“I wrote him twenty letters. One each year on the anniversary of my brother’s death. Each one of them said that I forgave him.”
“What on earth possessed you to do that?” Rachel cried.
“Keep your voice down.” Bertha pulled a wet sheet from the laundry basket, shook it out, and hung it on the clothesline. “You don’t want to upset Anna. You know how she gets when she hears people arguing. And we don’t need to stress her heart.”
Rachel lowered her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“When?” Bertha asked. “When would have been the right time? You may find this hard to believe, Rachel, but my life does not entirely revolve around you. Forgiving Carl was something I had to do—for me. It had nothing to do with you.”
“But how could you?” Rachel said.
“How could I not?” Bertha asked. “It is one of the main tenets of our religion. You Englisch might think you have the luxury of nursing grudges for life, but we Amish do not—at least not if we are truly striving to be God’s people.”
“And it was that easy for you? Because you are Amish you were able to forgive…just like that?” Rachel snapped her fingers.
Bertha rarely cried, but her eyes reddened at those words.
“No, I did not forgive ‘just like that.’ ” Bertha mimicked Rachel by snapping her fingers as well. “I have struggled for twenty years to forgive the man. I have prayed long and hard about it. Each year it got a bit easier. Writing the words down and sending them to him made it a little easier. It felt as though I was mailing away a piece of anger each time. I was careful in writing those letters. I told him stories about Frank so he would know who my brother was besides a cop who had interrupted a bank robbery. I used the prettiest stationery I could find. I practiced exactly what I wanted to say on scrap paper before I recopied and sent it.”
“You used your prettiest stationery.” Rachel felt as if her heart would break at the thought of Bertha taking such pains. “I bought you some of that stationery. Why go to such an effort for someone like him?”
“It was an act of obedience on my part,” Bertha said. “I was trying to obey God’s command to forgive others as He had forgiven me. Jesus did not forgive people halfheartedly. I have a strong feeling that if Christ had written a personal letter telling me that He forgave me, it would not be on second-rate paper and it would be beautiful.”
“Seriously?” Rachel was still angry. “What have you ever done to need forgiveness? If anyone has lived a perfect, godly life, it is you.”
Bertha barked out a laugh of disbelief.
“It’s true!” Rachel insisted. “Yes, I’m mad at you right now, but I’ve never known anyone who tries harder or does more.”
“You have no idea who I am,” Bertha said, bitterly. “Or what my struggles have been. Do you think I wanted to come back from my work in Haiti? Do you think I didn’t rail against God for making me leave all that I loved there, even leaving the man I loved?”
“You were in love?” Rachel was so startled by this revelation that she forgot all about being upset.
“That slipped out.” Bertha’s cheeks reddened. “It is none of your business, Rachel. I did not mean to say that.”
“No, wait a minute. You were in love? Who was it? What happened?”
“I have said enough. More than enough.” Bertha’s mouth was set. “We will speak no more of this. Ever.” She turned her back on Rachel, reached into the clothespin holder, and found it empty. “These new clothespins break so easily. They just don’t last like the old ones did, but I think I have a package of them in the house.”
Rachel followed her aunt. She was not finished with their conversation—even if Bertha was trying to ignore her.
“But you said God forgave you,” Rachel mused as Bertha rummaged through a drawer in the front room. “Bertha, were you…involved with this man?”
“It was all a long time ago,” Bertha said. “I will not speak of it again with you. Now, either help me find those clothespins or go away.”
Rachel saw that she would get no more information from Bertha, but her aunt’s slip of the tongue had certainly given her something new to think about. It had never occurred to her that Bertha had ever had a life outside of being the matriarch of their family, except for the handful of years she spent working at a Mennonite orphanage.
Still, the fact remained. Bertha had written letters to Carl, who was now asking permission through George to come for a visit.
“Aunt Lydia is okay with this visit?”
“She has fought her own battle with forgiveness, but yes, she is prepared to welcome him into our home. George says Carl is doing wonderfully well. He even has a job at Doc Peggy’s veterinarian clinic in addition to cleaning the church.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I feel like you are betraying me by allowing that man to come here, to this house.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but this is not your house, Rachel. It is mine, and he will be welcomed with the same love of Christ that we extend to everyone.”
“You’re preaching at me now.”
“Your own conscience is preaching at you. You should be concentrating on getting ready for your new baby instead of allowing so much bitterness to dwell in your heart.”
It was impossible, of course, to win an argument with Bertha. In fact, Rachel could never remember having done so. The most she had ever achieved was a stalemate.
“But what if I can’t forgive?”
“Then show some mercy. For your own sake as well as his. Just try to show the man a little mercy.”
There was a small noise, like the rustling of a mouse, from the corner of the room, and that was when Rachel realized that Bobby was behind the couch. Had he heard what they were talking about? Did he understand the ramifications of what they were saying? She hoped not.
Bertha heard him too. “Come out from your hiding place, Bobby,” she demanded. “A child should not be eavesdropping on adult conversation.”
Bobby’s head popped up. “I’m not ease-dropping,” he said. “I’m playing with Gray Cat.” He plopped the cat down on the couch and then climbed out after it, with his shoes on the couch cushions—which was not allowed.
Bertha was not amused. “We have guests who stay with us, Bobby,” she admonished. “They do not want to sit in your footprints.”
