The Days of Redemption (10 page)

There, in the circle of her brothers and their wives, Lorene felt angry and embarrassed. What had just happened?

One by one, Sam, Peter, Mary Beth, and Marie stood up as they watched their father silently turn and follow their mother out of the room. Then they all exited the
dawdi haus.

Even standing outside in the cold felt better than the stifling atmosphere that had settled in that room.

Raising her face to the sky, Lorene breathed in the cool air, hoping the deep breaths would calm her churning insides.

She fought to keep her tears at bay. The last thing she wanted was to start crying in front of her brothers.

But, oh, she was so sad. What a mistake her life had become!

Marie hugged her close. “Try not to take what she said to heart, Lorene,” she said softly. “Lovina has always had a spiteful tongue.”

Lorene stood stiffly in her embrace. She loved her sister-in-law, but she didn't think any simple words could ease the moment.

After another hug, Marie and Mary Beth went back to the main house.

Just as she started to follow, Peter reached for her arm. “Wait a moment,
shveshtah
.”

“What is it?”

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked gently.

Was she? Were any of them? “I don't know.”

Sam walked to her side and slipped his hand in hers. “Don't listen to Mamm.”

“I'm afraid she's right, Sam.”

“To someone who never lived with our parents, our
mamm
's words might make a lot of sense. But we were all there together,” he said darkly. “I know how hard it was to go against our parents. I know how certain they were about just about everything.” Lowering his voice, he added, “You were a dutiful daughter, Lorene. You did everything right. You did everything you were asked to do. As they raised all of us to do.”

“Yes, I was dutiful,” she repeated, feeling that she hated that word even more than she thought. “I listened. I did what I was supposed to. And what did I get for that? Even more disappointment. Now it feels like I've lost years. So much time that I'll never be able to get back.”

“I know.”

Though she hated how weak she sounded, she murmured, “I've spent most of my life trying to be good, which was supposed to help me sleep well at night, but it never really did.”

“Doing what is expected doesn't help your heart much, does it?” Peter said, a bit of melancholy in his voice. “Not in the middle of the night when old hurts remind you of why you aren't happy.”

“No matter what I do, I can't seem to win.”

Peter sighed. “For what it's worth, you're not alone in that, Lorene. It's how all of us feel.” He glanced Sam's way. “I moved into the house because someone had to. I did everything Mamm and Daed wanted me to because I wanted them to approve. To maybe even be proud of me. To be like them.”

“We all wanted to be like them.”

“And until this very moment,” Sam said, “I didn't think we'd ever come close. I thought each of us was doomed to be faint copies of our parents.”

Realizing that their parents were just as flawed as they were, Lorene said, “Perhaps we were all wrong. All this time, we thought we could never be good enough. But we didn't spend the last forty years lying to our children.”

Peter laughed dryly. “Well, that's something I suppose.”

“It certainly gives me something to think about with my three
kinner
,” Sam said. “Next time one of them tells a fib, I need to remember that things could be worse!”

“Well, you know what Jacob would say,” Lorene murmured.

Sam and Peter exchanged wry glances. “He'd say that things can always get worse,” Sam said with a grin. “All we have to do is wait ten minutes.”

Lorene chuckled. Because she and her brothers had grown up so close in age, bickering had been a constant occurrence. Their mother used to say that she would get worried when everything was running too smoothly—she'd be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And now, here they all were, firmly embroiled in all the problems their parents had swept under the rug for years.

It seemed their mother had been right about one thing at least . . . living peacefully was only a temporary thing.

“Well, Gretta, I'd have to say we did our best with the lot we were given, don't you think?” Ed asked the little dog whom he'd now almost officially adopted. “If Mamm were alive, she'd tell me I did a right good job with the cleaning.”

Gretta stared up at him solemnly, then turned to her new little bed. The day before he'd ended up buying a cedar-filled dog bed for her, wanting her to be comfortable when he wasn't home. She'd been pleased as punch with it—well, as soon as he'd put a small blanket on the bed so she could burrow underneath it.

The hours had been long in the house, so he'd used the time as best he could. He'd scrubbed and polished and aired out mattresses and blankets and quilts. Luckily, the weather had cooperated and he'd been able to hang the laundry out on the line.

The women on his street had been terribly amused by his labors. More than one had come on the pretext of seeing if he wanted any help, but more likely to see what he was up to. Luckily, they'd brought gifts of pies and bread and a casserole, too. He'd spent several nights with a full stomach, being thankful for nosy neighbors.

Though everyone seemed to take his domestic endeavors in stride, a few of the ladies looked a bit shocked, he supposed. They weren't used to seeing a man so at home with a box of laundry detergent.

He had learned to let go of the idea that there were chores for only men or women. His time in Nicaragua had proven to him that the Lord needed everyone to do all chores, not only the things they were comfortable with.

Now, though, he had a nice fire in the fireplace, was sipping hot tea in his father's old easy chair, and reading an old mystery novel of his father's. Gretta was snug in her bed by his feet, her head under the covers, back legs and tail slanting slightly off to one side. He felt comfortable and warm. Secure, too.

Which was an unusual thing, he realized. For the first time, he didn't ache for the way things used to be. For once, he felt like there was a chance that he could move forward in his life instead of wishing for the past.

His mission work had done far more for him than he'd ever expected. He'd gained strength and knowledge from the men and women he'd tried to help in Nicaragua. They'd reminded him about what was important. And doing without so much had taught him to adapt.

And while his time away had done so much good, he was beginning to wonder if he'd left for the right reasons. Had he only been trying to run from home when he'd told Mr. Cross and the rest of the folks at CAMA that he yearned to be sent somewhere far away for mission work? When he'd said he'd wanted to minister to the needy in other areas of the world, had that only been a part of his goals?

