The Days of Redemption (49 page)

Roman froze, not knowing what to do, not understanding why she was crying.

Not understanding anything except that for some reason all this happiness made her sad.

And he had no idea about what he was supposed to do next.

Chapter Twenty-three

After a good night's sleep, Viola felt better. Oh, she still felt awkward and out of sorts, but the haziness of travel and the uneasiness she'd felt being in a foreign country had lifted. She was starting to feel more like her usual self.

Thank the Lord, her mood had improved as well. Even though she was still unsure about Belize and still unsure about her ability to do God's work as a missionary's wife, she couldn't have felt more sure about her relationship with Edward. From the moment she spied him waiting for her at the airport, she'd felt the same strong feelings of happiness and love that she'd experienced when they'd been courting in Berlin. They were meant to be together. She was sure of it.

Now, all she had to do was find a way to make it work.

Late last night, one of the women handed her a thin cotton dress, telling Viola that she might find it more comfortable in the heat and humidity.

Viola had accepted it gratefully.

Now, as soon as she put on her borrowed light blue dress with its short sleeves, white apron, and
kapp
, she felt a thousand times cooler than when she'd arrived.

With a feeling of hope, she gathered up the pot holders her grandmother had made, left Roman's room, and ventured out to the kitchen area. The kitchen was a unique combination of her mother's kitchen at home and the commercial kitchen at Daybreak. Though it had an oversized oven, outdated refrigerator, and large range, somewhere along the way, people had added some lovely hand-stitched hand towels, and a collection of brightly painted ceramic jars.

And though the spices that permeated the room smelled unfamiliar, she also saw two loaves of bread, glass jars of homemade jams and preserves, and a stoneware pitcher.

Two women about her mother's age looked up when she tiptoed through the doorway. “
Gut
matin
,” one said, her smile as bright as her blue dress and matching apron.

“
Gut
matin
.” Feeling awkward, Viola smiled slightly.

“Would you care for
kaffi
?”

That definitely sounded like heaven. “
Jah
.
Danke
.” When one of the women went to reach into one of the top cupboards to grab her a cup, Viola waved her away. “Please, I can help myself. Just show me where everything is.”

“I can do that,” the slim brunette offered. “The cups are here, and you'll find milk and sugar on the table.”

Viola opened the designated door, found a large collection of white and blue mugs, and gratefully poured herself a cup of the fragrant brew. “This smells heavenly.”

“The
kaffi
is wonderful here, for sure,” the brunette said as she lifted her own mug. “Especially after a day of travel. I'm Amy, by the way.”

“I'm Viola. Did we meet last night?” she asked hesitantly. “I'm afraid my mind is a blur.”

“Only for a moment.” With a look of concern she asked, “Are you feeling better?”

“Much.” She bit her lip, then decided to plunge forward. “I know I got off on the wrong foot with all of you. I promise, I don't intend to act like that in the future.” Presenting the pot holders, she added, “My grandmother made these. I thought you all might be able to put them to good use.”

The other woman came forward and patted Viola on the back. She took the quilted pot holders with a pleased smile. “These are lovely. We will, indeed, put them to good use.”

She then leaned over and looked Viola straight in the eye. “Don't fret, dear. There's nothing to say, or to apologize for. We felt bad for ya.”

The lady's words were kind, but how could they be true? Viola had a feeling no one had ever made as poor of a first impression as she had.

“And I'm Rachel.” After playfully winking at Amy, Rachel added, “If you want to know the truth, we all enjoyed our director fussing over you a bit.”

“You did?”

“Ah, yes. Your man? He is a bit of a whirlwind, Viola. Our young director always seems to be working on two projects at a time.”

“At least,” Amy added.

With a chuckle, Rachel continued. “Edward has a real gift for connecting with people. Truly, I've never seen him flustered. So, it was kind of nice to see him at such a loss.”

“It was obvious Ed was worried about you something awful,” Amy added.

