The Atonement (17 page)

“Denki,
Dale,” said Judah, bobbing his still-wet head.

“You have two very brave children,” Dale said, thanking Anna Mary for the dry clothes, his own in the plastic bag she'd given him.

“You're so kind,” Lucy said.

“
I'm
kind?” Anna Mary exclaimed. “How can I ever thank the both of you?”

Lucy protested, and the next words out of her mouth surprised even her. “It'd be hard not to believe that the Lord planned for us to be right where He meant us to be.”

“We can always trust the Good Lord, no matter the outcome,
jah
?” Anna Mary smiled.

“
Jah,
”
Lucy replied, surprising herself once more.
The Good Lord.

M
ARTIE
STILL
FELT
SHAKEN
,
having watched the accident unfold—the wild driver spooking the Riehls' road horse. She had been standing in the window before the accident happened, swaying gently with Josh in her arms, trying to soothe him to sleep after he and Jesse had fought over a toy.

When Abe Riehl's horse reared high on its hind legs, Martie's heart had dropped. Yet, seeing Dale Wyeth's colorful pickup yet again, and then him drive away with Lucy, as well as Abe's two children, gave Martie pause.
This young man keeps showing up,
she thought, recalling the times she'd seen him around the area in the space of a week or so. “Is Lucy helpin' him learn to live more simply now, too?” she murmured.

Looking down at her angel-faced toddler, she was tempted to kiss his cheek, but she didn't dare wake him. Not before he'd had his full nap.

She found it surprising that no one had called the police—surely some drivers had carried phones. Maybe because no one was hurt and there wasn't any need.
Abe Riehl would much prefer
it that way,
she knew. The staunchest church members liked to handle things their way.

Turning from the window, Martie was thankful the rain had ceased for now. She carried Josh to the sofa at the other end of the long front room where she and Ray had hosted church some months back. Ray and other men had removed the wall partitions to the room behind it to open things up to accommodate the more than a hundred and fifty people. She remembered getting the house and grounds, even the barn, prepared prior to that particular Lord's Day. What a humbling feeling she and Ray had experienced, having the bishop, their district's two preachers, and the deacon all present and looking dignified in their black
Mutze
—split-tail coats—and Sunday broadfall trousers.

She'd noticed on the calendar that morning there wouldn't be too many more days and their fall communion service would take place—the Sunday after St. Michael's Day, following their day of fasting and prayer.
Will the People be unified . . . in
one accord?
She prayed that Lucy might participate this time.
It's been too long. . . .

When they were alone in Dale's pickup, Lucy marveled again that everyone had been spared.
And to think that Dale was there at just the right time
. Just this morning, she might have considered Dale Wyeth a bit of a nosy nuisance.

Somehow, Dale and the other men had managed to get Abe's buggy back on its twisted wheels.
It took teamwork.
Indeed, there were many thoughts flying around in Lucy's head.

One thought in particular surprised her: Dale, self-professed seeker of a simpler life, appeared quite comfortable in Abe Riehl's clothing. Lucy suppressed a smile.

“Cute kids,” Dale said as they backed out of the Riehls' long driveway.

“Aren't they?”

“That accident could've been much worse.”

Lucy agreed. She could only imagine how frightened she would have been if she'd been inside that tipped-over buggy, but Judah and Suzie had seemed remarkably calm. She wondered if they might cry now that they were with their mother, being given such tender sympathy.

Turning right out of the Riehls' lane, she spotted Abe headed this way on Witmer Road, walking alongside the limping mare.

Dale slowed to a stop and rolled down his window, waving his hand to get the man's attention. “Will the horse be okay?” he asked.

“I believe so.” Abe nodded, eyeing Dale's shirt. “
Denki
again. Mighty kind of yous to help.” He bobbed his head toward his farm. “Nearly home, so I'll give the vet a call from the shanty right away.”

“By the way,” Dale said, “your wife
insisted
I change into dry clothing—yours, I'm afraid.”

Abe grinned and waved it away like it was nothing.

“What about you?” Dale asked. “Are you all right?”

Abe cracked a smile. “I've experienced worse. But the carriage didn't fare as well—I left it by the side of the road till it can get hauled to the buggy maker's for repair.”

They bid farewell and started on their way again. Lucy assured Dale that the vets were real quick about going to check on a horse involved in an accident. She was noticing Dale's compassionate way with everyone, from her young nephew to the Riehl family today.

“I need to run a quick errand,” Dale said. “I promised a farmer out off Route 896 I'd drop off a ladder he ordered, and I'm already late as is.”

It was too early for egg gathering, and Lucy was otherwise caught up on her expected home chores. She thought for a second.
“That's fine. It's a real perty area.” She looked at his shirt. “That is, if ya don't mind bein' seen in Amish attire.”

Dale snapped his suspenders. “Don't you think it adds a little something?”

Lucy laughed, and he joined in, setting his hands firmly on the wheel.

———

“Look over there.” As Dale drove away from his farmer friend's place, Lucy pointed out a silo-like cell phone tower. “I've heard 'bout these towers—some farmers are makin' more on lease rates than they can make farming,” she said, gawking at it. “It's amazing how high they are, even taller than those two silos.”

