When Love Returns

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “What about the dishes?” Anna-Grace gestured to the table.

  Suzanne smiled. Andrew and Olivia had brought up Anna-Grace well. She possessed a servant’s heart. “I’ll take care of them. Just go ahead.”

  While Anna-Grace was upstairs collecting her things, Mother followed Suzanne into the kitchen. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have Anna-Grace stay with Sandra and Derek? It would only be for a couple of days. And it would probably be easier for…you.”

  Suzanne stacked the dirty dishes on the edge of the sink. “Yes, it probably would.” She hoped she wouldn’t dissolve into another crying jag. Both Mother and Anna-Grace had questioned the reason for her red nose and eyes when she’d returned to the house earlier that afternoon, and she wasn’t sure they’d completely accepted her excuse that the barn was cold. If she broke down in front of Anna-Grace, she’d have to spin a wild fib or confess the truth. She didn’t want to do either.

  “But it wouldn’t be easier for Anna-Grace. All her wedding preparation items are here. She has a list of things to accomplish each day. She wouldn’t be able to get much done at Sandra’s with Ian underfoot, and if she skips a few days of working on the wedding, she’ll feel rushed at the end.” Suzanne sighed. “It’s better to have her stay with me.”

  “If you say so.” Mother didn’t sound convinced.

  “I do.” Suzanne bent down and placed her hand on Mother’s bony shoulder. “But you know what? I appreciate your concern. Thank you for caring about my heart.”

  “Gracious sakes, Suzy.” Mother’s cheeks blazed pink. “As if I wouldn’t care about my own daughter.” She winked, chuckled, and then angled her chair for the doorway. “I’ll get the rest of those dishes.”

  When Mother’s night nurse arrived, Suzanne took the woman aside and informed her about the single male guest in the 2 Corinthians 9:8 room. “I doubt he’ll cause any trouble, but it’s kind of…” She searched for an appropriate word.

  “Awkward?” Marjorie supplied.

  Suzanne nodded. “Yes, awkward to leave you and Mother in the house with a man we don’t know. I’ll keep my cell phone close, Clete’s number is on the refrigerator, and Steven Brungardt—you’ve met him, Anna-Grace’s beau—also said he’d be available if you need to call for help. Since Steven lives less than a mile away, he’s probably your best contact. I put his number under Clete’s.”

  Marjorie’s eyebrows pulled together and her eyes gleamed. “Oh, don’t you worry. I grew up with four older brothers, and I know how to hold my own. One good smack with a frying pan to the side of his head, and he won’t have the ability to cause any commotion.”

  Suzanne laughed. “Just make sure you don’t dent the pan. Alexa would be upset with both of us if we ruined her good cast-iron frying pan.”

  Marjorie grinned as if relishing the thought of giving a troublesome man a headache. She headed to the dining room, where Mother had set up the board for their nightly Scrabble match, and Suzanne trudged across the dark yard to the cottage.

  She paused halfway between the house and the old summer kitchen. Stars twinkled in a black sky. Cold, crisp air nipped her cheeks. From the barn Pepper barked—one sharp yip of greeting and then silence. Such peacefulness out here in the open. She shifted her gaze from the winking stars to the glowing cottage windows. Anna-Grace must have switched on every lamp in the room. She shivered.

  When she entered those walls, she would be alone—completely alone—with her daughter for the first time. She closed her eyes and tried to pray. Lord…No words would form. She shivered again, her entire body shuddering. She needed to go inside, get out of the cold. Squaring her shoulders, she took a forward step. She would have to trust God to understand and give her what she needed to survive being in such proximity to her child.

  She entered the cottage and blinked against the onslaught of light. A shimmer of gold caught her attention, and she squinted, bringing Anna-Grace’s form into focus. She sat on the edge of the bed in a long, flowered nightgown, brushing out her hair. Long, wavy, as shiny as spun gold. Exactly like Suzanne’s hair when she was that age. Paul hadn’t been able to keep from running his hands through it that night in the barn loft.

  Anna-Grace smiled. “There you are. I hope you don’t mind. I took my bath early so I wouldn’t be in your way if you needed the bathroom. I wasn’t sure about your routine.” She ran the brush down the length of her hair, making it crackle.