“I feel bad about that.”

“Ach. Like I said, not a one of us thought you were being difficult or unseemly.”

Viola took another bracing sip of coffee. “Truly?”

“Definitely. See, all of us have been through the same thing a time or two.”

“Or five,” Rachel added with a grin. “We've got a few years on you, Viola. I promise, I've had my share of embarrassing moments.”

The women's frank talk did more to ease her nerves than Ed's gentle reassurances ever had. “I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that. I was thinking that I was the worst sort of woman.”

“I promise, you're in good company,” Amy said after pulling a tray of biscuits from the oven. “A woman's first taste of this life can be overwhelming, and that's a fact. Our families enjoy sheltering us, and we enjoy being sheltered. That's
wonderful-gut
when we don't have to do anything out of the ordinary. But going to work as a missionary in a foreign country is anything but that.”

“How do you like mission work now?”

“I enjoy it.”

Amy looked at the clock, then motioned to Viola. “I'll tell you more, if you come with me,” she said, then walked straight toward the food pantry. She looked over her shoulder. “Care to help me get the rest of our breakfast together?”

“I'd be happy to.” Reaching out her hands, she grabbed the basket Amy held out to her while Amy began putting little boxes of cereal, jars of canned fruit, crackers, and nuts into the basket.

She said, “I've been with CAMA seven years. I have three months to go before I return to Missouri.”

Viola put the filled basket down, picked up the next one, and followed Amy toward where the shelves were filled with paper goods. “Do you ever miss home?”

“Before I started, I thought I would. I was sure I would. But it hasn't been bad.”

“Why is that?”

“Viola, have you ever been away from home before?”

For the first time in her life, she was embarrassed to have been so content to stay in Berlin. “
Nee
.”

“Ah. You're much like I was. Being away from home can be hard. Well, you might think differently, but I've noticed that when I first leave, I always think of home. I find myself comparing where I am to where I've been. But then, as the days pass and I begin to feel more comfortable, I begin to see my new place more clearly.”

She still wasn't sure she understood. “More clearly?”

Amy shrugged. “I guess I stop seeing only generalities. Little by little, I don't just notice that people or places are different. I start to think of them by name.”

Finally, she understood what Amy was talking about. It comforted her to think that her perception about the mission might change with time, too.

But then she remembered the look of dismay on her fiancé's face. “I hope Ed will try to understand and give me time to get settled.”

“He will. If he seemed disappointed to you, it may be because he's forgotten that sometimes a person's first impression isn't always the clearest. Especially for a man like him, who seems more suited to this life than most.”

“I hope you're right. I want to be able to fit in here. I think I was so nervous and warm that I made myself sick.”

Amy chuckled. “Like I said, I understood your reaction.” Taking the basket from Viola's hands, she said, “I think we have enough paper cups, napkins, and plates. Let's go put them on the tables.”

As they headed toward the main room, Viola followed Amy's sure strides, carrying the basket filled with cereal. They set the table and arranged the food.

She was just picking up the empty baskets to return them to the pantry when Edward walked in.

“Viola? What are you doing in here?”

“I'm helping. I mean, I'm trying to help,” she corrected sheepishly.

A line formed between his brows. “Are you sure you're up to that? You were so sick last night. Viola, you should have asked someone to find me when you woke up.”

“I didn't want to bother you and I wanted to be of use.”

“You are doing okay?”

Remembering the other women's reassuring words, she nodded, “I think that maybe last night I was a little overwhelmed. I feel better now.” Fingering her dress, she said, “I'm much cooler, too. That helps, I think.”

He fell into step beside her. “How did you sleep?”

Feeling more like herself, she risked teasing him. “I slept very well in your bed, Edward.”

To her great amusement, his cheeks heated. “You shouldn't say such things,” he said under his breath. Just as if a dozen people were actively listening to their every word.

Finally, she felt as if they were on more even ground. She didn't know how to live as a missionary. She found Belize scary and the idea of living here as his wife more than a bit overwhelming.

