A Promise of Grace

by Lynette Sowell

  “It’s okay, isn’t it?”

  Of course, it was okay. Silas wasn’t so sure he liked being left out. “You did a good thing. But son, don’t ever be afraid to tell me about things like this. I never would have thought you’d be interested in anything like this.”

  “I’m saving up to get a good fishing rod and reel set, like Steven’s.”

  The boy had put down his own roots in Sarasota, or so it sounded. Yet more and more, Silas was leaning toward accepting Ted Kingsley’s offer. It meant stability, security. But then, he already had it here . . .

  By the time they reached the pizza shop, Lena had arrived and was waiting for them on the patio outside. She held her book bag slung over one shoulder. She was talking to another young Mennonite woman, someone Silas had seen at church but couldn’t place her name at the moment.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  The young woman waved at Lena as she left, carrying a pizza box.

  “Hi, how was your day?”

  “Good. I’m tired. My brain is so full it hurts. I have a lot of studying to do tonight.”

  “So you don’t mind having pizza?”

  “Of course not.” She stood, shifting her backpack to her other shoulder. She gave him a quick glance before they went inside the shop.

  “I’ll buy the pop, you just tell her what kind you want.” Matthew stuck his chin out.

  Silas ordered a large pepperoni special and while the young woman behind the counter boxed up the ready pizza, they helped themselves to bottles of pop from the glass-doored refrigerator by the door.

  Once they settled at an outdoor table, Lena gave him another glance.

  “Dad, is something wrong? I can tell by the look on your face.”

  “No, but I do have something to tell you both.”

  “Did someone die? Is it something bad?” Matthew frowned at his bottle of pop.

  Lena said nothing, but passed out paper plates and napkins. She opened the pizza box and laid a slice on her plate.

  “No, nobody’s died. And, I don’t think it’s something bad, but it’s important to me, and for the three of us.” He pulled out a slice of pizza, oozing with cheese. “I have a job offer, a permanent one, not charters.”

  “That’s great news, Dad.” Lena nodded and took a bite. “You won’t have to wonder if the rich family’s going to keep hiring you or not. I know you want to go back on the mission field someday, but maybe later . . .”

  “We can stay here, forever, if you work for that family?” Matthew asked.

  “The job offer did come from Mr. Kingsley, but they don’t live here in Florida year-round. They actually live in Connecticut most of the time. So, we’d have to move there.”

  “Connecticut.” Lena frowned. “I’m not sure if I can even spell the word right. What’s in Connecticut, anyway? Did you tell him yes?”

  “He’s giving me until the twenty-third to give him my decision.”

  “In less than two weeks.” Lena sipped her soda. “So, what would this mean for all of us? Because I . . . I don’t want to leave Florida. I love it here.”

  “I do, too. And we’d have to leave Uncle Tobias and Aunt Fran.” Matthew scowled. He still hadn’t put any pizza on his plate.

  “When would we have to go?”

  “Sometime not long after New Year’s.”

  “Do we have to go?” Matthew pleaded.

  Silas tried not to sigh. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, especially for Matthew.

  “Your mother would want us to all be together. I believe we need to stay together.” His family wouldn’t fall apart. He only had the two of them.

  “Dad, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m going to be twenty next birthday. I’m not a child anymore. I’m raised. When you were gone on flights, I helped Mom a lot in the mission field.” Lena’s voice shook.

  “I did, too.” Matthew nodded. “Didn’t you tell me I needed to help take care of them for you, when you were gone?”

  Yes, he’d told Matthew to be “the man of the house” if he was gone on overnight flights. But, the idea had been figurative at the time.

  “Neither of you are ready to be on your own, especially you, Matthew. I don’t think you’d live by yourself; it’s a ludicrous idea.”

  “I can live with Aunt Fran and Uncle Tobias. Aunt Fran is always telling me after school how much she loves having me there.”

  Silas expected resistance, but not this pulling away from him. “I couldn’t ask them to let you live with them.”

