Reflection (50 page)

Jacob Holt had walked closer to her, and Lily did a double take when she noticed him. He touched the young woman's shoulder and took her place behind the dais. Lily slipped back next to Michael, who stood up to give her his chair. Someone brought out a tenth chair, but he stood behind it rather than sit down again.

“That took a lot of courage, Lily,” Jacob Holt said into the microphone. “And you've given me courage as well.” He looked out at the audience. “Lily has made a confession,” he said, “but she knows more than she is saying, and now I have to finish the story for her. I have to make a confession of my own.”

The audience was utterly still. Rachel exchanged a look of confusion with her grandmother.

“At least Lily can use the excuse that she was only seven years old at the time of the tragedy,” he said. “My only excuse was my own confusion and self-preservation. I thought I would take all of this to my grave with me”—he shook his head—”but with what's gone on in Reflection these past few months, I cannot. I see how people treat Rachel Huber. She's the scapegoat for our grief and misery. I see we have never let go of the past, and I agree wholeheartedly with Michael Stoltz that we must.”

Someone in the row in front of her turned to look at Rachel. Rachel kept her eyes riveted on the stage.

“On September tenth, 1973, a terrible tragedy occurred in Spring Willow Elementary School, and I am guilty of lying about that tragedy.” The rustle of whispers filled the auditorium again. “I've said publicly that, several days before the incident occurred, I told Rachel Huber that I planned to call the police to have her husband locked up. I wish to God that I'd been that aggressive in my handling of the situation, but I wasn't. I simply shared my concerns about that young man with Rachel. I told her I would consider calling the police if he set foot on school grounds again, and she said she would do all she could to keep him away. That was it, but I twisted the truth to save my own skin. Yet that's not the worst thing I did.” Holt seemed suddenly overcome by emotion. He bowed his head for a moment before lifting it once more to continue, and Rachel realized she was holding her breath.

“I saw Luke Pierce from my office window,” Holt said. “He looked as if he was out for blood. When I realized he had entered the school, I left my office and ran down the hall after him. By the time I got to Rachel Huber's classroom, I found the door open, little Lily Wright in the hallway, and Luke just inside. He had pulled the pin on a grenade he was holding, and he hollered, ‘Where is everybody? Where's Rachel?' He was crying, and I knew that he meant to kill himself in front of his wife.” Holt leaned forward, elbows on the dais. “I truly believe that's all he wanted—to kill himself in front of Rachel—not to hurt a bunch of kids. I tried to get the grenade from him. Please understand, I thought Rachel had taken the kids and fled the classroom. It never occurred to me that she had them hidden away back there in the cloakroom. When I finally managed to pull the grenade from his hand, I threw it as far from us as I could—through the open door of the cloakroom. Luke screamed at me. ‘My God, there's kids back there!' and he ran after the grenade, I'm sure in the hope that he could throw himself on it to try to save those kids. Of course, he wasn't able to.”

Rachel stared numbly at the stage. Luke had tried to save the children. He had died trying. Gram took her hand.

“It wasn't until all the screaming started that I realized what I had done,” Holt continued. “What
Luke
had done, because in my mind I quickly began to believe the story I later told the police—that it was Luke who threw that grenade.” Holt made a loud swallowing sound into the microphone.

“I have no right to ask for your forgiveness,” he said. “Instead, I ask you to forgive Rachel Huber, who, at a very young age and newly home from the Peace Corps, was suddenly forced to deal with a deranged husband who had been ruined serving his country. This community did very little to help her with that. The one thing that should be obvious to all of us by now is that holding on to hate and anger exacts too great a price. We have our land back, secure and safe, in large measure owing to Rachel, but do we deserve it? Does a town that cannot forgive truly deserve to hold on to the beauty it's been blessed with? In many ways, we're still stuck back in 1973. Forgiveness is the only thing that can move us forward and make our town whole again.”

