The Bridge of Peace

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Ivan glanced up and then down again, clearly hoping his Daed wouldn’t tell him it was time to leave. Grey took a seat and read the newspaper. The sense of belonging and friendship surrounded him, and he realized afresh all that he had to be thankful for.

  Nearly an hour later he laid the newspaper in his lap. Lennie’s reading had done its job. The children were relaxed and sleepy. Snuggled against Lennie, Phoebe had already fallen asleep. When Lennie closed the book, he moved to the couch and lifted Phoebe. Lennie put her index finger over her mouth, picked up little David, and motioned for the other children to follow her. Grey walked up the stairs behind them, enjoying the hushed serenity that now filled the home. Lennie went into the boys’ room, and he walked into the girls’ room. A kerosene lantern from inside the playroom gave off enough light so he could navigate around the strewn toys and books. Emily wasn’t a fussbudget about tidiness. Her energy went into feeding and caring for her growing brood, not picking up toys. Six-year-old Katie crawled into the regular-sized bed. Grey pushed the covers back and slid Phoebe into the bed next to her sister.

  “You’ll leave a light on?” Katie mumbled as she rubbed her eyes.

  “Ya.” Grey went into the adjoining playroom and got the kerosene lantern. He turned the wick to its shortest length, causing the flame to barely give off light. Before leaving the room, he noticed a small circle of red tape on the floor. A doll sat in the center of it, holding a small piece of paper.

  He moved to the night-light shelf in the girls’ room and set the lamp on it. As he stepped out of their room, Lennie came out of the boys’ room. “Ivan put on a pair of pajamas belonging to Amos, and all three boys are asleep.”

  “Time to relax.” Grey motioned for her to go down the stairs ahead of him. The wooden steps creaked, reminding him of the age of this homestead. Grey had built his own place, but Allen had inherited his from a grandparent, who’d inherited it from a grandparent. A lot of family life had taken place here, and he wondered if any of them had dealt with as much marital unhappiness as he and Elsie had.

  Another shard of isolation gouged at him. It never seemed to end. He’d once stood on a piece of earth by himself, able to see Elsie across a canyon, but he couldn’t reach her. The sense of loneliness felt unbearable, but they could see each other, sometimes catch a few words as they yelled back and forth, and he always kept a smidgen of hope that he could build a bridge and cross over.

  Lennie held a steamy cup of hot chocolate out to him. He took the cup, trying to clear his mind.

  With a mug in hand, Lennie took a seat at the kitchen table. “You didn’t stay tonight because I can’t handle four children on my own.”

  Mulling over what to say, he sat down across from her. “No, but an extra pair of hands isn’t such a bad thing, right?”

  She raised an eyebrow while stirring her drink. “I’m the girl who helped replant the begonias, remember?”

  Hiding a smile, he took a sip from his mug. “I was twelve, and it was a pop fly, bottom of the ninth, last out, and I caught it. Do you know what that means?”

  “Ya, it means you ruined part of my mother’s flower garden and needed my help. We replanted that section with the same type and color of begonias from Mamm’s greenhouse.” She tapped the spoon on the rim of her mug before laying the utensil on the table. “You and I have a long and odd relationship, ya? Sometimes I was the tagalong sister. Sometimes the tattletale. Sometimes the confidante. Through it all you and I were friends … with or without Allen. And I’d like to know why you’ve stayed tonight.”

  As memories of good times eased his sadness, he realized anew how much fun they’d had. Lennie had always mattered, and once she got past the tattletale age, he’d never regretted letting her in on secrets.

  She took a sip and licked the chocolate drink off her lips. “I don’t need a big brother. You miss Elsie, and I … miss Jonathan. And even though those relationships don’t begin to compare, because Elsie was your other half, and Jonathan … well … he’ll be someone else’s other half eventually, we both are feeling a little lost.”

