A Promise of Grace

by Lynette Sowell

  “Rochelle.”

  She stopped at the kitchen table. “I tried to help. I was only making conversation. I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “Of course not.” And then, the dam she’d used to hold back everything over the years broke.

  He pulled her into his arms. “It’s not your fault. It’s Belinda’s. She told me she’d talked to her. I should have been there. Should have insisted we did this as a family. But the moment I got back from my trip, Lena came and hugged me, told me how happy she was God had given me to her as a daddy and I’d come home safe. How was I supposed to know Belinda didn’t talk to her?”

  She leaned against him, and he allowed himself to touch her hair, the silken strands pulled back into a bun and covered. Just then, he knew beyond a doubt he loved her. Maybe he always had and he’d locked it away into a corner of his heart and made himself forget.

  All because of their stubbornness and youth.

  Maybe now their youth was gone and in spite of the stubbornness remaining, they could build on the foundation of their old love, something he’d buried long ago.

  Rochelle said nothing, but kept her face buried in his shirt. He kissed the top of her head.

  Then he pulled back and kissed her firmly on the lips. Her arms tightened around him as she responded.

  “Stop.” Rochelle wiggled away and took a few steps. “I need to go. I . . . I need to go.”

  25

  Emma and Betsy chattered away in German with their mother, while Frances knelt at Rochelle’s hem. The five of them filled Frances’s sewing room.

  “I love the shade of blue.” Rochelle had slipped the dress on and the texture of the fabric felt terribly fancy, even for her. She knew the girls must think the cloth extravagant.

  How did the dresses, especially Betsy’s, pass muster for the weddings? Not so much Emma’s, whose Mennonite ceremony was a few shades less plain than Betsy’s. But Betsy, belonging to the Old Order Church, had certainly taken a few risks with the pleats and trim on her wedding dress.

  Nora Yoder nodded at something one of them said.

  Rochelle’s German, patchy at best, enabled her to understand dress and something about changes needing to be made.

  Betsy nodded. Emma frowned.

  “The new bishop,” Nora said, raising her hands. “It’s a bit more difficult now, knowing the expectations.”

  Rochelle liked being Plain, but didn’t see the harm in a few pleats and a ruffled row. Pride could surface in many other ways besides a person’s clothing.

  “So what will you do?” Rochelle asked.

  Nora shrugged. “Make the changes to the dress.”

  “It’s not fair. It’s only one day, only one dress—Betsy’s.” Emma shook her head.

  “It’s the way it’s done at home. You know this, dochder.”

  “Well, knowing it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “Changing my dress a little bit doesn’t matter much to me.” Betsy smiled, staring out the window. “I’m marrying Thaddeus, at last. Our marriage is a miracle for which I’m thankful.”

  Emma fell silent.

  “I think it’s a beautiful miracle,” Rochelle said. “And to have the weddings Christmas week is perfect. Everyone, or almost everyone, will be here in the village anyway.”

  “Hold still, and I’ll get your hem tacked up so I can finish it.” Fran fastened the last pin. “There. This should do it. I’ll have this hemmed in no time.”

  “Thanks, Fran.”

  “Lena was asking about you yesterday.” Fran glanced upward.

  “How is she doing? I haven’t been by since . . . since the day she got home from the hospital.” Not quite a week, and Lena already had her exams straightened out. She wouldn’t return until the spring semester and would take her exams remotely in the comfort of her home, with their pastor’s wife, Bea, serving as proctor.

  “Sore, but getting around a little more every day.”

  She wanted to ask about Silas, but didn’t. She missed him. Somehow, after the fiasco of Lena finding out about John, Rochelle had found plenty of reasons to stay out of the picture. It still stung when she recalled her role in the fiasco.

  “Okay, step down. Betsy’s turn now.” Frances waved Rochelle off the low stool. “Never mind, Betsy. I just need to see your sleeves to take out the ribbon pleats.”

  Betsy moved to where Rochelle had once stood.

  “I’ll get changed.” The sooner she got done here, the sooner she could continue studying for her final exam. One more, and the semester would be over.

