by Susan Rohrer
Hope closed out the register for the evening. It had been quite a prosperous day. As the last café customer bade them goodnight, Daniel put chairs on top of tables. Frank swept. Gratefully, Frank hadn’t griped about Leanne calling in sick again. Not even once. He also hadn’t mentioned a preference for Daniel’s work ethic, though it was pretty clear that he had one.
Myrna dumped the fishbowl of tips from the piano onto the counter in front of Hope and Charity. It was easily twice the usual.
Shep’s guide dog led him by, on his way out for the night. “Sounds like you did alright.”
Myrna grinned broadly. “Better than alright, Baby. Don’t you worry. I’ll put yours aside.”
Shep tipped his hat. “Pleasure to play for you, Angels.”
Hope gave him an affectionate pat. “Night, now.”
“Thank you, Shep,” Charity added.
Shep turned toward Charity with a little bow. “My privilege.”
As Shep neared the door, Hope’s gaze fell on Ivan. How long had he been standing there, outside in the cold, waiting? As soon as he caught her eye, he waved. Ah, well, she sighed. She gave him a subtle wave in return. This break wasn’t shaping up to be anywhere near as clean as she’d anticipated.
Myrna sidled up to Hope. “Lookee who’s here again. Thought you two broke up.”
“So did I.” Hope straightened the many bills they’d received so all of the George Washingtons faced the same way. Actually, not only were there a slew of Washingtons, there were also quite a few Lincolns and Hamiltons, even a Jackson or two. “Have you ever seen tips like this? Charity, this is not normal.”
Myrna’s expression confirmed it. With a wink at Hope, she emphasized her words. She wanted Frank to overhear. “And the way you two blend. Mmm-mm! That was some kind of yuletide moment.”
Frank set his broom aside. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear ya.”
Hope dealt the tips out into four piles. “Admit it, Frank. She did great.”
Frank grabbed his dustpan. “That she did.” He glanced back and forth between Charity and Daniel. “Don’t suppose the two of you can stay on past Christmas.”
Myrna reared back. “Somebody slap me! Frank’s feeling generous!”
Frank wagged a congenial finger Myrna’s way. “Hush, woman, before I give ‘em your job.”
Hope threw an affectionate arm around Charity. “You staying on is a thought. Maybe we both have something to think about. Huh, Charity?” It had popped out before she’d really thought it through.
Daniel paused briefly.
He must have heard her, too. Would they even consider it? There was the answer in Charity’s sweetly conflicted eyes.
Frank ambled toward the counter. “What do you say, there, Little Missy?”
Hope watched as Charity exchanged a look with Daniel. “Well, it’s...Daniel and I—”
It wasn’t long before Daniel stepped up behind Frank. “We appreciate it, Frank. But our families are expecting us home on the twenty-fourth. We can’t stay.”
Despite Daniel’s intervention, Hope kept an eye on Charity.
Charity stepped to Daniel’s side. “Frank, it’s so kind of you to offer, but we can’t.”
Hope took it in with a bittersweet smile. What might Charity have said if Daniel had given her a chance to answer for herself?
Masking her disappointment, Hope went back to organizing their tips. She should just accept it, she coaxed herself. This was the way of the Amish. Women had little voice there. So often, they deferred to the men in their lives as Charity had. Just as she, herself, had in her youth.
It all seemed so long ago, like a far away dream...actually a very happy one. It hadn’t been a bad childhood. Not at all. In fact, so much of it had been wonderful, almost idyllic. Going home would be an adjustment, just like moving to the city had been. There’d be plusses and minuses either way.
Maybe Charity was right. Maybe she should go back to Amish Country with them.
Then again, maybe not.
At first, it would be bliss to wrap her arms around those she’d missed so dearly, most of all her brother, Nathan, and her dear ageing father. But in time, the rush of excitement over her homecoming would settle into day-to-day Plain life. How would she feel then?