“I should take a picture.” Dale got out of the truck and took several shots with his phone.

She observed him over near the white horse fence and thought how funny he looked snapping photos while dressed Plain. She got out of the truck. “Getting some interesting ones?”

“Horses and ponies grazing in the paddock, the two-story barn . . . you name it. It's a photographer's paradise.”

“That's a bank barn—two stories, with one side built into the hill.”

He glanced at her and smiled. “You forget that I've always lived around here. The hayloft is in the second level, right?”

Lucy nodded. “And some farming equipment, too. Our Sunday night Singings are usually held up there, as well.”

He caught her eye. “So is it okay to ask what's sung?”

She laughed. “At least two hours' worth of gospel songs. And, depending on which family is hosting, sometimes there's volleyball or a game of Dutch Blitz first, maybe even a hot dog roast.”

“And this is something all the young people attend?”

“
Jah
, from age sixteen till ya marry.” She paused a moment. “I quit goin' a while back, though.” She went on to say that the
gatherings were lots of fun, a way to connect with friends or pair up. She sighed. “I guess you could say the Singings are how we find our life mates.”

Dale seemed to consider this. “So why did you stop going?”

She'd walked right into that one.

“It's okay if you'd rather not say,” he added quickly.

“You know what? I oughta take
your
picture, so you can show your employees your new uniform, not just the cell phone tower.”

Grinning, Dale shook his head. “Uh, no thanks. I'd never live it down. As it is, some of the guys at the hardware store already wonder about me.”

They headed back to the truck, the reprieve from rain short-lived as another dark layer of swiftly moving clouds blocked any hope of sunshine.

As they turned and headed north, Lucy hoped that was the end of Dale's questions.

C
HRISTIAN
HAD
BEEN
CHEWING
THE
FAT
with Graham Weaver, his longtime vet, when the man's cell phone jingled. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Christian turned away, wondering what was keeping Lucy. She hadn't returned for the noon meal, though Lucy had warned that her trip to the jeweler might take a while.
Especially in this weather.

Looking over at the chicken coop, Christian recalled Dale's interest in a coop of his own. From what Dale had told him, it wouldn't be too long and he'd have his own hen house up and be ready to purchase some chickens from Christian.

For sure and for certain, he'd made a mistake inviting Dale over here. True, he was an upstanding young man, but Christian had failed to take Lucy's feelings into account.

I'm a Dummkopp!
Sarah had made it mighty clear to him.

Even so, Lucy's on the mend,
he thought, taking comfort in her decision to sell the necklace. Alas, the matter with Tobe was another thing altogether.

Christian sighed.
Best to stay out of it.
Removing his straw hat, he fiddled with it.

“I'll come right over,” Graham was saying. “Keep Ada-Girl as quiet as you can. Good-bye.” He clicked off his phone. “Abe Riehl's horse got spooked just up the road north of here . . . turned over Abe's carriage with him and the little ones inside.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Christian asked, alarmed.

“The buggy got the worst of it, or so it sounds from Abe.” Graham waved and hurried to his car.

“Let me know if there's anything I can do,” Christian called after him, following him partway down the driveway.

After a quick bite to eat at a fast food place, since both she and Dale had missed lunch, Lucy realized they would be driving right past the hospice.

“Would you mind droppin' me off?” she asked. “Since we're so close, I'd like to check on one of the patients I read to.”

“Of course,” Dale said. “Tell me more about your charity work. I'm really interested.”

“
Ach
, my face is red,” she said, then began rather reluctantly. “I spend a fair amount of time at the hospice, but my number-one priority right now is trying to help a homeless young mother get settled with a job. Her name is Kiana, and she has a little boy named Van.” She shared with Dale how she'd met the two while working on the food truck downtown. “I've been reading the help-wanted ads in the newspaper every day, but when I call to respond to an ad on Kiana's behalf, I'm basically told she must apply online, or that the job has already been filled.” She sighed. “It seems there's no way for her to get ahead if that's the case.”

Dale listened, nodding. “What if I filled out the online forms for her?”

“You'd do that?”

“Sure.” He smiled. “Glad to help.” Then he asked if Kiana was looking for a place to live.

“That too,
jah.
I've been wading through notices for apartments or room and board.”

Dale looked her way, studying her. “What if we prayed about this, Lucy, asking God to lead Kiana's steps . . . and ours, as we attempt to help her?”

Lucy didn't have much hope in any answers, but she agreed.

When Dale pulled up to the curb in front of the hospice, he bowed his head and did just that, offering a heartfelt prayer for divine assistance for Kiana and her precious child.

“Amen,” said Lucy softly, unaccustomed to hearing such personal-sounding prayers said aloud.

Dale glanced at the hospice entrance and remarked that a group of young adults from his church had recently sponsored a marathon to raise money for this particular center.

Lucy was surprised but pleased. “If I could only volunteer at one place, this would be it.”

