The Hope of Refuge (42 page)

Ada’s telephone rang loud and long. The bishop had approved the installation of the phone for business purposes. Soon the screen door slammed, and Cara knew Ada was scurrying across the backyard and to the barn in hopes of catching the call.

It’d been two long months since Mahlon had left. Deborah’s grief and confusion seemed to have no bounds most days, but Cara tried to keep her moving. Ada’s grief was quieter and maybe deeper, but Deborah’s presence seemed to help by giving Ada someone to tend to. Cara struggled with a sadness that had nothing to do with their loss, but she wouldn’t tell them. Mahlon was gone and not coming back. Ephraim was in Dry Lake, with Anna Mary, she guessed, but she tried not to think about it.

Lifting the hem of her dress, Cara moved up a rung. With Amish coming in and out of Ada’s home, Cara decided to stick to wearing dresses. Deborah had lots of clothes to share, and Cara hoped that her choices might reflect well on Ephraim. It couldn’t hurt, and if it made any difference in how the church leaders looked at him, she’d wear the not-so-quaint garb without argument.

She passed the piercing tool to Deborah. “This area of scoring is done.”

Every move Deborah made was slow, like that of a woman bearing thick, heavy chains. She lifted a bucket of warm water and vinegar to Cara. “Here you go.”

Cara dipped a thick sponge into the solution and began soaking the walls with it while Deborah continued to hold tight to the wobbling ladder.

Many a night after Deborah first moved in, Cara lay atop the covers beside her and held her while she cried. Those first few weeks Cara had to prod both women to keep moving toward an unknown future. Now, with the help of the Amish communities in Dry Lake and Hope Crossing, Ada and Deborah even had times of laughter. And they’d expanded their business by selling baked goods to a local hotel for its restaurant and continental breakfast bar.

Cara stepped off the ladder. “Let’s move to that segment. It should be ready to peel.”

They slid the ladder to the right spot, and she climbed it again.

After one of Deborah’s rare visits to Dry Lake, she came back saying that Ephraim’s ban was over. Once he’d proved his intention to live as the church leaders wanted, the bishop reconsidered his shunning. Since the first part of July, Ephraim had been considered a member in good standing, and he’d returned to work.

She’d seen him just three times since June, when he’d cleaned up the backyard. Even then he came in with others from Dry Lake, and she only saw him in a room full of people. Their quiet mornings over coffee, humorous banter during the workday, and long walks at night were gone, but she’d remember them forever.

Would he?

Even though she still wished things were different for her and Ephraim, she’d found a bit of peace with her past and had chosen to stop blaming those who may or may not have been guilty of anything. And now she tolerated, maybe even enjoyed, getting letters and visits from her aunts, uncles, and cousins.

“You might want to hold the ladder from behind me, Deb.”

Deborah gasped. “Oh my, you’re right. That Amish dress does nothing for modesty when a girl is on a ladder.”

“Red silk bikini—is that the view, Deborah?” Cara grabbed the top edge of the wallpaper and slowly pulled it toward her. “Cross your fingers.”

“And let go of the ladder?”

“Which is more important, this wallpaper coming off in one piece or me not falling?”

The rare sound of Deborah chuckling warmed Cara’s heart. “Do I have to choose right now?”

A thick splat of wallpaper remover hit the floor. “Sorry. Nothing’s harder to get off than ancient wallpaper. What’d they use on this stuff?” Cara stepped down a rung on the ladder.

“I’ve decided it’s elephant glue.”

Peeling the wallpaper slowly, Cara came down another notch. “What’s elephant glue?”

“You know, the kind of stuff that would make an elephant stick to the walls.”

Cara peered down at her.

Deborah made a face. “It made sense to me when I thought of it.”

Cara pursed her lips, suppressing laughter. “Was that one of those thoughts you have when you’re half asleep, half awake?”

“Why, yes it was.”

“I like those. They’re amusing. Not much help, but always worth a good chuckle. My favorites are the ones you mumble right before falling asleep.”

