“Of course.” Elizabeth reached for her sister’s hand, and this time Lovina let her take it. “Well, you do have a family, and a home, and a community. I brought you a dress—it isn’t yours, it’s mine. So it isn’t going to fit as well as it could, but—I’m sure it will feel good to get back into some proper clothes again.”
Lovina nodded. “Maybe I’ll remember.”
Elizabeth looked back to see her father’s expression strain. “There’s time for that, Lovina,” he said gently. “Let’s just get you home. I should go call for a cab.”
“Yah, that would be good,” Isaiah said. “I’ll step outside so Lovina can get dressed.”
“Good idea,” Elizabeth said, and once the men left the room, Elizabeth passed the bag to her sister. “Do you know what happened?”
“There was a car accident,” Lovina said. “I was riding a bike, apparently, and the driver was drunk. I got thrown over the car and landed on the road really hard. My head was hit the hardest, they said, and I was unconscious for a couple of days.”
“How do you feel now?” Elizabeth asked.
“I feel—” Lovina shrugged. “Confused. I know my name is Lovina Yoder, but only because that man showed up and told them so. I don’t remember being Lovina Yoder.”
“Who do you remember being?” Elizabeth whispered.
“I don’t know.” Lovina shook her head. “I have no idea. I don’t remember anything before waking up in the hospital.”
“And nobody came to find you?” Elizabeth asked. Lovina had no one in her life who’d missed her, cared to search for her?
“Well, you did,” Lovina replied.
Elizabeth nodded. Right—they weren’t going to complicate this.
“We didn’t even know where to look!” Elizabeth said. “Next time, Lovina, please”—her voice caught, but she pushed on—“please stick closer to home.”
“Okay,” Lovina said. “Sorry.”
And it was like the last year had evaporated and her younger sister was back. Except Lovina didn’t remember any of them, or the Amish life they were about to bring her back to.
“Get dressed,” Elizabeth said, turning toward the door. “It’s going to feel so good to get you home again. You have no idea.”
When she stepped out into the hallway, rejoining her brother, she sucked in a deep breath.
“I can’t believe we found her,” Isaiah said softly.
“I know.” Elizabeth looked up at him. “But there isn’t going to be a lot of space in your place, Isaiah. There is one extra bedroom, but with Daet back, and now Lovina—”
“Don’t worry about that,” Isaiah said curtly. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe Daet can stay with Uncle Mel.”
“Mel would hate that,” she said.
“So would Daet,” he replied. “But they’re brothers, and I don’t really care how much they dislike each other right now. We have to let Lovina remember her Amish life. She’s the one who needs us most.”
Abe came back around the corner. “There’s a cab arriving in twenty minutes. Is Lovina dressed yet? We need to talk to whoever can discharge her and get home.”
Lovina came out of the room just then. She was in the Amish dress—she’d remembered how to put it on, it seemed—but she held the kapp in one hand.
“I think I need help with putting up my hair. I don’t have a tie. Or pins.”
“Here,” Elizabeth said. “Let me help . . .”
As her fingers worked through the familiar job of twisting her sister’s hair into a bun, she wondered how alike she and Lovina were after all. Elizabeth was planning to do what Lovina had done . . . but the proper way. She wasn’t cutting off her family, but she would venture out on her own . . . But it wouldn’t change anything, would it? It wouldn’t change who her father was, or where her heart belonged. It wouldn’t change who would come to find her if she lost everything, and who would bring her home again. There was no erasing her family, just getting some space from them.
The only thing her leaving might change was her ability to start over . . . beginning with letting her heart heal from Solomon Lantz.
* * *
Solomon washed his hands in the mudroom sink, watching the dirty water curl down the drain. He scrubbed his hands again until the suds stayed white, then rinsed them and dried them on a folded towel his grandmother had waiting.
She was fastidious that way—there was always a fresh towel waiting every evening, never a dirty one.
