Bethany’s suggestion was to ask the letter writers to forgive the loans. Her mother refused. She said it was a matter of honor. Those people offered the money in good faith, and in good faith, her mother would return it to them.
“Dad was the one who lost those people’s money, not you,” Bethany would respond. Her sister was angry with their father, for many reasons, mostly because of his puzzling and untimely passing. “Are you going to spend the rest of your life paying for his sins?”
Her mother always had the same answer to give. “Bethany, your father didn’t set out to hurt people. He got in way over his head and didn’t know how to find a way out of it. He got desperate. That’s why he made the decisions he made.”
That answer didn’t make any sense to Mim. Instead, she refused to think about her father. At least not about his passing. Everything about his death was complicated and illogical, and Mim liked logical and uncomplicated problems.
Besides, she had another pressing problem on her mind.
Mim had fallen in love. She did not fall in love quickly. She had been in love only 1.5 times. One time with an Irish boy named Patrick who had carrot red hair and worked at the library near Mim’s old house. She thought that any boy who would work at a library must be a wonderful boy, even though Patrick had never noticed her. The .5 time was when she first laid eyes on Jimmy Fisher, whom Bethany called Mr. Irresistible in a sneering voice. He had made Mim breathless with his winks at church. When she discovered that he winked at all the girls, including the ancient ladies who lived in the Sisters’ House, she reversed her feelings. That was the only logical thing to do.
But then she was seated next to Danny Riehl in school last August, and she knew her heart was in trouble. Danny Riehl was the smartest, nicest boy she had ever met. He knew more facts than anyone she had ever met. She watched Danny Riehl’s long fingers curl around his book, one leg stretched out, one bent under the chair. She liked to hear him read aloud. He was at that age when a boy’s voice was especially squeaky.
Today, Teacher M.K. had asked Mim and Danny to stay late and help her take old pictures off the wall and put up new ones. When they were done, Mim and Danny were in the coatroom, gathering their overcoats, hat and bonnet, and lunch containers. Mim felt she must say something. “My mother saw a shooting star streak across the sky.”
Danny looked up in interest. Great interest. To her knowledge, he had never noticed or acknowledged Mim before that moment. “A few weeks ago? When there was a new moon?”
She nodded.
“It was a meteor.”
Dumb, she thought with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Of course it was a meteor. She should know that. It was as obvious as saying that he had a black hat on. Or both his legs ended nicely below his trousers. She searched her mind for something better. “Astronauts can see the Great Wall of China from outer space.”
He nodded. “It’s the only man-made object that can be seen from the moon.” Danny put on his jacket, then opened up his lunch cooler. Inside was a small mouse, quiet and friendly looking. “I found it in the schoolhouse. If Teacher M.K. had seen it, she would have whacked it senseless with her broom. I’m going to set it free in a field behind the schoolhouse.” He looked at Mim. “Want to come?”
“Yes,” Mim said before he could change his mind.
They walked to a farmer’s field and Danny carefully set the mouse free near the base of a corn shock. It stayed in one place for a moment, whiskers quivering, before scurrying off. When it disappeared, he turned toward Mim. “What would you be, if you could be anything?”
Mim frowned. Was this a test? She saw an eagle circling over the pond and wondered if it was one of the eagles that had been buzzing around her farm, and if so, if it was the mister or the missus. “I suppose I might like to be an eagle.” She shielded her eyes to watch the eagle soar in the sky. “They live for thirty years and like to eat fish best of all and their nests can weigh up to two tons. And they mate for life, which I think is terribly romantic.” She cringed. Oh no! Why had she added that part about mating for life? Why couldn’t she have just stopped at the nest part? It’s actually true, she thought, that you could feel your own flush crawl up your neck.
But Danny didn’t seem at all embarrassed. He nodded solemnly. “Do Luke and Sammy know those facts?”
“I have told them but I don’t know if they listen.”
“Sammy, probably.”
“Yes. Sammy might be listening. Not Luke.”
“Come on,” Danny finally said, as if he had been deciding something. “I’ll show you what I want to be.”
