“Amen,” Tom’s husky voice finished, and everyone echoed, “Amen.”
Footed sundae glasses with layers of crushed berries, vanilla yogurt, and homemade granola waited beside each plate. They passed around baskets of crusty herb rolls while Alexa served thick, steaming wedges of the mushroom, spinach, and bacon quiche, the gooey, melted swiss cheese forming strings from the spatula to the plates. Conversation flowed around the table while they ate.
Linda took a hearty bite of her roll and moaned. “Alexa, my favorite bread comes from the farmer’s market the Amish put on during the summer months. These rolls are every bit as good as any I’ve picked up from those bakers. Some of the Old Order must’ve been passed to you to be able to bake such goo-ood bread.”
Alexa grinned her thanks. She shot her mother a brief look, and Suzanne shifted her gaze across the table to prevent silent communication with her daughter. But then she caught Shelley’s slight frown, and she knew without even asking what her sister was thinking. Suzanne lowered her gaze to her plate, but the quiche had lost its appeal.
Feigning nonchalance, she turned to Linda. “Will you and Tom have to hurry back home?”
“Now that we’ve both retired, there’s not one thing pressing on us to hurry back, so we intend to stay right here ’til New Year’s.” Linda beamed. “We wanted a nice, long visit with our two favorite girls, and your mama said we’d be welcome for as long as we wanted to stay.”
Suzanne forced her lips into a smile and nodded. She had to tell Linda and Tom the truth about Alexa before one of her family members let it slip. But not today. Not on Christmas, when they were here as her gift. She wouldn’t cloud their time together with her ugly confessions. Maybe tomorrow. Her stomach writhed.
Lord, please don’t let them be horrified that I, in essence, stole a baby.
Arborville, Kansas
Paul Aldrich
For as long as Paul could remember, the Christmas service in his fellowship had been his favorite service of all. He’d heard the account in Luke read so many times he had it memorized, but he still experienced a chill of joy when Deacon Muller read aloud the words declared so long ago by an angel of the Lord: “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.” Earlier that morning his son had declared his new baseball mitt the best gift ever, but Paul knew better. There had never been—and never would be—a greater gift than the gift of salvation.
He leaned sideways a bit to peer past the back of Eldon Neufeldt’s head and located his son, who represented Joseph in this year’s depiction of the Nativity. Danny’s cheeks sported bold streaks of red, but he held his shoulders square and gazed down in a passable imitation of wonder at the swaddled doll lying in the oldest Thieszen girl’s lap.
He swallowed a chuckle, recalling his son’s initial resistance to playing the role of Joseph. Not because he was shy about being in front of the fellowship—there’d never been anything shy about Danny—but because he didn’t want to give Millicent Thieszen, who chased him around on the playground, any funny ideas.
Paul had assured him he didn’t need to worry, but now, in retrospect, maybe Danny’s concerns weren’t so far off base. After all, it was shortly after the Christmas he and Suzy Zimmerman had filled the roles of Joseph and Mary that he’d begun to look at her as more than just a playmate and frog-catching buddy.
By exercising great self-control, he managed to keep his focus forward instead of turning around to steal a glimpse of Suzy. She was there. Not on the bench she’d shared with her mother and younger sisters when she’d been a part of the fellowship, but clear in the back, where a shorter bench left room for her mother’s wheelchair. According to the town’s gossips, she was back in Arborville to stay.
So many things had changed since he and Suzy rode bikes, climbed trees, dropped a line in the Heidebrechts’ pond, and courted. But that old adage “You never forget your first love” was true. Despite their twenty-year separation, their very different life directions, and even the deep pain of knowing they were robbed of the chance of raising the child they created together, she still held a tiny piece of his heart. And he was pretty certain she always would.
The squeak of weight shifting on the planked floorboards pulled Paul from his musing—the congregation was rising to sing. He jolted up with the others and joined as the song leader started them on “Joy to the World.” They transitioned from one carol to another with ease. Paul thrilled to the glorious messages contained within the familiar verses. From angels’ voices singing praise, to seeking kings, to shepherds receiving the news of the long-awaited Savior’s arrival, the words sank deep into his soul and reminded him of the very heart of Christmas—the coming of the promised Messiah. A smile stretched his lips as he joined his voice with those of his fellow believers.
