The Atonement

by Beverly Lewis

  ———

  “Look over there.” As Dale drove away from his farmer friend’s place, Lucy pointed out a silo-like cell phone tower. “I’ve heard ’bout these towers—some farmers are makin’ more on lease rates than they can make farming,” she said, gawking at it. “It’s amazing how high they are, even taller than those two silos.”

  “I should take a picture.” Dale got out of the truck and took several shots with his phone.

  She observed him over near the white horse fence and thought how funny he looked snapping photos while dressed Plain. She got out of the truck. “Getting some interesting ones?”

  “Horses and ponies grazing in the paddock, the two-story barn . . . you name it. It’s a photographer’s paradise.”

  “That’s a bank barn—two stories, with one side built into the hill.”

  He glanced at her and smiled. “You forget that I’ve always lived around here. The hayloft is in the second level, right?”

  Lucy nodded. “And some farming equipment, too. Our Sunday night Singings are usually held up there, as well.”

  He caught her eye. “So is it okay to ask what’s sung?”

  She laughed. “At least two hours’ worth of gospel songs. And, depending on which family is hosting, sometimes there’s volleyball or a game of Dutch Blitz first, maybe even a hot dog roast.”

  “And this is something all the young people attend?”

  “Jah, from age sixteen till ya marry.” She paused a moment. “I quit goin’ a while back, though.” She went on to say that the gatherings were lots of fun, a way to connect with friends or pair up. She sighed. “I guess you could say the Singings are how we find our life mates.”

  Dale seemed to consider this. “So why did you stop going?”

  She’d walked right into that one.

  “It’s okay if you’d rather not say,” he added quickly.

  “You know what? I oughta take your picture, so you can show your employees your new uniform, not just the cell phone tower.”

  Grinning, Dale shook his head. “Uh, no thanks. I’d never live it down. As it is, some of the guys at the hardware store already wonder about me.”

  They headed back to the truck, the reprieve from rain short-lived as another dark layer of swiftly moving clouds blocked any hope of sunshine.

  As they turned and headed north, Lucy hoped that was the end of Dale’s questions.

  Chapter 26

  CHRISTIAN HAD BEEN CHEWING THE FAT with Graham Weaver, his longtime vet, when the man’s cell phone jingled. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Christian turned away, wondering what was keeping Lucy. She hadn’t returned for the noon meal, though Lucy had warned that her trip to the jeweler might take a while. Especially in this weather.

  Looking over at the chicken coop, Christian recalled Dale’s interest in a coop of his own. From what Dale had told him, it wouldn’t be too long and he’d have his own hen house up and be ready to purchase some chickens from Christian.

  For sure and for certain, he’d made a mistake inviting Dale over here. True, he was an upstanding young man, but Christian had failed to take Lucy’s feelings into account.

  I’m a Dummkopp! Sarah had made it mighty clear to him.

  Even so, Lucy’s on the mend, he thought, taking comfort in her decision to sell the necklace. Alas, the matter with Tobe was another thing altogether.

  Christian sighed. Best to stay out of it. Removing his straw hat, he fiddled with it.

  “I’ll come right over,” Graham was saying. “Keep Ada-Girl as quiet as you can. Good-bye.” He clicked off his phone. “Abe Riehl’s horse got spooked just up the road north of here . . . turned over Abe’s carriage with him and the little ones inside.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Christian asked, alarmed.

  “The buggy got the worst of it, or so it sounds from Abe.” Graham waved and hurried to his car.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Christian called after him, following him partway down the driveway.

  After a quick bite to eat at a fast food place, since both she and Dale had missed lunch, Lucy realized they would be driving right past the hospice.

  “Would you mind droppin’ me off?” she asked. “Since we’re so close, I’d like to check on one of the patients I read to.”

  “Of course,” Dale said. “Tell me more about your charity work. I’m really interested.”