“In the hamper, dear,” Bridget called without even turning.
He tossed the towel into the hamper by the basement stairs and then came into the kitchen and froze. Bridget wasn’t alone at the stove; his mamm stood at the counter, a tin of muffins in front of her that she seemed to be in the middle of removing from the pan, but she was equally frozen, her gaze locked on him.
“Son . . .” Anke said.
She was plump and she pressed her hands against her stomach in the same pose he remembered from all those years of lectures. She’d stand there with her hands against her stomach as if she were holding herself physically together.
Her hair was grayer than when he’d seen her last, or maybe that was his imagination. Her face was a little more lined.
“Mamm—” He felt heat rush to his face, and he took a step toward her, then stopped.
“Oh, come here, you,” she said, and she half ran across the kitchen and pulled him down into a strong hug. She clung to him for a moment, and when she released him and stood back, he saw tears in her eyes. “Your mammi told me you’d come home and I knew Gott would answer my prayers.”
Solomon looked toward his grandmother, who immediately dropped her gaze.
“Mamm, you should know something,” he said quietly.
“I made muffins,” she said brightly. “Blueberry—your favorite.”
She went back to the counter and plucked one from the pan.
“Mamm—” he said.
“And we’ll finally have a family dinner,” she went on. “Your sister is doing well. I told her that you were back and she can’t come yet, but she wants to see you, too. The babies—your new nephews—are just adorable. And Waneta is such a doting mother to those triplets—”
“Mamm!” He raised his voice.
“I don’t want to hear that you aren’t staying!” His mother dropped her hands to her sides and the tears that had been trembling on her lids finally fell, sliding slowly down her cheeks. “I can’t hear that, Solomon! You belong here with us. I don’t care what the Englishers are offering you. I don’t care!”
She came back with the muffin and handed it to him. He stared down at it, his throat tight.
“Eat a muffin,” she said, lowering her voice. “And sit down.”
Solomon sank into a kitchen chair, then took a bite. It was as good as he remembered, but his mouth was dry, and he swallowed with effort. She sat down in the chair next to him, watching him eat.
“You turned your back on me,” he said, and his voice shook. “I sat there, waiting for a visit from my mother while I was at the very lowest point of my entire life.... I needed you!”
His mother was silent, and she wiped at the tears on her cheeks.
“You turned your back and you walked out,” he went on. “You said I was no son of yours—”
“I’m sorry—”
“And you didn’t come back!” His hands had started to shake. “You gave up on me, Mamm, and now you want to tell me what to do? I’m suddenly your son again? You think you can tell me where I belong now?”
“I had to be tough on you,” she said. “I obviously wasn’t tough enough over the years! What would you have me do? You came home, didn’t you? Would you have come if I’d been easy on you? Would you?”
“I’m not home,” he said hollowly. “I’m here for a few weeks while I sort out something else. That’s it.”
“Something else . . .” Her voice was weak. “Like what?”
“I have a job in a church offi
ce,” he said. “And they’ll get me jobs in other places, too, so I can get some experience. And I’m finishing up high school. I might even go on after that to some more training. I’m going to make a life for myself, Mamm.”
“Why not here?” she asked.
“Why not here?” He almost laughed. “Because I’m an ex-con! I’m a criminal, Mamm! My own mother turned her back on me. No one trusts me. No one will give me a job!”
“Then make your own job,” she said. “Start a business.”
He shook his head. “No one trusts me—”
“The Englishers don’t know you!” she shot back. “We have all this land, and your grandmother and I can only do so much alone! Why not dig more gardens this fall and plant more in the spring to sell at the farmers market? Why not buy some calves and rear them for the meat market? You could breed them and sell them—you don’t need a whole ranch to make a living!”
“This isn’t my land, I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t ask!” his mother shot back.
“I need a life, Mamm, not odd jobs.”
