Breath of Spring
Page 28
The sound of an ancient hymn drifting out Tom’s windows compelled Nora to stop. She’d all but forgotten the German words, yet the power of hundreds of voices singing in one accord made her suck in her breath. She swallowed hard as the melody seeped into her soul, its slow, steady cadence stilling the beat of her heart.
Quickly swiping at tears, she drove on. Could she really go back to three-hour church services, hard wooden pew benches, and endless, droning sermons? She couldn’t recall the last time she’d attended a worship service. You couldn’t consider a quickie ceremony in a Vegas wedding chapel worship, after all.
Maybe you won’t have to worry about sitting through church. You haven’t been allowed back into the fellowship yet. Haven’t been forgiven.
Nora drove around the large loop that passed the Kanagy place and then a few homes where the Schrocks and other Mennonite families lived. She rolled past the fork that led to Atlee and Lizzie Glick’s place—she wasn’t ready to go down that road yet—and followed the curve that meandered in front of the Waglers’ house and then past her own new residence. Definitely the finest house in town.
But what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?
Nora let out a humorless laugh. Her father, ever the sanctimonious Preacher Gabe even among his immediate family, had often quoted that verse to chastise her for wanting new dresses or some doodad she’d seen at Zook’s. The mere memory of his harsh discipline tightened her chest even after sixteen years of living in the English world. If that was her visceral reaction without even seeing him, how did she think she could face him in person? So much water had gone under that proverbial bridge that Gabriel Glick would never, ever cross it to see his errant, banished daughter.
Nora brought herself back into the present. The moving van hadn’t yet arrived, so she pulled back onto the county highway where she’d begun her trip down memory lane. While everyone in town was at the wedding, she had the perfect chance to revisit her childhood home. To prepare herself for the ordeal she would soon face.
She pulled into the lane and parked behind the house . . . slipped into the back door, knowing it wouldn’t be locked. Stood in the kitchen, which appeared smaller and shabbier than she recalled, as though it hadn’t seen fresh paint since she’d left. How odd—and how sad—to stand in this hub of the house and not detect even a whiff of breakfast.
Nora moved on before she lost her nerve. She felt like an intruder—and she wanted to be long gone before anyone came home from the wedding. She peeked into the small downstairs room where she and her mother had sewn the family’s clothes on an ancient treadle machine—
Nora gaped. On a twin bed lay a motionless female form, like a corpse laid out in a casket. Was this what Hiram had meant by implying her parents were barely alive? Did she dare approach, or would this woman pop up like a zombie from an old horror movie and leer at her with hollowed eyes and a toothless grin? Nora wanted to bolt, yet she felt compelled to at least look this woman—surely her mother—in the face. If Mamm was so far gone, why wasn’t someone sitting with her? Or was she merely napping, too tired to attend the wedding?
Holding her breath, Nora slipped silently to the bedside. Even though the room felt stuffy in the July heat, a faded quilt covered her mother’s shriveled form up to her chin. A kapp concealed all but the front of her white hair, so all Nora saw was a pallid face etched with wrinkles. The eyes were closed, and again Nora felt as though she was observing a stranger in a casket rather than looking at her own mother. Last time she’d seen Mamm, her face had been contorted with indignation as disgust hardened her piercing hazel eyes—
And suddenly those eyes were focused on her.
Nora froze, unable to look away. Not a muscle moved in her mother’s face yet Mamm’s gaze didn’t waver—until her eyes widened with recognition. Or was it disbelief, or fear? Or an emotion Nora couldn’t interpret without other facial cues?
She didn’t stick around to figure that out. Hurrying from the airless room and back through the kitchen, Nora burst through the back door. She couldn’t gulp air fast enough as she climbed into her car and sped down the lane. She felt as though she’d stared Death in the face and Death had stared right back. If she looked in the rearview mirror, would a skeleton in a cape dress and kapp be chasing after her?
Her tires squealed as she turned onto the hot blacktop and sped toward her new home. What a relief to see the moving van lumbering across the bridge by the mill! Nora made the turn onto Bishop’s Ridge Road too fast and fishtailed in the gravel, righting herself just in time to steer up the driveway toward the house. She pulled around behind the huge barn—to be out of the movers’ way, but also because she felt compelled to conceal her car.
Better get over that, she chided herself as she got out. You live here now, whether the neighbors like it or not.
She was approaching the house when a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out of the shade behind it. His straw hat, broadfall pants, and suspenders announced him as Plain, and there was no mistaking the fascination on his handsome face. Yet Nora hesitated. Had this stranger been roaming around in her house? Note to self: call a locksmith.
“Something I can help you with?” she asked breezily. Better to believe in basic Amish honesty than to accuse him of something he might not have done. It wasn’t as if he could take anything from her empty house.
“Just coming over to meet my new neighbor,” he replied in a resonant voice. “I’m Luke Hooley. That’s my gristmill on the river.”
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2014 by Charlotte Hubbard
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-3307-3
First Electronic Edition: May 2014
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3308-0
eISBN-10: 1-4201-3308-X