Beth crossed to Marie’s side and touched the wide ribbon tied around the bear’s neck. “Mrs. Davidson actually did most of the sewing on this one, because I wanted it to be absolutely perfect.” Her expression turned uncertain. “You’re not upset, are you, that I cut it up? After I dumped that nail polish on it, there wasn’t any other way to salvage it.”
Marie set the bear on the cot and enfolded Beth in her arms. The quilt became secondary as the full magnitude of Beth’s admission sent a wave of relief through her. Beth wasn’t the thief. She had been working on the furtherance of her business, but not the way the town had surmised. Marie berated herself for believing the worst of her daughter. How grateful she was that she hadn’t accused Beth when she’d arrived home!
Still in her mother’s embrace, Beth released a light laugh. “Does this hug mean it’s okay I chopped up the quilt?”
Marie pulled back and cupped Beth’s cheeks. “It’s beautiful, Beth. Thank you.” Picking up the bear again, she gave it a hug, smiling over its head. “I think Lisbeth would be pleased, too.”
“Oh, good!” Beth hurried toward the closet and pulled the door open. Pushing her clothes aside, she said, “There was enough of the quilt left to make two smaller ones, too.” Turning to face her mother, she held twin versions half the size of the one Marie had been given. “I’d like to keep one, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to give the other one to Trina since she worked so closely with Lisbeth at the café.”
Once again, tears gathered. Marie nodded and forced words past the knot in her throat. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
With the two bears in her arms, Beth sat on the cot and tipped her head. Blond hair spilled across her shoulders, the strands shimmering in the light of the lantern that glowed on the dresser top. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Marie swallowed, shaking her head. “Nothing. It’s not important now.” Leaning forward, she gave Beth a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you for my gift, honey. I’ll treasure it.”
Marie left Beth’s room, carrying her bear. In her own bedroom, she set the animal on the bed, resting it against the pillows. She sat and fingered one ear. A question remained unanswered. If Beth wasn’t the thief, who was?
Beth crept into her mother’s room Monday morning and touched her shoulder. “Mom?”
Her mother stirred, scrunching her face and blinking rapidly. She turned blearily in Beth’s direction, rubbed her eyes with both fists, and finally sat up. “What is it, honey?”
Beth smiled at the croaky tone. Maybe she should have brought in a cup of tea to clear the sleep from Mom’s throat. “I’m going in to Newton to finish a stained-glass project. I wondered if you’d like to come along and meet Mrs. Davidson.”
Mom pushed the covers down and swung her feet from the bed. Seated on the edge of the mattress, she peered groggily at Beth. “I’d like that.” She yawned and ran her hands through her hair, making it even more mussed. “And maybe I can do a little fabric shopping while we’re in town.”
Beth crossed her arms and smirked. “You gonna make teddy bears, too, and compete with me?”
Mom’s soft laughter sounded. “No. But I need to pull out Lisbeth’s machine and make some dresses. I think I can remember how to sew.”
Taking a step back, Beth frowned. “Dresses? What for?”
Her mother pulled in her lower lip, a sure sign of nervousness. Beth’s heart rate increased.
Mom patted the mattress beside her. “Sit down for a minute, honey. I need to talk to you.”
With some trepidation, Beth approached the bed and perched on the edge of the mattress. “About what?”
“You know I talked to the bishop about rejoining the church.”
“Yeah.”
Mom sucked a breath through her nose, as if she needed strength. “Well, yesterday the announcement was made that I’ve been accepted back into fellowship.”
Beth’s jaw dropped. “So you’re staying here? For good?” The apology in Mom’s eyes pulled at Beth. She jumped up and moved several feet away before whirling on her mother. “You aren’t coming back to Cheyenne with me?”
Mom stood, reaching her hand toward Beth. “It’s not for sure yet. I’d need a place to live and a way to support myself here. Both of those are big needs, and I’m not sure how they’ll be met. But if I’m meant to stay, I know God will provide.”
