Lettie smiled and Faye looked glum—a complete switch for those two.

  “Remember the older gentleman I told ya ’bout, Mamm? The one I saw at the footbridge, then at market, some time ago?” Lucy sighed deeply. “Well, his wife, Dorothea, passed away this afternoon while I was there with them at the hospice.”

  “Oh, my dear, I’m sorry,” Mamm said, opening her arms to Lucy.

  “I’m awful glad they were together at the end. Such a sweet couple.” Lucy stepped away to check the eggs, handling them carefully to make sure they weren’t broken.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Lettie told her. “Your friend Kiana called Uncle Caleb’s barn phone and left a message for you.”

  “Denki. I’ll do the rest of my chores first.” Lucy hurried to her room, glad for this—something to brighten up a rather bittersweet afternoon.

  After helping her sisters with the supper dishes, Lucy returned Kiana’s call amidst the bellowing Holsteins at her uncle’s farm.

  “We’re all moved in, thanks to you, Lucy.” There was a lilt in Kiana’s voice.

  “I’m so happy for ya!” She offered to visit next week and take them for a ride in the family buggy. “Van might like that.”

  Kiana sounded thrilled at the prospect of not only seeing Lucy again but of some additional fun for her son.

  “Denki for callin’, Kiana. I’ll see ya once you’re settled in, and bring the promised check, too. All right?”

  So it was agreed that Lucy would come by with the horse and carriage next Monday.

  Christian was out in the stable after supper that evening when Deacon Miller came rushing in, The Budget all rolled up in his hand like he was looking for flies to swat. “Have ya seen what your daughter wrote?” He slapped it against the wooden post.

  “Jah, read it last Friday, when it was delivered.” Christian wondered why Edward was frowning so.

  “There are rumors ’bout you takin’ an English fellow under your wing—showin’ him what to do in case the lights go out. And this confirms it.”

  “I have nothin’ to hide, Deacon.”

  “Well, then, I advise you to reconsider helpin’ this young man. I’ve heard from more than one person that Lucy’s taken a real shine to him. James and Rhoda Blank saw this outsider and your previously rappelkeppi daughter at a coffee shop in Bird-in-Hand. What’s worse, Lucy rode away with him in his truck—on the Lord’s Day, no less!”

  “I have a world of respect for ya, Deacon, but whatever Lucy was doin’ with Dale, I doubt they were on a date.” Christian wasn’t sure who to be more put out with—Dale Wyeth or the deacon. As for himself, he had never been one to spread gossip, nor pay it any mind. “It’s an odd time for this discussion, Deacon.”

  “The way I see it, it’s the bescht time, considering our fasting day comin’ up. Sweep out all the sin in the camp.”

  He must think Lucy’s at risk.

  “Listen, Christian: If this young man might lead your daughter astray, why not cut ties? Or at least let him know not to seek her out.”

  Christian could not deny the wisdom of that. Nodding, he agreed, “Since ya put it that way. . . .”

  Chapter 39

  EARLY WEDNESDAY MORNING, Lucy went to the outer room between the kitchen and the back porch and slipped on her black coat, thinking she ought to help Martie more frequently this week. She’ll be relieved to see me.

  Stepping outside, Lucy watched a flock of geese fly like miniature arrows over the barnyard in a perfect V formation, their wings beating rhythmically.

  Lettie scurried out of the house and onto the porch steps just behind her. “Ach, so glad I caught ya, Lucy. Would ya mind if I walk over to Martie’s with you? Maybe I’ll stay an’ help with Jesse and Josh while you clean or cook or whatever.”

  “I’d like your company, sure.” Lucy was curious; Lettie had never sought her out like this before. “Is Faye comin’, too?”

  “She wants to go with Mamm over to Glicks’ while they’re gone to look over some items set aside for the big sale next month. I guess there will be a few others there, too. The Glicks want to move things quickly, in preparation for the bigger move early next spring—might even be March, I heard.”

  Ah, so she’s dying to talk more about Tobe, thought Lucy, not sure she was up for it.

  “By the way, Mammi Flaud said something ’bout all of us helping her with some piecework for one of her quilts sometime after communion Sunday,” Lettie said with a glance at the Dawdi Haus.

  At the mention of communion, Lucy felt tense.

  “Fasting day is this Friday, don’t forget.” Lettie looked at Lucy. “And I hope ya feel well enough to attend on Sunday.”

  So, Lettie had noticed. Most likely everyone else had, too. “Bein’ healthy’s a gut thing, ’specially for Holy Communion.” Lucy meant it in more than one way, but let it be. Nourishing a healthy body . . . and soul.

  They headed up to Witmer Road at a brisk pace, staying on the shoulder, off the pavement. The morning haze had begun to lift as the sun shone across the fields.

  “Listen, Lettie,” said Lucy, “I’m real sorry for not being very sisterly. I just always assumed Faye was the sister you most cared ’bout.”

  Lettie dipped her head. “It’s obvious why you might think that.”

  “Ain’t a gut excuse, though.”

  They walked in unison, their shoes scuffing against the pebbles along the roadside. Several carriages passed by, and she and Lettie waved at Aunt Edna Lapp in the first one, followed later by the Millers. Lucy thought of Dat’s sharing about Minnie and was glad to be on much better footing with him now.

  “If ya wanna know the whole truth of what happened between Matthew Mast and me,” Lettie said as they took the bend in the road, “I was flippant, even suggested he might find someone in Colorado who wasn’t nearly as much fun as me.”

  “You said that?” Lucy was surprised. “Wait . . . the Masts are leavin’, too?”

  “Didn’t ya know?”

  Lucy shook her head.

  “Well, the way things are goin’ with Mark and Faye, I wouldn’t be surprised if Faye ends up out there, too,” Lettie revealed. “They’ll be married eventually.�
��

  Lucy gasped. “You two are like sugar peas in a pod, though! Faye’d actually leave ya behind?”

  “That’s another reason why I’ve struggled lately.”

  “Oh, Lettie.” Lucy stopped walking and reached for her hand. “I had no idea.”

  When Lettie settled a bit, she dried her eyes. “I can’t imagine Faye goin’ away. It’ll feel like my right arm is missin’.”

  Lucy agreed. “And I can’t figure out why this notion of joinin’ another settlement so far away is catchin’ on with our church members.” She thought of Martie’s concerns again.

  “Ya surely know that Tobe’s decided to go with his family, too. They’ve got a good offer from Bishop Smucker—I s’pose their place is as good as sold.”

  “Jah, Tobe told me this himself.”

  Talking about this with Lettie brought it all back—Tobe’s courtship proposal, the pleasant night she’d walked with him nearly to the Lincoln Highway, and Tobe’s friendship all these years.

  “You’re upset, ain’t ya?” Lettie blew her nose.

  “Just wonderin’ how much this will affect our community.”

  Lettie nodded. “Faye argues that it’s not anything that comes as a surprise, though, ’cause Plain families have been doin’ this sort of thing for years.”

  “Do Dat and Mamm know Faye might be followin’ the Masts out there?”

  “Not yet.”

  Lucy breathed a grateful sigh as Ray and Martie’s house came into view. She didn’t feel like mentioning that their brother James was also headed that direction, nor Martie’s worry that Ray was considering this, as well.

  Lettie can hear this directly from Martie, Lucy thought sadly. If it comes to that.

  Thursday morning, the day of Dorothea’s funeral, Lucy got up in time to bathe and dress, then left with one of their paid drivers in the passenger van. Several other Amish folk from her district were headed for the same church gathering, including Rhoda Blank and her husband from Bird-in-Hand.