Love Redeemed (14 page)

“I know.”

“Sometimes the hardest part is to forgive yourself as Gott forgives you.”

Michael picked up his pace. “Maybe I don't deserve forgiveness. Lydia is dead and it's my fault.”

“Lydia chose to wander away from camp. Jah, she was a little girl, but old enough to know better. We all make choices.”

“We do.” He'd made the choice to convince Phoebe to slip away from the campsite. He'd made the choice to push the boundaries. Simple boundaries meant to keep them on the one true road. “Some choices are harder to forgive than others.”

“God sacrificed His only Son for our sins. He gave everything and forgave us the unforgiveable. You have to do the same within yourself.”

Michael squeezed between two buggies and approached the Morgan. He ran a hand over the horse's warm haunches. The horse whinnied as if in greeting, his somber brown eyes watchful. “What I can't understand is why He didn't answer our prayers. All of us prayed for Lydia's safe return, and He ignored us.”

“It goes back to those choices we were talking about.”

“What?”

“Free will.”

“You're saying a little girl chooses to wander from camp and God doesn't step in to do anything about it.”

“I'm only a man, not even a very smart man.” Sadness lined Thomas's face. “I only know that we can't have it both ways. If God took care of everything for us, fixed all our mistakes, babysat us every step of the way, how would we ever know what faith is? How would we ever have a shred of character? How would we ever learn from our mistakes?”

Michael rested his head on the horse's neck for a moment and then raised it so he could see the sky. “Like my parents.”

“Like your parents. I'm thinking they'd like to be able to fix this mistake for you. It probably breaks their hearts that they can't.”

Michael swallowed against the pain in his throat. “I have to learn.”

“You do.”

Why did his lesson have to involve the life of a little girl? And the woman he loved. It was too much. God expected too much.

“I don't like this lesson.”

“I suspect no one does.” Thomas kicked at a rock with the toe of his dusty boot. “I'm headed back inside. Why don't you walk with me?”

Michael tugged his hat down to shield his eyes from the brilliant sun. His throat closed around his response. He didn't want to see Lydia in her little wooden casket. Thomas waited, not moving, his hands loose at his side. Everything about his still silence said the choice was Michael's. Just as it had been before.

His hand shaking, he patted the horse's back and started up the road.

Thomas fell in step next to him. “These folks are your family. Take one step at a time.”

Michael's feet felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds each.

Chapter 11

K
atie picked up the dirty plates from the table, stacking two more on top of a stack of eight. The plain white china weighed her down. The smell of cold, congealing roast and gravy caused her stomach to roil. She chose to ignore it, instead reaching for another plate.

“That's enough. Let me get those for you.” Her voice gentle, Irene Knepp leaned in front of Katie and snatched the plate. “Sit down and rest a spell. You have plenty of women around to take care of this today.”

“I've got them.” She needed to work. “There's plenty to go around.”

Irene tugged the plates from Katie's arms. “I mean it. Sit.” She whirled and trotted into the kitchen, her long black skirt swishing around her ankles. “I don't want to see you back in the kitchen. You have company.”

Katie didn't want to sit. As long as she kept moving, she felt useful. Feeling useful beat feeling sad any day. And it beat thinking about the time they'd spent standing in the broiling sun, watching the tiny coffin as her boys lowered it into the ground and covered it with dirt, the clods thudding against the wood. It hadn't taken long. Such a small hole for such a small coffin.

The now-familiar pain shot through her chest. Her arm and her jaw ached. Unceasing nausea roiled in her stomach. She rubbed at her arm with her shaky hand, dodged Josie and Emma, and headed toward the kitchen. She would not sit. Sitting led to thinking. They had so
much company crammed into their house, she couldn't see the door from where she stood. They'd eaten in shifts. Under any other circumstance she would've reveled in company. Her brother Thaddeus and his fraa. Helen and her new husband, Gabriel. All the nieces and nephews. Their friends from Bliss Creek. Even Micah Kelp and his fraa had made the trip.