A band of pressure seemed to wrap around Beth’s heart at her mother’s words. How could she choose the town over her own daughter? She took a backward step, shaking her head slowly. “I wish we’d never come here.”
Mom leaned her head back, her eyes closed. Beth knew she battled tears. She ping-ponged between wanting to rush forward and hug her mother or rush out of the house and not return. Finally Mom lowered her head and looked at her.
“Honey, I’m glad we came here. It hasn’t been an easy time for either of us. But being here has restored something I’ve missed for many years. Now that I’m back in fellowship with God, I feel. . .whole again. I can’t regret that.”
Her mother’s quiet, sincere tone made Beth ache with a longing to understand what Mom meant by being “whole.” Yet she rebelled at the insinuation that her mother had lacked something all her years away from Sommerfeld.
“Are you telling me you haven’t been happy since you left here? That my dad and me—” Beth couldn’t continue. She clenched her fists, pressing them to the sides of her head. “I can’t listen to this anymore. I’ve got to—” She raced toward the back door.
Mom’s pounding steps came behind her. “Beth, wait!”
Beth grabbed the door handle, wrenched it violently, and threw the door open. It banged against the wall and bounced back. Beth charged through the storm door, allowing it to slam on her mother, who followed closely on her heels. Mom stood on the porch, stretching out her hand in a silent bid for her return, but Beth ignored her. She revved the engine and squealed out of the drive.
Escape. . . Escape Sommerfeld. Escape Mom. Escape the odd longing that rose up from her breast and tried to choke her breath away. Just. . .escape.
The remainder of the week passed in a dizzying blur of tumultuous emotion. Marie’s elation at being welcomed back into the fellowship of believers battled with despair at Beth’s reaction; her delight at being a part of the lives of Joanna and three of her brothers warred with the pain of continued distance from Abigail, Ben, and her parents; relief at the knowledge of Beth’s innocence concerning the thefts couldn’t quite eradicate the concern that somewhere in Sommerfeld the thief still existed, casting a spirit of unease over the entire community.
She leaned against the counter and caught one black ribbon that dangled from her cap, twisting the satin strip around her finger. After only a few days, the cap felt as natural as it had in her youth. Even the dresses—a far cry from the clothing to which she’d become accustomed since Jep’s death—offered a sense of coming home. Aware that the articles of clothing were merely exterior trappings, she still experienced a sense of security in the donning of the simple symbols of her restored faith and fellowship.
Deborah turned from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron, and gave a slight start when she spotted Marie. She shook her head, her ribbons waving, before heading into the storeroom.
Marie stifled a giggle. She’d grown accustomed to the double takes. It seemed the community was having a harder time adjusting to her cap and dress than she was.
With the exception of Henry.
Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered his reaction the first time she came around the corner from the kitchen, attired in the caped dress and mesh cap of their sect, to take his order. His eyes had grown wide, filled with tears, and then his face had broken into a smile that sent her heart winging somewhere in the clouds. His joy—so evident—had brought a sting of tears to her eyes.
He had swallowed, brushed his hands over his eyes, and said in a voice thick with emotion, “Lisbeth would be so pleased.”
<
br /> Tears stung again now, remembering. Regret smacked hard. She should have returned sooner. Should have spent time with her aunt. Resolutely, she pushed the regret aside. She couldn’t change the past—she could only change the future. And from this day forward, her heart and her will would be in alignment with God. It would be her aunt’s legacy, one she would do her utmost to pass on to Beth.
Beth. . . Marie closed her eyes and prayed again for her daughter. The open rebellion pained her heart. Father, I give her to You, she said, repeating words that had become almost a mantra in the past few days.
The jingle of the bell that hung over the dining room entry door captured Marie’s attention. Customers. She headed to the dining room, snatching up a handful of menus on the way.
