Fearless Hope: A Novel

by Serena B. Miller

  Logan laid the pen on the table. He didn’t need to take notes. This was not a story he would ever forget. “What happened then?”

  “The brother kept following along behind her, begging her to give up, trying to convince her that all she was doing was sacrificing herself. He told her the little fellow wasn’t going to survive anyway—he was a sickly sort of boy—and that at least she had a chance to get away. He even told her she could have other children. That was the part he hated the most, having said such a thing to her.”

  “Did she listen to him?”

  “No. She just kept walking and walking. And the brother kept begging and begging. The farther they got, the more danger he knew they were in, and he finally gave up and left her. Started going the other direction. Trying to save himself. He said she never once looked back. He stopped a couple times and watched her. Said he’d never forget what she looked like, all by herself, a young mother walking down the middle of those train tracks. Determined to find her child no matter what.”

  Logan leaned back in his chair and shook his head. Who could fathom a mother’s love? While Frank took another drink of tea, Logan’s thoughts roamed to his own mom. Under the same circumstances, would she have done that for him? There was no doubt in his mind that she would have. Deborah Parker could be a tiger when it came to her only child.

  “The brother was eventually recaptured and taken to the same camp. Running away hadn’t done him a bit of good. After he got there, he found out the rest of the story.”

  “Which was?”

  “She made it to the camp. This was later in the war, and by that time everyone pretty much knew what those camps were used for and that people going in never came out again. But when she got there, that young mother pounded on the doors of that German work camp and demanded to be let in.”

  “I imagine the guards were a bit surprised?”

  “A mother pounding on the gates of hell to get to her little boy? I imagine so.”

  “Did they survive?”

  “That’s the strangest thing. They did. Somehow, that mother and her boy managed to survive. I always figured it was sheer willpower or maybe pure luck on her part. The war was starting to wind down and the Germans were losing. It was starting to look like every man for himself. She somehow managed to bribe a guard to turn his head just long enough to allow her to escape, carrying that child on her back. She didn’t have a dime to her name or extra clothing, or food. She walked until her shoes fell to pieces and then she walked until her feet were bloody pulp, but she survived. She eventually got herself and the boy to America. Rest of the family was gone. After the war ended, I made it my business to help the brother find them. Took me a long, long time.”

  “Where they okay?”

  “The brother never did all that good. The doctors thought it was because of the starvation, but I always thought it was because he couldn’t ever forgive himself for being a coward.”

  “He shouldn’t have blamed himself.”

  “That’s what I told him, but he never got over any of it. Drink finally took him. He wasn’t all that old when he died.”

  “Where’s the boy now? Is his mother still alive?”

  “No. I buried her twelve years ago today.”

  “You?”

  “Couldn’t let a woman like that get away from me, now, could I?”

  Logan was stunned. “And the boy?”

  “Finest son a man could ever ask for.”

  Frank used both the table and the cane to pull himself up. “Violet says you’re a good writer. Maybe even a great one. I thought it was worth a shot to see if my wife’s story would be of interest to you . . . even if you only write fiction.”

  Logan stood when the old man did. Not to assist him—he had a feeling that Frank would not welcome any assistance as long as he was capable of navigating on his own. It was just the respectful thing to do. He would never forget Frank, or his story. He also knew that the plot of the book he was playing around with had just taken a sudden, and major, turn.

  Logan was so distracted by Frank’s story he nearly forgot that he had hired a housekeeper that morning. He hadn’t expected her to start the job that very day, but when he walked through the door, he discovered that his house smelled fresh and clean, the sink was empty, the dishes washed and put away, and . . . to his utter astonishment . . . a stew was slowly simmering at the back of the stove. He had not been aware that he possessed the ingredients to make a stew.

  He went upstairs and saw that his unkempt bed had been made. In fact, he turned down the covers and there were fresh sheets on it. The bathroom sink and tub, which had been grungy, were sparkling.

  He found a bowl, ladled some stew into it, and selected a research book to read while he ate. If this was what Hope Schrock could do in two hours, life was going to get much, much simpler.

  chapter ELEVEN

  “This is the room you slept in when you were a little girl, Mommi?” Carrie held the dustpan for her to sweep the few bits of dust that had accumulated.

  “It is.”

  “I like this room,” Carrie said.

  “I once saw a cat chasing a dog from that window.”

  Carrie looked up at her from where she was concentrating on her important task. “Cats don’t chase dogs.”

  The little girl had a five-year-old’s conviction of how the world should be.

  “Well, this was a very brave cat, and the dog was very cowardly. He had gotten entirely too close to the cat’s new kittens and the mama cat did not like that.”

  It was Hope’s second day of employment. She had decided that in addition to her overall cleaning and straightening, she would concentrate her efforts on one room per day until she’d been through the entire house. Then she would start all over again.

