Love Still Stands (2 page)

“You’re as bad as the
kinner
.” Leah rubbed her eyes. Her older sister had managed to keep her apron spotless and
her chestnut hair smooth around her crisp prayer
kapp
, but dark smudges under her eyes made her look bruised and weary. “We’ll be there
when we get there.”

“Your sister’s right.” Luke adjusted his arms around Joseph and William, who slept
burrowed against their
daed’
s chest, one seated on either side of him. “But having made this trip a few times
now, I can tell you we’re about to go around a bend in the road, turn right, and make
our way down a long, bumpy dirt road. At the end, you’ll see our new home.”

Our new home. Our new start
.

Leah’s nose wrinkled, and her lips turned down in a thin line. She faced the window
as if interested in the landscape, more and more different from the flat plains they’d
left behind. Bethel did the same, anxious for a glimpse of this new home. Towering
oak, hickory, and sturdy spruce trees vied for space along the road, which seemed
to rise and fall as the terrain became more hilly. The trees were dressed in autumn
colors, their orange and red leaves brilliant against a radiant blue sky overhead.
The spaces between the trees had their own decorations, mostly in yellows, purples,
and pinks—brown-eyed susans, sunflowers, sweet clover, morning glories, and tall thistle
that hadn’t given up their colorful blooms to autumn weather just yet. In comparison,
her memories of Bliss Creek already seemed drab.

“It’s pretty, Daed. It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Yawning widely, Joseph wiggled from Luke’s
grasp and sat up. “I can’t wait to see the house. Are the horses there? And the chickens
and the pigs?”

“Hush, son, you’ll wake your
bruders
and
schweschders
.” Luke tipped Joseph’s straw hat forward on his head. “The livestock will be there,
as I told you before—three times—and your clothes and the furniture. It’ll all be
waiting for us to unpack and start working.”

His gentle tone and good-natured smile endeared her brother-in-law to Bethel as it
had many times in the past. Luke was a good man, a good husband, and a good father.
Leah didn’t seem to register her husband’s words or her son’s question. She returned
to her knitting, the needles clacking, the blue and gray yarn sliding smoothly between
them. God had showered the woman with blessings. Yet she seemed only to notice the
half-empty glass.

Bethel tried to stymie her thoughts. They served no purpose. God made her a teacher;
her sister, a mother. She tried, as always, to ignore the niggling thought that attempted
to worm its way into her mind.
If only it were reversed
.

Stop it
. She should be thankful for the short time she’d been honored to be in the classroom.
Still, it hurt to think about her new circumstances. Now, with her injuries, she had
neither children of her own nor scholars to teach and mold and shape.

God’s plan?

What is it
, Gott
?
What is Your plan?
Bethel slapped a hand to her mouth, even though she hadn’t spoken aloud.
Sorry, Gott, I’m sorry. I don’t have to know Your plan for me. I have faith in You.
You have a plan
.

Sitting up straighter, she smoothed her apron, determined to be content with her lot.
Better she should focus on helping Leah, easing her burden, with five children and
only the boys old enough to be of any help. They could weed or gather eggs and pick
vegetables in the garden, but the laundry, sewing, cooking, and cleaning? Leah had
her hands full. Somehow, Bethel would help.

“When we get there, I can get the kitchen clean so we can start unpacking pots and
pans.” Bethel offered an olive branch in the unspoken fray. “That way you can make
up the pallets of blankets. Tomorrow when the furniture is unloaded, we can start
putting together the beds.”

“It only looks pretty now, Joseph. The leaves will drop soon, and the snow will start.”
Her tone soft, almost resigned, Leah spoke as if she hadn’t heard Bethel’s offer.
Her gaze didn’t waver from her knitting. “We won’t have time to plant a garden, much
less harvest anything before it’s too cold. We should’ve waited until spring to move.”

“The bishop decided.” Luke’s patient tone mirrored the one he’d used with his seven-year-old
son. “We’re a little late, but we can still plant winter wheat and rye.”

