Crossing to the desk, she pulled open a drawer and searched for paper. A tablet of white lined paper came into view, along with a half-empty box of envelopes. She lifted both out and sat at the desk, placing the items in front of her. Then she pulled out the center drawer and withdrew a pen. She gave the pen’s push button a click and flipped back the cover on the tablet.
Her heart leaped into her throat. Writing went halfway down the page, obviously penned by Aunt Lisbeth. The first line read, “My dearest Marie. . .”
Beth rolled over, and the cot let out a now-familiar squeak of complaint, bringing her awake. Yawning, she slipped her hands outside the covers, stretched, then balled her hands into fists and rubbed her eyes. Opening her eyes, she found the room blanketed in darkness. Apparently the sun had slipped behind the horizon while she napped. What time was it?
By squinting at her wind-up alarm clock—the one she’d purchased for her stint in this house with no electricity—she managed to make out the position of the black hands. Seven thirty. Her stomach growled, confirming the hour. But she didn’t get up.
Instead, she slipped her hands beneath her head and stared at the white-painted plaster ceiling, which appeared gray in the absence of light. She wiggled, trying to reposition herself on the lumpy mattress provided by Henry Braun.
Henry Braun. . .
A picture appeared in her mind of his face when she’d stormed into his house that afternoon. She sure had surprised him. But that was only fair—he’d surprised her, too, by turning on Mom that way. After everything he’d done to help them out, too. It made her mad all over again to think about it. And confused.
Rolling to her side, she pulled the covers to her chin and stared across the room. At least she had accomplished one thing. Mom wouldn’t be staying in Sommerfeld now. They’d go back to Cheyenne together after Christmas. Somehow the thought didn’t cheer her the way it once would have.
Tears stung Beth’s eyes as she realized her mother had seemed happier here than she ever had in Cheyenne. Mom had never been one to wallow in despair or complain—that wasn’t her way—but here, in Sommerfeld, she exuded an element of deep contentment. Despite the conflict with her parents, despite the lack of enthusiastic welcome by the community, her mother had found something here that gave her joy.
How had Mom identified it? She pressed her memory, straining to recall the exact words. They came in a rush—“a fellowship with God.” With the remembrance came a splash of regret. She and Mom had always shared everything. Big things like an apartment and a car. Little things like toothpaste and shoes and banana splits. But this God fellowship thing belonged to Mom alone.
Beth felt left out.
When they returned to Cheyenne, God would surely go, too. She recalled her Sunday school teacher saying God was everywhere. He didn’t just live in Sommerfeld. Beth swallowed, her throat aching. Would she feel left out even in Cheyenne, when Mom took her fellowship with God home to Wyoming?
Then there was this thing about Mom being in a barn with a bunch of stolen goods. Why wouldn’t she tell Beth what she was doing there? Sure, Beth had kept a few secrets since they’d come to Sommerfeld—she’d had to if she didn’t want to ruin a good surprise. There was still one more she was saving for Christmas. But Mom had always been open with her. Holding back something as important as a reason that could exonerate her didn’t make sense.
Tossing aside the covers, Beth sat up. She groped under the edge of the cot for the fuzzy socks she had discarded before climbing under the quilt—the wood floors were cold in spite of the blast of warm air from the iron heater grates. Once her feet were covered, she headed for the hallway. She needed her mother. And some reassurance.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mom?”
Marie lifted her gaze from the unfinished letter at the sound of her daughter’s voice.
“You’re crying again.”
She touched her face, startled to find tears. Wiping them away, she offered a tremulous smile. “Don’t worry. I’m okay. Look.” She held the tablet toward Beth. “I found a letter from Aunt Lisbeth.”
Beth squatted next to the chair and reached for the pad. She read the brief passage quickly, then looked at her mother again. “It’s not finished.”
“No.” Marie took back the pad, her gaze on Lisbeth’s neat, slating script. “I’m not sure what interrupted her, but I’m sure she intended to finish it and get it mailed.” Hugging the tablet to her chest, she closed her eyes for a moment. “Aunt Lisbeth never stopped loving me, Beth. Never. We didn’t have to be together for our relationship to continue. And that gives me such comfort right now.”