  But Lena was right, especially about her. Ever since arriving in Sarasota, he’d seen evidence more and more his daughter wasn’t a little girl.

  “The world is a cruel, harsh place. It’s lost, without God. There are people out there, in this city, and even coming through this neighborhood, who wouldn’t think twice about pulling you away from God.”

  “Dad, I’ve seen a good piece of the world in college. We talked about college and its worldly distractions back in Ohio, when I told you I wanted to go.” Lena shook her head. “I don’t think you’re as afraid of the world pulling us away from God as you are us growing apart from you.”

  The truth struck him in the heart.

  But what was he going to do about it?

  If he stayed here in Sarasota, he’d be passing up an opportunity that didn’t come along often in a pilot’s career, especially a missionary pilot.

  If he left, he’d lose his children. And he’d have nothing left.

  21

  Rochelle checked the clock on her phone again. Twelve-thirty on the dot. The atmosphere at the Mennonite Tourist Church parking lot was nothing short of electric. Well, as electric as it could be among a cluster of Plain people.

  The Ohio bus would be here, and riding in its steel underbelly the latest edition of The Budget newspaper, national edition. Hot off the presses from Sugarcreek, the newspaper held all the latest information submitted from scribes throughout the world of the Amish. Even from here in Pinecraft.

  “I can’t wait to see my mamm.” Emma craned her neck to see above a row of Amish men on tricycles, a futile effort since no one had seen the large travel bus yet.

  Rochelle nodded. “The last time I spoke to her, she told me how much she was looking forward to coming.”

  They bumped elbows with a series of older women, some Mennonite and some Old Order, also waiting for the bus.

  Arrivals were the most joyous times at the parking lot. Snowbirds came twice a week, sometimes more, and come January, buses would stop every day in the parking lot.

  Rochelle smiled. She’d made the journey herself to Ohio last fall by bus for a wedding, and the sensation she felt of coming home as the bus turned onto Bahia Vista nearly overwhelmed her.

  “You just never know who’s going to step off the bus, do you?” a voice said beside her.

  She knew the owner of the voice well. Imogene Brubaker, her trademark camera slung around her neck.

  “Imogene, you’re so right.”

  “I wonder how full the bus is. It should be here any moment now.”

  “Yes. Are you waiting for anyone in particular?”

  “No. I’m waiting to see who shows up. It’s part of the fun of waiting for the bus, seeing who comes off the bus. Or what.” Imogene gave her a pointed look. “I haven’t seen you here in a while.”

  Rochelle nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve met a bus. I’ve been busy with work and with classes.”

  “You need to take a vacation. Slow down, if you can.”

  “I’ve . . . I’ve been thinking of selling my business.” This was the first time she’d admitted it aloud since telling Silas on the Atlanta trip.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I suppose I could start advertising or asking around. But then I don’t want my clients to worry they won’t be served.”

  “I can help you find someone, if you’d like.”

  Imogene, somehow, seemed to know everyone in Pinecraft and all the latest news, and kn
ew who was related to whom, and kept it all straight.

  “I suppose I’d need to figure out how much to charge. I have my client list, records, my workers, supplies, and tools.” Rochelle shook her head. Maybe it would be easier to just close the business. But she had six women who considered working for Rochelle part of their livelihoods.

  “Well, I’ll start by listening to people, see if some younger snowbird might want to take the business over from you.”

  “I’m not even sure who to ask. It’s not everyone who likes to clean for a living.”

  “Hiram Mast is a businessman. He might be able to give you some input.”

  Hiram owned several homes in Pinecraft, as well as a golf shop. The more liberal Mennonite had a good reputation in the village.

  “I’d have never thought to ask him. I might call his office and make an appointment. Thanks, Imogene, for the suggestion.”

  “Not a problem.”

  A shout rang out. “The bus is here!”

  Rochelle looked up to see the mammoth Pioneer Trails travel bus turning off Bahia Vista, then decelerating as the driver steered the bus onto the church parking lot behind the building.

  The waiting crowd had made wide berth for the bus to take up the empty space. It halted, with a whoosh of brakes.