“So, are you going to the Hope Crossing church meeting with me and Ada this Sunday?”

“Once was enough for me, thanks.”

“Girls,” Ada called, “lunch is ready. The deliveryman called, and he can’t do his pickups today, so I’ve got my pies all loaded up in the buggy to take to the bakery, hotel, and diner. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Lori’s going with me.”

Okay Ada. Thank you.”

“Denki.” Deborah shifted to the side. “Was it the backless bench or the length of the service?”

“Neither.” Cara tugged on the last part of the attached paper and stepped down to the floor. “In spite of your great efforts over the last month to teach me your language, I have no clue what’s being said. Why sit through it when I need you to do a summation afterward?” Cara took the wallpaper to the tarp in the corner and dropped it, then wiped her hands on the black apron. She slid her arm around Deborah and guided her out of the room. “So, what does
geziemt
mean?”

“Depends. It can mean suitable, as in a suitable mate. Or it could mean becoming, as in beautiful to God in dress and behavior.” They walked down the stairs. “Where did you hear it? Maybe I can figure out which meaning was intended.”

“I heard it at church.”

“The pastor was talking about living true to who God made you to be and not seeking to be who the world wants to make you into.”

“Why is it so important to you to go to church? It’s an off day. Why ruin it?”

“Because—”

Cara held up her hand, interrupting Deborah. “I meant that as a rhetorical question.”

“Meaning you didn’t really intend for me to answer?”

“Exactly.” Cara pushed against the swinging door to the kitchen. Heat smacked her in the face. “Living Amish gives new meaning to the phrase ‘If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.’”

“Let’s sit under the shade tree out back.”

“I vote let’s buy an air conditioner.”

“An air conditioner wouldn’t be much use without electricity, my dear Englischer. But a battery-operated fan is an idea I could go for, not that our bishop would.”

They grabbed the plates with their sandwiches, chips, and fruit. “How does Ada stand it during summer months?”

“I’ll take that as a rhetorical question. It’ll save me trying to explain it.” After they sat at the table, Deborah bowed her head for a silent prayer, and Cara waited.

Deborah lifted her head. “A couple of girls from this district asked if I’d go with them to the singing this Saturday. I’m not sure I’m ready. Just thinking about going makes me start crying all over again.”

“Why?”

“Because Mahlon leaving me like he did was equal to a public flogging. Everybody knows he not only broke my heart, but he humiliated me.”

“Pffft.” Cara rolled her eyes. “If they have any sense, they’re thinking of how insane he is for leaving you. What he did was about him, Deb. If I were you, I’d lift my head and dare them to think less of me because of someone else’s stupidity.”

“If you’re right, why am I the one who feels like a total idiot for loving him?”

“Because he sucker-punched you.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose.”

“And he didn’t do it by accident either.”

Deb shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. If I go to a singing, do you want to come with me?”

“No way. It’s for singles, not widows, right?”

“Ya. To me singings are for so much more than finding someone. It’s a time for making friends who’ll still be friends fifty years from now. The walls vibrate from the songs and laughter. I think I’m ready to make some real friends in Hope Crossing.”

“Then you better start inviting people over more often.”

Deborah sat back in her chair, smiling. “So you’re saying you’re not a friend?”

Cara blinked. “I…I…me?”

“I like your humility, Cara. It’d serve you well as an Amish woman.”

“It’s hard to be Amish if you don’t believe in God, don’t you think?”

Deborah opened her mouth to speak, but Cara held up her hand. “Just take it as a rhetorical question, Deb.”

Thunder rumbled, and the smell of rain hung in the air as Cara snuggled with Lori on the bed, reading to her. When Ada found this children’s book in a box of things while moving here, she gave it to Lori. At first
Shoo-Fly Girl
seemed harmless enough. But it was all about a little girl growing up Amish, and Lori loved it.

“She loved going to church, huh, Mom?”

