Although it was awkward, Mike had to ask. “Is your father moving to a smaller place?”
“He died. He had a heart attack and died, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“I’m sorry.”
“He was in his eighties, so I guess I should have expected it. But I didn’t. And now I’ve got a houseful of furniture that won’t fit in my condo. And things … so many things that he accumulated over his lifetime.” She sighed. “So I really appreciate you guys coming with the truck. It all has to go. Everything.” She ran her palms over the leather on the arms of the Barcalounger, worn smooth with time and use. “Even this. He lived in this chair.”
She hiccuped, pressing her other hand to her mouth, and Mike saw that her eyes were flooded with tears.
“Look, I’ll have the guys start upstairs. In the meantime, do you think your father kept a first-aid kit? I’d be happy to help you get that cleaned and bandaged.”
“I think there’s one in the kitchen.” With a weary sigh, she pushed herself out of the chair. “I’ll get it.”
He returned to the guys waiting in the vestibule. “She says everything has to go. Do you want to start upstairs in the bedrooms?”
“Sure.” Daryl slid his gloves on. “Did you get her signature on the release?”
“Not yet.” Mike tucked the clipboard under his arm. “She’s looking kind of fragile, and I thought I’d talk with her first. Can you give us a few minutes before you clear out the living room?”
Daryl nodded, his eyes sharp with understanding. “You got it.”
As Mike swabbed the woman’s cut with antiseptic, he introduced himself.
“I’m sorry. I’m Persephone Bailey. My students call me Percy. And I appreciate your kindness, Mike. You have a good bedside manner.”
Gently he pressed the bandage on and crumpled up the wrapper. “I should. I’ve been raised to be a doctor all my life. I’m supposed to follow in my father’s footsteps.”
“I know how that is. My father was a sociology professor. So what do I do? I teach sociology.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was your father?”
“Eighty-two. He wasn’t teaching anymore, but he was still active.” Percy went on to describe how her father volunteered at an art museum in town. He had a passion for antiquities and had visited Egypt, China, Greece, and Peru during the last decade of his life.
“It sounds like he had a wonderful life,” Mike said.
“I think he did. I’m just mad that he didn’t tell me about his heart condition.” She frowned. “Or maybe I’m angry to be left behind. Are your parents alive?” When he nodded, she added, “It’s very scary to have both your parents gone.”
“If it’s any consolation, it sounds like your father certainly dug in and savored the moment.”
“Many moments,” she said. “And thank you for listening.”
From the foyer, the strains of a hymn rose. The guys were singing. Most of them were in the church’s a cappella choir, and they liked to sing to pass the time.
“I can have them stop singing if it bothers you,” Mike told Percy.
She waved her hand. “They’re fine. I don’t even know if my father believed in God, but a few hymns might help, right?”
Mike nodded, thinking how devastating it would be for him if his father didn’t have faith in the Lord.
Daryl paused in the arched entryway. “Is it okay if we start on the downstairs rooms?”
Percy waved him on. “Please. Oh, and this chair, too.” She rose and moved to the back of the leather chair, biting her lips as she gripped the headrest.
“You know, Percy, we don’t have to take that chair,” Mike said. “I can see that you’re attached to it.”
Percy closed her eyes. “I can still see him sitting here, grading papers or reading the newspaper. He was not a fan of electronic gadgets.”
“Take the chair home,” Mike said. “You should keep it.”
“I guess I could put it in my study, but …” She shook her head. “I have no way of getting it there.”
“We’ll deliver it for you. We can do that, right?” he asked Daryl, who was lifting an end table.
“I’m sure we can figure something out,” Daryl said.
When Percy went to write her home address on the back of a business card, Mike noticed that she taught at Temple University. He told her he was transferring there in the fall, and she seemed glad.
“At least now you know one person there,” she said.
Although the guys had ribbed him a little about “giving back the furniture,” no one had minded delivering the chair to Percy’s apartment—especially after they’d heard Mike’s description of her father’s attachment to the chair.
Now, standing in the waning sun, watching for the volleyball to come his way, Mike realized that Daryl had been right about volunteering. The experience had renewed his heart.
The game ended, and Mike went to find his grandmother, who had been talking with friends when he last saw her. The picnic was breaking up. It was time to head back to Gran’s so that he could pack for his trip back to Lancaster County.
Already Mike felt the shadows of Sunday night creeping over him. When he began to make the trip to Philly nearly every weekend, his parents thought it was out of duty toward his grandmother. And though he did worry about Gran, who at seventy-eight was moving slower and becoming more forgetful, Mike knew he had selfish motives for being here, too.
Back at the townhouse, Gran was sitting on the stoop tending her spring flower boxes when Mike emerged with his duffel bag, ready to go.
Mike paused on the top step. “Your flowers look great, Gran. What are those, pansies?”
“Pansies and daffodils. Though I’m surprised the bulbs survived all that snow we had this year.” Katherine Trueherz seemed fragile as a porcelain doll sitting on the steps. Her silver hair was nearly translucent now, and from the way she stooped over, her body seemed to be shrinking.