“You said yourself the later we plant, the poorer the yield—”

“There. There’s the turn.” Luke cut his
fraa
’s sentence short. He leaned in front of her and pointed. “Turn right, Michael.”

“I know. This isn’t my first time, remember?” Michael Baldwin, Luke’s favorite driver
and a friend who would be missed when he returned to Bliss Creek, navigated onto the
dirt road with ruts so deep the van bounced and rocked. “Whoa, easy does it.”

They slowed to a crawl. To a speed more appropriate for a buggy. Bethel smiled at
the thought. She wished again she
were
in a buggy. Then she could take the time to enjoy this new scenery, to smell the
smells of her new home and hear the birds that surely perched in these trees. She
needed this new beginning. She needed to leave behind the images of the furious storm
that sent school desks flying through the air. She needed to forget the sounds of
the screaming children on the day her career as a teacher had ended and her life on
damaged legs had begun.

“For now, Joseph is right. It
is
pretty. And I like snow. We had plenty of that in Kansas too.” She managed to keep
defiance from her voice. “It’s a good new start.”

Her brother-in-law grinned at her. It made him appear much younger than his thirty
years. Under the brim of his straw hat tufts of his walnut-colored hair stuck out,
making him look like Joseph, a boy enjoying an adventure. Bethel grinned back. She
saw her hope and excitement mirrored in his face.

“You’re right. A new start.” He leaned toward Leah as if he would touch her, but he
didn’t. She didn’t look up from her knitting, but her frown deepened. “Look out there,
Leah. That’s the land we’ll farm in the spring. We’ll have a bountiful crop and all
will be well.”

Still, Leah didn’t look up. The van rounded another bend in the road. Bethel strained
to see the house and the barn and the land that would be their new home, their new
start.

“What’s that?” Luke scooted forward on his seat. “What is that on the front of the
house?”

Bethel saw the semi that held all their belongings first. She saw the animal trailers
that held the horses and the buggies. Then she saw the house and the reason for Luke’s
dismay.

At first she couldn’t understand. This house? For this place they’d driven almost
four hundred miles? Someone had shattered the glass in every window, first and second
floor. Neon orange spray paint marred the once white facade, the wide strokes winding
their way between the shattered windowpanes in wide, arching loops like a snake in
search of its prey. The loops ended in words written in huge letters. The edges of
the windows had been blackened by fire that appeared to have burst out from the inside.
Trash littered the porch and the front door dangled from its hinges.

None of them spoke, the silence filled only with their ragged breathing.

Luke withdrew his arm from around William. The little boy rolled away, then sat up,
his eyes wide at the abrupt awakening. “Daed?”

“We’re here.” Luke’s tone had lost its gentleness. His jaw worked as he undid his
seatbelt as if to get out. “Stay in the van—all of you.”

Michael looked up at the rearview mirror. “Hang tight. We’re almost there.”

“I have to—”

“We’re almost there, Luke.”

“What’s it say?” Bethel managed to breathe the words even though she had no air in
her lungs. Their precious new start had gone up in flames, it seemed. “Those orange
words. I can’t tell what it says.”

“It says
Go home
.” Leah’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “This is our new start?”

Chapter 2

E
lijah Christner shifted from one foot to another. He breathed in and out.
Steady
. The moment had come. The dusty white van would arrive in minutes, chugging toward
him over the pitted dirt road. Why he felt so responsible for the condition of his
friend Luke’s new home, he couldn’t say. He’d only arrived himself. The damage to
the façade had been shocking, but the inside contained far worse damage. Whether it
could be salvaged or should be razed remained a question in his mind. The Shiracks,
like the Christners, had come a long way for this new start. They might have to dig
deeper for it, work harder, start from scratch. He pushed the thought away. A little
spray paint and an indoor bonfire couldn’t stop the likes of this load of Plain folks
from doing what they set out to do.

“You want me to break the news?” Silas chewed on a blade of grass, his beard, more
silver than blond now, bobbing. “I don’t mind.”