Instead, had he been eager to go to another country for selfish reasons? And had he returned for selfish reasons? Of course he'd wanted to see his father. But maybe he'd wanted to ease his guilt, too.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd been eager to hear praise from his father and neighbors and friends? If he was honest, he had to admit that there had been a part of him that wanted to feel special, because he'd been brave enough, tough enough, to travel far to do good works.

Instead of concentrating on the people he'd served, and how everything he'd done was God's will, he'd donned a cloak of pride and insecurity, too.

Which wasn't a good thing. Not at all.

If that was the case, Ed realized he had a lot more growing up to do. He was going to need to find a way to come to terms with the fact that Viola was right. He was completely, selfishly focused only on himself. Under the guise of helping others.

He closed the book and closed his eyes. And did something he realized he needed to do a whole lot more often. He prayed.

And then he breathed deep, let his body relax.

And prayed some more.

Viola couldn't believe what she'd just agreed to. When she'd arrived at Daybreak, she'd practically run into Edward as he was exiting the building. She was so surprised to see the man who had dominated her thoughts all weekend, she'd somehow agreed to have lunch with him today. But how could she? Besides the fact it would cause speculation among the residents, she didn't want to get to know him any better. He was only here for a short time, and . . .

The loud knock of knuckles on the cheery table next to her jarred her out of her musings. “Girly, what am I going to do with you?”

She started at the sharp rap. “Mr. Swartz, you're going to get in trouble if you keep doing that.”

“Sometimes, a man has no choice in the matter.”

Fidgeting under his accusing gaze, she tried to make amends. “I'm sorry, Mr. Swartz. What have I done wrong?”

“You're ignoring me.”

“Truly?” She'd brought him coffee. Had listened to all the latest gossip about the other residents.

“I've been waiting for you to ask me all about Saturday's trip to the cheese shop. But instead of thinking about me, you're looking out into the distance like a spaniel on the hunt.”

“Spaniel?”

“She's a bit different from a good hunting dog, Atle,” Mr. Showalter commented with a grin. “Plus, you're out of practice talking to womenfolk. They don't like men comparing them to animals.”

“Jacob, you've been a widower longer than me. Maybe you've forgotten what women want to hear.”

“I don't think so. At least, I might have forgotten what they want, but I definitely haven't forgotten what they don't want to hear. My wife made sure of that.”

“My
frau
was a good woman. She never had any complaints.”

“That may be true. But perhaps I was a better husband.”

“He's got you there, Atle!” a lady sitting on the other side of the fireplace said.

Viola hid a smile as Mr. Swartz shifted, looking embarrassed. Around them, the other men and women in the room began to discuss all the lessons they'd learned over their years of marriage.

Fortified with coffee, a cozy fire, and no place to go, the conversation grew louder and more ribald, with the men easily offering one another a variety of well-placed put-downs.

Usually, such talk would burn her ears, but Viola couldn't help but chuckle at the audacity of the conversation. Her home had been closely monitored at all times for inappropriate talk and behavior. It was refreshing to be around so many people who weren't used to so many restrictions.

But that didn't mean she felt able to join in, of course. She kept her hands busy with some place cards she was organizing for a future dinner. But she listened attentively with her bright red ears.

“Daed!” Ed chided as he walked into the room. “You shouldn't be talking like that. There are ladies present.”

Viola popped her head up as the rest of the room went silent. What was he doing here? There were still a couple hours before it would be even close to lunchtime.

Instead of looking cowed by his son's comment, Mr. Swartz merely brushed off the scolding with a careless wave of his hand. “There's nothing we're saying that they haven't heard before.”

“I doubt that.”

“Are you offended and upset, Viola?”

“
Nee,
Mr. Swartz. I think I'm used to your way of speaking by now.”

Almost comically, Atle raised his eyebrows. “See? Everything is
gut
here. Don't tell me that mission work has stunted your sense of humor, son.”

Edward looked a bit affronted. “My sense of humor hasn't gone walking, Daed. It's more like your manners have.”

“Some would say talking back to your poor father who's stuck in a wheelchair ain't good manners, either, Edward.”

His son opened his mouth, then shut it slowly as his lips, too, curved up a bit. “You're right, Father.”

Mr. Showalter chuckled, and several others suddenly became busy with their coffee and snacks.

And Viola smiled. She was torn between being embarrassed that he'd pointed out her presence, and a little miffed that he'd spoiled his father's harmless chatter.

But then Edward glanced her way. And those blue eyes froze everything that had been on the tip of her tongue.

“Viola, what time would you like to go to lunch today?”

All at once, she felt everyone's gaze fasten on her with the tenacity of a creeping vine on an ash tree.

“What's this?” Mr. Swartz asked. “I didn't know you two were courting.”

“I merely asked Viola here if she'd like to share a meal with me,” Ed said patiently.

“Ah,” Mr. Showalter said. “A romance.”

Others in the suddenly crowded-feeling room mumbled in agreement. And with each comment, it felt as if Viola's skin turned a different shade of red.

Oh, but this was terrible! This was just what she was hoping to avoid. “Mr. Showalter, this . . . this is not a romance,” she blurted. “It is only a meal.”

“
Jah,
” Ed said. “It's only a meal. Don't make it more than it is.”

“In my day, asking a lady to share a meal was courtship,” Atle said. “Not that I'm complaining. I'm glad you have come to your senses and are taking' a shine to Viola here.”

She'd now gone from blushing to wishing she could scoot out of the room.

But Ed simply crossed his arms over his chest and returned his father's sass easily. “Daed, in your day, I imagine your father knew better than to comment on your activities. Somehow, I can't imagine that Grandpa Joseph was as into your business as you seem to be in mine.”

As Atle squirmed, Viola chuckled. “He's got you there, Mr. Swartz.”