Marie had dashed into the backyard to dance in circles, her hands reaching upward to catch a sunbeam, laughing out loud while Lisbeth watched from the window, laughing, too. When she’d grown a little older, she’d realized Aunt Lisbeth referred to the Son of God rather than the sun in the sky. The day she’d found the courage to tell Aunt Lisbeth she had finally grasped her meaning, her aunt had tickled her nose with the end of her long braid, making her giggle. “And that proves to me, my darling girl, that you are growing wiser.” Tears had winked in the woman’s eyes as she’d advised, “Always reach for the Son, Marie. Draw Him closer and closer, and your wisdom will grow more and more.”
That afternoon, with Aunt Lisbeth’s gentle guidance, Marie had invited Jesus, the Son of God, to enter her heart and forgive her sins. Lisbeth’s expression radiated joy as she folded Marie in her arms and whispered, “Welcome to the family of God, my Marie.” The look on her aunt’s face was permanently etched in Marie’s mind.
Something trickled down her cheek, and she brushed her fingers over her face. They came away wet, and Marie gave a start. Why was she crying? The answer came at once. How disappointed Aunt Lisbeth would be to know how far her beloved niece had strayed from the Son.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Lisbeth,” she whispered, the pain of her loss striking more harshly than at any time since Henry had delivered the news of her aunt’s passing.
A strong desire to see her dear aunt just one more time washed over Marie. Visiting with her in person was impossible, but she could at least visit her final resting place. She set her now-cold cup of coffee on the red-checked tablecloth and hurried to Lisbeth’s bedroom, shedding her bathrobe as she went.
Fifteen minutes later she was behind the wheel of her car, dressed in blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. But as she turned the key in the ignition, she remembered it was Sunday. The cemetery was next to the meetinghouse. And the meetinghouse would be filled with worshipers. She pressed her forehead to the steering wheel, emitting a low groan. She couldn’t go there now. . .or could she? She closed her eyes and forced her mind to picture the layout of the meetinghouse and its surrounding grounds, including the iron-fenced cemetery.
If she didn’t use the large driving gate in the corner closest to the back doors of the meetinghouse—if she parked outside the fence and walked through the small gate at the back corner of the cemetery—surely she would be unobtrusive enough to escape notice. No doubt Aunt Lisbeth had been buried in the Koeppler plot, which was in the northwest corner, completely opposite the meetinghouse building.
Maybe she should wait until tomorrow. She wouldn’t be working. Maybe tomorrow would be better, she tried to convince herself. But the need to spend time with Aunt Lisbeth became a gnawing ache Marie could not ignore. She twisted the key, bringing the engine to life, and backed down the driveway.
Henry opened his Bible to the book of Ephesians, as directed by Brother Strauss, then lifted his gaze to the minister. Something—a slight movement outside the window—caught his attention. Probably geese taking flight. He shifted his eyes without turning his head and peered through the simple glass pane to prove his guess. Instead of birds, a slender human form slipped between headstones at the far side of the cemetery.
Henry’s heart lurched. Even though the person wore a hood, which hid the face and hair from view, he knew it had to be Marie. Seeking Lisbeth. He wondered how he could be so sure, and he realized he just knew. Because—even after all this time—he knew Marie.
Although his face remained attentively turned toward the front of the simple sanctuary as if listening to the minister, his mind wandered backward. To another meetinghouse service in another time, when he was a lad of twelve. That was when Marie had first captured his heart.
The Saturday before, she had gone to the creek with the visiting bishop and been baptized in recognition of her acceptance of Jesus. The sight of her on the opposite side of the meetinghouse, with her nutmeg hair smoothed back and her sweet face framed by the white prayer cap and dangling ribbons, had distracted him throughout the entire service. Afterward, he had sidled up to her in the meetinghouse yard. Bashfulness had kept his chin low, but somehow he’d managed to tell her how pretty she looked.
Marie’s smile had lit the countryside, and although she hadn’t thanked him with words for his compliment, her glowing expression had given him all the thanks he needed. After that, no other girl had ever mattered. It was always Marie. Right up until the day he watched her climb into a semi truck and ride away, the white ribbons dancing in the breeze that coursed through the open window.