The audience sat in stunned silence as Jacob Holt climbed down the stairs and returned to his seat. Rachel could hear sniffling. Gram handed her a tissue, and she wiped her eyes.

Michael rose slowly from the row of chairs on the stage. His voice when he reached the dais was thick with emotion. “My friend Luke Pierce was no murderer,” he said. “He suffered in the war, fighting for what he thought was right. He brought back invisible scars from that battle. But in his last moment of sanity, he tried to save the children in that cloakroom.

“And my friend Rachel Huber is no accomplice to murder,” he continued. “She was as much a victim as our children were. So I ask you, in the name of forgiveness, to lay this sad chapter to rest. Not forgotten, but allowed simply to take its place in our town's history. Let's make this the final observance of Reflection Day. Please stand up if you agree.”

It seemed to Rachel, that nearly everyone rose to their feet, including Gram and Hans. She was slow to rise herself, uncertain whether she should be allowed to vote, but a woman from the row in front of her turned around, reaching over to pull her up by the shoulder, and she squeezed the stranger's hand with a grateful smile.

THE KIDS FROM THE
youth group had done a terrific job. Michael congratulated them, thanked them heartily, and then escaped to his church. After managing that huge audience and its myriad of surprises, he wanted some time to himself.

He'd imagined those last few minutes of Luke's life many times before, always taking comfort in the fact that, in the end, his old friend had not been lucid, not truly aware of what was going on around him. But apparently that had not been the case. Luke had had one last agonizing moment of sanity when he'd realized the children were in danger. The thought of him suffering that moment of awareness was nearly too much for Michael to bear.

He had the church to himself, and he sat in a pew near the front. He closed his eyes, and the welcome quiet filled him like something tangible, something he could pull into his heart.

Thank you, Lord, for giving Lily and Jacob such courage. And please give me the courage to do what I know I have to do. I've been dishonest, I know
.

In the past few weeks, he'd often felt abandoned by God, but he sensed his presence here, inside him now.

Give me the courage to be honest with you and with myself. And please help my son understand. Help me be a good father to him.

Keep Rachel safe on her journey. She's not much of a believer, but she's an excellent person. Some of your best work
.

He finished praying but sat with his eyes closed a few minutes longer, drinking in the silence. Then he stood up and walked downstairs to his office. He had some phone calls to make.

IT WAS NEARLY TEN
by the time he got home that night and Katy met him at the kitchen door.

“Jace is terribly upset,” she said. “He can't sleep. He says that every time he closes his eyes, he sees Luke Pierce and the grenade.”

Katy and Jace had sat in the front row of the auditorium during the Reflection Day program, and Michael had been aware of his son's rapt attention while Lily and Jacob were speaking.

He walked down the hall to Jason's bedroom, Katy close behind him. Jace was sitting up in bed, the light on behind him and a book in his hands.

“Can't sleep?” Michael sat down on the bed. Katy leaned against the edge of the desk.

“I'm not tired,” Jace said. “I just wanted to read awhile.”

“We heard some shocking things today, huh?”

Jace shrugged.

“I think a lot of people will have trouble sleeping tonight,” Michael said. “People thought they knew exactly what happened that day at Spring Willow School, and now suddenly they know it wasn't that way at all. Gives people a lot to think about.”

“Lily and Mr. Holt were very brave,” Katy said, and Michael nodded.

Jace lowered his book to his lap. “Now everyone all of a sudden thinks Rachel Huber's okay,” he said. “I still can't stand her.”

Michael was about to protest, but Katy beat him to it. “You've never even met her, Jason,” she said.

“I just think she messed things up.” He shot Michael a look.

“Well, you know, Jace,” Michael said, “sometimes things have to be messed up before they can be made better. Sometimes it helps to shake things up a bit.”

Jason scowled. “That's stupid,” he said.

“I don't think so.”

“Things are messed up with you and Mom, aren't they? Are they going to get better?”

Michael looked at Katy. She was biting her lower lip.