“Why?”
Beth’s gently worded query brought Marie’s eyes open. She looked at her daughter and forced words past a knot in her throat. “Because soon I’ll be away again—away from Joanna and Art and the others—but somehow we’ll stay in touch. Through letters, just like Aunt Lisbeth and me.”
Beth took the pad and tapped one paragraph on the page. “This must have been written shortly after my graduation. She thanks you for a picture from my big day.”
Marie laughed softly, looping a strand of hair behind Beth’s ear. “I included her in all your big days—your first tooth, first haircut, first day of school, first ballet recital.” Suddenly something struck her. With a frown, she began opening and closing desk drawers.
“What are you doing?” Beth stepped back, clearing the way for Marie to open the drawers on the left side of the desk.
“Through the years I sent Aunt Lisbeth enough photographs to fill a small album. It just occurred to me I haven’t seen them anywhere.” Looking up at Beth, her heart fluttered. “She wouldn’t have discarded them. . .would she?”
Beth shook her head adamantly. “They’ve got to be in a box somewhere. Want me to look?”
Marie closed the last drawer and slumped back in the chair “No. That’s okay. When we get things ready for the auction”—pain stabbed with the comment—“we’ll probably come across them. Who knows where they might be right now?”
Beth hung her head. “Mom, about the auction. . .”
Her daughter’s shamefaced pose brought Marie to her feet. “Yes?” Meeting her mother’s gaze, Beth licked her lips. “I–I’ve sounded really selfish about all the stuff in this house. I wanted to make as much money as I could so I would be able to do something nice for you. You’ve always put me first, and just once I wanted to put you first and pay you back.”
Relief washed over Marie as the motivation for what she had perceived as money-grubbing became clear. Her heart swelled with love. “Oh, honey.”
“Now I think maybe I could pay you back the best by letting you keep the stuff from your aunt’s house. It means a lot to you, I know. So maybe we should just forget the auction.”
How much her daughter had matured over the past weeks. Marie embraced Beth, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “That is the best gift you’ve ever given me.”
Pulling away, Beth offered a wobbly grin. “Even better than that ceramic frog I made in third grade?”
Laughing, Marie hugged Beth again. “I loved your purple, sixlegged frog! I still have it tucked in the sock drawer of my dresser back home.”
At the word home, both women froze for a moment.
Looking into her mother’s eyes, Beth posed a quiet question. “Mom, do you want Sommerfeld to be your home now?”
To Marie’s chagrin, tears stung her eyes. A deep part of her longed to remain in the place of her birth, but Mitch’s actions—and Henry’s accusations—had sealed her fate. What she wanted didn’t matter anymore. She couldn’t stay. Not now.
Blinking, she cleared the tears from her eyes and forced her lips into a smile. In the brightest tone she could muster, she said, “This was to be a three-month adventure, right? And it’s nearing its end, so. . .” She flipped her wrists outward in a glib gesture she didn’t feel.
Beth crossed her arms and quirked a brow. “You aren’t fooling anybody.”
<
br /> “Well, I—” Before she could complete the thought, a knock interrupted. She glanced at her wristwatch and frowned. “Visitors at this hour? I hope nothing’s wrong.” She hurried down the hallway to the front room with her daughter on her heels and pulled the curtains aside. Seeing Henry and Joanna standing on the porch, she glanced at Beth, who shrugged and said in a hard tone, “Might as well let ’em in. Knowing both of them, they’ll stand out there in the cold until you do.”
Henry allowed Joanna to precede him through Marie’s front door. In the past, he had always entered this house through the utility porch in the back. Coming in the front door gave the visit a feeling of formality that left him vaguely unsettled. Yet he knew, given the topic that must be covered, formality would be a good shield for the emotions that churned in his belly.