  “N-no problem.” Suzanne dragged her gaze away from Anna-Grace’s flowing hair and the memories it stirred. She moved to the coatrack in the corner and clumsily snagged her coat on a hook. “I worked the night shift for years and got into the habit of showering when I awakened late in the afternoon. Even though I sleep nights now instead of days, I still like to shower when I get up.”

  Anna-Grace set the hairbrush aside and slipped under the covers. “We ought to be good roommates then—not stepping on each other in the bathroom.”

  Suzanne forced a laugh. “Yes.” She didn’t know what to do with herself. If she were alone, she’d read a book or work on the needlepoint sampler kit Alexa had given her for Christmas. But Anna-Grace was already in bed at not yet nine o’clock. Should she put on her pajamas and go to bed, too? She stood rooted in the middle of the floor, uncertain.

  “Cousin Suzy?”

  Suzanne whipped her gaze in Anna-Grace’s direction. The girl had pulled up her knees under the quilt and sat with her arms draped loosely around her legs. Her blond hair spilled across her shoulders, and her wide blue eyes gazed at Suzanne in complete openness. How young, how beautiful, how innocent she appeared. Mother-love swelled, filling her so completely she wanted to wail with both delight and agony. She swallowed. “Yes?”

  “I don’t think I’ve thanked you for letting me stay with you.”

  Suzanne waved her hand. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

  The girl nodded empathically. “Oh yes, I do. I know it’s an intrusion to have me here. I appreciate your hospitality. I also appreciate the help you’ve given me in getting ready for my wedding. Mom was so worried I’d have to do it all on my own. When I told her how much you were helping, she cried. That’s how thankful she was.”

  Suzanne’s chest constricted. Drawing a breath proved difficult. She managed a weak chuckle. “It’s nothing. Really.”

  Anna-Grace’s eyes grew round. “It’s a lot, Cousin Suzy.” She angled her head slightly, the lamplight glistening on her hair and highlighting her delicate features. “Dad told me you were his favorite cousin on his mother’s side when he was growing up. I think I understand why. You’re a very nice person. I’m glad we’ve had the chance to get to know each other.”

  Tears stung, and Suzanne quickly looked away. “Well, now, that’s a very nice thing to say. Thank you.” She balled her hands into fists and rubbed her eyes, feigning a yawn. With her eyes wiped clean of tears, she turned a smile on Anna-Grace. “I think I might take a bath after all—relax and unwind. All right?”

  “Of course.” Anna-Grace picked up a book from the nightstand and opened it across her knees. “Enjoy your bath.”

  Suzanne closed herself in the bathroom. “You’re a very nice person.” She squeaked both spigots on high. “I’m glad we’ve had the chance to get to know each other.” She buried her face in her hands and prayed the spatter of water against the hard porcelain muffled the sounds of her weeping.

  At breakfast Wednesday, Mr. Mallory paused in shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. “Ms. Zimmerman, I know my reservation was only for two nights, but would it be all right if I stayed one more?”

  Mother spoke before Suzanne could answer. “Haven’t you finished your business?” Her gaze narrowed. “You never said exactly what kind of business you’re conducting in Arborville.”

  He grinned at her. “No. I suppose I didn’t.” He looked at Suzanne. “Well?”

  Suzanne set her coffee cup aside. Truthfully, she wanted him gone. Not because he’d been any trouble. She only saw him at
breakfast and for a few minutes in the evening before he closed himself in his room. But being with Anna-Grace both day and night was taking its toll on her. She needed some separation. If not for escaping to the barn and calling Paul on her cell phone to release her pent-up frustration, she might have combusted by now.

  She offered what she hoped was a convincing smile. “There isn’t anyone scheduled for your room tonight, so it’s fine if you need to stay another day.”

  “Good.” He drank the last of his coffee, tipping the cup nearly upside down to catch every drop, then clunked it onto the edge of the table. “Could I get a refill?” He dug into his eggs again.

  Suzanne started to rise, but Anna-Grace touched her wrist. “I’ll get the pot.” She scurried out.