The remainder of the day stayed busy. Saturdays always brought in the highway traffic, and Marie had little time to herself throughout the afternoon and evening. As was his custom, Henry ate his supper at the café, then stayed to tally the receipts and balance the books.
Deborah and Trina took care of the kitchen cleanup while Marie placed the orders for next week’s supplies and Henry finished the bookwork. They all completed their tasks about the same time, and as he always did, Henry offered to take Marie home. She accepted, but on this evening they spoke little. Marie pondered the odd silence and decided her reticence had to do with the change in her standing in the community.
No longer could she be considered an “outsider.” She was now an accepted part of the fellowship. Tomorrow she would attend the meetinghouse for the first time in more than twenty years as an official member. Why that seemed to impact her relationship with Henry, she couldn’t be sure. She only knew it felt different—as if a barrier had been removed. But a barrier from what?
Her heart thumped. She knew from what.
She risked a glance in his direction. The muscles along his jaw looked tense, as if he gritted his teeth. It increased the tremble in her tummy. Could Henry be thinking the same thing as she—that her acceptance in the fellowship would mean a community acceptance of their relationship moving beyond friendship?
Jerking her gaze out the window, she tried to eliminate those thoughts. Yet they niggled, increasing her discomfort as they rode silently through the star-laden evening.
When he pulled into the drive behind Marie’s car, Henry put his vehicle into park and faced her. Her heart pounded at the uncertainty reflected in his eyes.
“Do you—do you need me to drive you tomorrow?”
“No, thank you.” Marie swallowed, regret and relief bouncing back and forth and wreaking havoc in her soul. “I’ll have my car. Beth was running a slight fever this morning, so I doubt she’ll be going anywhere tomorrow.”
Concern etched his brow. “Is she all right? Do you need to take her to the hospital?”
Marie’s heart welled at his kindness. “No, I’m sure it isn’t serious. Just a cold that got out of hand. It’s that time of year.”
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Well, then, you take care of yourself.” The dash lights gave his face a rosy glow. At least, she blamed the color on the dash lights. “I’ll see you tomorrow, at our meetinghouse.”
She couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure that came with his words. Our meetinghouse. Hers now, too. She gave a quick nod. “Yes. Tomorrow. Thank you for the ride, Henry.” Hand on the door handle, she turned back and added, “And for your friendship. It’s meant a lot to me.”
His lips tipped upward, the left side climbing a fraction of an inch higher than the right. It gave him a boyish appearance that sent Marie’s heart fluttering. “You’re welcome.”
With another nod, she bounced out of the car and hurried inside. After checking on Beth and insisting she drink some more juice, she readied herself for bed. Sleep tarried, her thoughts cluttered with the odd emotions Henry had stirred.
When morning came, his face—the sweet, lopsided smile of last evening—lingered in her memory and teased her as she prepared for service.
Her hands trembled as she slipped her cap into place, and she gave herself a stern command to gain control. She would miss the point of the sermon if she spent her morning daydreaming about Henry Braun! A quick check on Beth showed her fever had broken during the night, but she had no desire to get up, so Marie gave her a kiss and headed for the car with the promise she would come straight back after service rather than going to Joanna’s.
Her thoughts on the service, she almost didn’t stop for the brown van that crossed her path on Main Street, heading north. The driver, his black, flat-brimmed hat pulled low, glared in her direction as he rolled past. Marie lifted a hand in silent apology, and his nod acknowledged it.
Heaving a sigh of relief that she hadn’t pulled in front of him, she started to cross Main. But then something struck her, and she stared after the van. The driver had appeared to be Mennonite in his dark suit and familiar hat, yet vans were not on the list of approved vehicles. She had reviewed the list only last week, knowing she would need to trade her red car for something more conservative if she remained in Sommerfeld.
A feeling of dread wiggled down Marie’s spine. Without another thought, she made a sharp left and followed the van toward the edge of town.