Marie closed the door behind them, then stood, hugging herself, her wide-eyed gaze flitting from her sister to him. His heart plummeted when he scanned her attire. Blue jeans and a sweater. Standing there with Beth, who wore similar clothes, she seemed oceans away from him again.
Joanna stepped forward and embraced her sister, her white prayer cap and neatly pinned hair incongruous to Marie’s tousled, uncovered locks. Henry looked away, turning back only when Joanna touched his arm.
“Let’s all sit down.”
Henry appreciated her taking charge. His tongue felt thick, incapable of functioning. Fortunately he’d had full use of it when he went to Hugo and Joanna’s and told them what he’d found at the barn. The need to confide in someone, to seek someone’s advice, had overwhelmed him as he’d driven back to town earlier that evening. Not having Lisbeth to turn to, he chose the one who had most fully embraced Marie’s return. In Joanna he’d found his advocate, and her presence now gave him confidence that, together, they would get to the bottom of things.
Beth inched toward the double doors, her narrowed gaze boring a hole through Henry. “If you don’t need me, I’m going to my room.” She pointed to her red nose. “Not feeling too good, you know?”
Marie crossed to her quickly and gave her a kiss on the cheek, whispering something to which Beth responded with a nod, before the girl disappeared around the corner. The evidence of Marie’s deep care for her daughter twisted Henry’s heart. It seemed to point, once again, to the extremes she would go to for Beth.
Marie sat in Lisbeth’s well-worn rocking chair, and both he and Joanna took seats on the sofa—Joanna at the end closest to Marie, he at the farthest end. Joanna stretched out her hand toward her sister, and Marie reached back.
“Marie, Henry made sure everyone knew where to find their belongings today. So all of the goods are back with their owners.”
Henry watched Marie closely. Her shoulders slumped slightly with the news, but she didn’t seem dismayed.
Joanna continued. “When he told us at the meetinghouse they’d been found, he didn’t tell us how he came to find them.” She glanced at Henry, then turned back to Marie. “He only told everything to Hugo and me. The town doesn’t know you were with the things when he found them.”
Marie’s face drained of color, and her gaze shifted in his direction. “Thank you.” The words came out in a wavering whisper. “You kept your word.”
He managed a nod. Yes, he had told her he wouldn’t tell—to protect Lisbeth’s memory. Yet he knew, deep down, he’d also done it to protect her.
“But Marie,” Joanna went on, capturing Marie’s attention, “we need to understand. You rejoined the church. You told us you wanted to stay. You—you weren’t being dishonest with us, were you?”
Marie’s pale face mottled with red. Henry’s heart pounded. Could that rush of high color indicate a guilty conscience? His body angled forward slightly, leaning toward Marie, inwardly praying for her to share an explanation that would set everyone’s mind and hearts at ease.
“I wasn’t being dishonest.” Marie’s voice was tight, as if she were being strangled. “I truly wanted to regain fellowship and remain in Sommerfeld. But. . .” She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, the splashes of pink fading from her cheeks with the dispelling of breath. “But apparently it isn’t meant to be.”
Joanna turned toward Henry. Her brows were low, her lips pursed. “Henry, I’m thirsty. Would you get me a glass of water, please?”
Henry nodded, understanding the silent message. She wanted time alone with Marie. He welcomed the distraction and the separation. Marie’s last statement had been like putting a knife through his heart. He headed for the kitchen with his head low, his heart aching.
The moment Henry disappeared through the dining room, Marie felt Joanna give her hand a sharp jerk. “All right, Marie,” her sister whispered, “we’re alone now, and I want the truth.”
Marie reared back, sending the rocker into motion. She stared at Joanna, surprised by the vehemence in her tone. “I—I—”
“And no avoidance! I don’t for one minute believe you had anything to do with the thefts.” Tears glittered in Joanna’s blue eyes, pain evident. “So you must be protecting somebody. It was Beth, wasn’t it? Beth and her boyfriend.”
Marie yanked her hand free and clasped it against her ribcage. She felt her own heartbeat against her hand. “No!” She, too, kept her voice low, but she matched Joanna in passion. “My daughter is not a thief!”
