When she got to her feet again, she had no sure answers, but she knew one thing. If she were to stay in Sommerfeld, she wanted to be part of her childhood congregation once more. Her decision to leave with Jep had resulted in excommunication. But her fellowship could be restored if given approval by the bishop.
She experienced a sense of loss as she tugged the cap free and returned it to the box. One ribbon hung along the cardboard side, and she lifted it, twisting it around her finger. A smile formed as she envisioned God twisting Himself around her heart. “All right,” she whispered. “I’ll try to regain my membership. If they refuse me, then I’ll leave. . .again. But this time—” Her heart caught, tears filling her eyes. “This time I won’t leave You behind.”
“Are you sure?” Henry leaned his elbows on the table, bringing himself closer to his brother-in-law. He and Troy shared a corner booth in the café. Henry was pleased to see business returning since the town had enjoyed a full week without thefts. The café didn’t bustle with Sommerfeld residents, but members of the community filled three tables. It was a step in the right direction. And if what Troy said was true, there was an even bigger reason for celebration.
“She told Deborah about it herself.” Troy lifted his mug and sipped the steaming brew, his eyebrows high. “And Deacon Reiss told me this morning that the bishop is coming on Sunday to visit with her.”
Henry slumped in his seat, his spine suddenly unable to hold him erect. After all the years and countless prayers, it seemed Marie was returning to the church. And if she did, she would no doubt remain in Sommerfeld. “Well, I’ll be.”
Troy set his mug down and frowned across the table. “Now, Henry, Deborah asked me to tell you about it, but she also wanted me to tell you something else.”
Henry angled his head.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Just because she wants to come back to the church doesn’t mean. . .” Troy turned his gaze away.
Henry nodded. Troy didn’t need to finish the sentence. Marie’s return to the church didn’t necessarily mean she would return to him. She’d made her choice long ago, and based on what he’d overheard the day he’d brought her father to the café, her love for Jep Quinn had gone deep. There might not be room for another love.
Releasing a little huff of laughter, he shifted forward again. “Tell Deborah not to worry.” He waited until Troy met his gaze. “God has brought Marie back to faith, and that’s a real answer to prayer. It’s what Lisbeth wanted. I can be happy with that.”
Troy nodded and went back to sipping his coffee, pulling in noisy slurps. It was clear he was pleased to be finished with the conversation.
Henry leaned into the padded seat, his thoughts racing. What he’d told Troy was truthful—he could be happy for Marie if she managed to regain fellowship with the congregation. But he also knew it would be difficult to be happy for himself if Marie were to remain in Sommerfeld and not be a part of his life.
TWENTY-TWO
Beth closed the cover on her laptop, sighed, and massaged her neck with both hands. When would this tension ease up so she could relax? Her weekend away, although enjoyable—especially after Mitch arrived, even though he looked ridiculous sporting a new, short haircut—hadn’t accomplished what she’d hoped.
Her gaze flitted to Mom, who lifted two plates from the serving counter and headed toward the dining room. Tears stung behind Beth’s eyes. Instead of her time away making Mom see how important it was for them to stick together, it had pushed her in the direction of the church. This past Sunday she had even talked to the head honcho about becoming a member again!
In four more weeks, she would be able to officially claim the inheritance, sell the house and café, gather up Lisbeth’s antiques, and return to Cheyenne to open her boutique with Mitch. He’d located a shop area they could rent in one of the older buildings on Capitol Avenue. It would be pricey, but he was certain they’d be able to make it work. The thought of having a successful decorator boutique thrilled her on many levels. But—her throat tightened—Mom might not be going with her. And if Mom didn’t come, how could Beth possibly do all the things she’d planned in order to repay her?
How could her mother betray her this way? All her growingup years, Mom had been there—the one stable, unwavering, unshakeable relationship in a world where others came and went. But now her mother was slipping away, choosing others over the child she had claimed meant everything to her.
