A Promise of Grace

by Lynette Sowell

  Rochelle shoved the knowledge into a corner of her mind and out of the way. She followed the signs to the cafeteria, purchased a coffee, and went to a quiet corner table.

  It shouldn’t matter.

  The identity of Lena’s father didn’t change anything.

  The young woman still needed a blood transfusion.

  Silas still needed his family and friends to support him.

  And Rochelle still loved him.

  But surely Belinda would have told her, about the baby . . .

  Except, after John’s death many of those days and weeks were a blur, except for the final good-byes Rochelle had said to Belinda and Silas.

  She kept her focus on the foam cup with its steaming brew in front of her.

  The current circumstances almost made her laugh. This morning, her greatest source of stress had been getting four dozen cupcakes baked and cooled before going to see her cleaning clients.

  She glanced up to see Silas approaching, then looked down again.

  He took the chair across from her. “I talked to Aunt Fran, asked her to get the word out in the village to see if anyone might help. I’m not sure if any will.”

  “Or can. We don’t seem to keep up on things like blood types, especially the Old Order folks.” Certain aspects of medical treatments were still looked at as borderline heresy by some.

  “I want to explain, about Lena.”

  “You don’t have to.” She took a sip of coffee. “I figured it out. You did a kind and selfless thing, stepping in on John’s behalf, all those years ago.”

  “It wasn’t an easy choice.”

  “No, I’m sure it wasn’t.” She reminded herself they were in a public place, and she had no business speaking to a man—married or otherwise—about someone else’s indiscretion, or any indiscretion.

  “I know you tried to be there for Belinda after she lost John.”

  “I did. But she pushed me away. So, I decided to wait until she was ready to talk to me.”

  “She told me you were pushing her.”

  Rochelle gave him a sharp look. “My best friend in the whole world was locking herself away from everyone. I couldn’t let her do it. She needed to get out there, even if she didn’t feel like it. I knew I’d done the same thing after losing Momma.”

  Silas shook his head. “Who were you to say she needed to? How did you know the time was right for her?”

  Not much got Rochelle riled up. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so frustrated, besides the time recently when Emma slacked off on cleaning Mrs. Gentile’s house.

  “If you don’t recall, I lost my mother not three months before we lost John. I was still deep in grief. But I knew I couldn’t stop going. I had to keep going, in spite of the changes I didn’t want.” She didn’t add about her father selling the house, and her feeling uprooted from everything she’d known.

  “I remember. I was there, too. But everybody grieves differently.”

  She felt a pang of guilt for unleashing on him like this, but didn’t back off. “It might be true, but I won’t apologize for loving my friend and trying to be there for her. Everyone figures after the funeral, life goes on. People forget quickly.”

  Silas quirked a slight smile at her. “Don’t apologize. You were always the strong one. Belinda never seemed strong, not like you were, anyway. Oh, she was strong enough on the mission field. I knew . . . I knew going into our relationship, such as it was, part of her would always love John.”

  Rochelle nodded. But Silas had given up on her, on them.

  Of course he had. She’d pushed him away.

  Part of her wanted to look at this from the perspective of an outsider. This was ancient history and should have no bearing on the present. Stop living in the past, people liked to say.

  The infernal pager began buzzing again.

  “Her surgery should be over. They said this next page should be it.” Silas picked up the pager and stood. “Will you come with me?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll . . . I’ll give you two some time.” She struggled with her unspoken question. “Does Lena . . . does she . . .”

  “Does she know?” He nodded. “Belinda told her, when she was young. She knows about John. Hasn’t spoken about him in years. But, she knows.”

  “Good.”

  * * *

  Light filtered through the blinds of Lena’s hospital room. Silas stood at Lena’s bedside. A soft beeping monitored her vital signs.

  Aunt Fran and Uncle Tobias had arrived, along with Matthew and their pastor and his wife. The room felt snug with all the people, but no one shooed them away.