Here, in the English world, she’d found such liberty in her faith. For years, she had answered to no one except her heavenly Father. She kind of liked it that way. Even if, somehow, she could find love among the Amish, would she be able to be the kind of wife that an Amish man would expect? Hard to say. On the other hand, would she ever allow herself to marry a man outside the Amish community? That would be tantamount to a decision to never return.
As she watched Charity and Daniel work side-by-side, helping Frank to close up for the night, Hope was mightily torn. Time was ticking away. How could she go back with them? Yet how could she bear to watch them go home without her, knowing it would be the last she’d ever see of them?
Smokey meowed.
Leanne scowled at her. For a cat, she could certainly be a mouthy little beast. And exasperating. Let’s not forget exasperating. Leanne unscrewed the lid on Hope’s tip jar. “I gave you your dinner. What more do you want?”
Smokey kept on yowling.
“You’re just a cat.” Leanne searched through the pickle jar for quarters. They were all ice cold. She winced as something snagged within her abdomen. Again with the cramps. “And anyway, it’s not that much. Not like I need to explain to—”
Hearing the rattle of a key being inserted into Hope’s door lock, Leanne quickly pocketed the quarters. She screwed the lid back onto the jar just as she heard the door swing open.
“Hello?” Charity called out.
“In here.” Hurriedly, Leanne stashed the tip jar. She’d pretend to rummage through the leftovers in the open refrigerator. That wouldn’t raise suspicion. “Just getting something to eat. Are you hungry?”
Daniel rounded the corner. “No, we’re fine. Frank fed us.”
Leanne leaned around the kitchen wall, her pulse racing. Good. Hope wasn’t there. Just Charity, taking off that ridiculous looking bonnet of hers. How Charity could traipse around in public dressed like she did was completely beyond her. “So, where’s Hope?”
Charity untied her cape. “Out front with Ivan.”
Leanne closed the refrigerator door. Even the sight of food at this point turned her stomach. “I am so sick of being pregnant. Nothing looks good.” She fought to control the racing of her heart. What she needed to do was to get back into her room where she could stash the coins she had taken. The things were icy, plus they made her pockets bulge way out from her hips. Just leave casually, she told herself. But when she brushed the counter going by, the stolen quarters jangled loudly. She slapped her hands down to silence them.
Immediately, Leanne saw Daniel put it together. He knew. And he knew she knew he knew. Charity let out a little gasp. She knew, too. Continuing the charade was pointless. “Go ahead, tell on me,” she spat. “Get me thrown out on the street to have this baby. That’ll be Christmassy!” Angrily, she strode past them. She stalked into her room and slammed the door.
Just inside, Leanne’s chest heaved. What was she going to do now? The world was crashing down around her. One thing she knew: it was humiliating enough to get busted by Mr. and Miss Righteous. But there was no way she could face Hope, too, not after all that Hope had done for her.
Tears threatened. She did her best to suck them back into her head, right into the ducts they came from. Failing, she wiped them on her sleeve, then slid the closet door open. There was that ugly nylon duffel bag of hers. That again. Fitfully, she began to pack.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Go away!” Leanne shouted.
The door opened. Charity slipped inside.
Great. Just what she needed. A religious nut to make her feel even guiltier than she already did. She stuffed what little she owned into the duffel bag. “Don’t you judge me. You and your
holier-than-thou boyfriend. Neither one of you has the first clue what it’s like to live out in the real world.”
Charity dropped her eyes. “You’re right. We don’t.”
Leanne emptied her dresser drawer. “I knew the minute you two showed up my ticket was up here. Should have packed then. Saved myself the trouble.”
“Leanne, please stop.”
“Why? So you can preach to me all about stealin’? You think I don’t know right from wrong? Here.” Furiously, Leanne emptied her pockets onto the bed. “Take it!”
Charity stepped toward Leanne. “You can still put it back.”
Leanne grabbed the last of her socks and stuffed them into her bag. “That much I can. But not what I already spent. Stupid prenatal vitamins are costin’ me a stinkin’ fortune.”