Beth felt as though her dreams were crumbling at her feet.
Trina turned from the dishwasher and flashed Beth a bright smile. “All done researching?”
Beth lowered her hands. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but Trina was hard to resist. The girl was incurably cheerful. Despite her controlling mother, bleak surroundings, and dismal wardrobe, she always wore a smile. Kind of like Mom these days.
“I wasn’t researching.” She swiveled on the stool and watched Trina load plates. “I was making sure the café and house were listed on the Realtor’s Web site.”
Trina’s expression clouded. “So you’re really doing it, huh?”
Beth flipped her hands outward. “That’s what I came to do. I follow through on my plans.” Unlike someone else I know.
Trina went on stacking, her hands moving rhythmically between the bin and the washer tray. The little ribbons from her cap swayed with the steady movement. What would Mom look like if she started wearing one of those caps?
“Well, I’m glad you’re getting to do what you want to, but. . .” Trina paused for a moment, pulling in her lower lip and furrowing her brow. “Are you sure you want to sell everything?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Beth propped her elbows on her knees. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother hand Deborah an order ticket. Mom said something Beth couldn’t hear from this distance, and Deborah smiled in return, resulting in Mom’s low-throated chuckle.
Her heart caught at how at ease her mother appeared. And how left out that ease made her feel. She fit her thumbnails together and stared at them, her chest tight. Speaking loud enough for everyone in the kitchen to hear, she said, “I’m absolutely sure. In fact, I’m counting the hours until I’m outta here.”
Trina gave a quick nod, then focused on the dishes, clearing out the bin and sending the tray through the washer. She flipped a switch, and the roar of running water almost covered her comment. “I’ll miss working here. Daddy probably won’t let me work anywhere else. He trusted Miss Koeppler to keep an eye on me.”
Trina bustled off, pushing the metal cart in front of her, and Beth sat upright, realizing something for the first time. Selling the café didn’t only affect her—it affected Trina and Deborah, too. Did they rely on the income? Trina certainly relied on the opportunity to mingle with people. She’d never met a more gregarious kid than Henry’s niece. She had no idea why it suddenly bothered her to think of Trina and Deborah being ousted, but she couldn’t deny a pang of guilt.
Maybe she could tell the new owners the Muller mom-and-daughter team was part of the bargain. She snorted at the thought. Why should she care about grumpy Deborah and her happy offspring? They were nothing to her. Just as this town was nothing to her.
Pushing from the stool, she headed for the back door. Cool air slapped her face when she stepped into the alley, and she sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn’t as if she had never experienced a cold winter—she was raised in Cheyenne, after all—but for some reason the Kansas cold seemed to penetrate deeper.
Or maybe she just had less tolerance for anything related to Kansas.
Deciding not to dig too deeply along those lines, she climbed into the car. She jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine. This bad mood wasn’t her fault. It was Mom’s. Mom and all her changing. Beth’s hand stilled on the gearshift as a realization struck. Despite the lack of creature comforts, the continued rejection by the majority of her family, and the undeniably long days of working in the café, Mom seemed more content than Beth could ever reme
mber.
Slapping the gearshift into position, Beth shook her head and pushed on the gas. Maybe Mom thought she was content, reliving all her childhood stuff, but just wait until Beth had money in hand and finally told her everything she’d been doing to ensure their brighter future. That would win her back. That’s when real contentment would begin.
The first smile of the day found its way to Beth’s face as she aimed the car toward the highway. Her future awaited.
Henry licked the tip of the pencil before recording the total at the bottom of the column in the ledger. He ran his gaze down the line of numbers, mentally adding. Convinced the calculator had figured correctly, he underlined the total and closed the ledger. He lifted his head to find Marie watching him.
Heat flooded his chest. He forced a wobbly smile. “You’re still here.”