TWENTY-FIVE
Knowing her red car would be conspicuous on the brown landscape, Marie fell back, her heart thudding with fear of being spotted. When the van turned right on the second county road outside of town, her instincts told her to go to the next intersection and double back. She craned her head as she continued north past the intersection, watching. The van increased its speed, kicking up puffs of dust that nearly swallowed the entire vehicle.
Her hands felt damp and her stomach churned with nervousness as she increased her acceleration to reach the next corner. She made a sharp right, holding her breath as her tires slid on the gravel, but she clutched the steering wheel with both hands and kept the car on the road. Looking off to her right, she spotted the swirl of dust that indicated the van’s progress.
She smiled. “Thanks, Lord, for the cloud.” Speaking aloud offered some comfort, so she continued talking to God as she drove, the van’s telltale cloud of dust pointing the route. The cloud disappeared behind the dilapidated barn of a farmstead long since abandoned and surrounded by scrub trees. If it weren’t for the bare branches of winter, the farmstead would have been hidden by the barrier of wind-shaped trees.
Marie slowed to a crawl, aware that the same dust that had notified her of the van’s progress would alert the driver to her presence. The crunch of the tires on the hard gravel road made her cringe as she let off the gas and coasted to a stop on the east side of the barn.
She found the van parked on the north side, its back doors standing open. The van’s radio blared out a rock tune, which told her in no uncertain terms the vehicle was not being driven by a Mennonite, no matter how he was attired.
She sat in her car, leaning forward to peer around the corner, her heart booming so hard she feared it might burst. As she watched, the man came into view, carrying something that appeared to be heavy by the slope of his back and his staggered steps. He pushed the item into the back of the van, brushed his hands together, then turned toward the barn again.
He came to a halt, his head jerking sharply in her direction.
Marie sank against the seat, her mouth dry. She grabbed the gearshift with a trembling hand, prepared to ram the car into DRIVE and speed away if needed. The man rounded the corner of the barn and came directly to her window. Her jaw dropped as he leaned forward and tapped on the glass.
Rolling down the window, Marie gasped. “Mitch!”
He had the audacity to laugh as he snatched off his hat and ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. “Surprised you recognized me in these duds. I’m as stylin’ as you, Miz Mennonite Lady.” He struck an arrogant pose, his grin wide.
Marie opened the door and stepped out. “What are you doing?”
Mitch’s grin faded, replaced by a sneer of displea
sure. “Trying to load up and get out of here. I guess I should’ve waited another half hour. If you were already in that chapel, you wouldn’t have seen me.” A disparaging snort of laughter burst from his chest. “Guess I got impatient.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders and herded her around the corner. “Well, c’mon. Might as well confirm what you’re suspecting, huh?”
Marie’s feet felt leaden as she moved unwillingly alongside Mitch. When they entered the barn, she nearly collapsed. The hodgepodge of items, stashed haphazardly, provided evidence of Mitch’s illicit industry.
She swung to face Mitch, flinging her hand outward to indicate the collection of items. “You took all this?”
He crossed his arms and shrugged. “With a little help.”
Marie stumbled forward, grasping the back of the sleeping bench that had been removed from the Dicks’ home. Her disappointment was so deep she didn’t know if she could form words, but somehow the quavering question came out in a strangled whisper. “Beth was in on this?”
Mitch’s laughter rang. “You really think Lissie had anything to do with this? Oh, no, Marie, you raised a real little goody-goody. Your darlin’ daughter won’t even keep an extra dime from a cashier who’s too stupid to make correct change.” He moved forward and stood at the other end of the bench, his grin mocking beneath the brim of the hat he’d slapped on at an angle. “No, I just took careful note of all her complaining about the stuff that got away. Then I went to the locations and made sure I got it for her.”
Marie shook her head. Even with the evidence in front of her, the unreality made her feel as though she were caught in a bad dream. “So all this time. . .you haven’t been in Cheyenne, you’ve been in Sommerfeld?”
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