He swallowed, his eyes once more jerking to the side to peek out. Yes, she was still there, hunkered beside the mound of dirt where Lisbeth had been put to rest. His heart twisted for the pain of loss she must be feeling. He understood it—he felt it, too. Lisbeth had been so special to him. More, even, than any of his own relatives. They had a bond—an affinity—that grew from their sorrow at Marie’s departure.
Lisbeth was gone, but now Marie was back. His heart pattered.
His gaze sought and found J.D. Koeppler several pews ahead, in his usual spot. The man sat ramrod straight, his face aimed toward the front of the meetinghouse. A window was at his left. Had his eyes found his daughter, crouching in the cool wind, grieving beside a grave? Henry stifled a snort. Sympathy wouldn’t swell in J.D.’s chest. The man’s heart had turned to stone over the years.
He hadn’t always been so cold. Henry remembered a warm twinkle in the man’s eyes when he’d approached Marie’s father, at the age of fifteen, and stammered out his desire to court her. J.D. had put his big hand on Henry’s shoulder and said, a grin twitching his cheek, “Son, she’d be hard-pressed to find someone finer. But she’s just turned thirteen. Can you give her a few years to grow up first?”
Henry had slunk away in embarrassment, but as J.D. had suggested, he’d given Marie a few years. And when she was finally old enough to make a commitment, Jep Quinn’s semi had broken down on the highway at the turn that led to Sommerfeld, and within a week she was gone.
Henry sighed. On the bench beside him, his brother Claude poked him with his elbow. Claude’s low brows let Henry know he’d been caught daydreaming. He sat up straight and forced his ears to absorb today’s sermon. But he couldn’t resist giving one more glance out the window.
Marie was gone.
“Where have you been?” Beth met her mother at the back door. She hugged herself and shivered as a gust of wind whisked through the open door. “I woke up and couldn’t find you.”
“I went to the cemetery.” Marie passed through the utility porch to the kitchen and peeled off her sweatshirt while Beth followed, continuing to scold.
“Couldn’t you leave me a note or something? I mean, it’s unnerving to wake up and be all alone. What were you doing at the cemetery?”
Marie picked up her coffee cup from the table and poured the cold contents down the drain. “Visiting Aunt Lisbeth.” A band constricted around her heart. Sitting beside the grave hadn’t provided the comfort she had gone seeking. Cup in hand, she headed for the percolator.
“I was hoping we could do some laundry today. I need jeans washed, and we’re out of our towels in the bathroom. I don’t want to use the ones your aunt left. They smell funny.”
Marie clamped her jaw and held back a sharp retort. She poured coffee into her cup, focusing on the swirl of dark liquid.
“I tried some of your coffee, but it tasted bitter to me.” Beth leaned against the counter, her shoulders hunched. “So I haven’t had any breakfast. And it’s cold in here. Can’t that furnace put out more heat?”
Marie took a deep breath, seeking patience. “Beth, all you have to do is add coal to it and adjust the damper, and the heat will increase. I’ve told you that.”
Beth tossed her head. “And I’ve told you I’m not going into that basement. It creeps me out.”
“Well, I haven’t done your laundry since you turned fourteen, and I’m not going to start
now,” Marie retorted sharply. “The washer is in the basement, so if you need clean clothes, you’ll have to go downstairs.”
Beth pushed off from the counter, her lips puckering into a startled pout. “Why are you being so grumpy?”
“Why am I—” Marie shook her head, swallowed, and took another calming breath. “I’m not trying to be grumpy, but you have done nothing but grumble since I stepped through the door.” What bothered Marie more than Beth’s complaints was the fact that her daughter didn’t seem to recognize how difficult visiting the cemetery might have been. She needed sympathy, and it wasn’t forthcoming.
“I’m not grumbling,” Beth protested, a slender hand pressed to her chest.
Marie fixed her daughter with a pointed stare.
The girl blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. “Okay, maybe I was.” She yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. Running her hands through her tangled hair, she said, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Neither had Marie, but she didn’t share that with Beth. She raised her coffee cup and took a cautious sip of the hot liquid. “And that’s my fault because. . .?”
