When Hope Blossoms

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Thursday morning, Amy sewed and the children washed sheets and towels with the wringer washer on the back porch. Usually they fussed at one another when all three were involved in a single chore, but to Amy’s delight on this morning they worked cheerfully together, singing hymns and cooperating. Her machine sang, too, the third of the trio of wall hangings taking shape beneath her fingertips. The morning held a happy, relaxed feel—a settling-in that made Amy want to hum as she worked.

  Adri’s scale-running giggle carried through the back screen door, followed by Parker’s guffaw and Bekah’s distinct laughter. Amy found herself chuckling, too, even though she had no idea what was so amusing. After lunch, she’d do something special to treat them—maybe a quick run into town to purchase ice cream sandwiches at the grocer. All three children loved the dark chocolate cookies with vanilla ice cream in between, but Amy rarely purchased them. Their limited grocery budget didn’t allow for extras. But she’d make the budget stretch this time. The children’s good behavior deserved recognition.

  At eleven thirty, Amy shut down the sewing machine and headed to the kitchen to prepare a simple lunch. During the winter she always kept a big pot of soup simmering or tucked a casserole in the oven, but during the summer months, they ate a cold lunch to avoid heating the room. Amy rummaged in the pantry and refrigerator, wincing at the nearly empty shelves. The groceries she’d brought from Arborville were nearly gone.

  She removed a loaf of store-bought bread—she set baking aside during the summer months, too—bologna, cheese, pickles, and what was left of the fruit. Perhaps when they went in for their ice cream sandwiches, they’d pick up more bananas, oranges, and apples, and some fresh vegetables. Once their garden started producing—when the men had come to till the acreage for planting soybeans a week ago, they’d taken the time to turn over the ground for a vegetable garden behind the house—she wouldn’t have to purchase vegetables.

  Her gaze lifted unconsciously, envisioning the rows of apple trees on Mr. Roper’s property. What kind of apples did he grow? As much as the children loved fruit, she would probably be money ahead if she purchased several bushels and stored them in the cellar under the house. A smile lifted her lips as she thought about roaming the orchard, picking the fruit with the children, then using the apples for applesauce, pies, and fritters. Her stomach growled.

  With a giggle, she set to work buttering the bread for sandwiches. Midway through the task, someone knocked on the front screen door. Wiping her hands on her apron, she trotted through the sewing room to the front room and peeked through the screen. Two women with white caps and arms full of bags stood on the porch. Amy broke into a smile when she recognized Ellie Hunsberger. Her smile faltered when she realized Margaret Gerber stood beside Ellie.

  Margaret had taken over Amy’s kitchen after their second worship service together, apparently believing her status as the eldest fellowship member granted her the freedom to be the boss even in someone else’s home. Amy didn’t want to dislike the older woman, but Margaret’s forceful nature didn’t invite camaraderie. Even so, Amy swung the door wide and warmly welcomed both women.

  The pair stepped over the threshold, and Margaret charged directly for the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, “Amy, come tell us where to put these things away.”

  Amy stood stupidly and stared after the older woman.

  Ellie nudged her with her elbow. “Better go,” she whispered, her dark eyes twinkling, “or she’ll put everything away where she thinks it needs to be, and you’ll have to hunt for it.”

  Amy turned her startled gaze on Ellie. “What is she putting away?”

  Ellie bounced the bags in her hands. “Groceries.” She gave Amy another little nudge, and the two moved toward the kitchen. “Margaret isn’t happy with the selection of groceries in the little store in town, so this morning she took Tamera and me to the Food Warehouse in Topeka. We stocked up on staples.” She added her bags to those Margaret had set on the table. “Then we divided everything between the families. This is your share.”

  Amy began peeking into the bags. She gasped. Canned goods, bags of sugar and flour, boxed cereals, peanut butter and jelly . . . So much food!

  She turned to Margaret and tried not to sound as worried as she felt. “This is very kind of you, but I don’t know if I can afford to pay for it.”

