When Love Returns

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Suzanne asked once again for courage from the Lord, and then she spoke softly. “Deacon Epp, the mistakes I made were mine, not my father’s or my mother’s or my siblings’. I, and I alone, am responsible for the choices I made. If you decide there should be any kind of corporate discipline, it needs to involve only me.”

  Paul stepped forward. “And me.”

  Deacon Epp gazed at Suzanne for several tense seconds, and then he nodded. He gestured to the deacons. “Gentlemen, let’s go to the cloakroom, pray together, and make a decision concerning Miss Zimmerman’s return to membership.” The four of them filed across the front and along the side of the men’s row of benches. They entered the cloakroom, and low mumbles could be heard coming from the small room.

  Suzanne and Paul stayed on their benches, occasionally glancing at each other, offering encouraging smiles when their gazes met, but not speaking. Her back began to ache from sitting so stiffly, and the board beneath her seemed to grow harder with each minute that passed. She sat on these benches for worship, but during worship the congregation rose to sing or pray, and someone spoke from the dais, taking her attention away from the uncomfortable seat. She longed to get up, pace the room, stretch her stiff legs. But afraid of being caught, she sat as still as possible and waited for the deacons to make their decision.

  Finally, when her feet were starting to tingle from lack of blood flow, footsteps alerted them to the leaders’ return. Both she and Paul watched the men’s progress. She searched their faces for some sign of what they might say, but their expressions hadn’t changed from before. Three of the men halted along the wall when they reached the front, but Deacon Epp walked slowly and seemingly with great effort across the stained wood floor and stopped between Paul and Suzanne.

  His hands linked behind his back, he looked first full into Paul’s face and then into Suzanne’s. “Brother Aldrich and Miss Zimmerman, we don’t want to punish you for something that happened long ago, something you’ve already brought to the Lord and received His forgiveness for. So please understand we don’t stand in judgment on you.”

  Suzanne’s heart began to pound, and she noticed the muscles in Paul’s jaw twitching.

  Deacon Epp continued in a low, throaty voice. “You’ve been forgiven, yes, but your choices back then could impact the young people of our fellowship. If we let this go—simply sweep it under the rug, as they say—what kind of message are we giving to our youth? This is a dilemma the four of us don’t feel qualified to handle on our own. We need to seek the entire fellowship’s guidance.

  “So, Miss Zimmerman, on Sunday after worship we’ll release all the children and young people who are not yet published. Then we will call a special meeting of the membership. I’ll ask you to confess to them what you shared with the council this evening, and then we will put your membership to a corporate vote.”

  Indianapolis

  Cynthia

  Waking in Glenn’s arms was sweeter than ever after their time apart. Curled on her side with Glenn’s warm frame folded against her back and his arm draped over her waist, Cynthia kept her eyes closed and lay perfectly still, listening to his steady breathing. Thank You, Lord, for bringing me home.

  Her heart panged when she remembered fleeing, not taking the time to seek God’s guidance before acting in anger. She’d set a terrible example for Lindsey, which hindered her Christian witness. And her selfish choice had left bruises on her children’s souls. Just as Glenn said, they offered their forgiveness when she asked, but they held themselves cautiously aloof, as if fearful she might choose to leave again. She lay in the circle of Glenn’s arms and prayed for God to heal the wounds she’d inflicted on Darcy and Barrett and to somehow correct the poor impression she’d given Lindsey.

  Glenn snuffled, his muscles twitching. Cynthia eased onto her back, careful not to dislodge his arm, and planted a kiss on the underside of his jaw. He made a horrible face and batted at his cheek. She stifled a giggle and kissed him again, this time closer to his mouth. His eyes popped open. He blinked twice, his forehead pinched in confusion, then his gaze settled on hers. A lazy smile bloomed.

  “G’morning.” He opened only one corner of his lips, aiming the words at the ceiling. He always wanted to spare her his morning breath.

  Cynthia snuggled in, speaking with her face pressed against his bare chest. “Good morning to you.”

  “Ready to get up?”

  She rolled sideways and burrowed her face into his neck. “Not really. It’s Saturday. Do we have to get up?”