“I didn’t say it was your fault, I just. . .” Beth stared off to the side for a moment. Finally she brought her gaze around and released a sigh. “I’m frustrated, Mom, and so is Mitch. We put all our hopes into getting our start-up inventory from this town, and no one is cooperating. I know we’ll have some stuff if we use all the furniture and quilts and dishes from this house. . .”
Marie’s heart skipped a beat.
“. . .but we’ll need more. And I don’t know how to talk people into selling.”
Sipping at the steaming coffee, Marie gathered her thoughts. The idea of Lisbeth’s things being purchased by strangers made her feel sick to her stomach. But that had been the intention all along—to sell everything and make money. She just hadn’t realized how much being in her aunt’s home would resurrect childhood memories. Selling Lisbeth’s belongings would be like selling a part of herself.
“Mitch is coming up sometime in the next couple weeks, when he can get away.”
Marie jerked, pulling her focus back to Beth’s words.
“He said maybe if I have cash in hand and I flash it around, people will be more willing to let their stuff go.”
Although Marie doubted a fistful of dollars would make much difference, she decided not to discourage Beth right now. Instead, she said lightly, “Well, let’s hope it helps. Now. . .about your laundry.”
Beth grimaced. “Can’t we go to a Laundromat or something?”
Marie put down her coffee cup and folded her arms. “If you want to go to a Laundromat, go ahead. But I think it’s a waste of gas and quarters when we have a machine in the basement.”
Beth nibbled her lower lip, peering at her mother through a narrowed gaze. Suddenly her eyes widened. “Say. . .what kind of washing machine doesn’t use electricity?”
Marie grinned. “Come see.” She snatched up a lamp, lit it, and led the way.
Beth tiptoed, holding her arms tightly across her middle as if trying to make herself smaller as she followed Marie down the narrow, open-back stairs. When they reached the dirt floor, Beth glanced at the overhead support beams and shuddered. “I bet there are spiders down here just waiting to drop on my head.”
“You’re bigger than they are,” Marie retorted. She walked past the refrigerator and ducked through an opening in the cinder-block wall that divided the basement in two halves. In the center of the second room, on a sheet of plywood, waited Aunt Lisbeth’s 1936 Maytag washing machine.
Beth’s eyes bulged. “That’s nothing more than a tub on legs!”
“It works,” Marie insisted. She tugged Beth by the arm until they stood beside the white porcelain washer. “Look. You turn on the water over there.” She pointed, and Beth tiptoed across the floor to the copper line that poked through a hole in the basement’s ceiling. She fingered the small iron valve dissecting the pipe.
A rubber hose, clamped to the end of the line, ran across the floor and draped over the edge of the tub. Beth followed the hose back to the washer, leaned over, and peered beneath the tub. “Where does it drain?”
“There’s a plug down here.” Marie reached inside the tub and pointed out a rubber stopper. “When you pull it, the water goes through this tube and into a drainage hole over there.” She pointed to a dark corner of the basement, where the rubber tube disappeared.
Upright again, she reached inside the tub and gave the metal agitator a spin. “After the clothes have agitated, you drain the soapy water, refill the tub for a rinse, and put the clothes through this wringer to remove the excess water. Then you hang them on the clothesline outside.” While she explained, she mimed the actions.
Beth’s expression grew more disbelieving by the minute. “You’ve got to be joking.”
Marie raised one brow. “I assure you, I am not. I’ve washed many a load in this old Maytag.” She gave the machine a pat. “Aunt Lisbeth hid it down here because she didn’t want the neighbors to know how spoiled she was.”
Beth choked. “Spoiled?”
Marie nodded, grinning. “See the motor underneath? It’s gas powered. You didn’t have to crank the agitator yourself.”
Beth burst out laughing. Marie couldn’t stop her own smile as she witnessed her daughter’s mirth. When Beth was under control, she circled the washer, stepping over the water lines to examine every inch of the ancient machine. Her survey complete, she grinned at her mother.
