Beth sat at the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Tell me about it.”
“Oh, honey, I’ve told you a hundred times how I met your dad.”
“So make it a hundred and one.” When Mom still hesitated, Beth affected a pout. “Pleeease?”
With a deep-throated chortle, Mom sat across from Beth and imitated her pose—elbows on the table, fingers cupping her face. “Well, when he came in, he was all sweaty. Hair drenched, clothes soppy. . . I could tell he’d been in the sun far too long.”
“And you brought him a glass of ice water, which he guzzled in three seconds.”
“Yes. So I immediately brought him a second glass, and he looked at me—”
“—and winked and said, ‘A girl who knows a man’s mind—what a rare find.’ ”
Mom pulled back, lowering her brows. “Hey, who’s telling this story?”
Beth giggled. “Okay, I’ll be quiet.”
Mom rested her chin in her hands again and grinned. “Even though fraternizing with outsiders was frowned upon, he was impossible to resist. He was so handsome and friendly. . .and so stuck.” She laughed, her eyes twinkling. “His semi had broken down, he had no way to leave, and the café was the only place in town to hang out.”
Beth, remembering the next part of the story, frowned. “Mom, why didn’t you ever tell me Henry Braun was your boyfriend?”
To her amazement, Mom’s cheeks blotched red. “Who—who told you that?”
“Based on your reaction, it must be true.” Beth folded her arms on the tabletop. “You told me Henry fixed Dad’s engine, but you never mentioned you were dating him.”
Mom dropped her gaze, running her fingertips along the chrome edge of the table. “It wasn’t important. And we weren’t dating.” She shook her head, wrinkling her nose. “At least, not the way you and Mitch are dating. We were just. . . He and I. . .” Releasing a huff, she said, “There was never any formal agreement between us.”
Beth thought about Trina’s statement that Henry never got over Mom’s leaving. Maybe there hadn’t been a formal agreement, but Henry must have been serious. “Still, it had to have been weird for him. You know, fixing Dad’s semi so he could get back on the road, then seeing you leave, too.”
“I suppose.” Mom shifted her gaze, seeming to peer out the window.
Suddenly curious, Beth leaned forward. “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you’d stayed? You know, if you’d married Henry instead of Dad?”
Mom jerked her gaze around, her eyes wide. “No.”
Beth snorted. “Oh, come on. Be honest.”
Mom became very interested in a scratch on the tabletop, her brows furrowed as she ran her fingernail back and forth in the furrow. “In all honesty, Beth, no. When I left Sommerfeld. . .the second time. . .” Briefly, her gaze bounced up to meet Beth’s before returning to the scratch. “I never looked back. I didn’t let myself look back. It was too painful, I guess. I wouldn’t be here now if—”
The sound of a clearing voice intruded. Beth looked toward the kitchen. Henry Braun had pushed back the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room. He stood framed in the doorway, and a second man—older, with bushy gray eyebrows and a stern face—stood behind him, peering over Henry’s shoulder with a frown. The older man stepped around Henry and took a step into the dining room.
Mom gasped, and Beth shifted her attention to her mother. Her face had gone white. One hand rose to smooth her hair, and her throat convulsed.
Beth looked again to the gray-browed man and understanding dawned. She stood. “Hello, Grandfather.”
NINE
Henry waited for J.D. Koeppler to move fully into the room, to return Beth’s greeting. But the man stood as if rooted to the tile floor, glaring at his daughter.
Marie stood slowly, her palms on the tabletop as though she needed its support. She licked her lips and blinked several times. “H–hello. . . Dad.” Her glance flitted toward her daughter, then returned to J.D. “I’d like you to meet your granddaughter, Beth.”
J.D. gave a single nod, his face impassive. Henry considered grabbing the man’s shirtfront and propelling him across the floor with a command to say something. But J.D. was known for his stubbornness—any pushing would only make him resist more. The tension in the room increased with every second that ticked by, and a silent prayer filled his heart. Please, Lord, let someone speak. Let someone reach out.