“Stay for dinner, Mikey,” she said, her eyes twinkling in her wizened face. “I’ll take you out.”
“You always do.” Gran didn’t do much real cooking anymore, and neither did he. “And believe me, I appreciate it.”
“But …?” She glanced up at him, her inquisitive blue eyes reminding him of his own eyes.
“I should be getting home.” He moved carefully around her to the bottom of the stairs, dropping his duffel onto the sidewalk.
“You always leave with such a heavy heart,” she said sternly. “Though you seem a little bit better today. What is it that turns you into a Crabby Appleton every Sunday evening?”
Mike rubbed his jaw, holding back a grin. “I haven’t heard that expression since I was a kid. But I guess I’m guilty as charged. The problem with Sundays is that I dread going back to Paradise. And then it gets compounded because I feel guilty about not wanting to go home.”
“You know, you’re overanalyzing.”
“It’s what I do best.”
She laughed. “Well, it’s good to have a sense of humor about it. And pretty soon you won’t have to feel guilty anymore. You’ll be going to Temple in September, so no one will expect you back in Lancaster County.”
“That’s true.” He grabbed the broom that she’d propped against the side of the porch and swept the clippings that had fallen to the sidewalk. “Then I can shift to being miserable about studying medicine.”
“Oh, poppycock. If you’re going to be miserable in the fall, don’t plan on coming around here.”
He laughed. “You’re telling me not to visit you? My own grandma?”
“Not if you’re going to be a downer. Really, Mike. If you don’t want to study medicine, change your major. It’s as simple as that.”
“The problem is that my parents are counting on me. They expect me to take over Dad’s practice in Paradise. And if you’ve ever seen how busy his office is, someone has to do it.”
“But it doesn’t have to be you.” S
he reached under a wavering pansy to pluck a weed. “First of all, have you ever thought that Drew might want to take on the office?”
His brother Andrew was in Afghanistan, working as a medic. “Drew is interested, but he didn’t do well in college. He’ll never get into med school.”
“Never say never. And it’s not your job to fulfill your father’s dream. Yes, Henry did a noble thing all those years ago when he went out to Lancaster County and took on all those sick children with symptoms no one understood. Honestly, he is a good doctor but he’s a terrible businessman, and it’s fortunate there’s enough family money to support his philanthropy. He did surprise me by raising the funds to build the clinic. But the clinic was his dream, not yours. If he’s any kind of father, he won’t force you to follow in his footsteps.”
“Wow.” Mike gripped the cement rail and stared up at her. He had never heard Gran talk so frankly about his father. “I didn’t know you had an opinion about the future of the clinic.”
“I’m not concerned about the clinic; it’s the family baggage that worries me.”
“You don’t miss much, Gran.” All this time, when Mike thought he was bucking up, she must have seen him straining under the weight of his own “family baggage.”
“Apparently you haven’t heard my part of the family history. If my parents had gotten their way, I would not have married your grandfather.”
“Really? But Grandpa Will was a minister. You’d think that would be every parent’s dream.”
“Not Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Witker. My family was well off, and they were so disappointed that I reached beneath our social circle for a beau. My father was a banker, and he had a habit of reducing everything to its monetary value. Maybe that’s why I chose a spouse in such a different profession. Believe me, banking and the Christian ministry are at the opposite ends of the rainbow.”
“Did you try to hide it from your parents?”
“Oh, no. That’s how naïve I was. I just invited Will to Sunday dinner … and what a calamity that was! Will had just returned from a mission in Africa, and he was bubbling with stories of kind villagers and miracles. That did not go over well with Daddy. I think he hoped it was a phase, but then it stuck.”
“Wow.” Mike scratched the back of his neck, enjoying the mental image of his gran as a defiant socialite. “Gran, I didn’t know any of this.”
“The skeletons in our closet.” She rubbed her hands together with a merry smile. “In time, my folks came to accept Will, but when you think about the pressure to take over your father’s practice, remember, I know a thing or two about how it feels to disappoint your parents.”
“Do you ever look back and regret the choices you made?” Mike asked.
“Oh, I have always wondered how a girl who liked to make trouble ended up as a minister’s wife. But I can’t regret a minute of it. Will was a wonderful man. He had a heart of gold. That’s probably where your father got his helping instinct.” She used the railing to pull herself to her feet. “I’m happy with my choices. But you are another story.”
Mike swept the weeds into a dustpan. “How’s that, Gran?”
“God has a plan for you, my dear. And you are the only one who can figure out what that is. Don’t be bamboozled into pretending your father’s dream is yours, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mike was glad his grandmother saw other potential in him, and it was great to hear her on top of her game. Gran might be slowing, but mentally she was still sharp as a tack.
“Now … if you’ll tidy up the tools, I’ll get washed and you can drive us to dinner.”
“Okay,” he said, thinking that the once-defiant socialite still knew how to get her way.
TEN
I didn’t see Sadie at the singing,” Remy said as their buggy pulled away from the remaining group of young people gathered around a bonfire on the Zooks’ land. As it was customary for a young Amish man to give his girl a ride home from a singing, Adam sat beside Remy in an open buggy, heading back to Nate and Betsy King’s house, where she was staying.