Danny led Mim on a trail up a hill that framed one side of the lake. There was a telescope in a case, wrapped inside a big plastic trash bag, hidden in the branches of a tree. “This is a reflector telescope that my dad bought for me at a yard sale. We had to fix it up, but it’s better to use a reflector than a refractor because it uses mirrors to reflect the light, instead of lenses.”
Reflectors? Refractors? Mim had no idea what he was talking about.
Carefully, he unwrapped the telescope, set it on the ground, aimed the scope at the sky, and slipped in an eyepiece from a little velvet-lined box. “This is the best spot I’ve found for studying the planets. Usually I come at night, but lately I’ve been coming early in the morning. Looking for Saturn. It’s just starting to be visible in the east. Since I keep my scope outside but covered, it remains the same temperature as the air. Otherwise the lens can get fuzzy.”
He stepped away so she could look through the eyepiece. He had it centered on the thin moon, rising in the east. It was amazing to see it through a telescope—even in the daylight, she could see the faint tracing of the dark side of the moon.
“That’s called earthshine,” Danny said. “A few days after a new moon, when there’s just a very slim crescent, you can sometimes see earthshine on the unilluminated portion of the moon. Earthshine is caused by sunlight reflected off the earth and onto the moon.”
Fascinating facts! “I’ve never noticed earthshine before, but I’ve never looked through a telescope before, either.”
“You can use binoculars. Beginning astronomers don’t realize they don’t need an expensive telescope. Really, just a dark night and sharp eyes. You don’t need much else.”
She straightened. “Danny, do you want to be an astronomer?”
He pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose. He hesitated, as if he was weighing whether he should admit something of such great importance. “No. I want to be an astronaut.” He took off his hat. “Almost. I want to be almost-an-astronaut.”
The sun had already begun to set by the time Mim parted ways with Danny and walked up the driveway. There had been a spurt of snow the day before, and a little of it lingered in shady places. It crunched under her feet as she approached the house.
Her mind was filled with the moon and school and facts. Mostly she thought about Danny, stargazer and mouse rescuer. Danny with the lovely blue eyes and the glasses that were held together at the hinges with a paper clip.
Mim stood outside her mother’s room, watching her fold a mountain of laundry that was on top of her bed. Her sleeves were pushed up past her elbows, her curly brown hair wild around her face. By her mother’s feet there were laundry baskets, one piled on top of another, clothes pouring out, one basket filled to the brim with socks.
“Ah! I see you there.” Her mother smiled at her.
Ask me. Ask me about being in love. “Hello.”
“You look as happy as Christmas morning,” her mother said, turning her attention back to the laundry basket. “You must have had a good day at school.”
Just as Mim opened her mouth to tell her about why it was a good day, about Danny Riehl and his telescope, a ringing bell sound floated up the stairs. Her grandmother needed something.
Her mother’s shoulders slumped. “Mim, would you finish folding this laundry while I tend to Mammi Vera?” She tossed a crunchy sun-dried towel to Mim and hurrie
d down the stairs.
Delia Stoltz didn’t know which was worse: the discomfort and soreness from yesterday’s lumpectomy, waiting to hear from the doctor if the margins were clear, or waking up fresh to the knowledge that her husband was gone and he would never come back. Her life would never be all right again.
Her bed felt huge and empty now, and when she slept, she did so with her arm around a pillow. She dreamed of Charles almost every night, sometimes good dreams of happy and joyful times; mostly, terrible dreams of abandonment, loss, and sorrow.
The phone rang and rang. All Delia Stoltz wanted was to be alone. She was sore from the lumpectomy. The only call she wanted was from Dr. Zimmerman’s with the pathology report about the sentinel node biopsy—and don’t expect that for a week or ten days, they had said. Why did it have to take so long? She tried to focus on the good news, that the cancer seemed to have been caught in early stages, and that the initial tests in the hospital looked like the lymph node was clear of cancer cells. But she knew enough to wait for results from the extensive testing before she could allow herself to feel relieved.
