Plain Perfect & Quaker Summer 2 in 1

by Beth Wiseman; Lisa Samson

  “Mom,” she said softly, choking back sobs. “You’re not a bad mother. You made mistakes. We all do. I’m sorry for everything you went through.”

  “You don’t have to try to make me feel better, Lillian. I know what kind of life I’ve led and how it affected you.”

  But I want to make you feel better, a little voice screamed. I really do. “It’s okay, Mom.” She sniffled and attempted a smile. “Besides, I think I turned out pretty good. And you get some credit for that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “Well, I do. Remember when I was in first grade and all the kids were going to the roller skating rink? We didn’t have any money, and I knew that, but I wanted to go so badly. It was Cheryl Henston’s birthday party. Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember,” her mother responded softly.

  “I knew you pawned something important to get me a new outfit and a present to take to the party.” She paused. “And Mom, I remember you singing to me when I was little. I remember you hugging me, bandaging scrapes, brushing my hair—” She stopped when she heard her mother sobbing again.

  As Lillian’s own cries of forgiveness leaped forward, she realized she’d been so busy thinking about the ways her mother had wrecked her life, she hadn’t stopped to realize all the good things her mother had done. It wasn’t as if she forgot the good things. She just had allowed the bad things to dominate her memories.

  “I love you, Lillian. I’m sorry about telling Rickie where you are.”

  “I love you, too, Mom. I really do.”

  “Give your grandpa an extra big hug from me.”

  Both of them still crying, Lillian hesitated before saying, “Mom, why don’t you come give him a hug yourself ?”

  “Oh, I can’t face them, Lillian. I just can’t. Do they know about Daniel? Did you tell them? They knew who he was back then. He lived in Paradise. Do they know?”

  “No, no, Mom. They don’t know. It’s up to you to tell them if you want to. But either way, come to Lancaster County. Come see your parents.”

  She pleaded several more times with her mother, and her mother’s response was consistent: “I just can’t, Lillian. I can’t.”

  The next morning, Lillian awoke with puffy eyes. It had taken effort to talk to God before she fell asleep. She couldn’t help but feel like He had let her down. And she could feel doubt about His existence creeping in. But she had prayed just the same, like she had been doing each night.

  She’d prayed for her mother: “Please God, help me and Mom to both make good decisions and heal from the bad ones. And help us to be close, the way mothers and daughters should be. Please help Mom to find the peace she is looking for and keep her safe.”

  She’d prayed about Samuel and David: “I pray that maybe there is a place for me in Samuel and David’s life, God. Please keep them both safe.”

  Next were Grandma and Grandpa: “I’m so thankful for my grandparents and the relationship You’ve given me with them. So very thankful. Please keep Grandpa in my life. I pray his medications will keep him from being in pain and that he’ll be able to live many more years. I pray that Grandma will get more rest, and that we will continue to grow closer. I’ve learned a lot from her.”

  Those were the easy ones. Much harder was to pray for Rickie: “I pray that Rickie will find his way to You and make the changes necessary for him to live a good life.” That was all she could muster up on Rickie’s behalf.

  Her father was the toughest of all and she kept it simple: “Please let me forgive him.”

  She had put all her worries in one big bubble and blown it up to heaven for God to handle. Her last words before falling asleep were, “I’m putting it all in your hands, God.”

  This morning, as she forced herself out of bed and dressed, she wasn’t sure if Samuel would show up for their planned picnic around noon. She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

  As Samuel guided Pete down the dirt driveway a few minutes before noon, he still worried if Lillian would be able to shed her worldly ways and past boyfriends. He had spent several long, sleepless hours last night raging with bitterness at the thought of that Rickie fellow. And several more questioning his feelings for Lillian. Now those concerns resurfaced.

  But as he neared the farmhouse, he saw Lillian sitting on the front porch. And he realized one thing was for sure: despite everything, no matter her past, he couldn’t stay away from Lillian.

  She ran to meet him. As he stepped out of the buggy, she stopped right in front of him. “I was afraid you might not come.”