  Margaret waved one hand, making a little pfffft sound with her pursed lips. “I bought everything in bulk. The cost is much less. Here’s your portion.” She handed Amy a little scrap of paper with an amount circled at the bottom. Amy stared at the amount, grateful it was much lower than she’d expected, considering the bulging bags. But the surprise of the unexpected bill held her in place.

  Margaret began emptying bags. “We’ll put everything on the table. You put it away where you want it.” Ellie joined Margaret in relieving the bags of their contents.

  Amy jerked to life and bustled around, stacking items in the small pantry and cupboards. She rarely purchased more than a few days’ groceries at once, but these supplies would carry her and the children for two weeks at least. Not only had Margaret purchased necessities, she’d included a few extras. Adrianna would be especially happy about the big bag of potato chips. Every time they visited the grocery store, the little girl begged for them, but Amy rarely bought them. They seemed an extravagance. But they’d be able to have chips with their sandwiches for several days, thanks to Margaret’s shopping. Now that the shock was wearing off, she saw the blessing in Margaret’s surprise visit.

  Just as the women finished crumpling the empty bags and stashing them under the sink to use as trash bags, the children dashed in from the backyard, sweaty but smiling. Adrianna threw her arms around Amy’s waist. “I’m hungry, Momma. Can we eat now?”

  “You certainly may,” Margaret said briskly. “Ellie and I will get out of the way so you can finish fixing the children’s lunch.” She caught Ellie by the elbow and propelled her toward the front room.

  Amy trotted along behind them. “But I haven’t paid you for my part of the groceries yet.”

  Margaret paused by the door, turning a gentle smile in Amy’s direction. “You weren’t expecting us, so you probably don’t have money ready to give me. It can wait until Sunday when we come out again for worship. And if there are things your family doesn’t care for, write them on a piece of paper. I’ll not bring those things to you again.”

  Apparently Margaret intended to make this bulk grocery purchase a frequent event. Amy had always done her own shopping, and a part of her resisted giving that responsibility to someone else. She inwardly prayed for a gracious way to decline the woman’s continued assistance. Words ready, she opened her mouth.

  Margaret brushed Amy’s arm with her fingers. “And you don’t need to thank me. You’re here alone with these children, without a husband’s helping hands. Whatever we can do to lighten your load, we want to help. It’s nothing more than I’d do for any of the members of my own fellowship. You’re a part of us now, too, Amy.”

  Amy swallowed her protest as a lump of emotion formed at the woman’s warm words of acceptance. Perhaps Margaret’s brusqueness wasn’t intended to be harsh. She bobbed her head in a quick nod. “I appreciate it. I’ll have money ready for you on Sunday.”

  Margaret smiled, then turned to Ellie. “Come. We need to get out of Amy’s way so she can feed her children.” Ellie waved good-bye over her shoulder as Margaret steered her to the car waiting in the driveway.

  Amy returned slowly to the kitchen. Parker and Adrianna sat at the table, waiting for their lunch, but Bekah stood beside the pantry with the door wide open. Her face reflected wonder. “Where’d all this food come from?”

  Amy reached past her to bring out the big bag of potato chips. Adrianna squealed, clapping her hands. Amy popped the bag open and set it on the table. “The ladies from the Ohio fellowship went shopping in Topeka and shared with us.”

  Bekah trailed Amy to the counter. “Even without you asking them
to?”

  Amy returned to sandwich making. “That’s right.”

  Bekah leaned against the counter, her eyes on the bread and bologna, her face still holding a look of amazement. “That’s . . . that’s really nice of them, Mom.”

  Bekah’s positive response to the women’s gesture erased Amy’s misgivings. The bags of groceries became a blessing. She gave her daughter a smile. “And you know what else? Mrs. Gerber said they already think of us as being a part of their fellowship.”

  With an abrupt jerk of her head, Bekah’s chin bounced up and she met Amy’s gaze. Amy expected her daughter to smile or express pleasure at being accepted by the Ohio Mennonites. But instead, an odd look flitted across Bekah’s face—panic coupled with guilt. Before Amy could address Bekah’s reaction, the girl pushed away from the counter and clomped toward the refrigerator.

  “I’ll pour milk,” she said.

