The Search (23 page)

Caleb took his straw hat off of his head and spun it around in his hands. Finally, he looked over, past Jonah, to the large vegetable garden on the side of the house. “I’ve been trying something new this summer. I’ve got a compost pile working just for kitchen scraps.”

Jonah looked sideways at him, alarmed. Did Caleb not hear him? What did a compost pile have to do with all that had just spilled out of him?

Caleb leaned forward in his chair. “Composting is a miracle, really. It starts out with carrot scrapings and coffee grinds and banana peels. And then you give it time and the sun warms it and God turns all of that rubbish into something wonderful and useful. Something we can use and spread in the garden.”

Jonah tilted his head. “You’re trying to make an analogy of composting to the lie I’ve been living with for fifteen years?”

“I guess I am.” Caleb smiled and set his hat on his knee. “The funny thing about composting is that it ends up benefiting us. Nothing is beyond God’s ability to repair. Even kitchen scraps. He is all-powerful.”

Jonah glared at him. “So you’re saying that I just forgive and forget?” He thrust his fist against his chest. He felt so angry. He felt so cheated. “Something as big as the fact that this child I’ve been raising isn’t really mine?”

“Isn’t she?” Caleb asked, holding Jonah’s fixed gaze. “Could Bess really be any more your daughter?”

Jonah dropped his eyes to the ground. Caleb was right. Bess
was
his daughter. He had to fight back a lump in his throat.

“Nothing can ever change that, Jonah.”

Jonah looked down at the creek. “You probably want me to tell Bess the whole story.”

“I’m not the one to tell you what to say or what not to say. You’ll have to pray long and hard about that matter. I do understand that it’s heavy information for a child to bear.”

“She’s not a child any longer. She’s grown up years this summer.”

Caleb smiled. “There are seasons in our life that are like that.”

The sun was up now, filtering through the trees, creating shadows over the creek.

“As far as forgiving your mother,” Caleb said, “Peter asked Jesus, how many times should he forgive another? Peter wanted a statistical count. And Jesus responded with a story. ‘Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.’ Jesus was teaching him that we don’t live by careful bookkeeping. Through God’s mercy, bookkeeping has given way to extravagant generosity.” He paused for a moment. “So this is your story, my friend.”

They spoke no words for a long while, and yet the silence didn’t seem uncompanionable.

Then Caleb placed a hand on Jonah’s shoulder and added, “There’s someone else you need to think about forgiving.”

Jonah looked at him with a question.

“Yourself,” he said softly. “For the buggy accident.”

Jonah winced. He started to protest, to give the pat answers that he always gave—God was in control. God knew best. God has a purpose in all things. But he couldn’t say the words. He stopped and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. “I should have prevented it. I should have been paying closer attention to the road.” His voice grew hoarse. “It’s hard enough to accept that I could have prevented Rebecca’s death . . . now I’ve learned that my daughter died in that accident too. I was responsible for them.” He covered his face with his hands and his shoulders started to shake. Something broke loose inside of him and he began to weep. He couldn’t even remember the last time he cried. He didn’t even cry when he learned that Rebecca had passed. He just felt numb. But now, this morning, he felt fresh, raw, searing pain, as if the accident had just happened. He was spilling out grief he had stored for fifteen years, his chest heaving and racking with sobs.

Caleb sat quietly until Jonah’s tears were spent. Finally, he spoke. “You didn’t cause that accident, Jonah. It’s hard to understand why God allowed it, but we trust in God’s sovereignty. Your wife and baby’s lives were complete. And now we trust they are in the presence of our Almighty Lord.” The faint clang of a dinner bell floated down to the creek. He rose to his feet. “Breakfast is ready. Jorie’s probably wondering where I’ve disappeared to. I know she’d be pleased to have you join us.”

“Thanks, Caleb. Another time.”

Jonah started to rise, but Caleb put his hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you stay here awhile and talk this all out with the Lord? I find it’s my favorite place to hammer things out with him.”

As Jonah eased back down, he asked Caleb, “So you think Bess should give Simon her bone marrow? A man such as him?” He looked away. “You remember, Caleb, how he treated Lainey and her mother. How the sparkle drained from them.” And what life would have been like for his Bess, too, had she been raised by Simon. Lainey had pointed that out to him, but he hadn’t listened to her.

Caleb rubbed his forehead. “Are we going to be part of condemning a man? Or are we going to be a part of releasing him from condemnation?” He sat back down again. “Jonah, we want to share in this world, of forgiving and being forgiven. Even such a man as Simon.”

It wasn’t easy, though. Even for Caleb. Jonah could see this was a temptation for both of them, to let consequences fall as they would. To let Simon pass away without a hand of kindness offered to him. Except for the hand of Bertha. Suddenly, Jonah felt a slight softening toward his mother. He realized how hard this must be for her, what a difficult spot she was in. Despite everything, Simon was her brother.

Caleb added, “You probably know this, but Lainey O’Toole is planning to be baptized.”

“Bess told me,” Jonah said.

“When she first came to me a while back, I told her to go without electricity for a week. That usually changes folks’ minds right off. They miss their radio and hair dryer and television too much. But she didn’t bat an eye. She’s been learning our language and choring without modern convenience. Even still, I had to make sure she wasn’t doing this on a whim.”

He nodded.