“You need to stick with something long enough to grow it,” she retorted. “Do you think you’ll start at the top with the Englishers? You’re willing to start small and prove yourself with them. Why not here?”
“Because they were willing to give me a second chance,” he said. “They were willing to show me a bit of compassion. Funny how alluring that is when you’ve lost everything.”
“And because we tell you the truth, you walk away?” she said, shaking her head. “They’re willing to give you a chance, Son, but only one, I’ll warrant you. You mess that up and their charity will be at an end.”
He was silent. She was right.
“If you want respect, earn it,” she said. “If you want a community, learn to give them something they value! And if you want your mother’s love”—she reached out and put a hand over his—“you already have it, Solomon.”
Tears welled in his eyes and he clamped his hand over hers. How many months had he waited to hear that?
“I missed you, Mamm,” he whispered.
She had made a good point, but it wasn’t growing vegetables or buying calves that had stuck in his heart. Elizabeth was leaving Bountiful for some other community, and she was starting over . . . Did he have anything he could offer her that would entice her to stay . . . to choose him?
In order to offer Elizabeth a life with him, he had to be able to offer something to the community, too. Being Amish was about everyone, not just one man, or one couple.
What did he have that could be of use to Bountiful now? All he had was a life filled with regrets for all the mistakes he’d made. It had started small and then it had snowballed. If he knew back in his youth, before that fateful Rumspringa, what he knew now . . .
There was a knock at the door, and they both turned toward it. They hadn’t heard a buggy approach, but when Bridget bustled over and opened the door, Johannes came inside.
“Aunt Anke!” Johannes said. “Oh, I didn’t know you were back. I—” Johannes pulled off his hat and bent the rim between his finger and thumb.
“Come in, come in,” Bridget said. “You look—Johannes, are you all right?”
“She’s back,” Johannes said, sinking into a kitchen chair. “Lovina’s back. They found her at Erindale Hospital and brought her home.”
“I know . . .” Bridget said, putting a hand on Johannes’s shoulder. “I already told Anke about it.”
“What do I do?” Johannes turned toward the woman, his gaze moving between them. “I’m supposed to get married on Tuesday!”
“Lovina’s back?” Solomon demanded. “What’s going on?”
“Abe went to find her,” Johannes said. “He ended up talking to the police in an attempt to locate his daughter, and the hospital had put a call into the police station a few days earlier, needing help in locating Lovina’s family. She was in an accident and her head was hit rather hard. She’s okay, now, and they released her to come home, but she doesn’t remember anything. It was the hit on the head, and they think her memory will come back, but—”
“Have you seen her?” Solomon asked.
“Yah. I just left Isaiah’s place. . . .” Johannes rubbed his hands over his face. “She looks the same, Sol. Just the same! Except she doesn’t know me. She looks at me like I’m a perfect stranger. It’s the same for everyone. She doesn’t know Elizabeth or Isaiah either. She’s very polite and really confused, but I might as well be a man on the street.”
“And your wedding is in a matter of days,” Bridget said quietly.
“Yah . . .”
“Bridget filled me in about Sovilla,” Anke said, her voice low. “And she is a good young woman. She’d be a good wife to you, Johannes.”
“I know.”
“What does your father think?” Anke asked.
“My daet says he doesn’t envy my position.” Johannes shrugged. “He isn’t pushing me either way. It’s my choice.”
Johannes turned to Solomon. “If you were me, Sol, what would you do? I have a good woman counting on me to marry her and provide for her and her daughters. I was willing to do it. I was happy to do it! But that was when Lovina was gone and I had no hope of even seeing her again. . . .”
“I don’t know,” Solomon admitted. “Who do you love?”
“Lovina,” Johannes said without missing a beat. “But not only does she not know me, she seems to have lost any interest she ever had in me. It’s like without our history, I’m nothing—I spark absolutely nothing inside her!”
“She’s been gone for a year,” Bridget added quietly. “A lot can change in a year’s time.”