  No matter how many times during lunch Amy prodded Bekah to share what was troubling her, she insisted, “Nothing.” Amy didn’t believe her. Something had cast a storm cloud over Bekah’s previously sunny mood. But what?

  14

  Tim propped open the solid wooden door with his foot and stood behind the smudged glass of the storm door, watching for Mrs. Knackstedt’s car. The brown shag carpet still showed flattened paths where he’d pushed the vacuum last night. He’d washed most of the dirty dishes, and the ones he hadn’t gotten to were stacked in a big orange Tupperware bowl and hidden in the belly of his stove. So the kitchen looked neater, too. He couldn’t begin to explain why he’d felt the need to straighten up his house for the Knackstedts’ next visit, but the little bit of cleaning gave him a feeling of satisfaction.

  Promptly at eight fifteen, her car rolled up the lane, and children spilled out the moment it stopped. Both Adrianna and Parker ran for the porch, waving when they spotted him behind the glass door. Bekah and her mother came more slowly, the ribbons from their caps gently lifting in the evening breeze. He opened the storm door and greeted the two younger children with a hello.

  Adrianna bounced past him, her little braids bobbing on her shoulders. She held a battered, duct-taped box aloft. “We brung Mousetrap. It was Momma’s game when she was a little girl.”

  “It still has all the pieces,” Parker said.

  Tim swallowed a chuckle at Parker’s solemn tone. “Don’t know that I’ve ever played Mousetrap. Is it fun?”

  “Yes!” Adrianna’s blue eyes sparkled, and she nearly danced in place. “You gotta catch your ’ponents’ mouses. Bekah doesn’t like Mousetrap ’cause she says it reminds her of catchin’ real mice under the kitchen sink.” She grabbed Parker’s wrist and tugged. “C’mon, Parker. Help me set it up.” They plopped onto the carpet as if they’d visited Tim’s house dozens of times.

  Tim opened the door again, offering a silent invitation for Mrs. Knackstedt and Bekah to enter. Bekah carried an aluminum pie pan covered with plastic wrap. Beneath the wrap, Tim glimpsed what appeared to be cookies. He raised one eyebrow. After he’d done all that vacuuming, he wasn’t keen on the kids scattering crumbs all over his floor.

  Bekah held the pan to him. “These are for you.” For a moment, uncertainty flitted across her face. “Um . . . do you like oatmeal raisin cookies?”

  Truthfully, he’d never cared much for cooked raisins, but he wouldn’t admit that to Bekah. Tim took the pan and smiled at the girl. “Home-baked goodies are a real treat around here. Thank you.”

  Bekah seemed to wilt with relief. She inched toward Parker and Adrianna, who’d begun to softly squabble with each other over how to set up the game board. “I’ll help them with the game, Mom.”

  Tim and Mrs. Knackstedt were left standing just inside the door, staring at each other. He released a self-conscious chuckle. “Well, let’s get busy, huh?” He pushed the wooden door closed with his hip to hold in the cool from his window air-conditioner. Moving to set the pan of cookies on his freshly wiped counter, he gestured to the desk where his computer sat. “I pulled your template up so you can add that contact form. But I think we need to get you set up with an email address first, so let me open a new window.” He clicked the mouse, and a new screen appeared. He pulled out the chair and pointed to it. “Have a seat.”

  Mrs. Knackstedt slid gracefully into the chair, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Tim’s nose filled with the essence of soap as he propped one hand on the desk and leaned close to her shoulder. Julia had always dabbed perfume behind her ears. She loved flowery fragrances, and Tim had loved tipping close and inhaling the aroma that clung to her clothes and hair. The scent of soap—clean, fresh, appealing—raised a longing inside of Tim. He swallowed hard and focused on the task at hand.

  “I suggest you get a Gmail account.” He kept his tone brisk and businesslike. “It doesn’t cost a thing, they have a built-in spam filter so you won’t have to wade through lots of junk to find your customers, and it’s very easy to access.”

  She laughed lightly, turning her face slightly to peek at him. “Easy is best.”