“I asked her why, and she told me she truly believes that she can serve and love God best by being Plain.” Caleb lifted his eyebrows. “Sure wish some of our members felt that way. Quite a few of them claim to be meditating during church.” He raised his eyebrows. “An activity that looks suspiciously similar to dozing.” He rose to his feet. “God always has a plan, doesn’t he?”

Jonah looked up at Caleb and did his best to offer up a slight smile. He wished he had Caleb’s unwavering faith. Ever since Rebecca—and his baby—had died, he had been able to summon only a pale shadow of the faith he once had. For how could a loving God let a twenty-year-old young mother and her newborn baby die in a careless accident? If God was sovereign, then his sovereignty seemed frightening. It was a question Jonah had never been able to work through to a comfortable solution.

Caleb watched him carefully, as if reading his thoughts. “God may allow tragedy, Jonah, just like he allowed his Son to have a tragic death.” He leaned closer to Jonah. “But God is a redeemer. Never, ever forget that truth.”

Once a week, on her day off from the bakery, Lainey traveled to Lebanon to visit Simon. She brought him baked goods and a magazine or a puzzle. He was not looking well. He had become even more pale and thin, with dark circles under his eyes. Today, she found him on the patio, getting some sun. Simon, who had always looked so sure of himself, seemed hollow and fragile.

He opened one eye when he heard her. “What’s in the box?” he asked in a gruff voice.

“Doughnuts. Jelly filled. Your favorite, if I remember right.”

“I never liked doughnuts.” He held out his hand, palm up, for a doughnut.

She opened the box and handed him one. He ate it carefully, as if he had sores in his mouth, and jelly dripped down his chin. She wiped it off with a tissue and he let her. It amazed her to see Simon helpless. “So the nurse said they’re going to release you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “They just want the bed. Government can’t bother themselves with a dying vet. Even one with a purple heart.”

Lainey tried not to roll her eyes. She had heard that purple heart line many times before. “It was Bertha who talked them into releasing you. She thought you’d be better off in a home.”

“I’m staying right here. I got my rights.”

She knew the truth was that he had no place to go. He was a pathetic, lonely old man who was dying. She looked at him with eyes that were not hard or cold. She saw him objectively. “I’d like you to come home with me.”

Simon didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even blink.

“I bought the old cottage and neighbors helped fix it up. We’re going to rent a hospital bed for you and keep it downstairs in the living room, so you feel like you’re part of things.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “If you’re looking for money, I told you I ain’t got none.”

She smiled. “I don’t want your money, Simon, even if you had any.”

“Then why would you be bothering with a sick old man?”

That was a question she had asked herself and prayed over ever since Bertha suggested—no, informed her—she should take in Simon. She finally decided the answer was because she was able to make something right in at least one tiny corner of the vast house of wrongs. It was another thing she was learning from the Amish. “Everybody needs somebody in this world to help them through. I guess you’re stuck with me.”
And I’m stuck with you,
she thought but kindly didn’t say.

Simon tucked his chin to his chest. She thought his hands were trembling a little. Maybe not. Then he lifted his head. “I like my coffee strong, and served right at six a.m.”

A laugh burst out of Lainey. “Oh, I see you’re already giving orders.” She stood. “I’ll go talk to the nurses about getting you released.”

He put his hand on her forearm to stop her. He looked up at her, and for the first time she could remember, he didn’t look full of mockery. He looked scared. “Lainey, why?”

She patted his hand, the way she would a child. “Your debt is canceled, Simon. That’s why.”

Jonah hadn’t seen Lainey yet. Nor had Bess. When he returned to Rose Hill Farm after talking to Caleb, Bess was already there. Apparently, it was Lainey’s day off from the bakery and Bess couldn’t find her anywhere.

By late afternoon, Jonah drove the buggy down to Lainey’s cottage to see if she had returned yet. There was no answer at the door. It amazed him to see that cottage transformed. It had been well worthwhile to fix it up. It was starting to look the way it was probably intended to look, years ago, when it was first built by the original owners. It was a lovely little house, with good bones and a solid foundation. He could still smell the fresh paint. New windowpanes replaced the broken ones.

He sat on the porch steps to wait for her. He had been worried to hear that she was going to live in this house—the one where her mother had died in childbirth. He put a hand to his forehead. She died delivering his Bess! Right here. Another discovery that hadn’t occurred to him. How could Lainey live in a house that sheltered so many unhappy memories? He couldn’t have done it.

His back was stiff from sitting for so long, so he got up to stretch. He hoped she would return soon. Soon it would be more dark than day. He walked down the pathway and around to the back of the house. He peered inside the window and recognized some furniture and an old rug from Rose Hill Farm’s attic. He should have known his mother had a hand in this. He walked all around the perimeter of the house, stopping by a small, newly planted rose garden. He smiled. More evidence of Bertha Riehl. He walked around to the front and then he saw Lainey. She stood by the road, watching him, wearing a Plain dress—lavender that brought out her eyes. Her hands were clasped before her to keep them steady.

“Lainey,” Jonah said softly as he approached her.

“You came back,” Lainey said. “There’s so much I need to explain—”

“Would you take me to see my child’s grave?”

She nodded. “We can go right now.”

They didn’t speak in the buggy as Jonah drove them to the town cemetery. Lainey led him straight to the back where her mother was buried. A small grave marker was next to it. He could see that the two graves had been recently weeded. They looked cared for. By Lainey, no doubt.