Any other circumstance but this. Loads of friends and family making the trek for the funeral of her child. Her gaze met Silas's. He stood near the kitchen door, Luke and Elijah flanking him on either side. Along with Thomas, they were a blessing to him in this, his hour of need. Her husband had a fierce faith. Battered as he was, he stood tall, his back straight, his expression as stoic as it had been from the moment he walked up the path at Stockton Lake to tell her their child was gone.

Each night since, in the darkness, she'd clung to his faith when her own teetered and threatened to crash around her. She didn't voice her certainty that had she been a better mudder, Lydia would still be alive. If Silas blamed her, he didn't let on. She wanted his forgiveness, but the thought of voicing her failing made her throat close each time she tried. Instead, she listened to his even breathing and made it her own, in and out, in and out. Men were different, she surmised. They hadn't given birth from their own bodies. Hadn't felt a child quicken in the womb. Hadn't felt the pain of the birth. No doubt they suffered horribly at the death of a child, but she couldn't believe it was quite the same.

The lines on her husband's face told a different story. He'd aged in the last four days. The easy smile had disappeared and dark circles gave his eyes a sunken look.

He felt the loss in ways she, as a mother, couldn't understand. He saw himself as the provider and protector. He'd been unable to protect Lydia from this. Now he sought forgiveness from God and from her. She had none to give. She couldn't forgive herself for leaving Lydia in the care of her other daughters. She couldn't forgive herself for raising a daughter who chose to skip out on her responsibilities simply because of a boy.

She glanced around, for the first time wondering where Hannah was. Phoebe had taken Sarah upstairs, most likely to avoid talking to
their friends and family. She hadn't seen Hannah since she jumped from the buggy after it returned from the cemetery. She hadn't eaten or helped with the serving.

“Have you seen Hannah?” Her chest tight with worry, she squeezed past Simon's fraa and directed the question to Helen, who trotted toward the kitchen with more dirty dishes stacked in her arms. “I lost track of her after the funeral. I didn't see her eat.”

“Naomi and Betsy made some sandwiches and took her for a walk down by the pond.” Helen's round face filled with a kind smile. “They're good girls. They'll keep her company.”

The pain in Katie's chest subsided to a throbbing ache. She trailed after Helen into the kitchen. “She spoke to them about…all this?”

“She allowed herself to be led.” Helen set the plates on the counter and wiped her hands on her apron. “Kinner are sometimes the best ones for this. They don't talk so much. They listen or they play. Sometimes they just need to play and not think so much.”

Wise words. “You're right.”

Helen ducked her head and disappeared back into the front room.

At a loss for what to do next, Katie glanced around. Surely there was something she could do here. Emma had her hands deep in the sudsy water of the dish tub. Bethel, despite being heavy with child and leaning on her crutches, had a dish towel in her hand. Annie was busy sticking food in an already crammed refrigerator. She turned and saw Katie.

“What are you doing in here?” She nestled a bowl of creamed corn between a chicken casserole and a container of mashed potatoes. “We'll take care of this.”

Katie opened her mouth. No words came out. To her horror, a sob threatened to escape. She clamped her mouth shut and whirled to leave.

“Wait.” Annie's voice followed her. A moment later her hand touched Katie's arm. “Let's find a quiet spot and visit.”

Annie slipped in front of her and led the way—away from the people squeezed into every inch of their home. They climbed the stairs and Annie tugged open the door to the bedroom where Sarah slept, tuckered out from having been passed from relative to relative in a bounty of hugs and kisses and exclamations over how much she'd
grown. Too young to know what was going on, she gurgled and giggled and returned the kisses with air kisses of her own.

“How are you doing?” Annie finally asked as she dropped onto the foot of the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “We haven't had a chance to visit. Helen said you had been having some chest pains. Did you see a doctor about it?”

“No need.” Ignoring the fleeting question of where Phoebe had gone after depositing Sarah in her room, Katie leaned over the crib railing and touched the baby's rosy cheek. She wiggled and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Katie backed away, not wanting to interrupt her peaceful sleep. “I'm sure it'll pass as soon as we get back to our regular routine. It's just…all this.”

