“I’m afraid not.”
“Why not? What in the world is she doing?”
Peter thought about sharing the truth. About how he’d found his mother sitting at her kitchen table, staring at her hands like they were new attachments to her body. But twenty-some-odd years of marriage had brought him wisdom. If he shared that, it would only heighten the tension between his wife and his mother. “She looks a bit under the weather. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was taking a nap right now.”
“Your mother is napping in the middle of the afternoon?” Looking concerned, she dropped the tablecloths onto the couch and looked at the door that led to the dawdi haus with apprehension. “Do you think I should go visit her?”
That was the thing about Marie. She didn’t like barging in on his mother, not after living with her for more than twenty years.
But if it was the right thing to do, she would do it, always. That was simply the kind of person she was.
They both knew his mother wasn’t the type of woman to appreciate Marie prying into her personal business. And experience told him that his mother was in just enough of a mood to say something regrettable to his wife. “Nee! I mean, no. I think we should let her take her rest. You know I didn’t get much information. She could be feeling under the weather for any variety of reasons. We don’t want to embarrass her.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
He patted his wife’s shoulder. “I know I am. Let’s leave her alone for now.” He picked up one of the tablecloths. “I could help you, if you want. I have time to iron.”
She snatched the white cloth from his hands. “I think not. You’ll only make things worse.”
He’d been hoping she’d say that. In their twenty years of marriage, he’d yet to pick up an iron, and he was hoping to keep things that way.
The next morning, Peter joined Roman at the woodpile in the back of the barn.
Ax already in hand, Roman straightened when he approached. “Daed? What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d help you chop wood.” At his son’s look of dismay, Peter interjected a touch of humor in his tone. “I think the exercise might do these old muscles of mine some good.”
Roman pressed his right hand to the back of his neck—the telltale sign that he was irritated.
But, as he was apt to do, he kept his silence.
Breaking up the tension, Peter pointed to the stump a few yards to Roman’s left. “I’ll work over there, out of your way.”
After staring at the stump for a moment, his son shrugged. “All right, Daed.” He turned then, stretched his arms a bit, then swung the ax in a smooth arc over his shoulder.
The log it connected with split easily with a crisp crack.
Almost immediately, Roman reached for another piece of wood, placed it on the stump, and swung again.
Peter’s process went far slower. It had been years since he’d split logs, and the lack of practice showed. His muscles were screaming after only five swings of the ax.
But still he continued.
After another ten minutes, Peter was longing for a hot shower.
He decided to break the silence. “Roman, I came out here to see if you wanted to talk about anything.”
Roman’s rhythm never slowed. “I don’t.”
Peter set his ax down. “You sure? I know there’s been lots going on.”
“Mighty sure.” Crack went the ax again. Finally, his boy stopped and stood up straight. “It’s all been said, don’tcha think?”
Roman’s statement wasn’t much of a surprise. His son seemed to be happiest keeping a bit of distance from them all. But in this case, he was also right. “I suppose it has all been said,” he murmured quietly.
Roman nodded, then reached for another log.
Peter couldn’t bear the thought of lifting that ax again. Rubbing his shoulders, he shrugged. “Um, I think I’ve chopped enough wood for one day.”
Roman’s lips curved slightly. “You might be right about that.”
Peter chuckled to himself as he made his way back to the house. After putting away his ax, he went into the kitchen and washed up. Then, before Marie could ask why he’d been chopping wood, he held up her grocery list. “I’m going to go talk to Sam and take care of your shopping.”
“Danke, Peter.”
He harnessed Star and set out for town. Usually, Sam and his wife, Mary Beth, liked to eat lunch in town on Tuesdays. It gave them a chance to enjoy a meal together—a rare thing with three busy children. With any luck, he’d find them easily and they could have a few minutes to discuss what to do about their mother.
Besides the shocking news last week, he was starting to get the feeling that something wasn’t right with her.
When he pulled into the wide parking lot of the Farmstead Restaurant, he spied his older brother and his wife just entering the large building.
Ten minutes later, he had hitched Star up to the post, ordered a sandwich, and was sitting across from them in one of the booths in the cozy home-style restaurant.
“I wondered if we’d see you today,” Sam said. “How are things at home?”
“About what you’d expect,” he said dryly. “Between church and Mamm’s news, it’s chaotic.”
“Tell Marie that I’ve made apricot bars,” Mary Beth said. “Two batches of them.”
“I’m sure she’ll be most grateful.”
Sam leaned back. “Do you want to talk about our meeting the other night?”
Peter shuddered. “I’d say yes if I thought it would do any good. I’m still reeling about Lorene’s secret love for John Miller. You’re closer to her than I am. Did you have any idea all that happened?”
Sam shook his head. “None.”
“I saw her this morning,” Mary Beth said. “She still seems pretty broken up about it.”
“I wonder what really happened?”
Sam shrugged. “Who knows? It all happened years ago. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
“We could go talk to John. . . .”
“And say what? I’m sure he’s moved on. He’s probably married by now.”
