“I’m going to love you as long as you’ll have me.” And then, he kissed her again.
A shout rang out from the volleyball court, a stone’s throw away. Someone whistled. They’d been seen by the young people. Rochelle squatted down, scrambling to pick up the cup she’d dropped.
“Silas Fry, you’re nothing but trouble.” A thought troubled her. “But, your job with the Kingsleys?”
“I turned it down. I’m staying here.”
They slipped through a space of lawn between the shuffleboard court and the sandy volleyball area where rotating teams of young people were still hitting the ball back and forth.
“There’s Emma and Steven.” Silas nodded toward the rear of the bleachers.
Emma’s arms moved in vivid gestures. She shook her head. Then Steven said something, at which she nodded in response, then stumbled off down the street, away from the park.
“Uh-oh.” Rochelle frowned. “I wonder what’s going on.”
“Nothing good, I’d guess.”
“I should probably—” Rochelle began.
“Go ahead, see what it is. I’ll see you at church in the morning.” He gave her hand another squeeze, which made her stomach flutter.
Rochelle followed Emma from the park. In the streetlights, the back of Emma’s head covering looked like a white bouncing blob above her shoulders.
“Emma,” Rochelle called out. She glanced back at the volleyball court. The young people still played, just as they had all evening.
Emma stood, motionless, staring down at the rows of tricycles gleaming in the light filtering through the Spanish moss. Then she frowned before heading away from the park, but not in the same direction as Steven.
“Emma,” Rochelle called again. The young woman didn’t turn around, nor did her pace slow. Rochelle broke into a trot and kept it up until she caught up with Emma.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Emma said. But her pace slowed.
“Okay.” They continued at a stroll now. Rochelle shivered. She wanted the warmth of Silas’s arms.
The sounds of voices, raised in song, drifted to the street. A neighborhood singing, for those who didn’t want to venture to the park.
“One of my favorite songs,” Emma said. She paused at the mailbox. “We sing it . . . back home.”
“Pretty soon, your home will be here in Sarasota, permanently.”
She wanted to reassure Emma things would work out just fine. However, she’d had her own dream of a wedding and life had taught her reassurances didn’t carry much weight sometimes.
“It doesn’t seem possible. I thought . . .” Emma shrugged and fell silent. The song ended. Someone began a peppy number on a banjo.
The music made Rochelle want to tap her foot, in contrast to the seriousness of the conversation. She resumed walking, and Emma did, too.
“What did you think, Emma?”
“I imagined I’d be preparing for a wedding to Eli Troyer. But I’m here, planning a wedding in Pinecraft to Steven. I left my Order, joined your church. Just like Jacob Miller did for Natalie.”
“Yes. Sometimes things don’t turn out like we imagined.”
“You were in love once. Did you ever wish you could make things different? Not as if Gotte would change the past for us.”
Rochelle laughed softly. “I’ve wished for it several times. But I’ve also prayed for God to see to my future.”
“Steven and I had a disagreement tonight. It’s childish. Almost like a pair of kinner arguing over who’s right.”
Rochelle didn’t venture to ask why the disagreement began, but she had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the regular presence of Lena Fry in their lives since summertime. The day of the fishing trip had reminded Rochelle of another such fishing trip two years earlier, when Jacob Miller, Betsy, and Natalie Bennett were all on Steven’s boat for hours.
“Well, I hope you can work things out, and resolve whatever is wrong.”
“I hope so. Oh, Aenti Chelle, I thought coming here would feel like a vacation, all the time.” Emma frowned. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t helpful with your business. I made people angry at you, but it was because of me.”
“Pinecraft might be for vacations, but Emma, real life happens here. We have to work, just like anywhere else. It’s not singings and volleyball and fish fries every night.” Rochelle did her best to keep her tone gentle. But Emma had such an unrealistic viewpoint about life sometimes.
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
Two more blocks, and they’d arrive at the house.