“Yes. Now nestle down and go to sleep.” Cara got off the bed and laid the sheet loosely over her daughter, wondering how anyone slept in this August heat.

“I want to go to church with Ephraim again.”

A dozen emotions washed over her at the mention of his name, and the ache of missing him stirred again. “I’m not sure sneaking in to sit in his lap that one time could be considered
going
with him.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Besides, you can’t even understand what’s being said.”

“I know some of the words now. Deborah’s been teaching me. I don’t have to know all the words. But I can feel what they’re saying, can’t you?”

She brushed strands of hair away from Lori’s face. “Yeah, sometimes, I guess.”

Hearing the thunder grow louder, Cara hoped Deborah’s night out with her new friends in Hope Crossing didn’t get rained out.

The longing to believe in something other than what she could see had wrapped around her heart lately. Sometimes it seemed God was everywhere. And yet, at the same time, she didn’t know if she could really believe that. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny seemed real too when she was little.

“Shoo-Fly Girl loves being Amish.”

“It’s ridiculously hard, living as they do. There are more rules than bugs in a barn.”

She giggled. “But there’s rules to everything. You told me that lots of times before we even met the Amish.”

“Yeah, I guess I did. Go to sleep. Do you want me to leave a low-burning kerosene lamp on the dresser tonight?”

“Nope. I’m trusting God like Shoo-Fly Girl. Do you wanna pray?”

No, she didn’t. Not now. Not ever. She had prayed when her mother died, begging him to give her back. She had prayed when in foster homes, crying out for someone to care. But one day she realized no one was listening to her prayers.

“I’ll close my eyes, and you say the words, okay?”

Lori shut her eyes tight. “Dear God, forgive me for doing wrong, and help me do right. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Cara picked up the kerosene lamp. “Good night, Lorabean.”

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Do you trust God?”

“You need to go on to sleep now, okay?”

“Okay. Night, Mom.”

“Good night.” Cara patted Better Days and then pulled the door shut behind her.

She stood at the top of the stairs, tempted to read the same diaries and letters from her mother that she read every night. But it seemed she should use this time to do something else. There was nothing new inside that box her dad had sent her, but she made her way down the steps and to the hall closet anyway. After setting the lamp on a side table, she reached to the top shelf and grabbed her gateway to the past. With the box in hand, she picked up the lantern and went into the kitchen. Once seated at the table, she opened the box.

She set her mother’s Bible to the side before opening all the letters and spreading them out on the table. She’d read every one and all of the journals a dozen times.

The stairs creaked, and Ada walked into the kitchen, carrying a lantern. She ran her hand across Cara’s back as she passed her. “Can I fix you a glass of ice water?”

“No thanks.” Cara leaned back in her chair. “Ada, if your district had never learned the truth about why my mother left Dry Lake, would they be writing to me or visiting?”

“I think so, but it’s hard to know.” With a glass of water in hand, Ada took a seat.

“It had to break my mom’s heart to discover her fiancé’s secret just weeks before the wedding.”

“Rueben’s been in a lot of trouble for the secret he kept.”

“But not shunned?”

Ada shook her head. “He might be later on, but the bishop hasn’t decided what to do yet. He’s in a bad spot—needing to issue discipline to a man who did something wrong more than thirty years ago. If he’s not careful, a lot of the youth will look at another shunning, along with Ephraim’s and Mahlon’s troubles, and not want to join the faith.”

“It still makes me mad. It’d be okay with me if they shunned both Rueben and his wife forever.”

“And it’s harder to take since it’s Anna Mary’s parents, no?”

Cara nodded. “Too hard sometimes.”

“You remind me so much of your mother. You’ve helped me and Deborah survive the worst thing imaginable. I couldn’t have handled the last couple of months of bearing what Mahlon’s done without looking at what God brought out of your heartache. And that awful imaginary whip you keep cracking to make me and Deborah stay focused on building a business. I’m actually glad you’ve been a jaded little taskmaster.”