“Sadie’s been ducking off in the other direction,” Adam said. “No doubt going to town to see her Englisher friends.”
From his gruff tone of voice, Remy could tell it was a topic that bothered Adam, who had told her of his disappointment over his sister’s choice not to be baptized this year.
She took a deep breath and tipped her head back to take in the field of diamonds scattered over the purple sky. The cool night was upon them, a blanket of privacy, and she was grateful for it.
“Such a beautiful night. I’m glad they held the singing around a bonfire. And I was glad to see that Gabe seemed to be enjoying himself. And Jonah … I never know what he’s thinking. He’s so quiet around the farm, though I noticed he does come out for the singings.”
“Jonah’s always been a quiet one.”
“Do you guys ever talk about personal stuff? Has he ever mentioned a girl he likes?”
Adam smiled, his face warming in the moonlight. “If he did, do you think I’d tell you?”
“If it’s not a big secret, of course you would.” Remy gave his arm a gentle punch. “And even if it is, I’m your girl, Adam. I’m going to be your wife. You can tell me anything and my lips are sealed. You know that, right?”
His hand dropped from the reins to her thigh. “I know that, Remy. I do trust you.”
Oh, the warmth of his touch … Remy knew her rational thoughts could evaporate into sheer desire with Adam so close, and she had to prod herself to stay on track. She pressed her hand over his, loving their closeness.
“You were nervous this morning,” he said. “How did your first baptism class go?”
“Fine, I think. Preacher Dave was the teacher, so that was good. For some reason I just relate to him. And the language barrier wasn’t so bad. He helped me with a few things in English, but I understood a lot of it. I think I’m getting better with Pennsylvania Deutsch.”
“Bit by bit.”
“It’s harder to learn when you weren’t raised Amish. Sometimes I still feel like the outsider. After twenty-four years in the English world, I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“If you learn the secret to a good pie, many other faults will be overlooked.”
“I’ve been working on that, too,” Remy said proudly. “Have you ever had sawdust pie?”
He laughed. “Being a carpenter for so many years, you’d think I’d know it. But, no. Never had it.”
“Your aunt Betsy thought it would be a nice surprise. I baked it myself, and there’s a slice waiting for you back at the house.”
“As long as it doesn’t have sawdust …”
“No sawdust or wood chips, I promise. But maybe a little coconut.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“You know me too well.”
“I’m working on it.” She swayed to her right, leaning against him. Even that small contact of her shoulder and arm against his solid body made her melt.
He looked down at her, then slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Sometimes it seems like wedding season will never come. I’ve always been a patient man, but with this, marrying you, I don’t want to be patient anymore.”
“I know.” Remy pressed her face to his chest, allowing her hand to smooth over the top of his jacket. “I wish we could be married sooner, but I do love the history of the tradition, with weddings taking place after the harvest.” By then she would be through with classes and baptized into the church. “I’m going to keep studying German for services. It’s so different from the German I learned in school. But I think Sam understands me.”
“A five-year-old.” He nodded. “That’s progress.”
She laughed. “Indeed, it is.”
He turned to her, his face serious. “Sometimes I wonder, why would a nice Englisher girl want to give up the luxuries of life—a car and electricity, television, and a place to go where they paint your toes? Are you sure about this, Remy? Because there’s no goi
ng back after you’re baptized. This can’t be a whim. The consequences of breaking away are severe. I’ve seen people shunned. It’s a terrible thing.”
Remy felt the weight of the decision. “I know it’s unusual for an outsider to join the faith. But joining the Anabaptist church was not an afterthought for me. I’ve been searching for years.… I’m a Seeker.” That was what the bishop had called her, and she liked the sound of it. After all these years of yearning and searching, at last she had found a place to be, a place where she belonged.
At last, she had found a way to God.
“That’s gut,” Adam said. “Because if you wanted to go back to the city, my heart would be broken.”
Remy pressed a fist to her heart. “I love you, too.”
He reached for her hand and they wove their fingers together and held fast to each other as Thunder’s hooves clip-clopped on the paved road. Remy was sure she felt the pulse in Adam’s wrist beating against hers, their two hearts beating as one.
Thank you, dear Lord, for bringing us together.
They rode in comfortable silence for a while. The air had turned cold, and she separated her hand from Adam’s and pulled the lap blanket over their knees. She realized they were getting close to Nate and Betsy’s place, but she didn’t want their private interlude to end. “Can you slow Thunder down a little?”
He spoke to the horse, which slowed to a walk. “That’s one of the oldest courting tricks in the book, you know. But if you’re cold, move closer. I’ll warm you up.”
“That must be the second oldest trick in the book,” Remy said as she tucked her arm through his and snuggled close.
“Ach, you caught me.”
She sighed. “Summer nights are so beautiful here. In Philly, I lived in the air-conditioning.” An image of her apartment came to mind, dust motes swirling in the stark daylight. “I need to go back soon. I know we’ve talked about it before, but it’s been weighing on my mind. It’s time to tie up loose ends I left behind.”
A Simple Spring: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel Page 10