“Yes,” Michael said, “things are going to get better, but it will take some time, and the end result may not be exactly what you would like it to be.”

“What do you mean?”Jace looked at him suspiciously.

“Mom and I have a lot of talking to do. We have to figure out what to do about our mess.”

Jason closed his book and set it on the nightstand. “Well, figure it out soon, okay?” he asked. Then he rolled onto his side, facing the wall.

Michael touched his shoulder. “We'll try,” he said, standing up.

Katy leaned over to kiss her son's cheek. “Good night, honey,” she said.

They walked in silence into the family room. Michael wished Jason could somehow be spared the problems between them.

Katy sat down on the couch. “I was proud of you today,” she said, “watching you up there with those kids. Up till now, no one's ever had the guts to say, ‘Let's be done with this.'”

“Thanks,” he said. “I thought the kids were wonderful.”

“I was watching you and thinking, ‘What did I ever see in Drew?'” She wrung her hands in her lap. “I just don't know how I could have done what I did. It seems like some other woman did it, not me.”

He sat down at the far end of the couch. “I've forgiven you, Katy,” he said. “When are you going to forgive yourself?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. I felt guilty the whole time I was involved with Drew, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. I was operating on pure emotion, for the first time in my life. And it was too much for me. I wasn't used to it. I let it get the better of me. I know you've always wanted me to be a more emotional person, but I think I instinctively knew it was a part of myself I had to keep in check.”

He listened to her carefully. It wasn't like Katy to talk about herself this way.

“Mennonite schools shelter you from so much,” she said. “I was never allowed to express myself or think about what I needed. And even when I started going to public schools, it was so ingrained in me…” She lifted her hands in the air a few inches and dropped them in frustration. “I was never really allowed to be
myself
, Michael. I never had a single second of rebellion.”

“Until now.”

“Yes. I've always been so logical. So
rational
—”

He laughed. “That you are, Katy.”

She looked hurt. “And I know that's bothered you, but it's who I am, and I'm comfortable that way. I think a logical, rational person is just as valuable to society as someone who operates on emotion all the time. Maybe even more so.”

He nodded. “You're probably right.”

She brushed her hair away from her face. “So what do we do about our mess, Michael?” she asked.

“I think we need to separate.” There. The words had slipped out easily.

Katy lowered her eyes quickly to her hands. It was a minute before she spoke. “You're going to lose—”

“I know what I'm losing. This isn't a decision I've come to lightly.”

She smoothed the tip of her thumb across the nail on her index finger, over and over again. “I feel like I deserve to lose you after what I've done,” she said. Her nose was red.

“Come here.” He patted the sofa next to him, and she scooted over. He put his arm around her. “My decision has very little—nothing, in fact—to do with what happened between you and Drew.”

“I know you haven't really been happy in our marriage,” she said, her voice thick. “You've always seemed very satisfied in other parts of your life, but not with me.”

“Can you honestly say you've been happy with me?” he asked.

“Early on I was.” She studied her fingernail. “In recent years, no. But I knew we were an odd match from the start. It just seemed very important to stay together. The cost of splitting up was—and still is, I think—way too high. I know that if we put our individual happiness first, splitting up is the right thing to do. But I'd be willing to put my own happiness on a back burner, for Jace's sake. For the sake of the church.”

“I'm not willing,” he said firmly. “It's dishonest. The worst hypocrisy, the worst lie I can imagine”

She was quiet a minute. Her tears had stopped, and he felt the stiffness in her shoulder beneath his hand. She'd always felt that way, he realized with a jolt. Always that stiff, cool stoniness in her body.

“You never actually told me how far things have gone between you and Rachel,” she said finally.

He wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't want to hurt her. “How much do you want to know?” he asked.

“The truth.”

“Rachel and I have had a friendship this summer,” he said. “We were attracted to each other, but we didn't act on that attraction until I learned about you and Drew.”