  There was Leah Graber, waiting with a few of her friends. They made quite the sight in their cape dresses, black shoes, and sensible stockings, with starched white kapps gleaming in the sun.

  One day, she could end up like Leah, old and alone in her home.

  Stop it. Look at how happy she is.

  Leah smiled at something one of her friends said, then squinted at the bus.

  The door swung open.

  Step by step, the passengers climbed down the steps, faces lighting expectantly as they surveyed the crowd.

  Happy tears flowed as old friends embraced. Rochelle’s throat caught.

  Comings and goings happened in Pinecraft all winter long, but the reunions were the best part of all.

  Her friends would come to Pinecraft over the years, but visits trickled off, and she was left with the year-rounders, most of whom were older.

  Had she grown old before her time? Soon enough, she’d be waiting with the old ladies in a row, waiting for friends to climb from the bus. Catching up on news, giving an extra hug and kind word for those who’d lost a spouse.

  “Mamm!” Emma angled herself around a clustered family and went up to an older woman wearing a navy blue dress and white apron.

  She embraced the woman, who responded with a swift hug. Emma’s father hung a few steps back, then moved forward to greet his younger daughter. A teenage boy tumbled off the bus behind them. Emma’s brother, who had to be about sixteen or so.

  A pair of men carrying a square folding table passed by Rochelle. Another man followed with a tall glass jar with a lid. Ah, The Budget, reported to contain news of Betsy’s upcoming wedding ceremony with Thaddeus Zook.

  Judging by Emma’s smile, she didn’t seem to mind in the least her sister had a publication in The Budget and she did not.

  Emma had left her order to join the Mennonite church, being baptized there instead. Some districts would have shunned her for the action. Rochelle couldn’t imagine the exuberant young woman being cut off from her family altogether.

  Only in Pinecraft did it seem to work.

  Rochelle joined the trio beside the luggage compartment. “Nora, so good to see you. And you as well, Mr. Yoder.”

  Emma and Betsy’s mamm might be Nora to Rochelle, but their daed and his serious demeanor would always be Mr. Yoder to her.

  “Danke, Rochelle Keim. I trust my daughters have behaved themselves with you?”

  “Yes, sir, they have.” She figured Emma could explain about her job change, or perhaps she already had. “Did you all have a good trip?”

  “Yah, but it seems to get longer and longer every winter. And, this year . . .” Nora’s voice trailed off with a pointed look from Mr. Yoder. He shook his head slowly and said nothing.

  “I can hardly wait to see the dresses. I know they must be wunderbar.”

  Mother and daughter continued in German, while Rochelle scanned the crowd. Mr. Yoder headed for the table, where someone had stacked the latest edition of The Budget.

  A few more passengers left the bus, with reunions to follow.

  The driver pulled luggage, suitcases and backpacks, and plastic ice cream buckets containing kapps from under the bus.

  A young beardless Amish man with auburn hair stood to the side. Someone else was scanning the crowd, like her. She’d seen this young man before . . .

  “Emma.” Rochelle rasped out her great-niece’s name. No one heard it in the chatter and movement of locating luggage.

  “Emma.” Mr. Yoder returned, carrying a stack of newspapers. “I have the copies of The Budget for your sister, and anyone else who would like a copy of the wedding announcement.”

  “ . . . we’re baking cupcakes and freezing them ahead of time . . .” Emma’s voice trailed off as she saw the auburn-haired young man.

  “Eli. Eli Troyer?”

  “Ach, dochder, you knew he would be coming, sometime this winter.” Mr. Yoder’s voice was low but firm.

  Rochelle drew closer. “Emma, it’s all right. I’d like to see the dresses, too. I know your mamm has worked hard on them, and I know you all will want to spend time together before the wedding.”

  She couldn’t miss the longing in Eli’s expression when he’d set eyes on Emma. Then when he realized she’d seen him gazing at his former fiancée, something like a shadow passed over his eyes.