  Lena’s eyes fluttered open. “Dad . . . I . . .” She moved slightly. “Ow. How did the surgery go?”

  “It went. They had to open you up more than planned at first, but they say you’re doing well now.” He wouldn’t mention about the blood-level scare, not just yet.

  “I feel like my head’s floating.” Her words came out in a soft, low tone.

  “The nurse said it’s the anesthesia.” She’d been out cold, or so he assumed, when he first entered her hospital room and the nurses were getting her settled. The head nurse had given Silas the latest update and said someone would be by to try Lena on some pudding for supper.

  “Did . . . did you talk to Rochelle, about my clients?”

  “I did, and she made sure they were taken care of.”

  “Good.” She glanced at Matthew. “Hey there. Did you catch a lot of fish this morning?”

  “A few.” Matthew hung back. “We had a lot of bites, though. Levi met us there.” For all he’d seen as a youngster overseas, they hadn’t spent much time in hospitals, especially where their own health matters were concerned.

  “Sounds fun.”

  “We wanted to check on Lena, and pray with all of you,” said Pastor Marvin.

  “Thank you,” Silas said. He realized again the infinite weariness a sudden crisis brought on. Or, maybe it was this kind of a crisis. He’d had other things come up when in the field. But it felt a lot different when trouble circled close to home.

  The last time he’d been in a hospital was the night Belinda died. She was one of the few who’d survived the collision initially, but all attempts to stabilize her upon arrival at the hospital failed. He didn’t like hospitals much.

  But here, with his closest family and pastor assembled in the room with Lena, this hospital was a place of healing. And for it, he thanked God.

  “Let us pray,” Pastor Marvin said, as they bowed their heads. “Our Heavenly Father, we come to you with thanks and praise for Lena, for guiding the surgeon’s hands, and giving doctors the skills and wisdom to treat her. Give Lena, Silas, and Matthew peace as she heals, and we continue to trust our lives to Your care. Amen.”

  “Amen.” The only one missing right now was Rochelle. He should have insisted she join them, to not worry about giving them space.

  Aunt Frances spoke up first. “When you’re ready, come to the house and get something to eat. Unless you plan to eat here?”

  “Go ahead, Dad. You don’t have to stay here with me. I’m tired, I won’t be good company.”

  “I’ll stay for a while.” His cleared his throat. “We were worried, earlier.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve ruined everyone’s day.”

  “No, you didn’t. Not at all.”

  “I still got to go fishing,” Matthew said. “Next time, I want you to come, too.”

  “I just might.” Lena’s eyes opened wider. “My exams. I have exams coming up. Can I go back to class this week?”

  “One thing at a time.” Silas touched Lena’s forehead. “For the rest of the day today, you need to focus on getting better.”

  “I know.” She tried to reach for the container of ice water with a straw on the tray table.

  “Here.” Silas picked it up and handed it to her. From the time she took her first toddling steps, she would always tell him and Belinda, “I can do it myself.”

>   “Son, how are you going to get home?” Uncle Tobias asked.

  “Ah, I hadn’t thought about it.” Which, he hadn’t. He could stay here tonight. But already, Lena’s eyelids drooped as she sipped her water.

  “We can wait for you. We don’t mind.”

  “We have room to give Matthew and Frances a ride home, if need be,” Pastor said.

  “Thank you, Pastor.” Aunt Frances drew closer to Lena. “If you need anything, I’ll be here lickety-split, and then first thing in the morning.”

  24

  Rochelle prepared a casserole to take over to the Frys’, a chicken casserole recipe passed around the family, and one of Aenti Sarah’s specialties. Silas probably wouldn’t cook, and she didn’t blame him.

  His refrigerator would likely brim with the help of the neighborhood. Anytime a need or crisis came up, the villagers would pitch in.

  She’d already offered to give Lena any help she needed in preparing for exams. The young woman had come home from the hospital on Sunday afternoon and was comfortably propped up on pillows in the living room.