  He chafed her spine with his palm, his breath warm against her temple. “I can’t think of any reason why we’d need to.”

  The sound of running feet accompanied by a pair of angry voices erupted in the hallway.

  “I’m gonna tell!” Barrett’s voice.

  “I’ll tell ’em myself, Batwit, if you’ll get out of my way!” Darcy sounded mad enough to spit.

  Glenn groaned. “Well, there is that reason…” He scooted from the bed, leaving Cynthia warm beneath the covers. He snagged a T-shirt to pull on over his pajama pants as he crossed to the door and yanked it open. Darcy, her fists upraised, nearly fell through the opening.

  Barrett dove past her and pressed his palms to Glenn’s stomach. “Dad, Darcy was on the computer. I saw her on Facebook! And she didn’t ask first!”

  Darcy stomped her foot, glaring at her brother. “I said I’d tell them! Tattletale! Snitch! Narc!”

  “All right, that’s enough.” Glenn planted his fists on his hips. “Barrett, go to your room.”

  “But, Dad, she—”

  “Now, Barrett.”

  With a mighty expulsion of breath, Barrett whirled and stomped out of the room.

  Glenn turned his attention to Darcy. “What are you doing on the computer without permission? You know the rules.”

  “You guys were sleeping. I peeked in, and you looked so”—pink flooded her face—“cute together, I didn’t want to bother you. My friend Jenna texted and said Emily from church posted some pictures from the youth ice-skating party, and there was a really good one of her and me skating couples with Connor and Ethan. I wanted to see it.” Darcy raised her shoulders in a sheepish shrug. “Are you really mad?”

  Glenn didn’t relax his pose. “Yes, I am. It doesn’t matter how cute you thought your mother and I were.” He glanced at Cynthia, and she pulled the covers over her mouth to hide her smile. He cleared his throat and went on. “You should have asked first. You have no business being on the computer when one of us isn’t there to supervise.”

  Barrett’s muffled voice carried from behind his closed bedroom door. “That’s what I told her!”

  Glenn stuck his head into the hallway and called, “Enough, Barrett.” He turned to Darcy again. “No computer for a week. Got it, buckaroo?”

  Darcy poked out her lips in a pout and lowered her head. “Got it.” She jerked upright, giving Glenn a pleading look. “But before I shut it down, can I show you and Mom something?”

  Glenn’s lips quirked into a half grin. “The photo of you skating with Connor?”

  “Jenna skated with Connor. I skated with Ethan.” Her uncombed hair flopped across her forehead, hiding her right eye. She pushed the brown strands aside and then tweaked her finger at them. “Come here. Tell me what you think.” Darcy trotted out of the room.

  Cynthia shrugged into her robe and followed Glenn to the desk in the corner of the living room where the computer monitor sent out a bluish glow.

  Darcy slid into the chair and pointed to a photograph on the screen. “Look, Mom. This popped up on Jenna’s newsfeed. Do you think maybe this girl could be your daughter? The dates are right.”

  Cynthia leaned close and examined the image. A young woman with long dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail held up a poster bearing a simple message: “My name is Alexa. I turned 20 in December of last year. I am looking for my birth mother, who left me behind an Indianapolis garage when I was a newborn. If you have informatio
n about my birth parents, please send me a message at PO Box 1464, Franklin, IN.”

  A girl named Alexa had left the message on Mr. Mallory’s voice mail. Could this be the same Alexa? Cynthia held her hand to her throat, her pulse leaping worse than frog legs in a hot skillet. “I…I don’t know. Maybe…”

  Glenn, too, leaned in and frowned at the photo. “It does seem pretty coincidental, doesn’t it, that the time and place you left her match up. I don’t really see much resemblance between her and you, though, except for her hair color.” He zipped an impish grin in her direction. “When you leave yours natural.”

  She self-consciously touched her blond highlights as she squinted at the screen. “Can you make the picture bigger, Darcy?”

  “I can try.” She punched some buttons on the keyboard, and with each click the picture increased in size. Six clicks, and then she smiled up at Cynthia. “Is that better?”