  “I invited you on a picnic. Why wouldn’t I come?” he said, feeling a little guilty that he considered not showing up.

  “Because of yesterday, I thought you—” she blurted out.

  He forcibly shook his head, hoping they could put things behind them. “Let’s forget about it.” He paused. “You look different.”

  It was true. She glowed with a radiance that made her more beautiful than she already was. How was that so? He’d expected she’d still be a mess.

  “I look just the same as I always do,” she said beaming. She scanned her outfit and pointed toward her feet. “Right down to my black leather shoes!”

  Seeing her so lighthearted set Samuel’s heart and mind to rest. It was going to be a good day after all. Something was different, all right. He wasn’t sure what. But he need not pay it any more mind. His heavy heart from the prior night, along with his worries, were beginning to wash clean.

  “The picnic basket!” she said. “How can we have a picnic without any food?” She ran back into the house, returning with a large basket in one hand and a small knapsack in the other.

  “I invited you on the picnic. I should have brought the food,” he said, thinking back to when Lillian had offered to pack the basket. “What’s that?” He pointed to the knapsack.

  She smiled. “It’s a surprise.” She handed him the basket but kept hold of the knapsack.

  “What kind of surprise?” he asked, intrigued.

  She winked at him. “You’ll see.”

  13

  LILLIAN FELT LIGHT AND CAREFREE AS SHE AND SAMUEL exited the buggy and walked toward the lake. It was a beautiful summer day without a cloud in the sky, and the clouds in her mixed-up mind were slowly clearing as well. And Samuel was with her. Despite the horrors of the previous day, she wanted to face her future with hope and determination. She’d come too far to let Rickie or Daniel Foster deter her efforts.

  “What are you thinkin’ about?” Samuel asked, walking alongside her.

  “What a beautiful day it is.” Her eyes twinkled. “And how lucky I am to have you for a friend. Plus, I’m clearing the baggage in my heart that I’ve carried around for such a long time. I’m breathing in the blessing of this new day.”

  “We can talk about yesterday if you want,” he offered, apparently regretful he’d avoided the subject earlier.

  “No. I think I’ve figured out a way to put it all behind me.”

  Obviously curious, he nodded. As they moved closer to the lake, he asked, “What’d you think? Is this a good spot?”

  “Perfect,” she was quick to say. “It’s beautiful here.” And it was. The “lake” looked more like a large Texas pond. Tall pines surrounded them and a small pier edged across the water.

  “It’s quiet here most of the time. The tourists don’t know it’s here.”

  “Well, this is a great spot. Let’s go get the blanket and picnic basket.”

  “And you can tell me what’s in that bag,” he said as they returned to the buggy. His eyes widened hopefully.

  “I told you it’s a surprise,” she teased. “First we dine on this fine meal I have prepared—tuna-salad sandwiches, potato salad, some nasty beets, and funnel cakes for dessert. And, ya, I made the funnel cakes.”

  Samuel spread the blue and gray quilt on the ground. Lillian set the picnic basket on the quilt but kept guard over the knapsack, giving him a grin.

  He was glad to s
ee it. It had been a rough couple of days, especially for her. The sight and sound of her carrying on the way she was today reminded him of the first time he’d met her, toting the red suitcase and laughing up a storm. What a beautiful mess she’d been.

  Now, as he watched her dishing out their lunch onto paper plates, he thought about how far she’d come. She looked Amish, and she sounded Amish. And she had gone a long way toward learning the Ordnung and some Pennsylvania Deitsch. She just might make it if she didn’t let her old life get in the way.

  They settled down to eat, chatting about nothing in particular, each of them careful not to bring up unpleasant topics. Lillian frowned when all of the food was gone. “I don’t think I made enough. I should know by now how much you eat.”

  “I’m plenty full. It was the perfect amount. And tasted mighty fine too.”

  Shining with delight, she stowed food containers, plates, and the like back in the picnic basket.

  “Now, let’s have a look at the surprise in that bag.” He rolled his eyes toward the heavily guarded knapsack.