  “Ach, my face is red,” she said, then began rather reluctantly. “I spend a fair amount of time at the hospice, but my number-one priority right now is trying to help a homeless young mother get settled with a job. Her name is Kiana, and she has a little boy named Van.” She shared with Dale how she’d met the two while working on the food truck downtown. “I’ve been reading the help-wanted ads in the newspaper every day, but when I call to respond to an ad on Kiana’s behalf, I’m basically told she must apply online, or that the job has already been filled.” She sighed. “It seems there’s no way for her to get ahead if that’s the case.”

  Dale listened, nodding. “What if I filled out the online forms for her?”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Sure.” He smiled. “Glad to help.” Then he asked if Kiana was looking for a place to live.

  “That too, jah. I’ve been wading through notices for apartments or room and board.”

  Dale looked her way, studying her. “What if we prayed about this, Lucy, asking God to lead Kiana’s steps . . . and ours, as we attempt to help her?”

  Lucy didn’t have much hope in any answers, but she agreed.

  When Dale pulled up to the curb in front of the hospice, he bowed his head and did just that, offering a heartfelt prayer for divine assistance for Kiana and her precious child.

  “Amen,” said Lucy softly, unaccustomed to hearing such personal-sounding prayers said aloud.

  Dale glanced at the hospice entrance and remarked that a group of young adults from his church had recently sponsored a marathon to raise money for this particular center.

  Lucy was surprised but pleased. “If I could only volunteer at one place, this would be it.”

  Dale glanced toward the road. “It must be a couple of miles from here to your house.”

  “Oh, I walk it all the time . . . or take my scooter, which I left this morning at my sister Martie’s. It was too rainy—and too far—to take it to town,” she said. “I’ll stay just long enough to say hello to one of the patients I visit.”

  “Well, I don’t mind waiting for you.”

  How could she refuse? “I shouldn’t be more than a half hour.”

  He turned off the ignition. “No problem.”

  “Actually, why don’t you come in, and I’ll show you around.”

  He considered this, tugging comically on the suspenders. “Wouldn’t they find my outfit a little strange?”

  “They’ll never know you’re not Amish.”

  “Good point.” Chuckling, Dale got out of the pickup. “This should be interesting.” He opened her door, and she got out.

  “Of course, you might just run into someone you know, and then you’ll have some questions to answer.”

  He grinned. “I think you’re enjoying this too much.”

  “Hey, you want the simple life, right?”

  “Touché.”

  Lucy couldn’t help but laugh as they headed toward the front entrance, where exiting visitors gave them the once-over.

  They surely notice that Dale-the-Amishman is letting his hair grow out real fancy-like, Lucy thought. And has misplaced his hat!

  Inside the reception area, two nurses waved to Lucy, who offered to give Dale a tour of the main level, including the large aviary. A few patients in wheelchairs sat enjoying the beauty surrounding them. Some were accompanied by a relative or friend while others dozed in their chairs, propped up by plump white pillows.

  “Notice the fresh smell of flowers everywhere,” Lucy told Dale.

  Nodding, he gazed up at a pair of yellow finches perched high in th
e aviary.

  “Fine little friends of the facility.” She spoke softly, as she always did in this area. “They serenade me during my lunch break.”

  Lucy took Dale around to the coffee shop and snack bar, then pointed out the gift store.

  “It’s a peaceful place,” he said. But it was the aviary he seemed most captivated by, and she returned there with him.

  “The serenity of this environment is one reason why many folk choose to come here for their final days.”

  “I can see why.”

  Then, eager to see how Wendell was doing, she excused herself. “Don’t forget your friend Clinton’s wife is here, too. Room 205, if you want to slip up there to see her.”

  Dale said he might do just that, and Lucy was delighted.

  There had already been a few times when Martie wondered how she would possibly manage with four children under the age of four. And the greater with child she became, the less energy she had.

  Will I be able to continue as a scribe for The Budget? she wondered. The column brought her joy and was a small departure from her daily chores and mothering duties.