  Cynthia nodded. Now she could clearly make out the girl’s features. Her heart leaped. “Glenn! Is that a birthmark on her upper lip?”

  Glenn frowned. “You mean that big freckle?” His jaw dropped open. He looked at Cynthia’s face and then Darcy’s. He shook his head, his eyes widening in disbelief. “I’m so used to those brown spots on your mouth and Darcy’s, I don’t even notice them anymore. But you’re right, she has one, too, almost in the same place as both of yours.”

  Cynthia yanked open the desk drawer and fumbled around for a pen and paper. Her eager hands were clumsy, but she latched on to what she needed and bumped the drawer closed with her hip. She thrust the notepad and pen at Darcy. “Here, write down the box number. My hands are shaking so much I won’t be able to read it later.”

  Darcy grinned and took the items from her.

  Cynthia reached for Glenn, and he pulled her close. She coiled her arms around his waist and beamed up at him. “If this is my daughter, we won’t need to bother Mr. Mallory anymore.”

  Glenn’s expression turned wary. “Now, let’s wait and see how that DNA test comes out, okay? He seemed pretty sure your daughter is living in Kansas. Besides, Indianapolis is a big city. It’s possible this girl is actually someone else’s daughter.”

  Cynthia tried to smother her excitement, but it refused to die. “Darcy, print the picture for me, would you?”

  She shot a startled look at Cynthia. “In color?”

  Cynthia laughed. They preserved their color ink cartridge for really special things. But this was special. Her first photo of her firstborn child…“Yes, in color.”

  “Okay. And…” Hopefulness glistened in Darcy’s blue eyes. “Does this mean I’m not grounded from the computer anymore?”

  Glenn lightly bopped the top of her head. “No. When you’re done printing the picture for Mom, shut it down and stay away from it.” Then he bent down and kissed her rumpled hair. “But thank you for finding this.”

  Darcy sighed and turned her attention to the computer. Cynthia stood beside the printer, waiting for the image to emerge. Her stomach jumped when the machine buzzed to life. She clutched her hands beneath her chin, watching the image appear by tiny jerks, one row of color at a time. First the poster, with a tiny peek at her daughter’s fingers—because they had to be her daughter’s fingers—wrapped around the edges, finally her daughter’s chin, then her mouth with the telltale birthmark, her nose and eyes and the top of her head. The printer belched the finished picture into Cynthia’s waiting hands, and she held it aloft.

  She burst out laughing—a joyful explosion. “Glenn! She has brown eyes! Just like me!”

  Glenn smiled and gave her a one-armed hug.

  She sighed, staring at the grainy image with Glenn’s arm snug around her shoulders and her heart thudding in happy double beats. When her hands decided to stop shaking, she’d sit down and write a letter. A long letter. Typing would go faster, but she wanted her daughter to have a handwritten letter, something more personal than words printed on a computer, something of herself. She’d tuck in a family photo, too—the one they’d done a year ago when the church updated its directory. She had a couple of extra three-by-fives around somewhere.

  The words she’d longed to say to her child filled her head, and her fingers tingled, eager to release her thoughts onto a page. Her daughter. She’d found her daughter.

  Arborville

  Suzanne

  If Mother wasn’t holding her hand, she just might flee the chapel. From behind the simple wood stand on the speaking dais, Deacon Kreider delivered a message based on verses twelve through sixteen in chapter one of James. Verses about the importance of standing firm against temptation. Had he chosen the passage before or after the meeting last night?

  “ ‘Do not err, my beloved brethren,’ ” he quoted, his face somber and his tone dire.

  Suzanne inwardly squirmed. The man was setting her up for rejection. She shifted her gaze slightly to Paul’s bench. Was the message making his stomach quake, too? If so, he hid it well. He sat straight on the backless bench, his shoulders square, face aimed toward the speaker.

  Last night after the meeting, they’d stood between their vehicles and talked. He’d promised to stand beside her today even though the deacons hadn’t said it was necessary. He also said he would speak in her defense during the members’ discussion and vote if someone expressed concern about letting her return to the fellowship.