  Jonathan not being around was probably another reason she’d spent so many Saturday nights in the last few months helping her sister-in-law, although she might have always spent Saturday nights with Allen and Emily. He didn’t know.

  Grey turned the mug around and around, remembering parts of their childhood and adolescent years. “Did you ever tell Allen about our conversation before you decided to go to public school?”

  With the cup halfway to her lips, she paused. “You and he are still friends, aren’t you?”

  Grey chuckled. He’d been nineteen and Lennie just fourteen when they sat on her porch swing and talked for hours as she mulled over the idea of attending public school. No one in her family, or in the district for that matter, liked the idea. He’d sided with her on the topic. Right now, she wanted that kind of honesty and friendship again. “I saw a man in the barn when putting my horse in. He ran away, and it’s probably nothing.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “No.”

  “Why would anybody be hiding out in a barn and then run off?”

  “I don’t know. Why does anyone hide anywhere?”

  “I didn’t know people hid.”

  “Sure we do.” He stared at the ripples of chocolate mixture in his cup. “People are good at hiding. Some run off. Some close themselves up in a room inside their own house. Some look right at folks while concealing who they really are.” When he looked up, she seemed to be puzzled at the turn of the conversation, but he longed to tell her the truth. “I … I fall into that third category.” He wanted to confess more than just his hypocrisy, but he couldn’t make himself say anything else.

  The serenity radiating from Lennie felt like a warm, inviting kitchen during a snowstorm. “Now that you’ve worded it that way, I can see where I hide things too. We certainly don’t tell other people all that we’re thinking or feeling, do we?”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to say something here because, like it or not, it needs to be said, okay?”

  “I’m sure I’ve said worse things to myself already.”

  “Ya, me too.” She paused. “If Elsie were here and you’d been the one to die, would she be free of guilt?”

  Her words smashed against his guilty conscience.

  Lennie brushed imaginary crumbs from the table as if unable to look at him while chipping away at who he’d become—a man encased in guilt. He’d been the head of his household, and what took place there could not be blamed on anyone else. Elsie had been at fault too, but it’d been his place to make everything right, and he hadn’t.

  Lennie raised her eyes to meet his. “Would you want her blaming herself like this?”

  It hurt to think of Elsie having to survive her part in their unsuccessful marriage. He shook his head. But an unmarried person could never understand the confusing, complex relationship between a husband and wife. Until he lived it year after year, he never knew of the silent unity and the silent hostilities between couples. Vows were made in the presence of loved ones, and although no one warned them, they began a journey of expectations, disappointments, misunderstanding, and in his case … rejection while closeness slowly faded, leaving emptiness in its stead.

  Unsure how honest to be, Grey searched for the right words. “You can’t understand, and you shouldn’t, not yet anyway … maybe not ever.”

  She angled her head, looking confident in her stand. “If I had done exactly as you have, would you want me pressured with the weight of this responsibility, or would you want me to let myself be free?”

  He stared at her, unable to respond. Thinking about Lennie being under his same guilt, he gained some much needed balance.

  She placed her hand over his. “If you’d want Elsie set free from her shortcomings and wrongs, then free yourself.”

  Getting complete freedom from his past wasn’t as easy as making a decision. He nodded and cleared his throat,
ready to change the subject. “Ephraim’s hired a new man from Ohio. He starts next week.”

  She went to the stove and poured fresh hot chocolate into her mug. “Ya? Why’s that?”

  “Lots of reasons. Business is good. We never replaced Mahlon. As Ivan’s only parent, I’m not willing to travel out of town much or work as many hours as I had been, not for the next couple of years.”

  “Makes sense. Have you met the man?”

  “Ya. His name is Christian Miller. He arrived yesterday. Seems to be a nice guy. Single. He’s about your age. Does good work. He’ll live with the Benders until he can afford something on his own.”

  “The Benders? Does he know them?”

  “I wondered the same thing, so I asked. Dwayne’s Mamm and Christian’s Mamm have a mutual friend, but until he arrived here, he’d never met the Benders personally.”