“You’re forgiven.” She slipped her arm around Emma’s shoulders and gave her a half-hug. “Sometimes, when we have a disagreement with someone, we just need to swallow our pride and make things right. I wish I’d done so in the past. My stubbornness caused me to miss out on something wonderful.” No bitterness, no more pangs of regret.
She wasn’t the same young woman anymore, nor did she want to be. Since she’d started rekindling her old dreams, she’d started to see possibilities before her, because of God’s goodness.
“I’ll talk to him, in the morning, as soon as I can.” They turned the corner onto Rochelle’s street. She glimpsed her van in the driveway.
“Good. Sometimes a good night’s sleep is a remedy for a lot of problems.”
“And swallowing pride, too.”
“Yes, and swallowing pride, too.” At last, Rochelle felt like she’d gotten through to Emma. Maybe Emma and Steven courting had helped transform Emma from the doted-upon youngest in the family to a woman realizing the world was ripe for someone to serve in it, and her concerns mustn’t come before the concerns of others.
Despite her resolve to believe she wasn’t the same person she was not quite twenty years ago, her former stubbornness had indeed cost her more than she’d imagined she’d have to pay.
* * *
Christmas, three days away, and Silas hadn’t found the right gift for Rochelle. He’d racked his brain, but everything he’d come up with didn’t seem right.
He wasn’t handy with woodworking, so something crafted was out. He couldn’t think of anything she needed.
Aunt Fran bustled through the house, insisting she’d help clean it while banishing a still-sore Lena to the easy chair. Despite Silas’s protests, he did appreciate the help.
“So, what’s on your mind?” she asked him.
“A gift for Rochelle. I haven’t found the right gift. And I don’t want to get her nothing for Christmas. I know it’s a little late to think of shopping, and I’m not good at making things myself. I have no idea what to get for a woman.” He shook his head. All those years with Belinda, and Christmas gifts usually were simple things for the children. The two of them would enjoy a walk on the beach and hunting for shells.
“I have an idea. Several of them. I’ve been making some items for the Haiti Benefit Auction in January, so why don’t you come over and pick something out?”
“Thanks. When?”
“How about now? It’ll only take a few moments. My work is almost done here, anyway.”
“Okay then.” He headed for the front room. “Lena, I’m going over to Aunt Fran’s. I’m getting a Christmas gift for Rochelle.”
“Good. Because I know she found a gift for you.” Lena’s voice had a singsong tone.
She’d gotten a gift for him?
Silas and Frances headed the few blocks to her and Uncle Tobias’s home, and she parked in the driveway, allowing room for bicyclists to get in and out of the yard.
“Like I said,” she continued, leading him to her sewing room, “I have a whole pile of things. Woven rugs, quilted pillows, crocheted dishrags.”
Crocheted dishrags. If he gave Rochelle a gift like that . . . no, she wouldn’t be hurt. But he wanted it to be something special.
Then he saw it. A square quilted wall hanging, the image of a pink hibiscus flower arranged in a four-pointed star pattern, with four smaller pink blooms inside it, and a seafoam
green border.
“This is the one.” He touched the fabric, the stitches hand-quilted. Fresh, pretty, tropical Florida. And Rochelle would love it.
“It’s one of my favorites. I had a hard time deciding if I should keep it for myself, but at the auction, it would sell for a good cause. You can hang it on the wall, or use as a small table cover, or put it on a rack.”
Not useful or practical, but it looked pretty.
“How much do you want for it?”
“Nothing. I can’t charge family for this.”
“Well, I’ll donate to the Haiti fund.”
“I think it’s a good deal.” She folded up the wall hanging, then tucked it into a plastic bag. “I might have a box, if you don’t.”
“I probably don’t. I was just going to use wrapping paper.” He figured the paper would get torn up and thrown out anyway.
“Here, use this one.”
“Thanks, Aunt Fran.”
“Now, we need to hurry.”
“Hurry?”
“Your parents are coming on the twelve-thirty bus.”