  Rochelle tucked the still-warm casserole into an insulated bag, then carried it out to her bicycle. The casserole took up most of the basket.

  As she headed off across the village, she zigzagged on her bicycle through the streets on her way to the Frys.

  A cluster of villagers stood on Leah Graber’s porch. A familiar face caught her eye and the person flagged her down.

  “Rochelle Keim.” Imogene Brubaker motioned for Rochelle to stop.

  Good thing she’d tucked the casserole into the insulated carrier. She pedaled up the driveway and stopped behind the closest tricycle.

  “Hi, Imogene.” She looked past Imogene’s shoulder at the group on the porch. “What happened?”

  “Leah . . . Leah Graber passed away this morning.”

  “Oh no . . . I saw her, recently, waiting for the bus, the same day I saw you.” Rochelle placed her hand on her chest. “I didn’t know she’d been ill.” The woman wasn’t one of the younger retirees in Pinecraft. She’d been in her sixties, at least, when Rochelle first moved to the village.

  “I don’t know either, but evidently she passed sometime in her sleep.”

  Rochelle walked with Imogene to the porch. A woman she recognized as one of Leah’s daughters already wore her Sunday best, as did a few of the others.

  “Rochelle, is it?” The woman approached her. “You used to work for my mother.”

  “You’re right. Rochelle Keim. And yes, your mother taught me everything I know about running a cleaning business.”

  “She . . . she thought a lot of you.” Her blue eyes glimmered with tears. “Matter of fact, at Thanksgiving she mentioned you came to see her.”

  Rochelle nodded. “Yes. I’d been busy and been meaning to stop by. I’m glad I made the time.”

  “Well, as I said, she always thought a lot of you. Thank you for remembering her. People get so busy now.” She took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “It happens to all of us. We try to remember to visit with each other as often as we can.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you’ll miss her.”

  “She lived a long, full life.” She glanced toward the front door. “I’m not sure what we’ll do with the house. We don’t live here year-round.”

  “You could always rent it out.”

  “Maybe. My grandfather built this home. It’s one of the oldest in the village. It would be a shame not to keep it in the family.”

  “I hope you can. It’s a sweet house. And I like the parrots in the backyard.” Rochelle smiled at the memory.

  “Well, one thing at a time, I suppose. Thank you again for stopping.”

  “Of course. I’ll be praying for your family.”

  Rochelle left and continued on her way. So it went with Pinecraft. Although Leah Graber had gone on to her eternal reward, she would be deeply missed by those still here on the earthly shores.

  Rochelle pedaled along toward the Frys’ rental home and the sound of a horse’s neigh behind her nearly jolted her off her bicycle.

  Tobias Fry grinned from the front seat of his horseless buggy, where Fran sat beside him. “Good afternoon, Rochelle.”

  She had to chuckle at their amusement. “Hello there.”

  “You heading to visit our great-niece and family?”

  “I most certainly am.”

  “Race you there?”

  “Ha. You’ll leave me in the dust.”

  “See you there!” With another blast from the neighing horse horn, Tobias and Frances shot past her.

  The sound made her smile again. She wasn’t sure who took more joy in the village, the young children visiting and seeing the beach for the first time, or the older men like Tobias, tinkering with the vehicles and gizmos others in the Plain world could only dream about.

  A few minutes more and she arrived at the Frys’ and found a spot to padlock her bicycle in the carport. The side door leading to the kitchen was open to the carport, and laughter drifted outside.

  “. . . so good to be home, even though I was only gone for one night,” Rochelle heard Lena saying as she carried the casserole to the side door.

  “Come on in, Rochelle, we’re sort of spread out here between the kitchen and the living room,” Frances said. “Oh, sorry, Silas. It’s not my house.”

  “No worries, Aunt Fran. I don’t mind.”

  Rochelle pulled the screen door open and stepped inside, balancing the casserole on one arm. “I know you probably have gobs of food, but I wanted to make something.”