Each time the phone rang, she jumped. And each time it turned out to be someone other than the doctor, she became more and more irritable. Like now. Caller ID showed it to be Charles’s office. She hadn’t seen Charles since the day he left. He had called a few times, but she had never picked up her phone. The messages he left infuriated her—patronizing, with avuncular concern.
Slowly, she got up from the wing chair she’d been sitting in. The pain from the incision made her wince a little as she rose to her feet. In the kitchen, she filled the teakettle and put it on to boil. The phone rang again. Maybe Charles was finally feeling remorse and regret over his impulsive behavior. Maybe he wanted to come home. She hurried to the phone and picked it up without looking at Caller I.D. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Stoltz, I’m calling for Robyn Dixon.” Robyn Dixon, Charles’s attorney, daughter of Henry Dixon, who handled their living trust. Henry was semi-retired and had passed many of his clients on to Robyn. She was representing Charles in a malpractice suit, the first he had encountered in twenty-five years of neurosurgery. “Ms. Dixon would like you and Dr. Stoltz to meet her at the office tomorrow afternoon to go over some initial paperwork for the—”
“For the what?” What did Charles want? A divorce?
“Legal separation,” she said. “Two o’clock, tomorrow afternoon. Do you know where the office is? Shall I send a car?”
To make sure I get there? “No. I can manage just fine.”
Softer now, the assistant added, “Mrs. Stoltz, would you like to have your attorney present? I could call your attorney and set it up.”
Delia swallowed. She thought Robyn Dixon was her attorney. “Yes. Please call Henry Dixon and tell him I will require his presence at tomorrow’s meeting.”
She could practically hear the whirl of confusion in the assistant’s mind. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate—”
“My teakettle is whistling.” Delia put the phone down on its cradle and stared at it for a long while.
The next day, just two days after the lumpectomy, it took Delia most of the morning to get ready for the two o’clock meeting. She wanted to look her best, her absolute best, and she was determined to keep Charles from learning of her surgery. She had warned Dr. Zimmerman’s office to keep this private, and even had the surgery done using her maiden name, just to avoid any chance that someone might recognize her name and inform Charles. She had all kinds of feelings about Charles—deep anger, betrayal, even hatred. And love, yes, love. How could you shut that off after twenty-seven years? They had raised a wonderful child together. She didn’t know what she wanted from Charles today, but not pity. Never pity.
She allowed herself an hour to get to Robyn Dixon’s office and was grateful for the extra time when she noticed the fuel warning light for her gas tank. She sighed. She pulled into the gas station and stared at the pumps for a while, trying to figure out which buttons to push. As busy as Charles was, he had always taken care of these little things for her. He didn’t want her to ever pump her own gas.
Suddenly it all seemed too much. Too much to deal with, too much to figure out on her own. She was trying her best to put up a brave front, but it was too hard. Everything was too painful. A tear rolled down her cheek.
Now she knew what she wanted out of this meeting today: she wanted Charles to stop this nonsense and come home. She didn’t want a legal separation or a divorce. Tears came faster now, streaming down her cheeks, one after another after another. Her face would look red and puffy for this meeting. And she had worked so hard to look good today.
“Darlin’, can I help you with something? Are you having trouble with that pump?” A woman fit the gas nozzle into Delia’s car and pushed the right button to start the fuel. Delia stared at her. She had sprigs of bright red hair jutting up from her head like a firecracker in mid-explosion. “My name’s Lois.”
Embarrassed, Delia swallowed back her tears. “I’m sorry. I’ve just had too much on my plate lately.”
“Oh, I know how that can be. I surely do. About once a month, my Tony and me have to get out of the city and clear the cobwebs. We like to head over to Amish country and breathe some fresh air.” She picked up the squeegee and started to wash down Delia’s window, then squeegee the excess water off of it. Delia wondered if she might work here and if so, should she tip her? How much would be appropriate?
“Just last month,” Lois continued, “we went to a wonderful new place in Stoney Ridge and met this darling Amish family and we just feel so renewed and refreshed. My Tony can’t stop talking about that Amish gal’s blueberry cornbread. We came home feeling like we’d gone to Hawaii. Good as new.” She finished cleaning the window as the gas nozzle clicked. “I’m telling you, sugar. A trip to Lancaster County cures what ails you.” She patted Delia’s arm and turned to go.