  Looking a bit embarrassed, she explained, “It’s not really that big of a deal. Just something I wanted us to do . . . together.”

  “You’ve got all my attention.”

  “You might think it’s kind of silly, but it’s something I want to do.” She reached for the bag and opened it. First thing she pulled out was a gardening spade.

  “Are we digging a hole?”

  “Yep. We sure are.”

  “Hmm . . . Mind if I ask what for?”

  Leaning her head to one side, she shot him a serious look. “To bury this.” She held up the knapsack.

  Samuel sat up a little straighter. “Do I even dare ask what you’ve got in there? It’s not like a dead critter or something, is it?”

  “Yes, it’s a dead animal, and I’m going to perform a pagan ritual.”

  He couldn’t believe his ears.

  She slapped him playfully on the arm. “Samuel! I’m kidding.” She was eager to press on. “But we have to dig a hole.”

  “How big a hole? And more important, what are we burying?”

  “Stop looking so scared,” she said, letting out another round of giggles. “I have a few things I want gone, that’s all. It’s symbolic of a new beginning for me. No dead animals, I promise.”

  “What’s in there?” He reached over and attempted to have a peek.

  She quickly snatched the bag and pulled it to her chest. “You’ll see,” she said, once again embarrassed. Whatever the girl had the notion to get rid of, it sure seemed important to her.

  “What about over there for your hole, where there isn’t any grass?” He pointed to a nearby patch of ground.

  “Perfect!”

  He heaved himself up and offered her a hand. Once on their feet, he shook his head. “I sure am wondering what you’re up to.”

  “You’ll see,” she said, heading toward the grassless spot a few yards away.

  She watched Samuel digging her hole, his muscles bulging beneath his blue cotton shirt. His physical strength was evident, but it was his emotional strength she found most attractive. In addition to his unquestionable faith in God, his faith in her seemed to be growing. And his extreme sense of discipline did not overshadow his ability to enjoy life. He was able to play and have fun, but he took his responsibilities as seriously as his faith. Hard work was part of the Amish lifestyle, and Samuel worked harder than most. His role as David’s father only added to his attributes.

  A few inches down, the ground was moist, and it wasn’t long before Samuel had a hole in the dirt about two feet deep and a foot wide. “Big enough?” he asked, wiping his brow.

  “Ya.” Still toting the knapsack, she went to retrieve the quilt from where they had eaten. She spread it beside the hole and motioned for Samuel to take a seat, then joined him. As she reached into the knapsack, she glanced his way and smiled. “As I said, this might seem silly to you. But it will help me to move forward.”

  “If it’s important to you, then it’s not silly at all.”

  She reached into the bag and pulled out the first item she planned to discard. Retrieving the small diary, her thoughts traveled back to a time when she was fourteen—a mixed-up teenager harboring hateful thoughts about the life she was forced to live because of her mother’s decisions. With no extras and living in a run-down shack, she’d saved her occasional lunch money to buy the diary. Absent of hopes and dreams, woeful accounts of her daily challenges filled the small book. Her plan: to show it to her mother someday and say, “Read this, Mother, and don’t shed a tear because I have shed enough for both of us.”

  Samuel sat patiently as she scanned the pages. February 3, 1995—a particularly painful day. She silently read:

  Dear Diary, today is possibly the worst day of my life. I haven’t seen Mom in two days. She has a new boyfriend. There’s no food in this place we call a house. And Mitzi died. I buried her in the backyard. I don’t know what happened. I found my precious kitty lifeless on the front porch. She was skinny, but I’d been feeding her whatever we had in the house. I don’t think that’s why she died. Her eyes were open and her white and black fur was wet. She wasn’t breathing, though. I brought her in the house and cried for almost two hours. I loved her. When Mom never showed up, I just dug a hole in the backyard and put her in it. I don’t know much about God, so I didn’t really say any prayers or anything. Then, it started to rain, so I went back in the house. This was a very bad day.