  Up close, he was surprised by the length and fullness of her eyelashes. She didn’t need makeup to enhance them. He straightened to put some distance between them. He’d been living alone too long if he was starting to see this Mennonite woman as attractive. “Yeah, I figured. So . . . have you decided what you want to use as an email address? Something that relates to your business is best.”

  Her brow puckered. “What is yours?”

  A burst of giggles sounded from the living room. Tim flicked a glance in that direction, torn between heartache and a desire to laugh along. Of the things he missed, Charlie’s carefree laughter was high on the list. He whisked his attention back to Mrs. Knackstedt. “Well, I have mine set up through my Web site for an additional fee, so mine is ‘Tim at Roper Orchards dot com.’ You’ll use ‘gmail dot com’ for the latter part of your address. I suggest you use your business name for the first part.”

  “So . . . ‘Threads of Remembrance at gmail dot com’?” She laughed softly, the tinkling sound of her laughter combining with the more raucous giggles coming from a few feet away in the living room. “That seems rather cumbersome.”

  “It’s a little long, yes, but it’s to the point.” Tim shrugged. “Or you could use your name. Whichever you think would be the most relatable to potential customers.”

  She bit her lower lip, clearly contemplating the best option. While she thought, Tim looked again at the children. Adrianna and Parker were fully engrossed in their game, but Bekah was looking around the room as if memorizing details. She caught him looking at her. Without a word, she pushed to her feet and crossed the carpet to stand beside him. But she didn’t say anything, so Tim returned his attention to Mrs. Knackstedt.

  “Did you decide?”

  Mrs. Knackstedt sighed. “Although it’s lengthy, I believe I’ll go with ‘Threads of Remembrance’ for the first part. You’re right—it’s the most relatable.”

  “All right, then. Let’s get you set up.” Tim gave directions for establishing an email address, then explained how she would access her account at the library to check for messages. She listened intently, as did Bekah. If the girl’s regard were a flame, Tim felt certain he’d have a hole burned through the center of his head.

  He sent a test message from his account, and when it popped into Mrs. Knackstedt’s inbox, she clapped her palms together. “Oh my! It works!” Then she laughed, and Tim couldn’t stop a bubble of laughter from climbing his throat. He remembered his early days in the world, learning about various technologies. She had no idea what she’d been missing, holed up in her Mennonite community. It felt good to open a small part of the world to her.

  Tim drew in a satisfied breath. “It sure does. Okay, let’s get that contact form up so customers can start contacting you.”

  Bekah stayed close, watching every move her mother made in completing the information on the Threads of Remembrance Web page. Several times she opened her mouth, as if to ask a ques
tion, but words never escaped. Tim wondered what went on behind her big brown eyes, but at the same time he was half glad he didn’t know. Bekah seemed like a nice enough girl—a little forward, maybe, but not obnoxiously so. Still, he felt a little uneasy around her. As if she were examining him from the inside out.

  As soon as Mrs. Knackstedt finished the form, she gave Tim a tired look. “All right. It’s all set up. Now what?”

  “Now we go live. Did you bring a credit card with you to start the service?”

  “Credit card?” Dismay flooded her face. “I don’t have one.”

  Once again, Tim felt like an imbecile. Of course she wouldn’t have a credit card. But if she had a debit card connected to her bank account, they could use that. “All right, then. Your debit card?”

  Pink stained her cheeks, matching the dusky flowers on her caped dress. “I use checks. I haven’t requested a debit card.”

  He wished he’d thought about mentioning the need for a credit or debit card earlier. He took so many things for granted after his years away from his simple upbringing. Tim scratched his jaw. “Well, Mrs. Knackstedt, you’re going to need one or the other. There’ll be a monthly fee for the Web site, and the Web site company requires electronic payment.”

  Her face fell. “Oh. So all this work we’ve done . . . all the time I’ve taken from you . . . is for nothing.”

  Her defeat pierced him. Especially since she seemed more concerned about what it had cost him in time rather than her own potential loss. Without a moment’s thought, he reached into his hip pocket and removed his billfold. Flipping it open, he extracted his Visa card. “I tell you what, we can use this to get things started, and—”