Anke nodded at that but didn’t say anything.
“Maybe her memory will come back,” Solomon said. “And she’ll remember you, and—”
“Would she stay?” Anke asked. “If she remembers you, she’ll remember why she left, too. Would that change?”
Johannes shook his head. “Sovilla is counting on me. Her family, Bountiful, Edson . . . everyone is counting on me.”
It was an impossible situation, Solomon could see that much, but there was something to be said for a man everyone was counting on. It might be painful and impossible and require all his physical and emotional strength, but he had a community.
Solomon pushed himself to his feet.
“I have something I have to do,” Solomon said. “My mamm and grandmother will have more to offer advice-wise anyway.”
“Where are you going?” Anke asked with a frown.
“I’ll be back,” he replied.
A man could offer nothing to a woman unless he could offer something to the community, and Solomon had finally realized what he had to give that no one else could—experience.
He’d made every bad choice and ended up in prison as a result. The only one who could match his experience was Abe Yoder. But Solomon wasn’t going to ask the community to forgive him. He was going to ask the bishop to let him share his story with the young people. Instead of trying to hide his scars, he could show them.
He might not be much of a role model right now, but he certainly was a morality tale. He could show the young people what happened when rebelliousness went too far, and he could tell them exactly what was beyond the fence.
Maybe Solomon could find a way to belong again, in a different way than he ever had before. And maybe then he could sell produce, raise calves, and help provide for his mamm and grandmother, too. At least they’d be safer with him here.... He’d never be a man of high position in the Amish sense—a man deeply respected or looked to for his wisdom. No, he’d never be that, but there might be a place for him all the same, somewhere near the bottom, off in a corner. It could be enough.
If Bountiful could find its way to forgive him. If he could follow his mother’s advice and give them something they could value.
And if he could offer Bountiful his bare, remorseful self, maybe Lizzie could see her way to acc
epting him, too. This tattered, beaten, sorrowful heart was all he had left.
Chapter Twenty
Elizabeth finished the alterations on Sovilla’s dress from her brother’s home. She’d gone back to Bridget’s house when they came back from the hospital and discovered that Anke had returned. All was back to normal . . . Solomon could make his peace with his mother as he’d hoped to all along and Elizabeth needn’t stay any longer. It was good timing because Elizabeth wanted to be with her sister. Lovina still didn’t remember people or places, but she seemed to recall some basics about Amish living—how to start a fire in the belly of the stove, how to pin her dress, how to wear a kapp, how to cook....
The survival skills were there, just not the memories.
Elizabeth snipped a thread and glanced up at her sister, who sat across the table from her, watching her work.
“This is for a wedding?” Lovina asked.
“Yah. The bride’s name is Sovilla. She’s a widow—she just lost her husband a couple of months ago. It was a terrible accident.” Elizabeth shook out the dress and held it up. It looked good, but it still brought a lump to Elizabeth’s throat when she looked at it. This should be Lovina’s wedding dress. Elizabeth should be helping her sister get ready to marry Johannes, and Lovina should be excited and flustered and anxious all at the same time.... Instead Lovina sat there in mild confusion, watching Elizabeth work.
“Is she happy?” Lovina asked after a moment of silence.
“Yah, I think so,” Elizabeth replied. “She doesn’t know the man well, but he’s kind and a hard worker.”
Should she tell her who the groom was? Would that spark anything? Or was that cruel? Johannes had made his choice, and the wedding was going forward. It wasn’t like there was anything they could do anyway.
Johannes had been here to see Lovina, and he’d sat with her, asked her questions, tried to hold her hand . . . Lovina had pulled back and then left the room. Maybe it was Lovina’s detached disinterest in him, or just the passage of time, but Elizabeth couldn’t blame him. He’d made a promise to Sovilla, her family, and the bishop, and Johannes was the kind of man who would keep it.
“Do you remember Johannes at all?” Elizabeth asked hesitantly.
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