When she entered the church, Lucy noticed Dale standing off to the side, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and subdued black-and-gray-striped tie. When he spotted her, Dale walked her way, his smile bright. “Would you like to sit together?” he asked, mentioning that his mother was under the weather and unable to make it.
Lucy realized the Amish folk from the van had already gotten in line to sign the guest book, so she and Dale did, too. Secretly, she was glad Dale had singled her out.
“Is your father coming?” Dale asked, handing her an order of service with a picture of a younger Dorothea on the cover.
“His work has him tied up.” She was surprised Dale would even expect him to attend.
Following his lead into the church sanctuary, Lucy noticed many sprays of flowers along the front, as well as the pure white casket adorned with a mass of peach-colored roses on top. Everything about this funeral was completely foreign, but she smiled, remembering Dorothea’s penchant for peaches.
The first two hymns were unfamiliar to Lucy, but she followed along in the songbook, and after hearing the first verse and chorus, tried to sing along, though softly. Dale’s deep voice was reassuring.
Before the sermon, four of Clinton and Dorothea’s grown children and two of their grandchildren stood before the packed church and spoke of their mother and grandmother’s virtues, as well as sharing favorite memories. Dorothea’s eldest daughter, Elaina, talked about the simple joy of just being with her, sitting and talking over warm tea. “That alone was my greatest delight.”
When Clinton slowly rose to his feet, Lucy was surprised he had the strength to get up and speak. The place was hushed as he walked with his cane and some assistance from one of his grandsons to a podium set up near the closed casket. The dear man looked ever so feeble and pale.
“It may have seemed to anyone who knew me back then that I had somehow rescued Dorothea,” he began. “Nevertheless, while I was attempting to live a pleasing life before the Lord, I was also terribly lonely, missing the young woman who had come in and out of my life . . . the girl who one day would become my wife.”
He removed his white handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “It was around that time that I purchased an embroidered bookmark to give to Dottie and tucked it into the New Testament.
“That day, I learned something about Dorothea’s name. It means God’s gift.” A sigh rippled through the crowd as he looked fondly at the casket, then moved to take a single peach-colored rose from the massive bouquet. “And quite truly, in every way, Dottie was God’s gift to me.”
Lucy pressed her hand over her mouth, fighting tears, and for just an instant, Dale reached over and covered her free hand with his. Startled, she was glad her father had not come today.
Chapter 40
CHRISTIAN WAS GRATEFUL when Sarah brought some hot coffee out to the barn midafternoon, taking a moment to mention the community was all abuzz about the homeless young woman Lucy and her Englischer friend had helped. “Have ya heard they’re stayin’ over at Bud Friesen’s?”
“Jah.” Christian nodded. “Lucy told me. James and Solomon and their wives donated some canned goods when they heard,” Christian said, stopping to wipe his brow with his blue paisley handkerchief.
Sarah smiled and said that was awfully nice. “Lucy’s generosity must be catching.”
“I can’t agree more, though I’m hopin’ this isn’t just an excuse to spend time with Dale,” he said, which made Sarah shake her head. Then she scurried back toward the house. No doubt she’s worried, too, after reading The Budget.
Christian hadn’t been able to locate their copy of the periodical since he and Sarah had read it last Friday. It seemed odd for it to walk off like that, and he wondered if Lucy had even seen it yet, since she hadn’t said a word about it.
Maybe she’s been too busy.
From the high vantage point of her room, Lucy watched her father ride out of the lane. She was under the weather, and after this morning’s funeral, she didn’t have the strength to be around other grieving people . . . nor Dale Wyeth. Have I spent too much time with him lately?
On the heels of the passings of Wendell and Dorothea, hearing that Faye was most likely leaving for Colorado, too, and possibly Martie and Ray, was too much for Lucy to contemplate.
And Tobe.
Moving to her desk, Lucy reached for the curriculum and read through the information for the class she was missing—“Where is God in Our Grief?” Her gaze fell on the pretty quilted coverlet Martie had made for Lucy’s baby after Lucy left for Ohio. It was lying on the armrest of the settee.