  He saw an unusual look in Lennie’s eyes, and he wondered if she was interested in meeting Christian. Each spring Lennie organized an annual Picnic Basket Auction. Not only did it make extra funds for the school, but single couples throughout many districts had met during these functions. In the past Jonathan or a relative of hers bought Lennie’s basket, which meant the two would go on a picnic together alone. With Jonathan seeing Deborah, maybe Grey should nudge Christian to bid on Lennie’s basket. The idea didn’t sit well—probably because he didn’t know Christian and also because he didn’t want to lose his and Lennie’s free time together. Every time he was with her, she made life’s burdens seem less heavy.

  He took a drink of his hot chocolate. “You planning another auction this year?”

  She shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I … I … ya. It’s been in the works since fall, so I’ll have it.”

  “You sound unsure.”

  She shrugged. “Odd year all the way around, I guess. But the classroom needs some items, like the ceiling-to-floor quality relief map and a battery-operated globe with an inner light that I’ve had my eye on for a few years now.” She went to the game table and picked up the box of checkers. “I’m better at this than I used to be.”

  “Well I certainly hope so. You were what—fourteen the last time we played?”

  “Sixteen, thank you very much.” She mocked the words he’d said to her three months back.

  “Hey, Lennie, what is that red circle of tape in the playroom?”

  “Ah, it’s part of the Circle of Peace game.”

  “What’s that?”

  She set the box on the table and opened it. “It’s a game of truth telling. The person who steps inside it must only do so because they want to. No one can put someone there, but they can ask the person if they’re willing. By stepping inside, you’re saying you trust the outcome is worth facing the dark parts of yourself.”

  “Who would want to play such a game?”

  “Children who’ve lied but wish they were free to tell the truth. It’s a safe place, because the one listening has agreed to forgive, keep the incident private, and help the person not need to lie next time.”

  “No wonder it’s in the playroom. Only children would play that.”

  “You think?” Her brows tightened while she held his gaze. “Surely everyone needs to step inside a circle of peace at some point. I know I do. Even when telling the absolute truth, sometimes I later realize I’d been lying to myself.”

  She seemed to have no concept of the deceit that could take place between people. He hadn’t known of such dishonesty either until he found himself caught in it. But if he’d voluntarily stood inside that circle, Elsie would not have listened. And he couldn’t have made her tell the truth, circle or not. Once again he realized he’d taken on too much blame for what had taken place inside his home.

  He opened the box of checkers. “Red or black?”

  Twenty-Seven

  Trying to remember all the right steps again, Cara hitched Rosie to the carriage, glad the old horse was back in good form. Birds flittered among the bare tree branches, singing loudly and exclaiming in their own way that spring had finally arrived.

  “Just us, huh, Mom?” Lori stepped from one bale of hay to the next.

  She and Lori had their coats buttoned tight and gloves on, but with April arriving in two days, the sunny skies and midforty temps had most folks moving about freely again.

  “Yes, sweetie, this trip is just for us.”

  “’Cause we’re gonna talk. Right?”

  “Yes.” If Cara had known her daughter would get so excited to travel with just her, she’d have done it sooner.

  “And we’re gonna surprise ’From.”

  “I think so.”

  He might not be fully surprised since it was a Friday afternoon and he had to work late. She’d gone to see him a few times in the past when this happened. But she had packed her and Lori an overnight bag, so that would surprise him. Although she wasn’t sure where they’d stay. Maybe his place and he could spend the night at his Daed’s.

  “I brought my story to show him, the one the teacher gave me an A plus on and a smiley face.”

  Cara chuckled. Teachers had so much power over children, and Cara didn’t regret letting Lori leave public school to begin at the local Amish school. “Okay, grab your stuff and hop in.”

  Lori quickly did so, and they were on their way. Lori loved her Amish school and friends. But after being raised a New Yorker and now living among the Amish, her daughter didn’t really fit in anywhere.