  As she chatted with her daughter in their Germanic native tongue, she was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of a man clearing his throat behind her. She whirled around and saw her new employer, Logan Parker, in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. When I saw your buggy, I thought I should come and let you know I was here.”

  He was leaning against the door frame in a casual way with his hands in his pockets. Now he pulled himself away, came over to where she and Carrie were standing and knelt down in front of her little girl.

  “Hello,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you yet.”

  Carrie sidled away and hid behind her mother’s skirts.

  He stood up and asked, “Did I do something wrong?”

  “She does not understand you,” Hope explained. “We do not teach our children English until they go to school.”

  “Oh.” He mulled this over. “Why?”

  It really wasn’t something she’d ever pondered. “That is just the way it has always been.”

  He thought this over, then said, “You had a little boy when I met you in the antiques shop.”

  “That would be my Adam. He is with my mother today.”

  “You have beautiful children.”

  She brushed his compliment on their beauty aside. “They are gut children.”

  “I appreciate the work you did yesterday. Is there anything you need that I can get you? Special cleaning supplies maybe?”

  She thought this over. His home was fairly well stocked with what she needed. Those few things he didn’t have, like good cleaning rags, she brought with her.

  “You might get some groceries in if you want me to cook for you.”

  “Are you sure? After eating yesterday’s stew you fixed, I was under the impression that you might be a magician who could conjure food out of thin air.”

  She frowned, unsure of what he was saying. “Are you making a joke?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I meant it as a compliment. If you want to make me out a grocery list each week, I’ll be happy to get whatever you want.”

  “That would depend on what you like to eat,” she sa
id.

  He shrugged. “I don’t care. If you fix it, I’ll eat it.”

  Ah. A man who was not picky. That was always a good thing.

  The room was without blinds or curtains and sunshine flooded it. They stood for a moment, facing each other, taking each other’s measure. She saw a nicely built man with gray eyes and dark hair that needed cutting. He wore a blue pullover sweater with the sleeves pushed up, khaki pants, and black wire-rim glasses. He had a habit of kicking his shoes off at the door. There were several pairs lined up in the kitchen, and he was in his stocking feet. Considering the fact that it was her job to keep his floors clean, she appreciated this thoughtfulness.

  He was, she decided, a casually handsome man—which was a matter of little importance compared to the fact that she saw genuine kindness in his face. She did not feel threatened by his presence and that was a very good thing because she very much wanted to keep this job.

  • • •

  Logan had stopped for only a few minutes to pick up some notes he had forgotten to take along on this latest chapter of his WWII novel. He knew Hope would prefer he stay away while she was there, and he agreed. Her people would not approve of seeing his car and her buggy parked there together side by side. Violet had warned him that Hope would be risking censure if she was seen spending time alone with him.

  It was certainly a different mind-set than what he was used to, but he could respect the fact that in this community, a young, widowed Amish woman would have to be careful.

  Unfortunately, he thought it best that he stay away for his own sake as well. The image of Hope and her little girl together had been a riveting one. Perhaps it was only the quaint, old-fashioned clothing, or the musical sound of her voice as she had talked with her child, but he had found himself transfixed.

  Maybe it was only the way the sunlight came streaming through the window, but it had seemed to him that her lovely skin practically glowed with health. Her eyes were rimmed with thick, dark lashes and perfectly formed brows. Her lips were naturally a deep pink and needed no artifice. Everything about her was lovely. She was one of those rare women who did not need so much as a touch of makeup to be beautiful.

  As he seated himself once again at his table in the antiques shop, he had trouble concentrating. The image of his new housekeeper kept coming to mind . . . which was quite disconcerting.

  It was especially disconcerting because this was exactly what had happened to him the day he met his wife. He had not been able to get Ariela’s face out of his mind for days after meeting her in a journalism class at Columbia.

  His young wife had been the direct opposite of his new housekeeper in almost every way, though. Ariela had been in the Israeli army, and during that time she lost most of her family when a stray Palestinian rocket had landed in the midst of a wedding celebration. Her only close relative left was an uncle who had been ill and stayed away that day. Ariela was strong and brave and loudly opinionated, usually more than his match in any political debate, and Logan had adored her.

  He had loved her so utterly and wildly that watching her waste away had almost destroyed him.

  Marla was an excellent choice for him at this stage in his life. He cared deeply for the woman, and was grateful for her presence, but it did not feel as though his life force would melt away if he ever lost her, and this was a very good thing. He never wanted to hurt that badly again.

  His sudden, intense attraction to the Amish woman was puzzling, and he knew this was definitely something he would have to monitor and avoid. It would be best if he stayed away from Hope Schrock as much as possible.

  • • •

  Hope had to pass Aunt Claire’s new birthing clinic on her way home. There had been quite a flurry of activity there as they got the clinic set up and remodeled. She decided to stop and see if they had settled in yet.

  Her cousin Levi, Grace’s husband, was replacing a porch step when she stopped. He waved a hammer in her general direction in greeting.