“They are?” He thought they weren’t traveling for Christmas this year, since they’d already visited at Thanksgiving.
“Last-minute decision. If we hurry, we can get to the parking lot and find a good space to wait. Your uncle will be honking the horn on the buggy any moment.”
A faint whinnying sound drifted into the house.
“Told you he’d honk.”
Silas shook his head and picked up the bag. “I’ll leave this here while we go to meet the bus.”
Then they shot off in the horseless buggy, zooming along Pinecraft streets, crossing Bahia Vista, and coming to a stop near the church parking lot. A throng of people waited for the bus, and soon a cluster surrounded the buggy, with men asking Uncle Tobias plenty of questions about the cart, and how he’d transformed it into a buggy and how he’d set the horn up.
Not until the bus arrived and Silas saw his parents emerge from the bus did he realize how much he’d missed them.
“Dad. Mom.” He enveloped them each in a hug. “I’ve missed you.”
“We saw you but a few weeks ago,” Mom replied with a gleam in her eye.
“I know, but it was all so fast.”
“When Lena had her emergency surgery, we knew we had to come.” His father clapped him on the back.
They’d never hugged much as a family. But his father’s love shone out from his eyes.
“I’m glad you did, Dad.”
“Let’s get those bags rounded up.” Uncle Tobias hopped down from the front seat of the buggy. “We can stick them all the way in the back, with Silas.”
“We only brought one.” His mother smiled, then yawned. “Oh, such a long trip. I’m trying to talk your father into living here year-round, what with Tobias and Frances here, and now you and the children.”
“One thing at a time,” his father said.
He and his parents crammed onto the rear seat of the buggy after he secured their suitcase on the back, with the aid of an elastic cord.
“I understand you’ve been spending more time with Rochelle Keim since Thanksgiving,” his mother began.
“Yes, I have.”
“So what say you? Another wedding in the future? Pinecraft will have two of them in less than a week.”
“I . . . I don’t know yet.” Ever since the revelation had come out about Lena, things had seemed to click into place for them both. The old had gone; the new had come.
“It’s a big decision, Patricia.” His father’s voice held an old familiar tone, and it made Silas smile in spite of his mother’s grilling.
“He decided pretty quickly the last time.”
“Patricia.”
“Well, it’s true.”
Silas held onto the edge of the buggy. Trapped inside, until they arrived at Tobias and Fran’s, he couldn’t leap from the buggy.
“Mom, you’re right. I did decide quickly to marry last time.”
“All because of John . . .”
“You’re right. It was because of John.” And a lot more, but he’d been around the whole story many times. Tonight, he’d have to tell them the story of their granddaughter. “Next time around, I’m going to take my time.”
He wouldn’t rush into marriage, not with Rochelle.
27
Christmas morning came, and with it a delicious carry-in brunch at Rochelle’s house, filled wall to wall with visiting Yoders, along with Jolene and her family.
Before they ate, they sang a hymn together, and Jolene’s husband said a prayer. Gifts would be exchanged later at everyone’s own home, after the annual Pinecraft Christmas parade.
“I can’t wait until the parade,” said Rochelle’s niece Winnie, home for college break.
“Me either.” No matter how old Rochelle got, she knew she’d never tire of the annual tradition on Christmas afternoon.
This year the parade began at Der Dutchman’s parking lot, then wound through the village streets.
Rochelle’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
A message from Silas: Meet me at the park after the parade? I have a gift for you.
She’d tucked her gift for Silas away, wrapped it in dark blue paper covered with snowflakes. A little out of place for Florida, and he’d laugh at the paper. She wasn’t sure when she’d give him the gift, but after the parade seemed as good a time as any.
I’ll see you there. I have something for you, too.
Rochelle was doubly glad she’d purchased the plaque for Silas, even though it was purchased on impulse at the time.
She tucked her phone into her pocket.
The minutes dragged by while the family dispersed, some to play games and others to sit on the lanai and visit. For the Yoders, Rochelle knew it was a few treasured moments of peace before the wedding hubbub began in earnest.