Charity faced Leanne. She was maddeningly calm. “How much more did you use?”
“Maybe thirty bucks.” Leanne splayed her fingers into her hair. “What’s the difference?”
Charity reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. Leanne’s jaw gaped. Charity counted out thirty dollars and placed it beside the newly stolen quarters.
Leanne churned. How much more frustrating could this get? The nicer Charity was, then tada! The more hideous it made her by comparison. “What am I supposed to do with all that?”
Charity put a gentle hand on Leanne’s shoulder. “Accept it as my Christmas gift to you, then do whatever you choose.” Charity left quietly. She closed Leanne’s door behind her.
Bewildered, Leanne plopped down on the bed. Another cramp ripped through her belly. Perfect. Wincing, she tried to relax her muscles. The people on the Internet said that was supposed to help, and she supposed it did, a little. Still, try as she may, she knew that no amount of relaxation could get her out of the train wreck she’d made of her life.
The pain fading, Leanne ran her fingers across the stolen coins on the bed. They were still damp and frosty beneath her fingers. What a mess. She looked at her duffel bag beside her. Charity might be able to live with paying off her debt. But the question Leanne couldn’t dodge was: how could she live with herself?
It seemed only fair to Hope that she should let Ivan walk her home from the café. That meant she’d had to ask Daniel and Charity to go ahead without her. Fact was, she hadn’t talked much to Ivan since she’d broken things off with him so abruptly. Just that once when she’d blurted that business about his green card expiring. That hadn’t been right, at least not the way she’d said it.
Recalibrating was tricky. It seemed best to just keep things light as they traversed the blocks to her brownstone. Stick to safe subjects. As usual, Ivan went along with it, matching his stride to hers. By the time they reached her block, they’d chatted about every single thing Hope could think of, everything except the I.N.S. Agency crowding the walk between them.
Finally, they were there.
Hope lingered at the bottom of the steps that led up to her apartment building’s door. As fond as she was of Ivan, it would be so easy to just fall back into her old rhythms with him. Hold the line, now, she reminded herself.
Ivan leaned against the iron rail beside her. “You sure I cannot come up?’
Something melted inside her. He wasn’t going to make this easy. She forced herself to woman up. “Sorry. Full house at the moment.”
Ivan shrugged congenially. “So, we hang out. Play an American board game. Like friends do.”
Avoiding the conversation seemed fruitless. But it didn’t make it any easier for her to look him in the eye. “This isn’t fair to you, Ivan. I feel like I’m leading you on.”
Ivan put his arms out to his sides, his palms exposed. “There is no false impression. You refused my proposal of marriage. Everything is completely understood.”
She glanced up toward the sky. “Still...”
Ivan swung around to face her squarely. “Hope, listen to me. I have accepted that I will be deported in a month.”
“Why?” Hope asked. “There’s still time. Who knows? Maybe you could meet someone else.”
Ivan shuffled his foot against the walk. “I suppose I could. But how fair would that be to see someone else, when all I would think of is you?”
“Ivan...” Hope had to turn away. It was just too hard to look at him. What, with those dark chocolate eyes.
Ivan softly brushed her arm, drawing her gaze back to him. “You do not have to feel what I feel, Hope. And please. I do not want you to feel bad that I feel it.”
Hope dropped her head. “How can I not feel bad?”
Ivan gently raised her chin with his hand. “I do not. Why would I feel bad for feeling the best feeling I have ever felt?”
“Um...because I rejected you?”
An unexpected grin curled on his lips. “Silly woman. Do you know how alone I was in this city until I met you?”
Everything in Hope wanted to answer. Yes, she did understand. She completely got what it was like to feel desperately alone in the city. She knew the soul-level loneliness of having no one to call her own.
Absolutely.
But the words refused to come from her lips.
Ivan sighed. There was a wistful resignation about him that she couldn’t help notice as he scanned down the street. “All my life, I dreamed of coming to this country. Sergei and Anton, they remember. I had this fantasy that I would build a family, become a great chef. Maybe that I would even become a success, make my name known.”