The singing ended, and in one accord the gathered worshipers turned to kneel at the benches for prayer. As he faced the back of the church, his gaze found Suzy, who had already knelt and bowed her head. Her uncovered hair, twisted into a heavy, braided bun and pinned at the base of her skull, shimmered with gold and bronze in the late-morning sunlight streaming through the windows. His chest went tight. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, but the image of Suzy kneeling in a position of humility with sunlight shimmering on her blond tresses seemed etched inside his eyelids.
The prayer leader said in a somber tone, “Begin with prayers of adoration.”
Paul, still holding to the wonderful feelings Christmas evoked, had no difficulty bringing forth words of esteem and appreciation for the One who had saved him from his sins.
After several minutes of silent prayer, the second reminder came. “And now prayers of repentance.”
Paul searched himself for any sins he may have committed. Losing patience with Danny, experiencing frustration with a man from a nearby town who’d criticized his work, neglecting his Bible reading one day last week—asking forgiveness for each of these wrongs came easily, and the feeling of being cleansed was like a weight falling from his shoulders. He reached deeper inside for anything else that should be given over in submission to his Father, and an unexpected confession formed in the recesses of his mind.
Lord, I harbor feelings for Suzy Zimmerman. My feelings for her led me down a path of destruction when I was a youth.
“Prayers of petition,” the deacon directed.
Paul’s prayer flowed without pause. Give me strength to remain true to Your commands of purity. I’m a man, with the same desires as any other man, and after these many years of living on my own without a wife to meet my physical needs, I fear Suzy’s presence in town may prove to be a temptation…
Suzanne
What sweet agony to sit across the table from Anna-Grace. Sweet to watch her interact so kindly with her boisterous younger sister and agony to be unable to acknowledge her as anything other than her cousin’s child. Suzanne’s stomach ached. No, her womb ached. She should have had the privilege of raising this girl who resembled her so closely.
As conversation, interspersed with laughter, rolled around the table, she sent up one silent prayer after another for God to hold at bay the resentment and anger trying to rise and conquer her. She’d forgiven her mother. Consequently, anger no longer had any place in her thoughts or emotions. But if it wasn’t for God’s strength, she would still whirl into a tumult of fury. Anna-Grace should be calling her “Mom,” not “Cousin Suzy.”
“Mom?”
Alexa’s subdued voice cut into Suzanne’s thoughts. Remorse smote her when she saw tears glimmering in her daughter’s brown eyes. Alexa flicked a look across the table—directly at Anna-Grace—then aimed her unsmiling gaze at Suzanne again. “I need to whip the cream and assemble the shortcakes. Will you help me?”
Alexa’s request offered an escape from Anna-Grace’s presence and the uncomfortable feelings flooding her. “Of course I will.” She rose and followed Alexa through the butler’s pantry into the kitchen. The moment they rounded the
corner, Alexa spun and captured Suzanne in a hug. Suzanne held tight, sensing desperation in the embrace. She whispered, “Are you okay, honey?”
“Oh, Mom…” The words choked out on a sob.
Suzanne gripped tighter, her heart aching. She’d thought it hard to be at the table with Anna-Grace, but it must be even worse for Alexa, whose discovery that she’d not been born into this family was still raw. If only she could find a way to restore Alexa to the happiness she’d exhibited earlier. She brushed a kiss on her daughter’s moist cheek and rubbed her hands up and down her shoulder blades. “Shh, sweetheart. It’s all right.”
Alexa jerked free. She swiped her hand under her nose. “No, it’s not.” She marched to the refrigerator, pulled out the glass jars of heavy cream, and thunked them onto the worktable. “Do you want to whip the cream or halve the shortcakes on the plates?”
Knowing how particular Alexa was about the appearance of her extravagant desserts, she said, “I’ll whip the cream and you arrange the shortcakes.”