Rochelle lost two rounds of dominoes in a row. She chalked it up to distraction.
“Chelle, you look as dreamy-eyed as a young girl in love,” Jolene teased.
She didn’t respond to her sister, but Emma and Betsy exchanged glances.
Thankfully, neither of them mentioned anything about Silas in front of her sister and brother-in-law. She wasn’t ready to share what had happened. She also wasn’t sure about giving her heart to him again, not just yet. More opinions from family and well-meaning friends could muddy the waters.
What she needed was some clarity.
Instead, Rochelle studied Emma’s expression, cheerful and upbeat about Christmas, the family celebration, and the parade to come. Her mood had seemed better with the family near for Christmas.
Nora and Jedediah Yoder visited on the lanai with the quieter, more conservative branch of the family. Truly, Rochelle was mildly surprised they’d all agreed to gather on Christmas Day, especially after Nora’s words about the new bishop in the Yoders’ district.
Maybe the family had prepared themselves for the consequences to follow the weddings. Maybe Rochelle’s former houseguest from last winter, Aenti Sarah, had insisted they agree to the gathering.
Whatever the reason, Rochelle loved having the house full.
“It’s time,” Rochelle’s brother-in-law announced.
They gathered their chairs and blankets, piled their three-wheeler baskets high, and stuffed Rochelle’s van as well as Jolene’s vehicle.
Thousands would come and line the parade route, from Old Order plain folks, ladies with their black stockings and sturdy plain shoes, to the most liberal Mennonites, women with short hair and wearing capri pants.
The expected crowd was exactly why the caravan hurried along to the nearest street corner on the parade route, found a place to park, then set up the chairs and blankets.
Rochelle knew her home was closest to the parade route, so naturally her home would be the logical place for the family to congregate. She smiled. It didn’t matter. They were all together, at least for today.
Children across the st
reet, a stairstepped bevy of little ones all clad in sky blue, the girls in dresses the same shade as the boys’ shirts, waved their plastic bags, since many of the parade participants would throw candy to the children along the parade route.
“Can’t wait to see the tractors. I heard Herb Stutzman brought a new one this year,” said Jolene’s husband.
Anyone and everyone could participate in the parade. Rumor had it Otis Beachy was driving his brand-spankin’-new motorized recliner, and to steer you had to hold on to the recliner lever.
Trucks, riding lawnmowers, a solar-powered buggy, and more began to roll through, with cheering and clapping for the vehicles riding by.
Even Betsy and Emma’s father sat up and took notice of the gigantic green tractor that looked out of place in the heart of the city, but was enough to turn certain gentlemen green with envy at its owner.
A familiar horseless buggy glided into view. The Frys, Tobias and Frances, with Tobias honking the neighing horn, to the delight of the Amish children across the street.
“Rochelle!” Frances called out, waving.
Rochelle returned the wave and gave Frances a smile. “Merry Christmas!”
“Join us, I need help throwing candy.” The buggy glided to a stop, making the parade progress pause for a moment.
She glanced at Jolene. “Here’s my keys, if I don’t wind up back here by the time the parade’s over with.” She darted into the street and hopped onto the rear seat of the buggy.
She hit the cushioned seat with an oomph, and the buggy resumed its forward movement.
“Here.” Frances handed Rochelle a bag of wrapped candies and chocolates. “My arm is tired from throwing.”
Rochelle tossed candy, first from one side of the buggy, then the other. Children of all ages scrambled for the candies, which they tucked into bags and squealed over. She laughed at their joy.
Santa even rode in this parade, somewhere in the lineup. She wasn’t sure how far back, but even Pinecraft had a Santa Claus in full costume who waved and smiled and ho-ho-hoed. Funny. None of the people she knew acknowledged Santa as part of their Christmas celebrations.
Yet Rochelle knew Santa Claus lurked back there, somewhere, in the parade line behind them.
A Promise of Grace Page 23