  “Thanks,” Silas said, leading the way to the counter. “You can put it here. Smells delicious.”

  “One of Aenti Sarah’s recipes,” she explained.

  “Well, we were just popping by to say hello and see Lena, but Tobias needs to get back to the shop.” Frances plucked at her husband’s elbow.

  “I do?”

  “Yes. You do.” She gave him a look, at which Rochelle tried not to chuckle. She’d hoped the elder Frys would stay as a sort of buffer between her and Silas.

  She still hadn’t quite processed the shock over learning about Lena’s true father. But then, she’d always seen Belinda in Lena. But not Silas. Not that it mattered. Yet, no matter how much anyone said the past didn’t have a bearing on the present, sometimes it did.

  The couple said another good-bye to Lena before heading out.

  Rochelle went to the living room and smiled at Lena. “How are you?”

  “I’m sore, but I’m glad to be home.” She shifted on the couch and adjusted the crocheted afghan covering her.

  “I know you’re probably thinking about finals, so if you need me to pick up any work from your professors, I don’t mind.”

  “Thanks.” Lena glanced from her father, to Rochelle, then back to her father again.

  Silas cleared his throat. “Ah, I need to make a phone call. The airport manager called about a possible flight. I’ll be right back.”

  Rochelle didn’t want to sigh with relief, but instead took a seat on the nearest chair. “I’ve found someone to take your clients until you can go back. Vera Byler’s daughter, Patience, was looking for work.”

  “Good.” Lena glanced past Rochelle toward the kitchen. “So, what’s going on with you and my dad?”

  “Um, what exactly do you mean by ‘going on’?”

  “I know he cares for you. I know you and he were . . . together before he and my mother married. But there’s something now, something new between you.”

  “It’s . . . it’s something we need to work through. Or, I do.” She wasn’t about to tell Lena it involved her. Kids often paid for their parents’ actions. Not always. But this didn’t seem to affect Lena.

  “Well, I hope you do. I haven’t seen him this happy since before my mother passed away.”

  But they weren’t “together,” were they?

  “I’m just glad they found a donor for your blood transfusion.”

&nb
sp; “I knew they had to do a transfusion. But a donor?” Lena wore a quizzical expression.

  Silas entered the room at that moment, and Rochelle sucked in a breath.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, glancing at Rochelle.

  “Dad, why did I need a blood donor? Why couldn’t you donate blood for me? We studied this in Intro to Hematology. You’re my dad, you can be a donor . . .”

  * * *

  “My blood type isn’t compatible with yours. I’m AB. I couldn’t father a child with O-negative blood.” Silas clenched his jaw. Lena seemed as if she didn’t know. But Belinda had told him, long ago, she’d told Lena.

  “But . . . but that means . . . how can you not be my father?” Lena turned pale. “But you’ve . . . you’ve always been here, for as long as I can remember.”

  Silas paced the room, then stopped, sitting gently on the end of the couch. “Your father was my best friend, and his name was John Hershberger. He died before you were born.”

  Lena shook her head. “No . . . no.”

  Rochelle shot Silas a look. “You told me Belinda talked to her, and she knew. All I did was mention the transfusion, and—”

  “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Someone not saying anything all those years ago is the reason we’re in this situation right now.” She turned her attention to Lena. “Oh, Lena . . .”

  “Leave me alone. Please.” Tears streamed down Lena’s cheeks. “Just please, leave me alone.”

  Silas continued. She had to know about John. Why hadn’t Belinda said something? “I don’t know why your mother didn’t say anything. She . . . told me she had. I was gone, for almost a week, when you were six. I told her before I left on my flight, you needed to know. You were old enough to know the kind of man your father was and how honored I was to step in when he couldn’t.”

  “I thought . . . I thought you loved my mother.”

  “I did.”

  Rochelle stood. “I’m sorry. I should go.” She moved to the kitchen with Silas on her heels.