“I’m waiting for Beth.” She perched on a stool at the end of the counter, near the back door. Over her blouse she wore a hip-length, thickly knit sweater that had belonged to Lisbeth. The collar was folded under on one side, and his fingers twitched with the desire to straighten it for her. But if he touched the collar, her nutmeg curls would certainly brush his knuckles, and he might end up doing more than fixing her collar.
He looked back at the ledger. “She knows you’re finished here?”
Marie sighed. “I’m sure she does. The café closes every day at eight o’clock, and I’m always ready to leave by eight forty-five.” She glanced at the clock hanging above the stove. “I suppose she’s not terribly late. It’s not quite nine yet.”
“But you’ve had a long day.”
Marie laughed lightly, her blue eyes tired. “I’ve had a long week.”
Henry wondered what meaning hid beneath her blithe statement. He rose. “I’ll take you home. If the lights are off here, Beth will know you’ve gone on.”
Slipping from the stool, Marie covered a yawn with slender fingers. “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that offer.”
After he shrugged into his jacket and joined her at the door, she turned off the lights. They were immediately plunged into darkness, giving an intimacy to the setting. Henry fumbled for the doorknob, heaving a breath of relief when he located it.
Swinging the door open, he said, “Go ahead. But be careful—the ground is uneven.”
Marie preceded him, and he followed slightly behind and to her left, his hand poised to steady her in case she tripped. But she moved with her typical grace through the shadows to his vehicle. She reached for the door handle, but he caught it first, opening it for her. The interior lights lit the underside of her jaw, bringing out the little cleft in her chin and highlighting a few wisps of hair that had slipped free of their bobby pins.
He swallowed and gestured silently for her to slide into the car. She did so, first sitting and then drawing in her legs in a fluid movement. He slammed the door a little harder than necessary, his heart in his throat. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to give her a ride home. On Sundays, with the sun lighting the landscape and worship on his mind, it was easier to distance himself. But under the stars, with shadows showcasing the delicate curve of her jaw and deepening the color of her eyes, old feelings ignited.
Walking around the car, he sucked in big gulps of cold air, trying to cool his racing thoughts. Behind the wheel, he flashed her a quick smile. “Okay, let’s get you home.”
They rode in silence through the still streets. He wanted to ask her how her meeting with the bishop had gone, if she’d heard anything from the deacons who would determine her future position within the congregation. He wanted to tell her he’d been praying that she would be granted membership. But fearful of her answers—would he be able to hide his disappointment if the response was their refusal?—he kept his mouth closed.
His gaze bounced along the houses, noting how many places hadn’t bothered with porch lights this evening. The town finally seemed to be settling down from its scare with the thief. The watchers would continue through December, just to be safe, but Henry believed the worst was over. They could all relax.
He pulled behind Lisbeth’s house, as he had so many times over the years of transporting Lisbeth. Marie craned her neck as they rounded the back corner, and he heard her breath release in a sigh as he stopped beside the porch. Something in her pose made his heart turn over. The engine still idling, he faced her. “Is something the matter?”
She glanced at him. Her eyes appeared black with the absence of light. “I just hoped Beth might be here. She–she’s been gone so much lately.”
The sadness in her tone pierced Henry’s heart. He forced a chuckle. “Well, she’s young. Stretching her wings.”
“I suppose.” Marie remained in the seat, her hands in her lap, her head tipped thoughtfully. “But her wing-stretching was different before we came here. It didn’t concern me the way it does now.”
Henry put the car into park but left the engine running. The gentle hum provided a soothing lullaby. The dash lights illuminated the interior enough to highlight her features but little more. The cover of night gave him the courage to speak openly. “Tell me why.”
Her head jerked backward as if she were surprised. She blinked several times, her lips sucked in, and for a moment he expected her to grab the door handle and let herself out. But instead, she shifted slightly in the seat, angling her body to face him, and licked her lips.