“He’s not,” Mary Beth said.
Peter turned to her in surprise. “You know him?”
“I know of him.”
“Well, all I care about is Mamm and Daed finally coming clean about how they got together. Until we get that settled, it feels like the whole family is going to fall apart,” Peter said, taking a large gulp of his water.
After a quick glance Mary Beth’s way, Sam said, “Perhaps we need to face the truth, Peter. There’s nothing we can do about the past. And there’s nothing we can do about our parents and their secrets. They obviously have reasons for keeping what happened a secret from their children. Maybe they should have their privacy.”
“But this is our family.”
“That’s true, but just because we’re related doesn’t mean we can’t have private lives.”
“I just have the feeling that our parents have only told us half the story.”
“They haven’t really told us anything! If there is more to the story, I hope I never find out about it!” his brother quipped. “Knowing Mamm grew up English has been quite enough.”
Peter wanted to be agreeable. And he certainly didn’t want to go borrowing any more trouble. But privately, he wasn’t sure that letting the past slide was the best course of action.
You have secrets, too, his conscience reminded him darkly.
He cleared his throat. “Um, now that I think about it, I do agree that it’s best to let the past lie. There’s no reason to shake things up more than they already are.”
“I’m glad we’re all in agreement,” Sam said with a satisfied smile. “Now, shall we pray, before our food arrives?”
“Of course,” Mary Beth said.
They all bowed their heads in silent prayer. When they raised their heads, there seemed to be a calmer feeling among them all.
Prayer
always had a way of doing that, Peter realized. He needed to pray for strength and guidance more often.
But even with that in mind, Peter found himself thinking about Sam’s statement about their need for private lives.
He sure hoped a certain part of his life stayed private.
“Gretta, here we are again,” Ed said when he walked into the quiet house shortly after noon.
The little dog yipped a bit, circling his heels. After he knelt down to scratch behind her ears, she wagged her tail and followed him into the kitchen, looking expectant all the while.
“Lunchtime, is it?” he said with a smile. “Luckily, I bought you some dog food.” He poured her about a half-cup’s worth, then chuckled to himself as he went back to the bag he’d left outside the front door and brought it inside, too. He pulled out a rawhide chew, squeaky dog toy, collar, and leash from the bag.
When the dog finished her dinner, he presented her with his purchases, just as if she were a child instead of a tiny stray. She held her neck still while he fastened the collar, as though she were receiving a shiny diamond necklace.
Instantly, Gretta picked up the squeaky bear and trotted off, her tail wagging so fast that it was a blur.
What was happening to him? He probably shouldn’t even have taken the dog in, let alone begun buying treats for her. He was leaving in six months’ time. Viola was right. Who would care for the dog then?
But somehow, he hadn’t been able to resist making the dog happy. Fussing over her did his heart a world of good.
Just as he didn’t seem to be able to resist spending time with Viola Keim.
Today he’d only gotten the chance to see her for a few moments. She’d had business in another part of the building and his father had wanted to listen to a guest speaker with him.
Though he’d enjoyed spending time with his father, Ed had found his mind drifting more than once while the environmentalist talked. He couldn’t wait to ask her out again.
Couldn’t wait to see her smile.
Which, like buying a stray dog toys, was probably not a good idea.
Though he didn’t need the reminder—it was clear in his mind—he said out loud, “She is not for you, Edward. Her life is here, yours is not. Plus, she’s terribly opinionated, which isn’t necessarily the best quality to have when one is a missionary’s wife. Why, sometimes I think she’s got herself perched on such a high horse that it’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen off its back.”
He half expected the Lord to say something right back to him—remind him that it wasn’t terribly Christian to be talking about Viola like he was.
But all that happened was Gretta wagged her tail and tilted her head at him. He laughed. “You are the perfect listener, dog. You always find a way to look terribly interested, yet you don’t offer a bit of unwanted advice.” If only there were more humans like that in the world.
Still musing on his relationship with Viola, he turned on a few lights and washed out the two plates he’d left in the sink after breakfast.
That chore done, he picked up the stack of mail he’d retrieved from the post office that morning. There were two letters from friends in Nicaragua, a few bills to be paid, and an official-looking letter from the head of the agency.
He practically jumped when he heard a knock at the door.
When he opened it, he found John Miller standing on the other side. John had been their neighbor when Ed was in grade school. A few years after that, his family moved to the other side of Berlin. John was Old Order Amish, and was a good ten years older. But since Ed had never had any siblings, he’d been sad to lose the only playmate he’d ever known.
“John! What a sight for sore eyes you are!”
John lifted his eyebrows but didn’t tease him about his exuberance. “I’m glad to see you, too.”
“What brings you by?”
“I took off early from the store and decided to see if the rumor about you being home was true.”
Ed grinned. “It’s true,” he said as he clasped his old friend’s hand.
“You look gut. How are you?”
“I don’t hardly know anymore, if you want to know the truth,” he joked. “I’m still trying to get used to life back here in Ohio.” He stepped back and motioned John inside. “Come in, man. It’s too cold to be chatting out here.”