  She jumped forward to July 23:

  Dear Diary, something is wrong with Mom. I don’t think she’s drunk, but something else is wrong. She’s slurring her words. I’m not sure if it’s drugs or something. I told her I was hungry, but she just cried and mumbled something I didn’t understand.

  September 12:

  Dear Diary, I’m feeling very sad because I want to go to the dance at school. Henry Webster will be there, and I really like him. I think he likes me too. But Mom says I can’t go. It costs five dollars to get in. I don’t have anything to wear anyway. I hate my life. I hate my mom.

  Lillian cringed, recalling the events of that year. Hard to believe it was thirteen years ago. So much had changed. She had changed. And her mother had changed as well. Continuing to allow the bad memories to override the good memories was only hurting her. After her recent conversation with her mother, she knew the only way to continue along in her quest for peace was to replace resentment with forgiveness. She tossed the book into the hole.

  “I forgive you, Mom,” she said softly.

  Samuel’s expression was solemn, but he offered her a comforting smile and nodded his head. She reached into the knapsack for the next item. Opening the envelope, she pulled out the newspaper clipping she had cut out the day before. Studying the young face of her father, she read his column—such heartfelt insights on the page. Why couldn’t he have made a place for her in his life?

  She glanced at Samuel, who was studying her actions intently. He acknowledged that he saw the clipping, and she tossed it in the hole.

  “I forgive you, Daniel Foster.”

  She blinked away tears, determined not to cry. If she continued to weigh herself down with the years behind her, she would never be free to experience the life before her with joy and happiness. The peaceful life she longed for—a life where she didn’t harbor any resentments—was within her grasp. Releasing the burdens of her heart, forgiving those who hurt her, and turning her life to God would free her soul to be the person she wanted to be.

  She reached into the bag.

  “Are you sure about this, Lillian?” Samuel asked when he saw her retrieve the next few items. His forehead creased with worry.

  “Ya, I am. This represents all my worldly clothes, along with a few other things.” She folded the blue jeans and placed them in the hole, followed by a bag of makeup, several pieces of costume jewelry, a small battery-operated radio, and two books she no longer felt were suitable reading material. Some of the
jewelry was from Rickie. She didn’t see the need to mention that.

  There was one thing left in the bag—her last tie to the outside world. As she pulled out her cell phone, Samuel said, “What about talking to your mamm?”

  “I’ll do what everyone else here does. I’ll go to town and use the pay phone, or the shanty at the Lapp farm.”

  Samuel seemed leery about the cell phone, her final separation from the outside world. The lines in his forehead became more evident.

  “It’s fine,” she replied as she tossed the phone atop the pile. “Grandma hates that thing. She winces every time it rings.”

  Samuel knew that giving up her worldly items and forgiving those who hurt her was all part of Lillian’s plan to move forward in her new life. But he also knew it wasn’t easy for her. Just like it wasn’t going to be easy for him to add his own piece of the past to the pile.

  “Okay, that’s it.” She twisted her hands together in a nervous sort of way. He reckoned he’d feel nervous in her shoes too.

  “Wait,” he said when she reached for the spade, preparing to refill the hole. He reached into his pocket. “I have something to add.”

  He’d been thinking about it the whole time he watched her giving up her worldly possessions and letting go of the things that haunted her. The item in his pocket didn’t haunt him, but it would be equally as hard to give up.

  He pulled out the wallet-sized picture of Rachel and handed it to Lillian. The edges were worn, but her face as beautiful as ever.

  “Samuel,” she whispered, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “But I thought . . .” She paused, looking at the photo. “. . . pictures aren’t allowed.”

  “I’m not perfect, Lillian.” He thought back to the day his Englisch friend Carl Johanson from the supermarket gave him the picture a few days after Rachel died. “We don’t have to tell anyone about this,” Carl had said as he slipped him the picture of Rachel. Carl adored Rachel and evidently had sneaked in a picture when she wasn’t looking, knowing she had the cancer real bad and that someday Samuel might want it. He’d carried it in his pocket ever since. No one knew he had the picture, not even David.