But his embarrassment and sudden awkwardness merely made her feel a little bolder. Here, at least, she felt comfortable. She was used to teasing Roman . . . and after bantering back and forth with his father for months, she felt she was pretty capable of holding her own with Ed.

“If you don't want to know how I slept in your bed, then you mustn't ask such things,” she teased. “Now, I must put these baskets away. Would you like to help me carry them?”

“Of course.” As he took both from her, he cast her a sideways glance. “Viola, this is what life is going to be like with you, isn't it?”

“Like what?”

“You're going to flirt and tease and laugh and cry.” He looked her over like she was the most unique of persons. “You are going to be such a girl.”

“I am a girl, and a far from perfect one at that, Ed,” she said, all traces of humor gone from her voice. “I'll try my best for you, but I fear there are sometimes going to be moments like last evening, when we both are at a loss for what to do or say.”

Still staring at her intently, he exhaled a heavy breath. “That's
gut
. Because I, too, am far from perfect.”

Unable to help herself, she rubbed the smooth skin of his cheek. The smooth skin that would one day soon be covered with a beard, signifying their marriage. “I don't want perfect, either.”

“If we're in agreement on that, then I suppose we will be all right,” he said before leading the way to the pantry.

With a lighter heart, Viola followed.

Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be fine after all.

 

It was beautiful out. The air was brisk and still. Tiny snowflakes dotted their skin and clothes, feeling like cold kisses on her face.

Roman beside her was everything she could have hoped for—a man who understood that she'd loved before but was willing to love her all the same. A man who understood how much Regina needed someone in her life who could bring light and happiness into her dark days.

He was offering her a future again. It was
wonderful-gut
. It felt almost perfect.

So why couldn't she seem to stop crying?

Amanda covered her face and inhaled deeply, hoping the cold shot of frigid air would clear her head and calm her nerves.

Or at least temper her tears.

But it was useless. The tears just kept coming of their own accord.

“Amanda?”

She waved off his concern. “It's nothing. Don't mind me.”

“Don't mind you?” With a light chuckle, Roman pulled back on Chester's reins, then guided the horse to the side of the road. When they were stopped and not another noise could be heard—beyond her sniffling tears—he turned to her. “Amanda, right at this very moment, I can think of nothing but you.”

Ah, the romance of it. His words were the stuff of a girl's dreams. The kind of dreamy words that Wesley had never even said.

Which, of course, made the tears fall harder. She swiped at them in frustration, then stilled as she felt his thumbs gently catch the tears on her cheeks and brush them away. “Amanda, cry if you want to, but I'd rather you tell me what you're feeling. If something is wrong, I could maybe try to help.”

“Ah, Roman.” She took a deep breath, then turned to him. When she looked into his brown eyes, she noticed they were gazing at her steadily. There was compassion there. And affection. And complete confusion, too.

She didn't blame him; she was feeling pretty confused herself. “I'm sorry,” she said. “When we were riding down the road, I suddenly felt so happy, it caught me off guard. Before I knew it, everything kind of came tumbling down around me.” Hopefully, she glanced at him. Perhaps he knew what she meant?

He didn't. Instead of nodding in agreement, he continued to stare at her in confusion. “You don't seem happy, Amanda. In fact, you sound pretty sad.”

“Oh, I am sad, too. I'm happy and confused, sad and hopeful. I'm everything.”

“What are you talking about? Did I do something wrong? What did I say?” His hand clenched the edge of the leather seat, like he was striving for control. “Did I push you too much? I know when we talked about you coming out here, we promised not to have too many expectations.”

“But did you mean that?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, then, slowly, he shook his head. “
Nee
, that's not the full truth. I had hopes that you would see that there was something special between us. I wanted that to happen.”

This was why she was falling in love with him. He was so kind to her, so eager to be the man she needed him to be. “You didn't do anything wrong, Roman.”