  Rochelle picked up her day dress from a nearby chair and headed for the Frys’ bathroom. Oh, how she missed Silas. She missed Lena and Matthew. She forced them from her mind, for now. Time would come when she couldn’t avoid them. They’d be in church on Sunday, occupying the same row as usual. As would she.

  Rochelle put her dress back on, taking care not to rumple the dress she’d wear for the upcoming wedding. Next week, already. But so much to do in the meantime, and clients with extra requests for cleaning before their own company rolled into town.

  One thing at a time, she reminded herself as she left the bathroom. She entered the sewing room to see Fran pinning up the hem of Emma’s dress.

  “Eli Troyer was out and about with his family,” Nora said.

  “Well, he hasn’t spoken to me, and I am relieved he hasn’t.” Emma stuck her chin out.

  “He moped for months. Finally seemed to snap out of whatever it was when he began walking home with Miriam’s younger sister.”

  Emma darted a glance at her mother. “Hannah? Why, she’s not old enough to go to youth group.”

  “Why, yes, she is.” Nora’s voice held a singsong tone. “I’m happy for both of them.”

  “Well, I am, too.”

  Rochelle wasn’t quite certain she believed Emma. Did she see a flicker of jealousy? But then, Emma had broken things off with Eli last winter. Rochelle had been there for the rocky road after Emma essentially left her Order and joined the Mennonite church.

  She herself knew the taste of jealousy, especially when she’d heard of Silas and Belinda’s wedding.

  But she’d pushed Silas away while her friendship with Belinda had crumbled in their mutual grief.

  “Fran, I need to leave now. Thank you for your help with the hem.”

  “Of course. I’ll bring the dress with me on Sunday.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  “Bye, Aenti Chelle.” Betsy, still wearing her starry-eyed expression, came out of her reverie enough to tell her good-bye.

  Nora followed Rochelle into the hallway. “Rochelle, could I have a moment?”

  “Yes. What is it?”

  The older woman frowned. “I’m worried, about Emma. Not so much Betsy, but Emma. Since we’ve been here, I’ve noticed how much she has changed. And with the new bishop, her father and I feel . . . pressured.”

  “How so?”

  “Ah, I don’t want to pull you into it. I’m afraid her father and I will have consequences for these weddings.”

  “Doesn’t your bishop understand your family has spent months planning this day for Betsy and Emma?”

  “He does. He also said something about our family being a bad ‘example’ because of our ‘extravagance.’ ” Nora’s shoulders slumped.

  “I’m so sorry. Surely he knows having two weddings in one day will save everyone much trouble and expense.”

  “He doesn’t see it the same way we do.” Nora hung her head. “We’ve been told we’re ‘flaunting’ our wealth.”

  Rochelle shook her head. “But your husband’s company employs a goodly number of workers, even some of them from among your district.”

  “For some reason, it doesn’t seem to matter to him.”

  “Bide your time, Nora. One more week or so, and the weddings will be done.” She touched Nora’s arm. “I’ll be praying about the situation.”

  “Th
ank you. And if you get the chance, perhaps you could speak with Emma. For some reason, mudders don’t know much about their dochders’ fears and doubts. Maybe Emma’s aenti will.”

  “I’ll be glad to find an opportunity to talk to her. But, what about your more immediate family? Surely there’s someone closer, someone Amish. I don’t mind, at all, but . . .”

  “I love my family, but I’m afraid one or more of them might misunderstand a young woman’s normal doubts and speak to the bishop.”

  Rochelle nodded slowly. “I see. Well, I’ll try to speak with her. But don’t worry. I’m sure everything will come out all right, God willing.”

  “Ya, Gotte willing.”

  Whatever came next, she had no idea.

  * * *

  Silas knew he had his answer for Mr. Kingsley, and it was a simple matter to pick up the phone and gently refuse the man’s offer of permanent employment. Part of him felt like a fool for turning down the opportunity, but he called Ted and informed him of the decision before leaving the airport parking lot.