  “And I’ll tell you something else, Suzy. If they vote you out, they’ve voted me out, too. We made a baby together, and we’ll take the consequences together.” When she’d started to argue, he held up his hand. “I mean it. If you go, I go.” His expression, bathed by the light flowing from the church’s large lamp, turned tender. “There are other fellowships, even other Mennonite denominations. We’ll find a new church family, and we’ll worship there together—you, me, Danny, and Alexa. Okay?”

  Even as she’d agreed, she realized if they left, Alexa wouldn’t be with them. How she prayed they wouldn’t be forced into such a painful choice.

  “Please rise and sing.”

  At the announcement Suzanne jerked back to the present. Her hand still within Mother’s firm grasp, she stood and joined her voice with the others in the chosen hymn. What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus…A smile—the first one of the morning—teased the corners of her lips. Jesus’s blood had washed away her sins. God was for her, so what could mere men do to her? Peace descended, and she sang while joy exploded in her soul.

  The hymn ended, and the leader instructed them to kneel for prayer. Suzanne bowed low over the bench, sending up prayers of gratitude for God’s amazing ability to forgive even the vilest offender. Your will, Father. Let Your will prevail today…Somehow she knew Paul was offering the same petition.

  At the leader’s “amen,” everyone rose and turned toward the front. Instead of the typical blessing to go in peace, Deacon Kreider said, “Please, everyone, sit back down.”

  Confused mutters rolled around the room. As Suzanne sat, Mother reached for her hand again, and she clung. Not because she needed Mother’s comfort—she’d found her place of peace—but because she sensed Mother needed assurance.

  Once everyone was settled, the deacon instructed all children ages three years old to fifteen years old to go to the basement with his wife so the grownups could have a special meeting. More mutters rumbled, and confused young people gathered the smaller ones and followed Mrs. Kreider around the corner. The pounding of their feet on the wooden stairs thundered briefly and then faded away. When silence fell, Deacon Epp stepped to the front, and Deacon Kreider moved aside.

  Deacon Epp swept a tight smile across the room. “Thank you for your patience. I know you have dinners waiting at home and this meeting comes as a surprise, but we need to conduct some family business this morning. A long-ago member of our fellowship has returned to Arborville. Most of you know her—Suzy Zimmerman, daughter of Cecil, who is now departed, and Abigail Zimmerman.”

  Several people craned their heads and looked
at Suzanne, Anna-Grace included. Most smiled, some boldly, others more shyly. Sandra and Anna-Grace both beamed. Shelley didn’t turn around. Nervousness tried to take hold of Suzanne again.

  “She’s asked to be reinstated, but there are unique circumstances. The Deacon Council and I wanted her to speak to the body first.” Deacon Epp made eye contact with Suzanne and held out his hand in invitation. “Come, please, Miss Zimmerman.”

  Suzanne made her way up the aisle, aware of every pair of eyes in the room following her progress. As she passed Paul’s bench, he rose and accompanied her for the last few yards. Together they faced the congregation, and Deacon Epp joined Deacon Kreider off to the side, where they stood with serious gazes pinned on her.

  Suzanne sent up one more quick prayer for God’s will and then offered a nervous “Good morning.” Several people returned her greeting, which warmed her. Under their curious, attentive gazes, she began the careful explanation she’d planned last night—telling the truth while trying to protect Anna-Grace wouldn’t be easy. “As you already know, I recently returned from Indiana, where I’d been working as a nurse for the past several years. Coming here was…coming home. I grew up in Arborville, in this fellowship. My family is here”—she glanced at her sisters and at Clete, then let her gaze linger on Mother—“and I would like to be a part of their church fellowship again. The deacons thought it best for me to explain the reason I left Arborville almost twenty-one years ago.”

  Someone on the women’s side released a gasp. Suzanne glanced at her sister, and Shelley’s horrified expression stole her ability to speak for a few seconds. Suzanne swallowed, gathering courage once more. “When I’m finished, they’ll allow you to decide whether or not to grant me membership. I only ask you vote as the Lord leads you, because I want God’s will more than my own.”