Joanna’s forehead crinkled. “Then who, Marie? Henry found footprints out there, man-sized, that didn’t match the boots our men wear.”
Even now, the reference to “our” made Marie’s heart pine with longing to be a part of that “our.”
“He suspects, as do I, that Beth’s boyfriend is involved.”
Marie looked away, certain her face would give away the truth. Joanna leaned forward, capturing her hand again. “Are our suspicions true?”
Marie’s chin quivered with the effort of holding back her secret. With a long sigh, Joanna released Marie’s hand and slumped back on the sofa. “Why are you protecting him?” Her voice reflected confusion. Suddenly she sat up straight again, her eyes wide. “Did he threaten you?”
Shaking her head, Marie faced her sister. “No. Not really. He just. . .”
Joanna leaned forward, bringing her face near. “What, Marie? Tell me.”
Her body trembled. Marie drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. Yet her voice quavered when she replied. “He just made me realize how terribly hurt Beth would be if she knew the truth about him. She loves him. . .and he’s a thief.”
Joanna sat in silence, her gaze never wavering from Marie’s, her brow knitted and her lower lip pulled between her teeth. She nodded, the movement so slight Marie almost sensed it rather than saw it. “I see.”
Marie thumped her feet on the floor and tipped the rocker forward, grasping both of Joanna’s wrists. “I can’t tell, Joanna—not without hurting Beth. And I can’t stay here with Henry thinking—” A dry sob burst out, and she lowered her head, regret weighing her down. “If only it could be different.”
Joanna raised her hands to cup Marie’s head and draw it to her shoulder. Marie sat within the circle of her sister’s arms, absorbing the love and understanding offered through the wordless embrace.
After long moments, Joanna spoke softly, her voice hoarse. “So you’ll let the one who loves you think you are capable of being involved in something morally and legally wrong in order to protect Beth’s feelings?”
Slowly Marie removed herself from Joanna’s hold. Settled against the back of Lisbeth’s wood rocker, she answered, “Yes.”
“I think you’re a fool.”
Marie nodded. “You’re right. I’m a fool for thinking I could come back. I would be miserable, trying to live here and attend the meetinghouse regularly with Dad feeling like he does. Maybe this is God’s way of sending me back to Cheyenne. That’s where I belong.”
Joanna’s eyes flooded with tears. “No, Marie. Here is where you belong. I’ve seen you blossom here. We all have—Henry and Hugo and Kyra and Deborah. How can yo
u even think of leaving?”
“How can I even think of staying?” Marie countered. She released a sorrowful sigh. “No, God brought me back for a reason—to rediscover my relationship with Him. I’ve done that, and I know I’ll never let Him go again. So. . .at the end of Beth’s and my threemonth time period, I’ll move on.”
Her sister stood, glaring down at her. “You’re just as stubborn as our father. Well, I’m not going to argue with you. But I am going to pray very hard, between now and the end of the month, that God brings you to your senses.” Moving to the doorway leading to the dining room, she called, “Henry, I’m ready to go.”
Henry returned and followed Joanna to the front door. Marie remained in the rocking chair as he opened the door. Poised in the doorway, Joanna looked back.
“We’re all meeting at Mom and Dad’s after service Christmas Day for dinner and presents. This is your official invitation. You and Beth are my gift to me this year, so I expect you to be there.” She stepped outside. Henry followed, pulling the door closed behind him.
TWENTY-NINE
Through the wall, Beth heard the front door latch and knew the guests had left. She flumped back on the creaky cot, her thoughts racing. No doubt Joanna and Henry had come to harass Mom about the stuff in the barn. She hoped her mother hadn’t told them anything. Not because she didn’t want the truth to come out, but because she wanted Mom to tell her before she told anyone else.
Her relationship with her mom had gone through some rough water lately, but once they were back in Cheyenne, things would settle down again. Maybe her business wouldn’t start off with the bang she’d imagined, but it would still start. Things would be okay. Especially with the new skills she’d picked up from Mrs. Davidson over in Newton.
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