Where Love Grows (11 page)

Daett
looked serious. “I did do that once, but there have been…other things. Things I now wish had never happened. But we can't go back and change the past.”

Teresa held the washroom door open.
Daett
walked in, but he waited until she had washed her hands in the bowl and was drying them before he began to wash.

The kitchen door cracked open, and little fingers appeared around the edge.

“Oh, you little sweetheart, you!” Teresa cooed, kneeling down to swoop baby Samuel off the floor. She smothered his face with kisses. “Have they been keeping you upstairs all afternoon? But now you've come down to Mommy!”

“Da…da…” Samuel said, turning his face away.

“He's already trying to say daddy,” Teresa gushed. “What do you think that means? Will my next baby be a boy since he's saying
daett
before
mamm
?”

Mamm
came to the open door and said, “Oh that's just an old wives' tale. They never know what they're talking about. Now would the two of you quit chattering like blue jays and come inside? Supper is on the table.”

“I didn't hear anyone call,”
Daett
protested as he continued to dry his hands.

“Sometimes an old horse can find his own way into the barn,”
Mamm
said. “We've been busy all day. I haven't had time to think.”

“Well, I'm here now,”
Daett
said. “And let me ask you something that I keep forgetting. Have you put in our word for the church benches yet?”

“
Yah
,”
Mamm
said. “It's all arranged. Betsy's boy is bringing over the wagon tomorrow, and we'll fetch the benches then. Stop worrying, Menno. Right now you need to eat. Come in and sit down before you fall over.”

Daett
acted like he was tottering to the table, scraping the chair on the hardwood floor as he sat down.
Mamm
sat down beside him. Susan watched them out of the corner of her eye as she brought the bread over. She tried to keep from laughing. Teresa seated Samuel in his highchair before sliding onto the bench against the wall to sit beside her mom.

“Let us pray,”
Daett
said, leading out as they bowed their heads. “Now unto the most gracious and mighty God, we give thanks tonight again for this food set before us…”

Teresa listened, remembering the first morning after she'd arrived from Asbury Park with Susan. At breakfast she had first heard
Daett
pray. How his deep voice had thrilled her to the depths of her heart. What confidence it had inspired in her. What hope had risen that things could really be like she had dreamed they would be. And even in the worst of the trouble that had followed, that awakened comfort had not been taken from her. She glanced over and could see her mom was experiencing the same thing. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Teresa reached under the table and squeezed her mother's hand. It was so unusual to see her mother cry. It had been years since Teresa had seen this, not even during the hard years in Asbury Park.

“…And now the name of
Da Hah
be praised and glorified both with our mouths and with the works of our hands. Amen,”
Daett
said.

Mamm
looked over and noticed Maurice's tears. She rose and left the room. She returned quickly. It's a touching time for all of us,”
Mamm
said as she handed a handkerchief to Maurice. “After marrying off eight girls, I haven't cried much for the last few. But I suppose there will be buckets of tears tomorrow at Teresa's wedding and even more when Susan's time comes.”

Daett
nodded in agreement as he dished meat casserole onto his plate. When he was done, he passed the dish on. Teresa took the casserole from his hands and placed a small amount on Samuel's plate.

Maurice wiped her eyes and took the dish when Teresa was done. She dished out a small portion onto her plate and handed it to Susan. When the food was passed to everyone, they ate in silence, the weariness of the day's work on their faces.

When they finished,
Mamm
brought out the cream pies. They were passed out, with each person taking a piece.

“That was good enough for kings and queens,”
Daett
pronounced after he finished his serving. “If we dine this well at the wedding, I'll be putting on a few more pounds.”

“You will!”
Mamm
affirmed.

They all laughed and bowed their heads for a silent prayer of thanks. Afterward, Teresa took Samuel upstairs to settle him in for the night. She came down in time to help with the last of the dishes. Maurice was washing, her hands and arms covered with suds all the way up to her elbows.

“Mom,” Teresa whispered, walking up behind her, “you look so lovely tonight. I've never seen you like this before.”

“It must be the country living,” Maurice said, tears threatening again. “And the hard work. It makes a body weary and the soul light.”

“I know what you mean,” Teresa agreed. “May I help with anything?”

“We're done,”
Mamm
said from the kitchen table. “But thanks, Teresa. You know, we're going to miss you when you move in with James. I hope you know that. Perhaps James and you will come home once in a while to pay us a visit on Sunday afternoons.”

“I would love that,” Teresa said.

“You are to always consider us as your second parents—after Maurice,”
Mamm
said. “Don't ever forget that.”

“I won't forget,” Teresa said. “How could I? And how can I ever repay you for all this?”

“Regular visits home will be payment enough,”
Mamm
replied with a smile. “That and seeing you and Samuel on Sundays. He's going to grow up to be a strong Amish boy.”