“Well, I have no intention of using this thing to do my laundry, but I think it will make a great addition to my boutique. I can picture it on someone’s sun porch with impatiens spilling out of it.” Her eyes sparkled. “Or filled with ice and cans of pop for entertaining.” She clapped her hands once. “I’m going to go call Mitch. He won’t believe this thing!”
Beth hurried upstairs, but Marie stayed in place, her fingers curled over the cold rim of the cast aluminum tub. Her father’s question rang through her mind: “Haven’t you given your daughter any training?” Beth’s coldheartedness concerning the things Marie valued made her wonder if she had failed somehow.
Standing beside the washing machine brought back a rush of pleasant childhood memories. But to Beth, the machine only meant one thing: the almighty dollar.
TWELVE
Marie closed the basement door and headed toward the kitchen, but a shadowy figure outside the back door brought her to a halt. Someone stood on the porch, hands cupped beside eyes, peering through the lace curtain. Squinting, Marie stared. Then her jaw dropped.
Dashing to the door, she swung it open. “Joanna?”
A shy smile played at the corners of the woman’s lips. “Hello, Marie. May I come in?”
Marie jerked backward a step, gesturing. “Yes, please. It’s so good to see you.” How Marie longed to throw her arms around her sister. Only a year apart in age, the pair had been inseparable growing up. With their similar hair color—although Joanna’s leaned toward brown while Marie’s leaned toward red—and identical clefts in the chin of their heart-shaped faces, the two had often been mistaken for twins. Both had loved this, and they’d sewn matching dresses clear into their teens to perpetrate the myth.
Now, looking into Joanna’s face, framed by her white mesh cap and black ribbons, Marie felt as though she were looking into a mirror of what might have been had she remained in Sommerfeld. Instead of reaching for her sister, she took a step back.
Joanna’s face clouded. “Would you rather I not be here?”
Marie’s hand shot forward, her fingers barely brushing the sleeve of her sister’s coat. “Oh, no! I just—I’m so surprised.” She waved toward the kitchen, releasing a nervous giggle. “Please. Come in. Sit down. Or would you rather go to the front room? There’s still coffee in the pot, but I haven’t started lunch yet, so—”
Joanna’s blue eyes twinkled. “Stop blabbering, Marie. You always were one to blabber when you didn’t know w
hat to say.”
Marie gawked at Joanna for a second or two, then burst into laughter. Joanna joined her. For a few glorious moments they were teenagers again, elbows linked, sharing a private joke. The laughter faded, and they stood, smiling into each other’s matching eyes.
“Well. . .” Marie cleared her throat and pulled out a kitchen chair to sit down. “What brings you here?”
Joanna tugged out a chair, too, and started to sit. At that moment, Beth bounced into the kitchen with an overflowing laundry basket held against her stomach. Joanna jerked upright and stared at her.
Beth came to a halt and stared back. Her gaze bounced between the two women several times; then she released a low whistle. “Wow. This one’s got to be related. For a minute, I thought you were Mom in dress-up clothes.”
Marie sucked in a sharp breath, but Joanna’s tinkling giggle rang. She shook her head, smiling at Marie. “And this one has to be yours. Despite that blond hair, she’s got your eyes and chin, as well as your frankness.”
Beth raised one eyebrow and fixed her gaze on Marie. “You always told me that whole being-too-frank thing came from Dad’s side of the family.”
Joanna laughed again. “Did she? Really, Marie. . .” She shook her head, still chuckling. Looking at Beth, she said, “I’m your aunt Joanna. And I could tell you stories about your mom that would make your head spin.”
Beth’s lips quirked. “Oh, yeah?”
“But she won’t,” Marie inserted.
Beth and Joanna laughed and shared conspiratorial winks.
“Later?” Beth asked.
“Later,” Joanna promised.
Marie glowered, but her heart sang at the instant camaraderie of these two women who meant so much to her.
Beth’s expression turned sheepish. She set the basket down and dug underneath, removing the quilt that had been on her cot. “Can you tell me how to get nail polish out of fabric?”
Marie jumped up and rushed forward, snatching the quilt from Beth’s arms. A bright pink splatter filled the center of the quilt. “Beth! How did this happen?”
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