  “I understand,” Ted said. “I imagine you’ll be taking to the skies in another part of the world someday?”

  “Someday. I hope to return to missions work. But right now, I believe my place is here, closer to my family. They’ve had so many changes in the past year of their lives. I know they’re grown, but it’s best for me to stay in Florida.”

  “Well, I admire your decision. With our child’s surgeries, I’ve had to do my own soul-searching. It’s not easy, but necessary. But keep in touch. Before you head off on your next venture, let me know. I’ll give you my financial support.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Silas ended the call, knowing deep inside he’d made the right decision.

  He arrived back in the village after his latest charter, another simple day trip to Miami and back for a Sarasota businessman. A quick hop, then home again.

  A vehicle Silas didn’t recognize sat parked in front of the house. He pulled up into the driveway and stopped the engine.

  Laughter rang out from the backyard. Lena. He hadn’t heard her laugh in such a way since before her surgery. He rounded the corner to see Lena propped up on a chair, with Matthew and Steven cleaning fish.

  “Hello, Mr. Fry.” Steven’s grin was white in his tan face. “I got a good catch today so I thought I’d bring you all some fish. The least I could do was clean them for you, too.”

  “Ah, thank you, Steven.” He glanced at Lena, whose face glowed a faint shade of pink. “How are you feeling, Lena? I thought I heard your laugh when I came around the corner.”

  “Much better. See? I said you didn’t have anything to worry about, leaving me for the day.”

  Until now, he didn’t worry so much about her being alone as worrying about the status of things with the young man with tousled blond hair scaling a fish.

  “So, Steven, your big day is coming soon.” He sank onto the nearest empty lawn chair.

  “Yes, sir. It is. Finally.”

  “Finally?”

  “I love Emma, but anytime we’re together, all I hear is more about the wedding. My new suit is ready, and my shirt. All we have to do is get ready and show up.”

  Of course, Steven had no clue about all the wedding details so important to a woman.

  “A little more than a week, you’ll be done. So, where do you plan to live?”

  “I’ve rented one side of a duplex from my Uncle Henry Hostetler. Our part of the house has two bedrooms, one bathroom, and we share the backyard with Uncle Henry. He’s getting older, so the family will be glad to have us living next door to him.” More scraping of the fish before he deftly sliced it open and removed the guts.

  “Good for you. Have you lived there long?”

  “I just got my things moved from my parents’ house. They wanted me to wait until Christmas, but I didn’t.”

  “I understand what you mean.” Silas had to smile at the young man’s words. He reminded Silas of himself at the same age, always ready to push ahead for what he wanted.

  Nobody thought a young Mennonite man would grow up to fly planes, but he did. The life Steven had chosen for himself, however, wasn’t so much different from his Plain counterparts who lived inland and farmed. Steven, instead, worked the Gulf waters.

  Lena’s expression of admiration nudged him, though. She’d never shown an interest in a young man before, though a few had noticed her during their time in Ohio. Instead, she’d seemed oblivious of the attention. Until now.

  He caught her glance, and she frowned, staring down at the blanket on her lap.

  “I don’t mind frying these for you, if you’d like fish tonight.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Truthfully, he’d considered sending Matthew over to Village Pizza to buy supper. “I think we have some leftovers in the refrigerator to go with it.”

  At the realization Steven would stay for supper, Lena beamed.

  “What about Emma?” Silas had to ask.

  “She’s getting her dress fitted, and some of her friends are arriving tonight. They’re going to play volleyball at the park.” Steven shrugged. “I don’t want to sit there and watch a bunch of giggling girls play volleyball.”

  “Some boys play volleyball, too,” Matthew interjected. “Levi’s going tonight, and some of the other kids. May I go, too, Dad?”

  “Yes, of course.” He had no plans for the evening, and Lena wasn’t in any shape to be bicycling or riding over to the park to sit on some bleachers, or even benches if there was a concert in the park.

  “Sunday night, they’re having a Christmas singing,” Lena said. He heard the longing in her voice.