Have I held God at a distance? Is that why He feels so far away?
She picked up the small quilt and smoothed it, then folded it and placed it in her hope chest before she slipped over to the sunroom area. There, she sat, bowing her head, the space dimly lit by a small lantern. I didn’t even have the courtesy to tell Dat I wasn’t going tonight.
Tomorrow, they would fast during the breakfast hour. Most families skipped just that meal prior to communion Sunday. “I have lots to pray about,” she murmured, recalling Clinton’s talking about how Dorothea had long struggled: her will versus God’s.
Closing her eyes, Lucy prayed silently, getting a head start on tomorrow.
After the support group adjourned, Dale sought out Christian to ask how Lucy was faring. Christian said he had been glad she could attend Dorothea’s funeral today, close as Lucy had been to the woman.
“I had expected she might be here tonight,” Dale commented, looking around. “Is she okay?”
Christian didn’t know for sure and didn’t care to let on. “It’s possible she’ll return next week.”
“Please let her know I asked about her,” Dale said politely.
And while Christian tried to read Dale’s demeanor, he couldn’t decipher whether or not the man had romantic intentions. He remembered Deacon Ed’s visit earlier this week, The Budget in hand. No, as much as Christian liked Dale, he would not relay his message to Lucy . . . adding coal to an already simmering fire.
Jesse and Josh were sleeping soundly upstairs when Ray came in from outdoors. He pulled his chair out and sat down at the head of the table, asking for some coffee.
“So late?” Martie asked.
Ray nodded and pulled on his beard. He seemed fidgety, which wasn’t like him. “Kumme, sit with me, mei Lieb.”
With the pregnancy, Martie didn’t dare drink coffee at all, particularly at this hour, so she got herself some cold water from the faucet and brought her tumbler over and sat down, waiting for the water to boil.
“As I told you Monday, I’ve been mullin’ things over with James, taking time to decide whether a move to Colorado might be a gut thing for our family, too.”
Martie set her water down, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“I’ve come to the conclusion that movin’ west to join with the other families could be a wise thing. But we won’t leave when all the others do . . . not with the twins coming. It makes better sense for us to stay put for the immediate future,” he said, reaching for her hand and holding it on the table.
So he does want to go, but not right away, she thought, wanting to be brave. Even so, it was hard.
“I should have told ya before now what I was thinking . . . didn’t wanna put added stress on you. Your happiness and the health of the babies is uppermost,” Ray said.
“I’d heard some things, and I must admit I was frettin’ more than I should have.” She smiled a little. “But I do trust ya, Ray. You know what’s best for us.”
He leaned near, searching her eyes. “This is the chance of a lifetime. We can purchase many more acres there, and for so much less than here. We’ll have more land to pass on to our children someday.”
“What ’bout our families?” she had to ask. “We’ll be leavin’ them behind. After all, your parents are getting up in years, ya know.”
“Our relatives can visit. The trains and vans go both ways
.” He kissed her hand.
She nodded, and when the water came to a boil, she asked if decaf was all right, hoping that way he could sleep more soundly. “Have ya told your father any of this yet?” she asked as she stirred in the instant coffee.
He nodded. “Daed’s real curious what we’ll discover out there—sounds like he and Mamm might even want to join us, once we’re settled.”
“Now, that’d be all right with me.” More hands to help with four little ones!
“But no sense worryin’ your parents just yet,” Ray said, blowing on his coffee. “Seems they’ve got enough to handle with Lucy.”
“What now?” she asked.
He hesitated, as if thinking how to say it. “Well, seems the Blanks saw Lucy with an Englischer at a coffee shop on Sunday afternoon. Seemed to be awful cozy . . . like they were on a date. She even left there in his pickup truck.”
“Nee, I can’t believe this!” And lest she spoil their time together, Martie rose right quick and went to the cookie jar.