But the prayer went unheeded. Instead, it appeared that everyone had turned to stone, resembling a tableau—Family at Impasse. Beth stood with her head at an arrogant angle, her narrowed gaze aimed somewhere to the left. Marie seemed to hold her breath, her wideeyed gaze on her father’s face. And J.D. stared back, his carriage stiff.
Beth shifted, an odd grin creasing her face. She approached the doorway, swaying her blue-jean-covered hips in a way that emanated defiance, and held out her hand. “How nice to finally meet you. It’s been. . .what? Twenty-one years? Yes, that seems to be about right, give or take a month or two. I believe I was all of two weeks old when you saw me last.” She released a brittle laugh. “Of course, I have no memory of that, and since you’ve made no effort to be a part of my life, well. . .” She raised her shoulders in a shrug that lifted the hem of her shirt, showing her belly button and a tiny silver ring.
Marie jerked to life as J.D.’s frown deepened. She rushed forward a few feet, her hands clasped at her waist. “Beth, please. . .” Her whisper carried over the sounds coming from the radio in the kitchen.
Beth swung her gaze in her mother’s direction and held her hands out. “Did I say something untrue? This is the man who refused to help you raise me after my dad died, isn’t he?”
J.D. finally took a step forward, his eyes blazing beneath his bushy, gray brows. “If I had helped raise you, you would have more respect for your elders.” Wheeling on Marie, he gestured to Beth with one hand. “Haven’t you given your daughter any training?”
Marie opened her mouth, but Beth jumped in. “My mother has given me plenty of training. She’s taught me to always do my best at whatever I do, to be truthful at all times, and to treat others the way I want to be treated.” The girl crossed her arms and tipped her chin up, sending a saucy look in J.D.’s direction. “Seems to me you forgot that third one when Mom came to you needing help twenty years ago.”
Marie put her hand on Beth’s arm. “Honey, this isn’t the time—”
Beth pulled away. “Then when is the time, Mom? Look at him!” Beth pointed to J.D., her finger mere inches beneath the man’s firmly clamped jaw. “Look at his face. He doesn’t want us any more now than he did then.”
Henry glanced at grandfather, daughter, and granddaughter. Three different emotions displayed on three faces. Stoicism on the eldest’s, resentful anger on the youngest’s, and what could only be defined as deep hurt on that of the one caught in the middle.
Marie’s throat convulsed as if she fought tears, and Beth snorted. Crossing her arms again, she glared at her grandfather. “Well, don’t worry, Grandfather. We’re not here to stay, so you won’t have to put up with our unwanted presence for long. As soon as our time is up and I’ve got the money from the sale of the house and this café in my pocket, we’ll be out of your life. And I guarantee we’ll never bother to darken your doorstep again.”
The girl charged for the doorway, forcing J.D. to move aside or be run down. She paused at the back counter just long enough to snatch a little silver telephone from its cord, then stormed to the back door. There, she spun briefly to send one more glare in J.D.’s direction. “I’m going back to my house to put a big X on the calendar.” Her lips twisted into a snide leer. “One day down. Eighty-nine to go.” Then she slammed out the door.
Marie started after her. “I’d better show her the way back.”
Henry caught her arm. “It’s a small town. She’ll find it. And it will do her good to walk off some of that anger.”
Tears welled in M
arie’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “You don’t understand. That isn’t anger. I know it seems like it, but underneath it’s. . .” She looked at J.D. Recrimination flashed in her eyes. “It’s a lifelong hurt. From being rejected.”
J.D. raised his chin. His eyes narrowed into slits. “You rejected us.”
Marie’s jaw dropped. “What? Dad, I didn’t reject you.”
“You chose that truck driver over your family!”
“I fell in love!”
J.D. reared back at the volume of her statement. Henry’s heart launched into his throat.
Marie took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was under control. “I fell in love with Jep. I wanted to spend my life with him.”
Henry shifted backward, a feeble attempt to separate himself from Marie’s earnest words.
“I didn’t leave with him to get away from you. I just. . .left.”
