The Search (16 page)

As soon as Jonah left with the nurse, Lainey went to find Simon. She finally located him on a ward for terminally ill patients. He was at the far end of the ward, and she felt herself trembling as she approached him. When she was about ten feet away, she stopped and watched him for a while. He was sleeping and looked so peaceful. Simon had been handsome before alcohol had thickened his face. He had good features, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes. Once, he had been a big man. Now, he seemed shriveled, like a grape left out in the sun. His face, once smooth and glossy, was like old shoe leather.

She used to be terrified of him. He could be sweet and charming, but then something minor could trigger an explosive rage.

She remembered one time when she served him a piece of cake she had made and waited by his side, hoping to see if he liked it. He had eaten it in its entirety. Then, instead of complimenting her, he yanked the blue ribbon she won at the county fair for her cherry tart off of the refrigerator and tore it into pieces. “You were getting too fond of that ribbon. Don’t you think I’ve noticed?”

She didn’t answer him, which had enraged him.

“Pride goeth before a fall. You should be ashamed!”

She glanced at her mother for help, but her mother looked away. “You’re right,” Lainey said meekly. “I was too fond of winning that ribbon.”

Afterward, her mother had tried to explain to her that it was getting injured in the war that had made Simon so quick to anger. Lainey wasn’t so sure. She thought he was born mad, though he was the only Amish-born person she’d ever known who had a temper on him. They were gentle people, she knew that to be true. Gentle like Jonah.

Simon opened his eyes and stared at her. Then recognition dawned in his eyes. Those eyes—icy blue—combined with his mane of thick white hair had always reminded Lainey of a Siberian Husky. “Elaine?”

Elaine, her mother. Lainey supposed she did resemble her mother, at least in coloring. Certainly more than Bess did. Bess took after Simon, that was plain to see. “No, Simon. I’m not Elaine. She died over fifteen years ago. I’m Lainey, her daughter.”

Simon peered at her, trying to comprehend what she was saying. He was very ill, she could tell that. “I got married once,” he said. “Long time ago, she left me. That’s when my life took a turn.”

“She didn’t leave you, Simon. She died having your baby.”

He closed his eyes and was quiet for a moment. After a while, he opened one eye. “I don’t suppose you have something to drink?” he asked her, licking his lips.

“There’s some water by your bedside.” She went to it and poured a glass, then held it out to him.

“I was hoping for something a little stronger,” he said, brushing her hand away that held the water glass. “Course, I don’t drink much as a habit. Don’t have the taste for it.”

She knew that was a lie. Simon drank like a fish.

He put his head back down on the pillow and gazed at her. “So, you’re Lainey. All growed up.”

She nodded.

“I don’t have money, if that’s what you’re after.”

“I don’t want your money, Simon.”

“You must want something. Showing up after all these years, without a word. You’re after something. Everybody wants something.”

“I don’t want anything from you. I wanted to tell you that . . . I forgive you. That’s all.” She exhaled. “I just want you to know that I forgive you.”

He snorted. “For what?”

She dropped her head and didn’t see him grab her arm until he had it tight in his grip.

“For what?” he snarled, like an angry dog. “I put a roof over your head and food in your mouth. You weren’t even my kid. You should be thanking me.”

His grip was weaker than she would have expected. She peeled his fingers off of her arm as calmly as if she was peeling a banana, and stepped back. “You can’t hurt me anymore.” She took in a deep breath. “No matter what you think, Simon, you do need to be forgiven. And no matter what, I do forgive you.”

He seemed not to care in the least. He pointed to the door. “Don’t let the door hit you where the dog bit you,” was all he said.

His sarcasm slapped her with surprise. She lifted her chin and marched toward the door. Her shoes made a clicking sound down the ward. As soon as she went through the door, she leaned against the wall, trying to compose herself. Hadn’t she thought this all through before she even asked Jonah if she could join him today? Hadn’t she reminded herself, over and over, not to expect anything back from Simon? And yet, here she was, deeply disappointed. She found herself shivering, as if she was very cold. She heard someone call her name, so softly she thought she might have imagined it. But there was Jonah, walking down the hall toward her. When he saw the look on her face, he held out his arms to her. She burst into tears and sank into him.

Dear Jonah,

Your note said you would be gone only a few days. It has now been nearly a week and I haven’t heard a word from you. Should I be planting celery? Can't have an Amish wedding without celery!

Affectionately,

Sallie

“Today’s the day, Bess,” Billy said when she came into the greenhouse to bring him a glass of lemonade. “We’re going to the bakery today to talk to Eddie Beaker.”

Bess’s eyes went wide. “We? What do you mean, we?”

He took a sip of his lemonade and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ve met him. I don’t have any idea who he is.”

“I haven’t
met
him. Lainey pointed him out, that’s all. And you can figure out who he is. He wears a plaid blazer and his hair is slicked back with Crisco and he chews on a cold cigar.” She shook her head. “You go. He gives me the creeps.”