  Neither did Cara, but she was a big girl and used to never fitting in. After her mother died and she entered foster care, she’d been treated like she had leprosy by a lot of the children at school. Even in foster care most of the kids had siblings they went to school with, and they stuck together. She’d slowly grown to despise those who had someone around with the same DNA. It seemed to be an invisible bond that everyone shared with someone—everyone but her.

  Truth was, that’s why she’d avoided connecting with her mama’s family. They all had each other, and her insecurity kept stirring old resentments and fears. She hadn’t known that, not until she read a passage in her mother’s Bible this morning. Something about … it is not the natural children who are God’s children, but it is the children of the promise who are.

  It made her realize that, in a way, she was a promise to her mother’s family. Her mother had promised to bring her back so her great-grandmother could raise her. Her mama died before that happened, but Ada had been praying for Cara all these years, and a hidden message inside Cara’s mother’s journal led her here. That was a promise of sorts, wasn’t it? And God’s promise to accept all those who came to Him also made her a part of this family—a quirky family to be sure with their strict codes of behavior and dress, but they were her family, and she was theirs.

  “Lori, honey, remember when you were drawing in my mother’s diary and discovered the name Dry Lake, Pennsylvania, had been written in it invisibly?”

  She nodded. “We were at that bus station, and I sketched over a blank spot, and an address showed up.”

  “Yes, that’s right. It led us here, and at first we lived in that barn.”

  “That’s where I got Better Days. He was so small and furry and got milk from his mom. Remember?”

  “Yes.” The thought of it made her eyes burn with tears. God had been so faithful to lead them out of a stalker’s grip and into Ephraim’s arms—but it’d been a rough journey. “My mom used to live in Dry Lake.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes, and she had brothers, several of them.”

  “Ephraim’s got sisters, more than several.”

  “My mom’s brothers are my uncles and your great-uncles.” Cara began trying to piece things together for Lori. Until recently, as long as Lori had food and her mom, she took life as it came. Maybe that was Cara’s fault, always running from a stalker and never able to tell her daughter why they had to uproot in the middle of the night or why she had to constantly change jobs and move to a worse apartment than the one before. Or ma
ybe it was a blessing from God, one that had made Cara’s life bearable.

  She took the long route to Ephraim’s so she could go up his lengthy back driveway. She looked down at her daughter, still too young to understand the complexities of family, but now Lori knew they had some roots. And Cara had been the one to tell her, not anyone else in the community. For all the frustrating rules of the Amish, she loved the heart of her people—most of them, anyway.

  Her people.

  Once on Ephraim’s dirt drive, she brought the rig to a stop. “Do you want to drive the rig to Ephraim’s?”

  “Ya!”

  Cara passed her the reins. The fields on each side of them were brown with a few patches of snow still clinging to the earth. An amber and purple glow covered them like a dome as the sun moved toward the horizon. Crows squawked while digging at dried vegetation. Gratefulness kept filling her until she felt like she might pop.

  “Pull the reins back gently and say ‘whoa.’”

  Lori did as she said, tossed the reins at her the moment the horse stopped, and jumped down. “’From!” Her daughter took off running. “I drove the buggy!”

  Ephraim came out of the shop and caught Lori before she plowed into him. He swung her through the air, and she was on his hip, deep in conversation, by the time Cara had hitched the horse to a post and walked to them.

  Lori brushed wisps of loose hair from her face. “And I got aunts and uncles, my mom said.”

  “Ya, you do.” Ephraim kissed Lori’s cheek and put her down. He moved to Cara and engulfed her in a hug. He didn’t soon let go either, and Cara knew he’d been waiting for this. He drew a deep breath. “I love you.”

  “Well, duh.” She took a step back. “We got a few things to get straight, mister.”

  He laughed. “You are going to straighten me out on something? This I gotta hear.”

  She walked into the shop. “What’s your favorite tool?”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t ask questions. Just answer.”