In an instant, a scene from the day of Marie’s departure flashed through Henry’s mind. A rumbling semi, a man waiting behind the wheel, and Marie beside the open door, confusion on her face.
“Yes, you left. You left your family, your home, and your faith.” J.D.’s growling accusation dispelled the memory.
Marie shook her head. A tear slid down her cheek, and she dashed it away with a swipe of her hand. “I didn’t. Not at first. I went to a meetinghouse; I honored my beliefs. Yes, I lived somewhere other than Sommerfeld—I was with my husband. But you know all that because I wrote to you. I tried to include you in my life. I didn’t leave anything until you made me.” Sadness underscored her weary tone. “Not until after Jep died and Beth was born and I asked for your help. And you refused to give it. You gave me no choice but to leave, Dad.”
“And this is what you choose?” J.D. flicked the short curls over Marie’s right ear with work-worn fingers, a contemptuous sneer on his face. “Shorn hair and an uncovered head? Clothing that—”
Henry held up both hands, unable to stay silent a moment longer. “Stop this! What are you accomplishing here?”
J.D. pointed at Henry. “You brought me here. You said I should go see my daughter. Well. . .” His gaze swept from Marie’s head to her feet and back again. “I’ve seen. I come here, out of the goodness of my heart, and all I receive is disrespectful backtalk and blame for her foolish choices.” He shook his head, releasing a snort that sounded very much like the one Beth had made. “This is not the girl I raised. This is a woman of the world—a woman who intends to return to the world. And I have no reason to stay here.”
He spun on his heel and thumped to the back door. He slammed through without a backward glance.
Henry looked at Marie. He expected tears, but none came. Her face was white, her blue eyes wide, her chin quivering. But she held her emotions inside. His heart ached for her. “Marie, I’m sorry.”
She moved woodenly to the noisy box on the counter. She clicked something, and the raucous tune halted midscreech, abandoning them to an uncomfortable silence. Her shoulders slumped. For long seconds she remained beside the counter, head down. He stayed in his spot beside the dining room door, uncertain what to do.
With her back still to him, she finally spoke. “You have no need to apologize, Henry. You meant well, bringing him here. And I admit, when I saw him, I hoped. . .” She sighed, lifting her head as if examining the ceiling. Her nutmeg curls graced her tense shoulders. Turning slowly, she met his gaze. All sadness was erased from her expression. She simply looked resigned.
“I’d better go check on Beth. Thank you for. . .” She swallowed, giving a shake of her head. “Thank you.” Moving toward the door, she said, “Would you lock up when you leave?” She didn’t wait for his answer but slipped out the door. In a moment he heard her car’s engine fire up and then the rumble of tires on gravel as she pulled away.
Henry remained in the middle of the silent café, hands in pockets, heart aching. “Lisbeth, it isn’t working.”
Marie found Beth at Lisbeth’s house. As Henry had predicted, she’d found her way just fine. But judging from the way she was slamming clothes onto hangers and smacking them into the closet, the walk had done nothing to drive out her hurt and anger.
Marie understood Beth’s pain. Her chest felt laid open, her heart lacerated and bleeding. She leaned against the doorframe of Lisbeth’s sewing room and crossed her arms. “Hey.”
Beth barely glanced at her mother. Her lips were pressed in a tight line. She whammed another hanger onto the wooden rod. “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have spoken to him like I did, because I won’t apologize.”
“You’re an adult, not a child. You can decide when you believe you owe someone an apology.”
“If anyone owes anyone an apology, he owes us one. Standing there looking at us as if we were scum.” She rolled a T-shirt into a wad and slam-dunked it in a dresser drawer. “Couldn’t even say hello after two decades of ignoring us. Who does he think he is anyway, some sort of god?”
Beth paused, hand raised to place another hanger in the closet, and released a huge sigh. Plunking the hanger into place, she turned to face her mother. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “Why does he hate me so much? What did I do to him?”
“Oh, honey.” Marie rushed forward, her arms outstretched. But Beth eluded her, sidestepping to reach into a box and pull out a sweater. Marie folded her arms across her middle, giving herself the hug she longed to give her daughter. “He doesn’t hate you, Beth. How could he? He doesn’t even know you.”