  “Well, maybe we can go, if you’re up to it.”

  “I’d like to.” And she smiled at Steven.

  26

  An evening breeze swirled through the pavilion in Pinecraft Park, and Rochelle shivered. A few around her did so as well. She tugged her cardigan a bit tighter. She should have taken out her winter jacket, kept in the front closest for only the rarest of chilly evenings in Florida.

  Tonight, in spite of the wintry air, the music warmed her heart. A visiting group of Mennonites from Indiana played guitars, and one kept time with a pair of sticks; another playing a harmonica.

  Christmas hymns swelled up from the group. When they didn’t all sing together, the musicians sang some unfamiliar, newer songs about the Savior’s birth.

  Nights like tonight made any troubles shrink to their proper size when compared to God’s love. Rochelle was reminded of the miracle of Christmas, the lavish gift of grace.

  She scanned the crowd. Not an empty seat remained in the pavilion, where a makeshift stage had been set up along with some tent walls to block out some of the cold. Some brought their own lawn chairs and others occupied a few picnic tables.

  A sea of head coverings, a wide variety, mostly white, dotted the room along with a few men’s hats and ballcaps.

  She shivered.

  “James Stoltzfus has a coffeepot set up in the back,” whispered Betsy, sitting beside Thaddeus without a sliver of open night air between them. “I think he has hot water for cocoa, too.”

  Rochelle nodded. Coffee sounded good, so she made her way to the rear of the pavilion, to a picnic table with one half covered with two large metal containers and a stack of cups.

  “Coffee, please,” she said to James. She tucked a donation into the plastic jar stuffed with dollar bills, marked “Pinecraft Park Fund.”

  He nodded, then filled a cup for her. “We’ve got cream and sugar and fixings on the end.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced toward the nearest pillar of the pavilion. Silas Fry leaned against it. He caught her eye and smiled at her.

  If it was nearly Christmas, and tonight was full of grace, she figured she’d seize the opportunity to talk to him. Her heart swelled. How she’d missed him.

  She doctored her coffee, then approached Silas. “It’s a beautiful evening.”

  “Even more so now.
”

  She felt a warm flush creep across her face. “How . . . how are you?”

  “I’m well.” His gaze swept the area. “Would you like to go for a short walk?”

  “Yes, yes, I would.” They stepped out into the darkness, and Silas reached for her free hand. Now, it didn’t feel as cold.

  “I’ve missed you,” they both said at once, then laughed.

  “You go first.” Silas squeezed her hand. They strolled toward the path winding beside the creek.

  “The other day, when I told Lena . . . I’m sorry. It was meant for you to tell her.”

  “Don’t apologize. You love her, and you were concerned. And I thought Belinda had years ago. Which wasn’t true. Lena’s hurting, she’s healing up inside and out. But it’s not your fault.”

  Rochelle nodded. “Sometimes, we try to help people, and our good intentions cause more harm than good.”

  “The truth helps.” Silas stopped. They looked toward the pavilion, where glowing rectangles of light illuminated the crowd inside. Nearby, the empty shuffleboard courts provided plenty of shadow.

  “Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free,” Rochelle quoted.

  “Belinda had a hard time with the truth.” Silas turned to face her. “She avoided it. I think if she ignored the fact John was Lena’s father, to her it helped her feel less guilty about marrying me.”

  “Ah. I see.” But she didn’t see. “When I heard you two had married . . . and then Lena came . . . it felt like . . . I don’t know.”

  “Like I’d forgotten you so quickly?”

  Rochelle nodded. A hot tear on her cheek surprised her.

  Silas reached out and swept the tear away. “I love you, Rochelle Keim. Don’t cry.”

  He pulled her to him and she dropped the foam cup of coffee on the pavement. This kiss wasn’t the sweet peck on the lips he’d stolen in the hospital courtyard, but the kind of kiss reminding her of what they once had.

  Here in the dark, people might still see—

  She pulled back, trying not to gasp, her heart hammering away in her chest, her knees wobbly. “What are we going to do, Silas?”