After she’d had a nibble or two, she returned to the table and offered some to Ray. They discussed his fasting for breakfast tomorrow, in keeping with their tradition, though due to her pregnancy, she wouldn’t be joining in.
“Better safe than sorry,” Ray agreed.
Later, after they’d outened the lights, Martie wondered how many others had seen Lucy with Dale Wyeth over the past couple of weeks. Cozying up, for goodness’ sake!
If it was true that Lucy was entertaining romantic notions toward yet another outsider, Martie worried her sister would not partake in the fasting and prayer tomorrow—let alone communion.
Chapter 41
THE FIRST THING LUCY DID early the next morning was run up to Uncle Caleb’s barn and call the woman in charge of organizing the food truck crew. Lucy indicated that today was a day of religious observance and apologized for the late notice.
“I completely understand,” the supervisor said kindly.
Uncle Caleb’s watchdog barked loudly at a bird that had flown down from the barn rafters, and Lucy covered her ear, thanking the supervisor and promising to be there next Friday.
When she returned home, Dat and Mamm were kneeling reverently in the front room with bowed heads and folded hands. Mammi Flaud had joined in, as well, bless her heart. Upstairs, Lettie and Faye were praying silently on either side of their bed.
Seeing her family united in this way, Lucy felt all the more convicted. And when she’d reached the third floor, she went to her sunroom area and knelt beside the settee, folding her hands. “O Lord God, please wash my heart clean. ‘I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me,’” she prayed, quoting the anguished cry of King David of old.
“My burden of sin is too heavy to carry,” she whispered between sobs. “I beg Thee for relief . . . for peace. I yearn for Thy forgiveness—I need it more than food. I need to find the strength to forgive myself, too.”
She went on to pour out all of her misery, her sin and her deceit, praying through a veil of tears. “I no longer blame Thee, O Lord, for letting my baby die.” She paused, then added, “I ask Thy forgiveness for this in the name of Thy Son, Jesus Christ . . . the great Heart-mender, who surely wept alongside me.”
There was no feeling of warmth like some folk said they experienced following such an entreaty. What Lucy did feel was a great sense of relief, and she longed to fully open her heart to God and to obey His commands. She was free of the weight of her sin and her sorrow, willing to forgive herself at long last.
All during family worship, while her father read the Bible, Lucy struggled to keep back tears. She had never been so tenderhearted while listening to God’s Word. Mamm looked over at her a couple of times when Lucy sniffled, yet Lucy did not feel ashamed. I’ve bottled up so many tears. . . .
Later, Lettie was the one who came privately to her, in Lucy’s bedroom, and asked if she was all right.
“Denki for caring,” Lucy said. “It’s sweet of you, Lettie.” The lightness in her spirit was undeniable now, and she wanted to bask in it before going down to help Mamm get the noon meal on the table.
Lettie hugged her, then tiptoed out of the room, her footsteps soft on the stairs.
The peaceful atmosphere of the house prevailed even after the noon meal, although there was plenty to do to get ready for the Lord’s Day.
Lucy made fast work of dusting and sweeping, surprising even Mamm. Next thing she’ll want me home every Friday, Lucy thought, not entirely opposed to the idea. When she was finished and her sisters started wet mopping the floors, Lucy hurried over to Mammi Flaud’s to clean her smaller house, too.
“Awful nice seein’ you round here today,” Mammi remarked.
Lucy felt different somehow, less inclined to rush off. “Feels real gut to be home for a change.”
“There’s a certain harmony when we all work together,” Mammi said, a twinkle in her eye. “We feel rooted and grounded, ya know?”
Lucy understood.
While mopping the floor later, she was surprised to find last week’s copy of The Budget lodged under Mammi’s settee. Curious, she looked at the mailing address and realized someone had carried her parents’ paper over to Mammi’s. But why?
Lucy was a bit hesitant to bother with reading the newspaper on this day of reflection, yet once she had wrapped up her chores, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to take time to read only Martie’s column. She slipped out to the porch, where she looked up the page number, then flipped to the column.