  Mother stared at their guest for several seconds, indecision playing on her mouth. Suzanne tried to catch her eye, to give her a pleading look. She didn’t want her outspoken mother scaring off a paying guest. But Mother wouldn’t shift her gaze from the man. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Mallory?”

  He swiped his napkin across his mouth and gave her a glance. “Yes?”

  “My daughter Sandra called yesterday afternoon and said you’d stopped by her house.”

  He nodded. “I sure did.” Anna-Grace came in with the coffeepot. He watched her round the table and fill his cup. “Thank you, Miss Braun.” He bounced a smile at her and raised the cup to his mouth. After taking a loud slurp, he smacked his lips. “Mm, that’s good coffee. You ladies have figured out the way to a man’s heart, that’s for sure.” He waggled his thick eyebrows.

  Mother’s frown didn’t fade. “Not an hour after Sandra called, I heard from my daughter-in-law, Tanya. She also had a visit from you.”

  Mr. Mallory gripped his mug between both palms. “So did your daughter Shelley. But you probably already knew that.”

  “Yes, I did.” Mother leaned sideways and rested her elbow on the wheelchair’s armrest. The ribbon falling from her cap crumpled against her forearm, the black stark against the robin’s-egg blue of her dress. “All three of them said you asked some unusual questions. So I’m curious what your business is here in Arborville. Is my family involved somehow?”

  The man lined up his fork, knife, and spoon on his empty plate, his movements slow and deliberate. He lifted his napkin to his mouth and rubbed it back and forth, then wadded it up and laid it over the silverware. Using his fingertips, he pushed the plate toward the middle of the table and finally stacked his arms on the table’s edge. He craned his neck to look directly into Mother’s face. “My business might involve your family. And then again, it might not.”

  Mother huffed. “The way you tiptoe around a question makes me think you’d be a good court lawyer, Mr. Mallory.”

  He burst out laughing. “No, no, ma’am, I could never be a lawyer. You see, policemen and lawyers are too often at odds.”

  Anna-Grace had sat silently watching their exchange, occasionally flicking a puzzled glance at Suzanne. “How so?”

  Mr. Mallory rubbed his nose and grimaced. “Policemen arrest the bad guys. Lawyers find ways to let them go.”

  “Are you a police officer? You don’t wear a uniform.”

  He grinned at Anna-Grace. “I gave up my uniform a few years back. But I’m still in the business of…rounding up people.”

  Suzanne went cold all over. She dropped her fork and it clanked against her plate. Their guest looked at her, his expression searching. She picked up her fork with trembling fingers and used it to chop a bite-sized chunk of now-cold eggs. Slowly he shifted his attention to Mother again, but Suzanne sensed he was observing her from the corner of his eye.

  “You just might be able to help me, Mrs. Zimmerman. Can I ask you the same questions I asked your kin?”

  Mother raised her chin. “You can ask. But I might not answer.”

  His low chuckle rumbled again. “Fair enough.” He slid back his chair, putting himself at eye level with Mother. “Do you have any children besides Suzanne, Cletus, Shelley, and Sandra?”

  Mother scowled, shaking her head. “No.”

  “Did you give birth to all your children?”

  “Well, I didn’t find them under a cabbage leaf.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. The sound bounced off the high ceiling and filled the room. He brought himself under control and grinned at her. “Does that mean yes?”

  “Of course it means yes.” Mother rolled her eyes. “How else would I get my children?”

  “Through adoption.” His voice lost its almost-teasing quality and barked out crisply. He leaned in. “Do you have any children through adoption, Mrs. Zimmerman?”

  “No, I do not.” Mother answered as tartly as he’d asked.

  Without warning he spun and pinned Suzanne with an intense stare. “What about you, Ms. Zimmerman. You said you have a daughter. Is she natural born or adopted?”

  Images of Alexa and Anna-Grace alternately flashed in her mind. Dizziness struck, and she gripped the edge of the table. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  Mother snapped, “She gave birth. Why does it matter? And why are you interrogating her?”

  He eased against the chair’s tall back, his gaze never wavering from Suzanne’s. His face relaxed into its formerly friendly expression. “Was I interrogating you, Ms. Zimmerman? I apologize.” He flipped his hand as if shooing away an insect. “Sometimes I get a little carried away. I didn’t mean any offense.”