Alexa gave a brusque nod and headed for the oven. Suzanne stepped into her pathway and placed her hand on her daughter’s arm, intending to offer a few words of assurance of how much she was loved. To her surprise Alexa stepped away from her touch and moved on without a pause. Hurt and more than a little confused, Suzanne considered admonishing her for her behavior. But realizing the actions were out of character for her usually tender-hearted daughter, she chose to remain silent.
She poured cream into a chilled bowl and applied a wire whisk with gusto. The cream thickened but didn’t form peaks. She switched hands and continued whipping. If it wouldn’t be intrusive to those chatting around the table in the next room, she’d use an electric mixer instead. She beat the cream until it resembled a cloud and then, her arms aching, carried the bowl to the counter, where Alexa had set out nearly two dozen dessert plates and centered the bottom half of a dome-shaped sweet biscuit on each plate. A mound of sliced strawberries, bright red and juicy, blanketed the flat half.
Although she’d already enjoyed a hearty dinner, Suzanne’s mouth watered. “Mm, those look great.”
Alexa glanced up from placing the bumpy top halves, their edges lightly browned, at a jaunty angle against the berries and the rim of the plates, but she didn’t say anything.
Suzanne lowered the bowl to the counter and reached for the utensil drawer. “Do you want me to spoon the cream on, or would you rather pipe it on so it’s prettier?”
Alexa paused for a moment, her lips sucked in. Then she dropped the biscuit half and faced her mother. “I’m really sorry, Mom.” A burst of laughter from the dining room carried around the corner. Alexa glanced in the direction of the door and cringed. “I acted like I’m mad at you, and I’m not. I’m not mad at all. I’m…”
Suzanne tucked a wayward strand of dark hair behind her daughter’s ear. “Sad?”
Alexa swallowed. Her pretty face reflected sadness, but she shook her head. “No. Not sad, either. I don’t know how to describe it.”
Resting her hip against the edge of the counter, Suzanne folded her arms over her chest. “Try.”
Alexa imitated Suzanne’s pose. Her forehead puckered. “I thought I’d gotten used to having Anna-Grace around. You know, because she stayed here before Thanksgiving. But sitting in there with her again—especially with her parents and you there, too—made me realize how wrong this all is.”
Suzanne frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Alexa flapped her hand toward the doorway as another round of laughter erupted from the other room. “Us all acting like one big, happy family.”
Stung, Suzanne hugged herself. “It’s not an act, Alexa. We are happy together.” She spoke more sharply than she’d intended, but the acceptance she now experienced from her family was hard won. She needed to acknowledge it. “I agree it was pretty rocky when I first came back, but we’ve found our peace. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
For long seconds Alexa stood with her head low, her forehead crunched into a series of furrows. Suzanne stared at her daughter, sympathy twining through her. No matter how settled they’d become, apparently Alexa still felt like the outsider. What would it take to make her precious child realize how very much she was loved and accepted? The blood ties didn’t matter at all to Suzanne. Alexa was hers in every way that counted. She’d told her so again and again. Why couldn’t Alexa believe it?
She touched her daughter’s arm, and Alexa raised her head. Suzanne offered a tender smile. “Sweetheart, it isn’t wrong for you to be out there with us, calling yourself a Zimmerman. You do belong. You always will.”
Alexa made a face, as if dismissing Suzanne’s words. “I know that.”
Suzanne’s confusion grew. “Then what—”
“It isn’t me. It’s her.” Alexa spoke in a harsh whisper. “It’s wrong for her to sit there as your cousin instead of your daughter. It’s wrong for everyone to go on acting like nothing has changed when everything has changed. It’s wrong because it’s the same as lying.” She pulled in a short breath, shook her head, then went on in the same raspy tone. “She’s going to feel like a fool when she finally finds out. And the longer you wait, the more foolish she’ll feel. The harder it will be for her to be comfortable around all of you again.” Alexa grabbed Suzanne’s hands and squeezed. Firmly. Fervently. Convincingly. “She needs to know the truth about who she is, Mom.”