“And he'll never know he wasn't born Amish,” Teresa said. “I've almost forgotten myself.” Teresa glanced up to meet Susan's gaze when she felt a light touch on her elbow. Susan motioned with her head toward Maurice. Turning toward her mom, Teresa saw tears running down her cheeks again. Teresa stepped up beside her mother and wrapped her arms around her neck. “I'm so glad you're here to enjoy this time with me. I wish you never had to leave. Don't you just want to stay with these people forever and ever?”

Maurice stroked the strands of hair hanging out from under Teresa's
kapp
, smiling through her tears. “I would love nothing better, sweetheart. I just don't know how that would work. I certainly couldn't stay here forever, no matter how nice that would be.”

“I'm sure everyone here would love to have you stay as long as you want. James and I will put you up at our little house.”

“No, I won't be the kind of mother who hangs around her married daughter's house and pokes her nose into business that isn't hers. But for a little while—and
only
a little while, it would be wonderful to stay with you. Thank you for inviting me!”

“It's all
Da Hah
's doing,” Teresa said.

“With a little help from you, I'm sure.” Maurice smiled and stroked Teresa's arm.

M
enno stirred long before the first steaks of dawn lit the eastern horizon. He pushed back the bedcovers, swung his legs over, and pulled on his socks. He finished dressing in the darkness. He felt his way out of the bedroom, his fingers finding the familiar door jamb within an inch, with the framed window fixed in his side vision.

Behind him Anna moved under the covers, and he turned to look back. The bed was only a shadow against the wall, her form hidden under the heavy quilt. She would not be up for a while yet, even on this, the day of Teresa's wedding. Soon buggy wheels would be turning into the driveway, the excited wedding party and the cooks arriving, but for now she could sleep.

He was the one who couldn't sleep. It was that letter Carol had sent. He was wondering whether he should answer it. Did he wish to see his son? Of course he did. He still couldn't believe it. He had a son! He still hadn't told anyone, not even Anna. But if he didn't gain control of his emotions soon, Anna would notice the struggle on his face. Then the sorrow that tugged on his heart would be unmasked.

Anna would find out, as would his daughters. Even Susan, whose heart was still healing from Thomas's betrayal. What would this do to her? Against his own sin, Thomas's faults looked like child's play. Menno had sinned greatly and betrayed the love of an
Englisha
girl. He had promised what he had not been able to give—security for her heart, a life together, and a home among her people.

Was this sin to follow him to his grave? Hadn't he atoned enough? If he hadn't repented, Teresa wouldn't be here now, her wedding day here. Hadn't he fought for her with both Deacon Ray and Yost Byler? Was that not of some value? And now Teresa's mother was here. The daughter and mother reunited in a place where
Da Hah
could minister to both. They were doing so in his house, under his roof, with his blessing. Yet the past wouldn't go away. And now he must surely tell Anna. She would be angry, but in the end she would understand. After all, it happened before they were together. Anna would probably know the best thing to do.

Menno groaned as he reached for a match and lit the kerosene lamp. With the soft light playing on his beard, he stared out the living room window, seeing only darkness. The time had come to share his burden. He must speak of his guilt. Anna would forgive and say words of wisdom as she always did in matters concerning their family.

Menno found his way slowly back into the bedroom, taking the lamp with him. Anna's startled face came up out of the covers before he closed the bedroom door.

“Please,” he said, “don't be startled, Anna. I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“Is someone sick? Has something happened?”

“
Nee
.” Menno sat down beside her on the bed. “Everyone is okay. It is my heart that is not okay.”

Anna shifted, pulling herself up. She sat propped against the wooden headboard. “You are a good man, Menno. All the community knows this. As do I. What is troubling you?”

“
Nee
, I only wish it were so.” He paused. “Anna, I must tell you of a great sin I committed in my youth.”

She was silent, listening.

He looked away. “When I was doing my alternative service in St. Louis, Anna, I dated an
Englisha
girl.”

Her hand found his. “But you came home to me. That's what's important. The rest doesn't matter.”

“There's more, Anna.” Menno halted, unable to speak the words.

“What is it, Menno? You can tell me,” Anna said, her hand rubbing his gently.

“Anna, I fathered a child in the
Englisha
world.”

“What? A child, Menno? And you are just now telling me after all these years?”

He shook his head and pulled the envelope out of his pocket. “The letter with the news, it only came the other day. I thought the girl had lost the baby. That's what she told me before we parted.” He handed it to her.

“And you never told anyone of this?” The envelope hung limp in her fingers. “Not even the bishop?”

“I spoke a general confession before my baptism, but I didn't talk of specifics.”

“You were…you did this…with an
Englisha
girl?”

“Please don't be angry with me, Anna. I'm no longer a young man, and I have repented of this a thousand times.”

She didn't look at him as she unfolded the letter and silently read the handwriting. When she was finished, she looked up. “Were you around until the time when this girl should have given birth?”

“
Nee
, my service time was over, and I left soon after she told me she'd lost the baby.”

“Do you know what this could mean, Menno? Your son—he might come here…looking for you.”

“I know. And I don't know what to do about it. Our girls…they must be told, but how will I ever tell them? It will hurt them so.”