The month is nearly gone. We’ve had some heavy soakers lately, making it difficult for farmers to harvest their corn.
There’s a new baby boy at the home of Jim and Mary Blank, James and Rhoda’s son and daughter-in-law. Father and mother are happy for a son after four daughters.
We’ve had a frequent visitor in our area recently—a Good Samaritan who continues to show up in various places, even helped Abe Riehl right his overturned buggy and got his children home safely following a terrible accident on a rainy Saturday afternoon recently. This very Englischer has been spending a lot of time at my father’s house, gathering tips on woodburning stoves, going green, and building a chicken coop. Seems like he’s fast becoming one of the family!
“Wha-at?” Lucy cried. “Martie wrote about Dale?” She closed the newspaper and sat there, stunned. What could have persuaded her to share such a thing?
She groaned at the thought of the entire Plain population of the country reading this. Not to mention the local ministerial brethren!
Getting up, she walked around the house to the back door, knowing there was no way to shield her family from reading Martie’s account. Likely they’ve already seen it.
Yet if so, why hadn’t her parents, at least—or the twins—said anything about this? Surely even Mammi had read it.
Nonetheless, Lucy knew precisely where she was going to take herself off to, and right this minute!
When Lucy neared Ray and Martie’s, her sister was outside pushing the stroller down the lane, coming this way. She looked downright sad.
“What’s a-matter?” Lucy called.
“Ray talked frankly with me yesterday ’bout Colorado. He definitely wants to move, but not till the twins are at least toddlers.” Martie seemed to need to pour out her heart. “So it won’t be for a few years yet. Says he wants me close to family while the twins are babies.”
“What a huge relief for you.” Lucy hated the thought of Martie leaving, even if it was a couple of years from now. She fell into step with her sister, wondering how far down the uphill lane she would go with little Josh babbling in the stroller and Jesse walking alongside.
How many more people must I say good-bye to?
“I’m surprised to see ya.” Martie smiled momentarily. “Did I schedule you to work today?”
Lucy shook her head. “I just needed to know somethin’, sister, if ya don’t mind. Why’d ya write what you did in your recent column? The brethren will be all over D
at, for certain.”
“That wasn’t my intention, but . . .” Martie stopped walking and turned the stroller around so they could head back toward the house. “I’m worried ’bout you, Lucy . . . others are, too.”
“I’ve really enjoyed Dale’s company. He’s helped me in more ways than anyone can possibly know . . . or understand.”
“But close friendship often leads in a different direction, remember?”
“Still, I’m not a child anymore.” Lucy didn’t mean to sound indignant.
“Honestly, I never dreamed that little snippet I wrote would trouble ya,” Martie said more gently now, her eyes serious. “I should’ve taken you into consideration.”
Lucy couldn’t imagine bearing a grudge toward sweet Martie. “I forgive ya, sister. I do.”
Martie motioned for her to join in pushing the stroller, hands nearly overlapped as they walked to the house.
I wonder how long before one of the preachers talks to Dat about this . . . if someone hasn’t already, Lucy wondered.
The minute Lucy had left for Martie’s, Christian felt in his bones that it was time to hitch up the old buckboard and head to Dale Wyeth’s hardware store in town. After exchanging a casual greeting, he put it right out there. “The church brethren fear you’ll get our Lucy shunned.”
Dale’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t think of jeopardizing your daughter’s standing.”
“Well, you two have been quite friendly.”
Dale nodded. “Yes, I’m fond of your daughter.”
Christian set the record straight. “Then, you must surely know that Lucy has been baptized. She cannot marry an Englischer without dire consequences.”
“I see,” Dale said, his expression solemn.
Christian studied the man, this most gentle and thoughtful soul. A thought came to him. “May I ask—are ya thinking of goin’ Plain, then?”
Glancing over toward the register, where several customers were waiting in line for the clerk, Dale folded his arms. “Hadn’t considered that.”
The Atonement Page 23