Suzanne started to remind her daughter that she’d opened the door to Anna-Grace to discover the identity of her birth parents, but before she could form the words, Alexa spoke again.
“And I need the same thing for myself.”
Suzanne
“Hey, you two, everyone is out there clamoring for Alexa’s special strawberry shortcakes.”
Both Suzanne and Alexa jumped at the intrusion. Sandra stood halfway in the hall, only her head and shoulders peeking around the corner. Her bright smile was juxtaposed with the serious expression on Alexa’s face.
Sandra sent a glance from Suzanne to Alexa, and her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Alexa gestured toward the shortcakes. “I just need to pipe on the whipped cream, give them a strawberry embellishment, and they’ll be ready to serve.”
Sandra’s lips twitched into a hesitant grin. “Do you need some extra hands?” Orneriness glinted in her eyes—her Zimmerman sky-blue eyes, which Anna-Grace also possessed. “I can send Shelley in.”
Suzanne suspected her youngest sister was attempting to lighten the serious mood in the kitchen, and her ploy worked.
Alexa barked a short laugh. “We’ll get it, but thanks. Tell everybody to hang on—dessert is coming.”
Sandra winked and disappeared around the corner.
Suzanne cupped Alexa’s elbow. “Honey—”
“Not now, Mom. Everybody’s waiting. We’ll talk later.” Alexa retrieved the waxed paper and piping tips. “You spoon the cream into the cone and I’ll make the swirls, okay?”
If Alexa was willing to drop the topic for the moment, Suzanne wouldn’t argue. But the idea of Alexa wanting to discover the roots of her past made her stomach churn. She hoped she’d be able to eat the flaky cinnamon-laced biscuits, honey-and-ginger-sweetened berries, and fresh cream without getting sick.
Suzanne’s family proclaimed the strawberry shortcakes and freshly percolated coffee flavored with vanilla, sweet cream, and a touch of caramel the perfect end to a wonderful day, and Alexa did an admirable job of responding positively to their praise. Only Suzanne—and Linda, in all likelihood, based on the way the woman examined Alexa’s face—noticed the lack of sparkle in her daughter’s eyes as she thanked everyone for their kind comments.
When they’d finished the dessert, Mother pushed her chair away from the table. “Children, you come with me, and I’ll read you a story while your mothers, Alexa, and Anna-Grace clean up.” She aimed a grin at Suzanne. “Suzy, take Andrew and Olivia out to the cottage and give them a tour.”
S
uzanne frowned. Showing off the old summer kitchen, which Alexa had magically transformed into a welcoming retreat, should be the decorator’s privilege. And she wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to be alone with her cousins. She’d barely said two words to them since they arrived. She started to protest.
Mother narrowed her gaze. “Andrew and Olivia will leave for Clete and Tanya’s soon and then go home tomorrow morning, so they won’t get another chance to see the changes out there. Oh!” Her lips formed an apologetic grimace. “Have Mr. and Mrs. Denning go, too. Of course they’ll want to see it.” She waved her hand as if shooing flies. “Go on now.” She wheeled into the front room, the crowd of children swarming after her.
Suzanne turned to her cousins and then to Linda and Tom. She forced a soft chuckle. “What Mother wants, Mother gets. Grab your coats and let’s go.” She led them through the kitchen, avoiding meeting Alexa’s brown-eyed gaze, onto the back porch, and then across the yard toward the summer kitchen. In the dark the winter air felt even colder, and she hugged herself, hurrying her steps.
Stars glimmered in a black sky, the North Star standing out from the rest. She couldn’t help thinking about the Star of Bethlehem that led the shepherds to the manger where the promised Prince of Peace lay. If only a star would guide her to a place of perfect peace concerning the choices made so many years ago.
Andrew moved up beside her, his boots crunching against the snow-crusted grass. “I wasn’t sure about driving over on Christmas Day. Especially when my brothers decided not to make the trip. But I’m glad now that Liv and I brought our girls. It was good to be with Aunt Abigail on a holiday again. I hope we’ll return to our yearly family get-togethers. Remember how much fun we always had, Suzy?”
When Love Returns Page 3