“And he doesn’t want to.” The harsh undertone returned. She held the sweater at arm’s length, frowning at it. “At least I have a few memories of Grandpa Quinn. Of course, after Grandma died and he moved to Florida, we didn’t see much of him. But he was around for a while anyway. It’s not like he disowned me.”
Beth’s flippant tone spoke clearly of the hurt she tried so valiantly to conceal with a facade of anger. Marie battled tears as she listened to her daughter share her thoughts.
“But your father. . .and the people in this town. . . That’s a different story.” Beth popped the sweater onto a hanger but then just stood, holding it two-handed against her ribs. She sucked in her lips, her brow creased. Suddenly she whirled to face Marie. “It’s because Dad wasn’t Mennonite, isn’t it? I’m like a. . .a half-breed to them.”
Marie sank onto the cot, causing it to squeak with her weight. She ran her finger around the edge of the neatly appliquéd heart nearest her hip. In her mind’s eye, she saw Aunt Lisbeth’s veined hand guiding the needle through layers of cloth. A smile tugged at her lips. And then another hand flashed in her memory: her father’s hand reaching for her head to flick her curls. She flinched, pushing aside the thought.
“There’s so much. . .history. . .behind my father’s feelings, Beth. I’m not sure I can explain it in a way that will make any sense.”
Beth put the hanger in the closet, then sat on the floor crosslegged. Folding her hands in her lap, she turned her hardened gaze on her mother and barked a one-word command. “Try.”
Marie pursed her lips, organizing her thoughts. “I suppose the simplest explanation is this. Outsiders bring in new ideas that don’t match the teachings of the church. The church’s doctrine is very important. We are to be separate from the world—peculiar, even. When others look at us, we want them to see an outward difference that leads them to the heart, where Jesus resides.”
“I don’t like it when you say ‘us,’ like you’re a part of them, too.” Marie’s heart turned over at her daughter’s belligerent tone. “I say ‘us’ because it’s my heritage. Yours, too, even though you weren’t raised with it.” Beth’s frown didn’t encourage Marie to continue that line, but she added, “It isn’t the doctrine that’s wrong here, honey, but the extreme to which it’s carried by a few.”
Beth scowled. “What I remember about Jesus from Sunday school is that He was loving to everybody. If Jesus resides in a heart, shouldn’t a person’s behavior show that? I sure didn’t see muc
h lovingkindness in the way your dad treated us today.”
Marie turned away, pain stabbing with the reminder of her father’s stern, condemning posture. She sighed. “Yes, Christian means Christlike. And sometimes people don’t do a very good job of emulating Him.” Turning back to Beth, she leaned her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands together. “But you can’t let the way my father treated us today make you think ill of all Christians or all Mennonites. That wouldn’t be fair.”
Beth pushed to her feet. She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and reached for another sweater. “Of course not. That would be like your father thinking all non-Mennonites are horrible people. I sure wouldn’t want to be like that.”
Marie sat in silence, watching as Beth emptied the box of clothing, then reached for a second box. When Beth continued to work without looking in her direction, she finally sighed, rose from the cot, and moved to the doorway. “Well, I guess I’ll go make us some sandwiches.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, then—”
“My phone’s recharged. I’m going to try to reach Mitch again.” Beth closed the door in her mother’s face.
Marie stood for a moment, staring at the wooden door, battling with herself. She understood Beth was upset. Angry. Hurt. When Beth was little and had a problem, Marie had always insisted she talk it out until they reached a workable solution. But now? She wasn’t sure they would find a solution to this situation if they talked from now until New Year’s. Her father was set in his ideas and unlikely to change.
She’d never thought about it before, but J.D. Koeppler and Beth were a lot alike—both headstrong, unwilling to bend. A humorless chuckle found its way from Marie’s chest. She supposed neither would appreciate the comparison. Through the door, she heard Beth’s voice and assumed the cell call had gone through. With a sigh, she headed to her own room to put away her clothes. She really wasn’t hungry, either.
TEN
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