Annie nodded, but the concern in her face didn't abate. She hesitated, chewing on her lip for a few seconds, her gaze on her hands. Finally, she looked up. “I know everyone is saying it's Gott's will, Gott's plan, Gott's time. Gott has your little one in His arms, and I know those words are true. I know we are to find comfort in them and we do.” She kept her voice soft, barely above a whisper. “When David died, those words were just words. It took a long time for me to find the comfort in them. I didn't tell anyone that because I didn't want people to think I was weak or unfaithful. David wanted me to be strong so I tried very hard to be strong.”

She twisted her fingers together. The knuckles were white. “I had people all around me who loved me and wanted me to feel better. So I tried hard to feel better. But mostly I felt alone.”

Katie breathed. Annie had lost her first husband long before his time. A young man felled by disease at twenty-two. God's plan? Katie tiptoed to the window and lifted the curtain. Still daylight. How could it still be light? She'd thought yesterday had been the longest day of her life. This one had already been longer. She faced Annie. “I appreciate you telling me that. I'm older than you are. I've seen more. I choose to find the comfort in God's plan.” She had no choice. How could she accept God's blessings without accepting this cross that was hers to bear? “Lydia was His gift to us. He chooses the time and the place for her return home.”

Annie nodded. “Every day I got up and reminded myself that I was blessed with a son and the bakery and my family.”

“And now Isaac.” A new husband barely two years after David's death. And from the looks of her, another child on the way. “Gott is good.”

“Jah, Gott is good.” Annie smiled. “I never thought I would love again, yet here I am.”

“I can't replace Lydia.”

“Nor did I replace David.”

“I meant no disrespect or judgment. I'm glad you found Isaac. It's meant to be. Our families are meant to be whole.”

“I didn't replace David.” Annie's hands rubbed her belly in a protective gesture. “I could never. I hold him in my heart, but I do go on with my life and I'm content. Because that is Gott's will for me. It gives me great comfort to know he doesn't suffer anymore.”

“I know.”

“I only wanted to say…I wanted to tell you that no matter what people say about Gott's will and Gott's plan, the truth is we're only human.” She rose and came to Katie's side. “We are only human. Gott made us fraas and mudders. I'm just a woman, but I know He understands the terrible loss of a child. He understands if it takes time to learn to live with it.”

Katie gripped the railing and stared down at sweet Sarah sucking on her thumb, her skin so white and thin that the tiny veins in her eyelids shone blue. Her lips were perfect rosebuds that puckered and then smoothed as she gave herself comfort with her thumb.

Annie patted Katie's back, her hand soft and warm. “I'm just a woman, but I think Gott understands.”

Katie nodded. She touched the blonde curls that framed Sarah's head. “I hope so, because I can't begin to understand.” Her throat closed. She waited until she could breathe again. “Try as I might, I don't understand. I feel as if I'm being punished for not being a better mudder.”

“You are a good mudder. Your older sons have all joined the church. They've married. They're good parents. They follow your example.”

“But Phoebe—”

“Is young and made a mistake. A mistake with terrible consequences, but not one for which you can take the blame.”

“One she'll have to live with the rest of her life. I don't want that for her. I want her to have the life and the love and the joy that I've had with Silas. Everything I did, everything I've said all these years has been with the intent that my children be faithful followers and members of their community.” Katie wiped at her face with the back of her sleeve. “I thought I taught her better. Maybe if I'd been stricter. Maybe if I'd let Silas take a firmer hand with her.”

“I don't have your experience with my own children, but I know what we went through with my brother Josiah during his rumspringa. We almost lost him. No one blamed my parents. They did their best. That's all parents can do. You did your best. Phoebe is a good girl learning a terrible lesson.”

“How do I know I did my best?” She really wanted an answer to that question. If she had done better, maybe Lydia would still be here. “How can it be my best when the actions of one of my daughters led to the death of another daughter?”