Oh! So Lois was a customer. Delia stared at the gas nozzle as Lois’s words sunk in.
Cured what ailed you? Renewed? Refreshed? Good as new? “Wait. Wait! Lois! Where did you say that Amish hotel was?”
Lois was getting into her car but popped her head back up, over the roof of the car. “Town is called Stoney Ridge, east of Lancaster. Off Route 30. Head to Main Street, turn right at the Sweet Tooth Bakery, drive a mile or so, and you can’t miss it. Big white farmhouse with an even bigger red barn. A goat is in the front pasture and sticks his head over the fence. Tell that little innkeeper—Rose Schrock is her name—that Tony and Lois sent you. She’ll treat you right.” Lois climbed in the car, then popped her head back up again. “If you get lost, stop at the Sweet Tooth Bakery and ask where Rose lives. Be sure to get a cinnamon roll. Don’t miss that!” She waved goodbye and drove out of the gas station.
Delia got back in her car and glanced at the clock. One thirty. She drove to the attorney’s office, parked under a shade tree, and took a moment to reapply her lipstick in the rearview mirror. Across the parking lot, she saw Charles’s BMW pull in. She decided to wait until he went inside so she wouldn’t appear slow moving as she got out of the car. If she moved too fast, she felt dizzy, or pinched by pain, or both. Delia saw Charles reach over and kiss someone, a passenger in the car, then he jumped out of the car and hurried to the passenger side to open the door for the woman. He was practically skipping, with a lilt in his step that she hadn’t seen in years. When had he last opened her car door? She couldn’t remember.
Out of the car stepped Robyn Dixon. The other woman.
Delia’s heart felt like a jackhammer. She watched the two of them head into the office building, laughing together over something. Delia leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, trying to gather her thoughts, to pull herself together. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t go to that meeting. She felt as if she might hyperventilate or have a coronary episode or have a seizure. Or all three. She started the car, drove out of the parking lot, stopped by the bank and withdrew as much cash
as the ATM would permit, then headed west on I-76 to Lancaster County.
6
For a few days, Rose and the children were all a-flurry, setting things right in the basement, turning it into a cozy place. With everyone helping, the basement began to look like a real home. Sammy and Luke tumbled in and out, underfoot, but every time they got near, Rose gave them a chore.
Rose could hardly believe the transformation. It smelled different, looked different. She went around all the windowsills with a wet rag and then . . . it was ready for the first guest. Whenever, whoever, that might be. No one had stayed with them since the fellow who didn’t like the sounds of cows mooing in the morning. Rose felt a spike of worry, that all of this effort to create an inn would be for naught, but then she dismissed those doubts. Already, this venture was bringing the family together. Why, for that matter, the neighborhood too. Galen and Naomi had gone the extra mile for them. Good was coming out of it. God always had a plan, she reminded herself.
After she finished dusting, Rose walked through the rooms. She needed to get sheets on the beds, towels in the bathroom, maybe a few calendars to hang on the walls. She turned in a circle and felt an inside-out excitement. She said a prayer over each room, asking God to fill it with his chosen guests—those who needed rest and refreshment. In his time.
Rose heard the boys shrieking outside, chasing each other. She was just about to tell them to stop acting like wild Indians when they disappeared. She closed the door to the basement, thinking about how she needed a different name than the basement. What was it Galen called it? A flat? Yes, that was it. She liked that idea, because it was flat. A guest flat.
A car pulled into the driveway and came to a stop. Ever so slowly, a woman opened the door and eased out. Rose stood at the window a minute studying her, wondering if she was lost and needed directions. She was tall and elegant, with pale hair pulled back in a bun. She wore dark sunglasses, but Rose could see that her features were fine, delicate. Suddenly the boys were back, whooping and hollering like they were being chased by a swarm of yellow jackets. Rose went out and shooed the boys away before she turned her attention to the driver of the car.
The Letters Page 6