  As Martie prepared ham and potatoes for the evening meal, she wished for just a moment to sit down and put her legs up.

  Meanwhile, little Josh crawled out from beneath the table, wide-eyed again and whimpering. Today’s nap had been all too brief, though Jesse, at least, still slept. Josh reached up for her, and she took him into her arms, going to the back door window to point out the “birdies.” She told him gently that soon many of them would fly away for the winter. “The Lord above looks after the birds . . . takes care of them,” she murmured into the fleshy creases of his damp little neck. “And Gott cares for you and Jesse, too.”

  Returning to the sink, Martie washed his face and hands and set him in his high chair for a snack. Then, thinking again of the Riehl children following the overturned buggy, and Lucy there with an outsider, Martie trembled to think another troublesome friendship might be brewing. Oh, for dear Lucy’s sake, she hoped not. How could she bear to see her sister hurt again—and how could Lucy not be?

  “Plain and fancy usually don’t mix in happily ever after,” she whispered, praying that the Lord might watch over her sister and keep her from making further mistakes with an Englischer.

  Upstairs, a cluster of folk were sitting in a spacious living area; some looked solemn, and others were struggling not to cry. One had lost that battle and was wiping away tears, reaching for a box of the tissues provided on each lamp table.

  As Lucy passed Dorothea’s room, she saw two ladies in with her. There was no sign of Clinton.

  Making her way down the hall, Lucy’s heart beat faster at the prospect of seeing Wendell again. His door was ajar, and one of the housekeeping staff, a stout redheaded woman in a white skirt and blouse and a black tailored apron was coming out. The woman smiled, but she was not familiar to Lucy. “Is Wendell awake?” Lucy asked as she waited to enter the room.

  The woman shook her head. “I’m very sorry, miss. Wendell passed away this morning.”

  Lucy looked forlornly into the room from the doorway, noting the newly made bed, the two leather chairs moved near the window, the privacy curtain pushed all the way back. “He’s gone,” she whispered. “And I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. . . .”

  She inched into the room where she’d spent hours reading and lending her ear . . . and heart. She tiptoed to the tan chair—the one she’d sat in for months, right beside Wendell’s bed, where he liked it—and stared down, tears threatening.

  “Are you all right?” the older woman asked.

  Lucy turned. “Did Wendell’s family arrive in time?”

  “I really don’t know.” The housekeeper shook her head and left the room. “I’m so sorry.”

  Lucy lowered herself into the familiar chair; it seemed to embrace her. This very day, she had gone to sell her engagement necklace, relinquishing its grip on her heart. Wanting, even craving, a new start.

  And all the while, Wendell Keene was making his own new beginning in the next life.

  Did Wendell make his peace with God?

  Lucy held her breath, hoping, even praying, it was so.

  Chapter 27

  BELINDA FREY WAS JUST COMING OUT of Dorothea’s room when Lucy spotted her. “Have a minute?” Lucy gestured at the far end of the sitting area adjacent to the patients’ rooms. “It’s about Wendell,” she said quietly as they sat down together.

  “You must’ve heard.” Belinda’s eyes were solemn.

  Lucy nodded and bowed her head.

  “His son flew in from Chicago . . . made it here by the skin of his teeth,” Belinda said. Smiling now, she reached over and tapped Lucy on the wrist. “And you won’t believe it. No sooner did Newton Keene walk in the door in his business suit than Wendell asked him if he knew the way to heaven.”

  “Wendell did?” Lucy exclaimed.

  “He sure did. Remember that afternoon?” Belinda asked. “Wendell not only wanted to talk over many things with me, but in the end, he prayed for me, thanking God for the Scripture verses I shared. Isn’t that something? Quite a turnaround.”

  Lucy was relieved but also torn—she still felt inadequate, unable to have helped Wendell when it was most essential. “Denki, Belinda.” She struggled to express her gratitude. “Hearing this means so much.”