Hope allowed herself to smile. “Yeah. I guess I did that last one, too.”
“Sure,” Ivan nodded. “Because, well, that is how dreams are. But here is my reality: there is no business, no family. No. I am not rich. I am not sought after, except by immigration. And what does it matter? In the end, it has not been about any of those things. I do not dream of anything anymore. Nothing but you.”
There was something so disarming about the way Ivan spoke. It was the truth, she realized. He was being more honest with her than she’d even been with herself.
“Hope—all this time I have been here—when I think of it, the very best of it has been with you. No, you did not tell me much about your past. But who you have been to me here, in the present, that I will never forget. When I go back, that is all I want to take with me. That I have a friend in America.” He paused. “Just a friend, that is all. Someone who will maybe remember me a little bit. Someone who cares that I was once here.” Ivan searched her brimming eyes. “I will not ask any more of you, Hope, but can you do that?”
Hope could only nod. It was impossible not to remember how much she adored him, to recall why she’d taken to him so readily in the first place. He was cut off from his homeland, just like she was. The difference was that he would be compelled to return soon. He’d be forced to leave the life he always wanted to live. Maybe it would be just as well if he did. Maybe he was meant to go back. Maybe she was, too.
Hope nodded. She returned Ivan’s gaze. He hadn’t asked much. Only friendship. It seemed the very least she could do for him. “Yeah, Ivan,” she promised. “I can be your friend back here. I can do that.”
twelve
Charity sat across from Daniel, fashioning a tiny white apron for a handmade doll. He had been so quiet that evening. He’d hardly said a thing since she’d whispered to him about what happened with Leanne.
She was still in there. Not a sound had come from that room since Charity had left. Maybe he was afraid Leanne would overhear them through her door. Maybe he was just tired. The sofa was comfortable enough for sitting, but sleeping there might well be catching up with him.
She looked up from the doll. Warmly, Daniel returned her smile, then went back to painting his carving. His eyes looked so soft, his lids heavy. He’s just weary. Surely, that must be it. She should focus on her work and allow him to concentrate on his. They didn’t need to talk all the time. In this noisy city, silence was a gift they could give to each other.
The doll she was making was coming together n
icely. A black bonnet already surrounded its blank muslin face. There had been plenty of leftover violet fabric from her own dress to make one for the doll. All in all, it looked just like the one Mamm had made for her when she was a little girl. Many layers of muslin had been sewn over that old doll, preserving it over the years she’d played with it. The last layer she had patched on herself, before putting the doll away for safekeeping. One day, that old doll would be a gift, should Gott bless her with a daughter.
The doll she was making now—that would be for Daniel’s sister, Abby, this Christmas. Hopefully, it would make Abby smile. At sixteen, though Abby had blossomed physically, she still had the mind of a child. So sweet and trusting. No wonder Daniel was so protective of her, especially now that she’d come of age to go to Sunday singings. That must have been why he’d always gone, ever since Abby had started to go.
What a good brother Daniel was. And what a good husband he would be. At least that seemed to be where things between them were headed. After all, he had told her that he loved her. Still, he hadn’t said much since. So much had happened since then, though.
Was something she had said or done bothering him? He hadn’t been unpleasant in any way. Not at all. That wasn’t his nature. He just sat, diligently painting that horse and buggy toy he’d carved for his brother.
Charity snipped a new length of white thread. “With two brothers, I never made dolls. You think Abby will like this?”
Daniel glanced up at her. “My sister would love whatever you give her.”
“You don’t think she’s too old for dolls? Maybe I should make her a new bonnet instead.”
A fond understanding crossed his face as he dabbed his brush into the paint. “Knowing Abby, I think she’d prefer the doll.”
The lull in conversation that followed ate at Charity. Why it was that things suddenly seemed so awkward between them, she couldn’t be sure. Maybe she should just let it go. Everything was probably fine. Still, the knot in her stomach refused to release its grip. “Has something changed?”