“I’ll do it. Luke’s my friend.” Elijah forced himself to smile at his older brother.
“You know Luke. He’ll take it in stride, like he does everything else. It’s Leah…”

Silas shook his head. “It’s not our place to judge.”

“I’m not judging—”

“Here they are.”

In a cloud of dust and a spurt of gravel, the van rolled to a stop. Luke climbed out
first. He leaned into the vehicle and exchanged muted words with Leah. After a moment,
he turned, his face a mask of contained emotion, and strode toward Elijah and Silas.
Leah got down on her own and then released the little ones, who were strapped into
car seats. The older boys jumped out and raced about like foals set free from their
stalls while the twins tottered on short legs, unsteady from the hours in the van.

“What happened here?” Luke stomped toward the house. “How did this happen?”

“We don’t know.” Silas spoke before Elijah had a chance. His big brother did that
often. One of the challenges of being the youngest of ten siblings. Everyone spoke
for him. “It was like this when Elijah arrived to check on the livestock. He came
to find me right away.”

Luke turned to Elijah. “Is it as bad inside?”

Elijah nodded. No sense sugarcoating it.

Kicking aside empty soda cans and beer bottles, Luke and Silas trudged up the steps.
From the back they looked like twins with their blue cotton shirts, suspenders, broad
backs, and black pants. Her tone stern, Leah admonished the boys to watch the girls
and followed.

Elijah started to go with her, but movement in the van caught his gaze. He’d forgotten
Bethel had made the journey with her sister. He pulled the sliding door wider. Bethel
sat on the backseat, struggling to pull metal crutches from the cargo area behind
the seat. He leaned in. “Let me help you.”

“I can get them.” Her smile, with its accompanying dimples, softened the brusqueness
of her words. She’d always been quick with a smile. “But
danki
.”

“Not from that angle, you can’t.”

Ignoring her protestations, he jogged around to the back and jerked open the double
doors. Boxes of clothes, a cooler, and a large picnic basket crowded the small space.
The crutches were wedged to one side. Bethel twisted, her arm over the back of the
seat, her face contorted with pain. She continued to tug, but to no avail.

“I’ve got it.” Elijah tugged from his end. Bethel let go. A crutch flew up and smacked
him in the nose. “Ouch!
Ach
.”

“I’m so sorry!” Bethel’s fair skin turned beet red. “I didn’t mean to hit you. I’m
sorry.”

“It’s not a fatal wound. It’s just a little bump.” Rubbing his nose with one hand,
Elijah retrieved the crutches with the other and trotted back to the side door. “Let
me help you out.”

“That’s nice of you, but I can manage.” An undercurrent of stubborn insistence ran
through the polite words. “I don’t need help.”

“It’s too big a step.”

Without thinking he put his hands on her waist and swung her gently from the van.
Their faces were level for a brief second. He saw something in her expression he couldn’t
read at first, and then it squeezed his heart. A deep sadness resided in Bethel Graber’s
face.

He hesitated. Her blue eyes widened. Suddenly aware of her clean scent and her slender
waist under his fingers, he set her on her feet on a shaggy carpet of grass that needed
to be mowed.

He’d never been this close to her before. It surprised him to find she stood nearly
as tall as he did. Not many women did. Her blonde hair shone at the edges of her kapp.
The red dissipated from her face, leaving her fair skin even whiter than before. Lips
pressed together, she ducked her head, grabbed the crutches he’d leaned against the
van, and thrust them under her arms.

After a second or two, she met his gaze. “Danki.” She swung the crutches forward in
an awkward gait, her right leg dragging. “Don’t do that again. Ever.”

“I was only trying to help.” Baffled by the emotion he’d seen in her face, Elijah
struggled for words. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

It wasn’t his touch that offended her—he couldn’t take time to contemplate why that
realization pleased him—it was the idea that he thought she needed his help. Everyone
needed help sometimes. It wasn’t a sign of weakness, only humanity. “That doesn’t
mean you don’t need—”