  Suzanne lowered her head and finally found her voice. “Don’t worry about it. No offense taken.”

  Anna-Grace’s sweet voice rang. “Mr. Mallory, I don’t know if it would help you or not, but I was adopted.”

  Arborville

  Suzanne

  A roaring filled Suzanne’s ears—a freight train racing directly toward her stalled car. If she didn’t do something, say something, she’d be demolished. She jumped up. “Anna-Grace, would you help me clear the table, please? I believe everyone is done.” Her voice came out shrill, unnatural, but Anna-Grace rose without a moment’s pause.

  “Now hold on a minute.” Mr. Mallory stuck his palm in the air like a traffic cop. “Miss Braun?” His steel-gray gaze roved over Anna-Grace’s mesh cap and trailing ribbons. “Have you always been Mennonite?”

  “Yes, sir. My parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents—all are part of the Old Order fellowship.” A proud smile graced her face. “I come from a long line of faithful saints.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “But you were adopted into the family, not born to it—isn’t that what you said?”

  Anna-Grace’s smile wavered. Hurt glistened in her eyes. “Well, yes, but I…”

  Protectiveness swelled up in Suzanne, and she spoke without thinking. “I really don’t think that matters much to Anna-Grace. She’s been Andrew and Olivia Braun’s daughter her entire life—more than twenty years. Birth isn’t nearly as important as heart.”

  She sensed Mother gawking at her, and she couldn’t blame her. Had she really just stated that out loud? Of course she meant it where Alexa was concerned, but her heart ached with desire to claim Anna-Grace. She shot Mother a sharp look—Don’t you dare ask me any questions right now!—and busied herself stacking dishes. Anna-Grace followed her example.

  Mr. Mallory draped his elbow over the chair’s back and examined the two of them for several seconds, his lips twitching. As Anna-Grace turned toward the kitchen with her load of dishes, he barked out, “Miss Braun, did you grow up in Arborville?”

  She paused and gazed at him uncertainly over her shoulder. “N-No, sir.”

  Mother waved at Anna-Grace, and the girl scurried out the door. Mother glared at Mr. Mallory. “I don’t appreciate you bothering my great-niece. Anna-Grace is a timid girl, and you’re scaring her. Don’t ask her any more questions.”

  “Then how about I ask you instead.” A grin creased his face. “You’re not timid. Not by a long shot.”

  Her glower darkened, but Mr. Mallory only kept grinning
that relaxed, cocky grin. Mother folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not altogether sure I want to answer your questions, either. You are an infuriating man, Mr. Mallory.”

  “I’ve been told that before.” He shifted around and braced his elbows on the table. “No more inquisitions. Just one two-part, easy-to-answer question, all right?”

  Suzanne wanted to flee the room. But her legs had turned to stone, her muscles so stiff she couldn’t move. Her ears rang, but Mr. Mallory’s throaty voice carried over the piercing blare.

  “When’s Anna-Grace’s birthday, and where’s home for her?”

  Mother curled her hands over the wheelchair’s tire grips and pushed away from the table. She rolled the chair toward Suzanne, her mouth set in a firm line of determination. “Suzy, for goodness’ sake, take those dishes to the kitchen before the food is so dried on we’ll need a chisel to get those plates clean.”

  Suzanne’s legs automatically carried her forward in jerky strides. She passed through the short hallway between the dining room and kitchen, Mother’s and Mr. Mallory’s voices following her.

  “Anna-Grace’s age and hometown are none of your business, Mr. Mallory.”

  “None of my business? I’m not so sure about that, Mrs. Zimmerman.” A wry chuckle rasped, sending a chill down Suzanne’s spine. “I suppose time will tell.”

  Indianapolis

  Alexa

  After they’d finished lunch Wednesday, Tom drove Alexa to Indianapolis. She’d wanted to go yesterday afternoon, but sneet—she loved the funny word describing the cross between snow and sleet—had fallen, and Linda proclaimed they’d catch pneumonia if they trooped around in the cold and wet. Since Linda was always right, Tom said they needed to wait a day. So Alexa had waited. Begrudgingly, but without argument.