Dale glanced toward the road. “It must be a couple of miles from here to your house.”

“Oh, I walk it all the time . . . or take my scooter, which I left this morning at my sister Martie's. It was too rainy—and too far—to take it to town,” she said. “I'll stay just long enough to say hello to one of the patients I visit.”

“Well, I don't mind waiting for you.”

How could she refuse? “I shouldn't be more than a half hour.”

He turned off the ignition. “No problem.”

“Actually, why don't you come in, and I'll show you around.”

He considered this, tugging comically on the suspenders. “Wouldn't they find my outfit a little strange?”

“They'll never know you're
not
Amish.”

“Good point.” Chuckling, Dale got out of the pickup. “This should be interesting.” He opened her door, and she got out.

“Of course, you might just run into someone you know, and then you'll have some questions to answer.”

He grinned. “I think you're enjoying this too much.”

“Hey, you want the simple life, right?”

“Touché.”

Lucy couldn't help but laugh as they headed toward the front entrance, where exiting visitors gave them the once-over.

They surely notice that Dale-the-Amishman is letting
his hair grow out real fancy-like,
Lucy thought.
And has misplaced his hat!

Inside the reception area, two nurses waved to Lucy, who offered to give Dale a tour of the main level, including the large aviary. A few patients in wheelchairs sat enjoying the beauty surrounding them. Some were accompanied by a relative or friend while others dozed in their chairs, propped up by plump white pillows.

“Notice the fresh smell of flowers everywhere,” Lucy told Dale.

Nodding, he gazed up at a pair of yellow finches perched high in the aviary.

“Fine little friends of the facility.” She spoke softly, as she always did in this area. “They serenade me during my lunch break.”

Lucy took Dale around to the coffee shop and snack bar, then pointed out the gift store.

“It's a peaceful place,” he said. But it was the aviary he seemed most captivated by, and she returned there with him.

“The serenity of this environment is one reason why many folk choose to come here for their final days.”

“I can see why.”

Then, eager to see how Wendell was doing, she excused herself. “Don't forget your friend Clinton's wife is here, too. Room 205, if you want to slip up there to see her.”

Dale said he might do just that, and Lucy was delighted.

There had already been a few times when Martie wondered how she would possibly manage with four children under the age
of four. And the greater with child she became, the less energy she had.

Will I be able to continue as a scribe for
The Budget? she wondered. The column brought her joy and was a small departure from her daily chores and mothering duties.

As Martie prepared ham and potatoes for the evening meal, she wished for just a moment to sit down and put her legs up.

Meanwhile, little Josh crawled out from beneath the table, wide-eyed again and whimpering. Today's nap had been all too brief, though Jesse, at least, still slept. Josh reached up for her, and she took him into her arms, going to the back door window to point out the “birdies.” She told him gently that soon many of them would fly away for the winter. “The Lord above looks after the birds . . . takes care of them,” she murmured into the fleshy creases of his damp little neck. “And
Gott
cares for you and Jesse, too.”

Returning to the sink, Martie washed his face and hands and set him in his high chair for a snack. Then, thinking again of the Riehl children following the overturned buggy, and Lucy there with an outsider, Martie trembled to think another troublesome friendship might be brewing. Oh, for dear Lucy's sake, she hoped not. How could she bear to see her sister hurt again—and how could Lucy not be?

“Plain and fancy usually don't mix in happily ever after,” she whispered, praying that the Lord might watch over her sister and keep her from making further mistakes with an
Englischer
.

Upstairs, a cluster of folk were sitting in a spacious living area; some looked solemn, and others were struggling not to cry. One had lost that battle and was wiping away tears, reaching for a box of the tissues provided on each lamp table.

As Lucy passed Dorothea's room, she saw two ladies in with her. There was no sign of Clinton.

Making her way down the hall, Lucy's heart beat faster at the prospect of seeing Wendell again. His door was ajar, and one of the housekeeping staff, a stout redheaded woman in a white skirt and blouse and a black tailored apron was coming out. The woman smiled, but she was not familiar to Lucy. “Is Wendell awake?” Lucy asked as she waited to enter the room.

The woman shook her head. “I'm very sorry, miss. Wendell passed away this morning.”

Lucy looked forlornly into the room from the doorway, noting the newly made bed, the two leather chairs moved near the window, the privacy curtain pushed all the way back. “He's gone,” she whispered. “And I didn't get a chance to say good-bye. . . .”

She inched into the room where she'd spent hours reading and lending her ear . . . and heart. She tiptoed to the tan chair—the one she'd sat in for months, right beside Wendell's bed, where he liked it—and stared down, tears threatening.

“Are you all right?” the older woman asked.

Lucy turned. “Did Wendell's family arrive in time?”

“I really don't know.” The housekeeper shook her head and left the room. “I'm so sorry.”

Lucy lowered herself into the familiar chair; it seemed to embrace her. This very day, she had gone to sell her engagement necklace, relinquishing its grip on her heart. Wanting, even craving, a new start.

And all the while, Wendell Keene was making his own new beginning in the next life.

Did Wendell make his peace with God?