  “If you came to talk to Mom or Grace, they’re over at Prudence Miller’s place.”

  “Oh? Her baby must have come a little early.”

  “It did. Grace got the call this morning.” He laid down his hammer and wiped his forehead. “I’m going in for some lemonade. Do you want me to bring you out some?”

  She rarely got a chance to talk to Levi anymore, although they had been close as children. “I would like that.”

  He came back out with three glasses and a plate of cookies.

  “Grace made these,” he warned. “I’m not guaranteeing anything. She’s still learning.”

  “How are things going between the two of you?”

  “We still have an occasional bump in the road, but the thing that we were having the most problems over has been resolved.”

  “And what was that?”

  “It was her insistence on working at the Pomerene Hospital ER after the baby came. I did not think it would be good for our family for her to work so far from home and be gone from our daughter for so many hours. She felt like I was trying to control her. We could not find a way to agree.”

  “And now?”

  “Grace’s grandmother, Elizabeth, solved the problem for us when she moved into my old apartment at the farm and turned the house over to us for this clinic. It was entirely her idea. She pointed out to my mother that going into partnership with an experienced nurse-practitioner would greatly enhance the quality of safety she could provide for the women she cared for as a midwife. Then Elizabeth sold Grace on the idea of how important this work could be to the women of this area.” He took a sip of lemonade. “I kept my mouth shut, let the women sort it out. I built whatever they wanted me to build, and remodeled whatever they wanted me to remodel. My stepfather, Tom, has been a big help.”

  “Aunt Claire seems happy in her new marriage.”

  “Tom is good to her, to all of us. Ever since he came back to Holmes County, got back in touch with his Amish roots, and married my mother, things have gotten a lot better around here.”

  “Do you ever miss being Amish? Do you ever regret leaving?”

  “I don’t regret leaving the Swartzentrubers. Their Ordnung was so restrictive I felt like I was in a straitjacket.” He drained his glass and tossed the ice cubes over the porch railing. “We’ve started visiting some of the Mennonite churches around here. I’m trying to see if there is one where Grace can fit in and feel comfortable.”

  “You’ve given up a lot to be with her,” Hope said. “You must love her very much.”

  “She’s my other half.”

  For some reason, that statement hit her hard and she had to fight to hold back the tears. It was like this for her sometimes. Her loss would suddenly, and completely, overwhelm her.

  “Hope,” Levi said, “I’m so sorry. I know it hurts having Titus gone.”

  “There is pain.” She put an arm around Carrie. “But we are making it through. Carrie helped me clean house for the Englischer who purchased my parents’ home. She is turning into a big girl.”

  “And a good worker.”

  “Yes.” Hope wiped her eyes, nibbled the edge of one of Grace’s cookies, swallowed, and laid the uneaten cookie down on the porch swing where she and Carrie were sitting. The taste had been a shock.

  “Not so good, huh?” he said.

  She tried to be diplomatic. “It could use a bit more sugar.”

  “Grace is on a mission to eliminate sugar from our diet.” He took a tentative bite, made a face, and put it back on the plate. “Yes, that is about what I was expecting. Sorry.”

  As she rose to go, Hope reached over and covered Levi’s hand with her own. “I am happy for your happiness, Cousin.”

  “If you need anything done around your house, you know you can call me.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And knowing that makes my mind much lighter.”

  Their short visit over, she trotted her horse down the lane to the main road, and Levi went back to fixing his steps. The s
hort visit had done her a world of good. She felt sorry for anyone who lived in a place where they had no family.

  chapter TWELVE

  Hope was appalled to see Abimelech Yoder drive into Logan’s yard while she and Carrie were sweeping the porch.

  “What a gut mother!” the widower said, climbing down out of his buggy.

  “Abimelech!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “You are not glad to see me?” He sounded hurt. “I was driving past. I saw your buggy and wished to speak with you.”

  “But why here?” she said. “I saw you at church only this past Sunday.”

  “It is difficult to talk with you privately when you are surrounded by others.” He nervously tugged at his beard, a habit which she’d noticed was getting worse lately.

  “I apologize, but I have much work to do.” She busily resumed sweeping the dead leaves that had fallen onto the porch, hoping he would take the hint and go away.

  The fact that he had come to her employer’s house uninvited was a little frightening. She trusted the men of her church, but Abimelech had been staring at her so openly during their last fellowship meal that she felt quite nervous having him near her while she was alone.

  Abimelech scowled. “I hear that some rich Englisch man bought your father’s farm and hired you to . . . keep house for him.”

  She blushed. The term “keeping house” was a borderline term. It could mean that she was simply doing the man’s housework, or it could mean the unthinkable—that she had moved in and was living with him.

  “I am employed to clean and cook,” she said. “He is rarely here.”

  “And he pays you well for this . . . cooking and cleaning?”

  Again—Abimelech’s voice sounded as though he was saying one thing and meaning another.