Billy blew air out through his lips like an exasperated horse.

“What would we say, anyway?”

“Bess, think,” he said patiently, as if she were a schoolchild stumped on an easy problem. “We need to be talking about the lake just loud enough so that he overhears us. He needs to think it’s his story to break.”

She bit her lip. He made it sound simple, but she knew it wouldn’t be. It was just like Mammi and the sheriff’s car. Same thing.

“Come on, Bess,” he said, as she hesitated. “We’ve got to try and save our lake! You’re the one who found out it was polluted in the first place!”

The way he was looking at her, so passionate and fired up, made her fall in love with him all over again. And he had said “our lake,” like it belonged to just the two of them. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll tell Mammi that we’re going to buy some cherry tarts from Lainey. She’ll be thrilled.”

But there were no cherry tarts at The Sweet Tooth today. It was Lainey’s day off, Bess and Billy discovered unhappily when they arrived at the bakery five minutes before three. Mrs. Stroot was trying to lock up for the day and seemed anxious for them to leave. Billy stood in front of the counter, stalling for time, pretending that he couldn’t make up his mind about what to buy. Bess kept looking down the street to see a man in a big plaid jacket head this way. Finally, just as Mrs. Stroot was about to shoo them out, in came Eddie Beaker. It was just like Bess had told Billy, he was chewing a cold cigar.

“You go first,” Billy told Eddie as he walked up to the glass counter. “I’m still thinking it over.”

Mrs. Stroot rolled her eyes.

Eddie pointed to the Danish. “How much?”

“Ten percent discount,” Mrs. Stroot bargained.

“Make it half off and I’ll take them all,” he growled.

As Mrs. Stroot sighed deeply and started to pack the Danish in a box, Billy unrolled his spiel. “I was planning to go fishing, but there’s just no fish at Blue Lake Pond.” He motioned with Bess to pick up his lead.

“Still none?” Bess asked, too loudly.

“Just the dead ones on the shore,” he said.

“Such a pity,” Bess said. “And all of those birds gone too.” She wished Lainey were here. She would have been able to engage Eddie Beaker into the conversation. He seemed far more interested in the Danish than in the missing wildlife.

Billy sidled closer to Eddie Beaker. “It’s the strangest thing. Ever since that paper mill went in, there’s been less and less wildlife up there. Now, there’s virtually none. Can’t figure it out.” He looked at Eddie Beaker to see if he was taking the bait. What more of a morsel could he toss to a reporter hungry for news?

Eddie Beaker pulled out his wallet to pay Mrs. Stroot. He handed her a few dollars, took the change, put it in his pocket, and left the bakery.

Billy exchanged a defeated look with Bess. “Let’s go home.”

Mrs. Stroot groaned.

Bess woke to the sound of bacon sputtering and popping in the pan. She lay in bed and smiled. Mammi said she would be making pancakes with maple syrup today.

Bess was delighted that her father wasn’t talking about returning to Ohio anytime soon. She had assumed they would be heading back as soon as possible, but no. Jonah had told her that he was waiting on blood test results to see if he could help out Mammi’s brother with his cancer. And happily, there was no mention of Bess as a donor.

She was glad she didn’t have to worry about returning to Ohio. She had enough worries on her plate without adding more.

Her main worry was Billy Lapp. He’d taken up the outrageous notion that Bess could give him advice about how to get Betsy to stop flirting with other boys and just concentrate on him. “I know she’s sweet on me,” he told her just that afternoon while they were bagging up dried rose petals from the drying frames.

Bess listened sympathetically with her face and about a third of her mind. The rest of her thoughts were on memorizing Billy’s face. “How do you know that?” She bent down to scratch a mosquito bite on her ankle until it bled. “Well?” she asked defiantly.

“She tells me so.”

Bess straightened up and rolled her eyes to the highest heaven at that comment. “If she’s telling that to you, Billy, she’s telling that to all the boys.”

He scrunched up his handsome face. “Nah. You don’t know Betsy like I do.”

How could Billy be so smart in rose grafting and mathematics and so dumb when it came to understanding women? The way the male sex thought had her stumped.

Bess had tried to have a conversation with Betsy Mast after church the other day, just out of curiosity. She couldn’t deny that Betsy was exceptionally pretty—even more so, up close—but she had a breathy, baby voice and answered questions with questions. Bess asked her if her parents were farmers, and she responded by saying, “Aren’t all Amish farmers?” Well, no, Bess told her. Some build furniture, like her father. One fellow manufactures windows. Others even work in factories. Betsy looked at her as if she was describing life on another planet. Bess wasn’t sure if Betsy’s lantern in her attic wasn’t lit or if she was just trying to pretend she was interested when she wasn’t.

Billy nudged Bess to bring her back to his problem at hand. “What do you think I should do? Should I tell her I want her to stop seeing other fellows?”

They were working side by side. She enjoyed being this close to him. He smelled of earth and sweat and roses. “I don’t know, Billy.”