  Eli Troyer stepped over to a row of suitcases, picked up a smallish rolling suitcase, then called out to a friend who’d stepped off the bus not minutes before.

  Emma nodded. “Yah, I’ll help get your luggage, and we can all head to Aenti Sarah’s house.”

  “I have my van, parked just down the street,” Rochelle offered.

  “Danke, Rochelle, but if you don’t mind, we’ll walk.” Nora smiled apologetically. “We’ve been cooped up for hours and hours on the bus, it will feel gut to stretch our legs.”

  “I’m going to walk with my parents, Aenti Chelle.”

  “Of course.” She smiled at Emma. A quick glance toward Eli showed the young man heading off down the street, into the heart of the village.

  No, you never knew who’d get off the bus in Pinecraft.

  * * *

  It was Saturday morning, and Silas had no flights and big plans to spend the day in the village with Matthew.

  After the tense meal of pizza with Lena and Matthew a few days ago, he wanted to show them both, especially his son, that although things had rapidly changed in their family over the last year or so, the fact they were a family hadn’t changed.

  Someday, Matthew wouldn’t want to spend time with Silas as much anymore. Now with the end of school for Christmas break less than two weeks away, this meant other visitors Matthew’s age would be arriving in the village.

  “Dad, I told Levi Miller we were going fishing, and he said his father said it was okay if he met up with us, too.”

  “Ah, does he have a fishing rod and tackle?”

  “Yes, he does. He fishes a lot. Someday he wants to have a boat like Steven does.”

  “Well, sure. I can’t guarantee we’ll catch anything. It’s just Phillippi Creek.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Dad. It’s fun enough to reel them in and let them go.” Matthew pulled his bicycle from the garage. “Levi’s meeting us at nine.”

  “Good.”

  Lena still slept, having stayed up late the night before studying, and was due to clean two houses in the afternoon.

  “Too bad Lena won’t come with us.”

  “Maybe sometime.”

  “Maybe.”

  Silas took his own bicycle from the garage. The gleaming burnt-orange single-speed bicycle was unlike anything he’d ever had before or imagined having. He’d never pictured him
self feeling enthusiastic over having a bicycle, but there it was. Also, Matthew had given it to him, saying he’d bought it from Uncle Tobias, then fixed it up and repainted it.

  “How’s your bike, Dad?”

  “Runs great. All it needs is a motor like yours.”

  “Yes, so you can catch up with me.” Matthew laughed, then zoomed off down the street. “Race you there!”

  “Watch for the light,” Silas called out after him, shaking his head. He pedaled hard to keep up with his son. He found a chuckle coming out and let it go.

  Silas caught up with Matthew at the light, and they continued between Big Olaf’s and Yoder’s and continued on their way to the park.

  They waved to a pair of older men, chatting on a front porch, then whizzed by a young couple, strolling hand in hand, a brave display of public affection not often seen other places.

  The basketball and shuffleboard courts came into view, but they passed those and continued along the side street, rounded the parking lot, and found a place to chain their bicycles in view of the creek.

  “Levi should be here soon,” Matthew said as he padlocked his bicycle. A few bicycles had come up missing—stolen—and one couldn’t be too careful, especially with a motorized bicycle.

  Voices drifted on the morning breeze. The bocce players, one of whom was Uncle Tobias, were already at it with the day’s round of matches, distances measured with a tape measure to the inch.

  They cast off their lines. Silas had no idea if they’d catch much of anything.

  Not ten yards away, an elderly African American woman wearing a big floppy hat sat with her own fishing line in the water.

  The sight transported him back to the work he and Belinda had done overseas, him piloting itinerant doctors and aid workers to remote villages, helping the people with water supply and medicine, Belinda helping local women start their own textile businesses to break the cycle of poverty.

  The woman smiled at him, her grin bright. “Got some nibbles this morning, but nothing biting. But you never can tell.”

  “We’re hoping we get something,” he replied to her. “Or we make a trip to the fish market before supper.”

  She then leaned back and laughed, the brim of her hat flopping. “What a surefire way to make a catch.”