After a moment’s hesitation, John walked through the entryway then stopped at the front of his living room—his fairly empty living room. “You need some furniture, Ed. Come by the store and I’ll get you set up.”
“Thanks, but I’m only here temporarily. My daed, you know, is living over at Daybreak. I haven’t had too much time to get settled in.” Though, of course, the latter was a lie. He’d had time. But he’d had little to unpack and no way to make the place more cozy. Other than Gretta, of course.
John nodded. “Makes sense, for sure. Well, if you change your mind, we’ve got some things in the back that are on sale.”
“I appreciate that. Listen, I couldn’t have been happier for you when I heard that you own Miller’s Fine Furniture. My father told me it’s doing real well.”
“Danke. I feel blessed, to be sure.”
“And Thomas? How is he?”
A shadow fell across his face. “He’s fine, but I’m afraid I don’t see much of him. He left the Order and is working in Toledo in one of those new glass factories that have sprung up.”
“I’m shocked he left the Order.”
“It was hard for me to accept.” John shrugged. “I can understand his reasons to an extent, though. Being shuffled to our uncle wasn’t easy. Uncle Clyde was Amish, but not exactly what I’d call a godly man. All Thomas ever talked about was getting away.”
“And so he did.”
John nodded. “Enough about me. Tell me about your work. I heard you’re working for CAMA, and that they sent you out of the country.”
“Yep. I was doing mission work in Nicaragua.”
“That’s pretty far away.”
Ed chuckled. “No, that’s really far away.”
“What brought you back?”
“My time was up. Plus, I was anxious to see my father.” He realized they were still standing. “I’m glad you stopped by. Want to sit down for a bit?”
“I’d be happy to.” John sat, and accepted the offer of coffee, which took Ed into the kitchen briefly. While it was brewing he sat back down. “Now that you know all about me, why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“About what you’d imagine. Now that I opened my own store, I’ve been busier than I could have ever dreamed.”
Even in his short time of being back, Ed had heard that the business was doing very well.
He was pleased to hear an unmistakable note of pride in John’s voice, too. Like most people on their street, he’d been well aware of what John’s home life had been like growing up. After his mother had passed away, many in the community had watched the Miller family slowly crumble apart. “We’re all proud of you, for sure.”
“Gott has been might good to me.”
“Yes, He has. You sound content.”
“After the way things used to be? Yes, I am.” He coughed. “More or less. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m glad to be back, and trying to fit into country life again.” For a moment, Ed was tempted to tell him more. To share how stressful so much of his time in Nicaragua had been. People were hungry or sick or alone or . . . you name it. Sometimes, hearing people in Berlin complain about the cold or the noise on the street got on his nerves. Those were such small things.
He got up, poured two cups of coffee, then brought them back into the living room. “Would you like to go grab something to eat?”
“Maybe another time. Actually, Ed, there’s another reason I wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay . . .”
“One of the gals who works for me saw you and Viola Keim walking together yesterday. Is that true? Are you friends?”
He couldn’t
believe he was part of the gossip mill already. “Sure, we’re friends. I mean, she works at Daybreak, and my father is very fond of her.”
“Do you know her family well?”
“I don’t know them at all. I merely invited her to go get some pizza with me.” With effort, he pushed away the energized feeling he always got when he thought about being near her. “Why?”
“Her aunt came to see me the other day.”
“And? Is there a problem?”
“Not really. Unless you count her breaking my heart years ago.”
Now if that didn’t shock him, he didn’t know what would. “I didn’t know you and Viola’s aunt were friends.”
“Oh, we were more than that. I wanted to marry Lorene.”
“How old is she?” he asked, trying to picture the two of them.
“Viola’s got lots of aunts and uncles. Her aunt Lorene is the youngest. She’s thirty-two.”
“So, she’s your age.”
“Yep.”
Ed still wasn’t sure what this had to do with him.
But if he’d learned anything while out in the field, it was that less talking equaled more sharing. So, he picked an open-ended question. “How did you feel about her visit?”
“Taken aback. Kind of at a loss. Confused.” He looked thoughtful as he continued the list. “And, if you want to know the truth, more than a little angry.” He rubbed his smooth chin. “That in itself caught me off guard.”
“Why were you angry? I mean, ten years is a long time to hold a grudge.”
He leaned back against the cushions of the old couch. “Believe me, I know it’s been too long to be stewing about something that happened so long ago. But I got angry because . . . I think I still feel something for her, Ed. And I don’t want to. After all this time, after all the work I’ve done to get over her, and to make something positive out of my life . . . she’s gone and messed it up.”
Jumping to his feet, Ed said, “Would you like a bit more coffee? I’ll go get the carafe. ”
He turned away toward the kitchen without even waiting for John to respond. But his response wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. What Ed needed was an excuse to buy himself some time. Because he felt suspiciously the same way about Viola. When she’d entered his life, she’d taken all his plans and mixed them up.
The Days of Redemption Page 10