  “Well, and seeing Wendell witness to his son of God’s compassion and grace was powerful. It wasn’t long after, that Wendell breathed his last.”

  “You must’ve been with him, then?”

  Belinda nodded. “He was so peaceful, Lucy.”

  “I’m thankful for you. And I’m sure Wendell expressed that, too.”

  “It’s the reason I volunteer here.” Belinda smiled sweetly. “Not just to bring comfort but to speak life-giving words.”

  Just then, coming up the stairs, Lucy saw Dale, who waved to her as he came toward them, carrying a folded newspaper. “We’ll talk again, I hope,” Lucy told Belinda, rising.

  “I hope so, too.”

  Why couldn’t I have done what Belinda did? Lucy still felt defeated as Dale approached.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, a slight frown on his face.

  She mentioned Wendell’s death.

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” Then, waiting a moment, he showed her the newspaper he’d purchased in the coffee shop downstairs, and the five help-wanted classifieds he’d already circled with Kiana in mind. “We can use my phone to call . . . leave a message, perhaps.”

  “Sure, that’d be a big help.”

  Then, looking in the direction of Dorothea’s room, Lucy said she’d like to stop in and visit her. “Since I’m here. Would you wanna come, too?”

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?” He touched her elbow. “I’ll visit Dorothea another time.”

  “Honestly, this could be your last opportunity. We just never know. . . .” Lucy had to turn away, lest he see her tears.

  ———

  The white blinds in Dorothea’s room had been drawn halfway, and Lucy smiled at her as she entered the room with Dale. “Hullo,” she said. “You’ve had your share of visitors today, jah?”

  Sitting up in a chair and wearing a pretty pink and lavender duster, Dorothea smiled in return. Her eyes looked brighter than the day she was admitted. “How nice . . . of you to come, Lucy,” she said falteringly. Then, looking toward Dale, she smiled more broadly, pointing as if she recognized him.

  Dale stepped forward, offering to shake her hand. “Dale Wyeth, from church.”

  Lucy covered her mouth, realizing he’d forgotten how Plain he looked.

  “Well, now, that’s one way . . . to get noticed by a pretty Amish girl,” Dorothea managed to say. She chortled along with Lucy, who felt herself blush.

  Quickly, Lucy made a point of telling Dorothea about helping at the scene of a buggy accident in the drenching rain . . . and how kindhearted Anna Mary had loaned dry clothing to Dale.

  “
I see.” Dorothea coyly leaned her chin on her folded hands. “You two could pass . . . for brother and sister.”

  Lucy hadn’t thought of that.

  “There’s . . . a sweetness in . . . your faces.” Dorothea coughed, patting her chest lightly and shaking her head.

  “There certainly is in Lucy’s,” Dale agreed.

  Lucy heard footsteps in the hall, and she turned to see Clinton in the doorway, shedding his red cardigan as he came in. “Goodness, the staff must keep the thermostat sky high in this building.”

  Dale stepped over to greet him, and right away Clinton complimented his “new look.”

  “Dale’s gone Amish . . . on us, dear,” Dorothea said, bobbing her head at Dale.

  “Well, I’d never have guessed.” Clinton played along. “You’d forsake the grid for the girl?” He winked at Lucy.

  Dale was quick to set the record straight, recounting the events that had led to his unlikely ensemble.

  Clinton went over to kiss Dorothea on the forehead. He stepped back a moment, looked into her face, and kissed her cheek this time. “How are you feeling today, darling?”

  “Entertained,” she replied, smiling again at Dale.

  “You certainly wear the Plain garb well, my friend,” Clinton said with another chuckle, and Dorothea nodded, then pointed to her Bible. “Will you read to us, Dale?” Clinton suggested. “You’ll see where I placed the bookmark.”

  Dale promptly pulled up a chair so Clinton could sit next to his wife. Clinton leaned hard on his cane as he lowered himself onto the chair as Dale announced John fourteen and began to read slowly, emphasizing each thought. “‘Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know. Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way? Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.’”