Bygones (29 page)

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 remember.

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 always 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.”

A tear rolled silently down Marie’s cheek, dripped from her chin, and landed on Henry’s hand. Without thinking, he lifted his fingers and brushed the moisture away. She caught his wrist, pressing his fingers against her cheek for a moment. Then, with a jerk, she released him. Even in the faint light, he saw the color in her face deepen.

Turning from him, she grabbed the door handle. “I’d better go in.”

“Let me walk you.”

“No.” She swung her feet out and looked over her shoulder. “I’m fine.” Stepping from the car, she stood for a moment in the triangle
of soft light. She leaned forward slightly to meet his gaze. “Thank you again, Henry.” She slammed the door and moved quickly around the front of the vehicle.

He watched her shadow gain substance as she ran through the paths of white created by the headlights, Lisbeth’s sweater flapping. He watched her clamber up the porch steps, snatch open the door, and disappear inside. Then he watched the window until a pale glow indicated she’d managed to light a lantern.

He could go now. She was safe.

When he reached for the gearshift, he realized his hand was shaking. He released a snort of self-deprecation. Marie might be safe, but he most certainly was not.