“I think I messed up when I raised Beth. I was so hurt by Dad sending me away, I turned my back on the way he raised me. I didn’t make knowing God a priority for Beth.” She shook her head, grimacing. “I took her to Sunday school when she was little—we went with Jep’s parents. But when Beth was six, her grandmother died, and the next year, her grandfather moved to Florida. After that, I had to work more hours since I didn’t have their financial support, and. . .well, church just went by the wayside.”
Henry nodded. He already knew all this—Marie had shared with Lisbeth in letters, and Lisbeth had shared with him. But he stayed silent and let her talk.
“Beth’s always been a good girl, though. Respectful to me. Respectful to others. I did teach her that.” She turned her head, her gaze out the window. “Since we’ve been here, though, I’ve seen so much resentment in her. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, and I don’t like it. But I can’t seem to talk to her anymore.”
Looking directly at Henry, she offered a sad smile. “We were always lucky that way—we could always talk. More than other moms and daughters. I really miss that.”
“You’ll get it back,” Henry said, unable to keep himself from giving some small encouragement. She seemed so forlorn. “Beth is balking at the restrictions here, that’s all. She isn’t accustomed to this simpler lifestyle.”
“But that’s just it.” Marie’s frustration came through clearly in her tone. “It’s more than the lifestyle that’s bothering her. I think she’s gone so much because she’s trying to avoid what I’ve found here—a relationship with God. It frightens her, and that’s the last thing I’d want her to feel.”
“The unknown is always frightening.” Henry wove his fingers together to keep from reaching for her hand. The longing to give her comfort became difficult to resist. “The more Beth sees evidence of God’s touch on your heart, sees how it brings you joy, the more open she’ll be to it.”
“Are you sure?”
The uncertainty in her quavering voice pained Henry. He gave in to the impulse and placed his hand over hers. “Yes, I’m sure. How did you come to accept it? By witnessing it in the lives around you—in the lives of those you loved who loved Him.”
Marie made no effort to extract her hand from his clasp. Instead, she turned her hand palm up and slipped her fingers around his hand. Henry felt certain she was unaware of the action, but the simple touch filled him with heat.
“Of course.” Her whispered voice barely carried over the engine’s gentle rumble. “How could I have been so foolish as to forget?” Her fingers trembled within his grasp. “Lisbeth alw
ays lived her faith quietly, yet it was evident. If I try to emulate her, surely the reality will eventually reach Beth’s heart, opening her to receiving God’s love.” A smile broke across her face. “Thank you, Henry. I feel much less worried now.”
He forced even breathing, bringing his racing heart under control. “You’re welcome.”
They sat, their hands joined, for several seconds before Marie spoke again. “Do you realize you’re the first man I’ve ever talked to about Beth?”
He didn’t know how to respond. One word squeaked out. “Oh?”
Her nod rearranged the wisps of coiling hair. “Since Jep’s father moved away, there hasn’t been a man in our lives.”
Henry thought his heart might pound out of his chest.
“I’ve thought. . .so many times. . .how Beth and I could both benefit from a man’s point of view. Admittedly, I—I always hoped my father. . .”
Her stammered words, and her convulsing fingers, nearly melted Henry. But his throat was too tight to speak. So he increased the pressure on her hand, letting her know he cared. She returned the contact, curling her fingers more securely around his, giving a silent Thank-you.
Henry remembered a conversation he’d had with Lisbeth about J.D.’s stubborn refusal to read any of Marie’s letters. Lisbeth’s theory had been that J.D. knew he was wrong for sending his daughter away, and by ignoring her, he could ignore his guilt. His selfrighteous grumping, she had concluded, was just a cover-up for the unhappiness underneath. Could Marie benefit if he shared Lisbeth’s wisdom now?
“Your father. . .” Henry’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and started again. “Your father lost a great deal by his hasty actions. He lost you, and he lost Beth. He isn’t a foolish man—he recognizes his mistake. But his pride. . . Lisbeth prayed, and I keep praying, that he will swallow his pride and choose to reach out to you.”
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