And that was the straw that broke the little boy’s back. He began to wail.
Bertha looked at him in astonishment. “What on earth is wrong with the child?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said, going over to comfort him. “I think he’s overtired, maybe. It’s been a long week. What’s wrong, buddy?”
“You don’t love me,” the little boy sobbed. “Everybody wants me to go away.”
“That’s not true!” Bertha was completely shocked. “Everyone loves you.”
“Daddy doesn’t want me at the restaurant…he just says he does. He tells me to get down off the counters even when I’m trying to help. And Rachel’s face looks like this all the time!” He made an angry face. “Even when I try really, really hard to be good.”
“I’m not mad at you, Bobby. I’m never mad at you. I love you. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, and your daddy is just worried about the restaurant being ready for opening day,” Rachel tried to reassure him.
“I want my mommy,” Bobby sobbed. “I want my real mommy.”
Bertha cocked an eyebrow at her as though to say, See what your inability to let go of the past has done?
Joe had been right about what she was doing to Bobby. Rachel felt heartsick. She’d failed her precious son.
“I’m not mad at you, Bobby,” she said again. “I’m mad at the man who took my daddy away when I wasn’t much older than you. I’m sorry if I accidentally took it out on you.”
“Henrietta took my mommy away, and I didn’t take it out on you!” he accused.
He was absolutely right. He had been sweet and loving an
d giving, and she had been so preoccupied with her own life and job and pregnancy, not to mention her upset over Carl, that she had neglected the one person on earth who needed her the most.
“I’m so sorry, Bobby. You’re right. I’ll do better.” She searched for an excuse a six-year-old might understand. “I–I’ve been very tired lately.”
“Are you taking your vitamins?” Bertha asked, always the nurse.
“Yes, but this has nothing to do with vitamins,” Rachel said. “I’m going home now, and I’m going to spend the rest of the evening paying attention to my son.”
“I think that is an excellent idea,” Bertha said.
“Can we play Candy Land now?” Bobby asked. “For real?”
“Absolutely for real.”
He reached up and held her hand while they walked to the car. His instant forgiveness clutched at Rachel’s heart.
It turned out that the emotional meltdown had taken a toll. After they arrived home, Bobby got tired after only two games of Candy Land.
“Which book do you want me to read?” Rachel asked him, after his teeth were brushed, pajamas put on, and prayers said.
“This one.” Bobby picked a book from the shelf and handed it to her before climbing into bed. “This is my favorite.”
The title was I’ll Love You Forever, and it was the story of a little boy growing up and how his mother would love him forever no matter what he did or how he acted. A silly picture showed her climbing into his room after he became a grown man so she could check on him.
Rachel made up a tune to go with the repeated refrain of “I’ll love you forever; I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”
Even after singing and reading her way through the book, Bobby still wasn’t asleep. He seemed worried.
“Will you love me forever?” he asked.
“As long as I’m living and beyond,” she answered. “I’ll never stop loving you, no matter what.”
“Are you going to climb into my room at night on a ladder when I’m big?”
“Probably not, unless you need me to. But if you got lost or hurt or anything, there’s nothing in this world that could keep me from coming to you.”
He snuggled against her. “Even if I ran away and climbed way up on top of a mountain?”
“Are you planning to run away?”
“No.”
“Good, because if you ever did, I’d find me some climbing gear and go looking for you on top of that mountain.”
“What if I got in a big plane and went to Hawaii?”
Rachel knew that one of Bobby’s friends had gone to Hawaii. “Then I’d buy a hula skirt and a plane ticket and come after you.”
Bobby giggled. “What if I got on a big boat and sailed far away?”
“Then I’d hire me a big boat and sail far away to get you.”
“What if some bad people came to steal me?”
“If bad people ever stole you away from us”—Rachel grew very solemn as the cop in her kicked in—“then Daddy and I wouldn’t stop until we found you. If something like that ever happened, you must do anything you could to escape. Okay?”
“ ’Kay.” He burrowed into the covers and sighed with contentment. “I love you, Rachel.”
“I love you too, sweetie. You’re my boy.”
Her throat choked up with emotion as she watched over the sleeping child in the bed. She coveted his love. How had she ever allowed this sweet little boy feel like she didn’t care about him? How badly had her upset and distraction damaged their relationship…and what about Joe? Her husband was so busy trying to create a way to make an income for them that she barely saw him these days.
She heard the front door open quietly. Joe’s weary footsteps made their way down the hall where she waited for him, still sitting on Bobby’s bed.
“I think we might make the deadline,” he said. “We still have to drive to Detroit to pick up a commercial grill Darren found online, but a few more hard days like this one and I think we’ll be able to open on time. How’s our son?”
“Bobby’s fine,” she said. “We played Candy Land and read books.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. You’re a good mom to him.”
She followed Joe into their bedroom, where he slowly pulled off his shoes one at a time and left them on the floor instead of putting them away in the closet. For once, she didn’t remind him. The poor man was exhausted, and after what she’d been through tonight, she didn’t much care where his shoes landed. It only mattered that he was home.
“Anything important happen today?” he asked.
There were a million things she wanted to tell him about and discuss, but not now. He had already fallen back upon the pillow, on top of the covers, fully dressed except for his shoes, and was snoring.
Chapter 45
Carl expected to be nervous about his visit to Bertha, but instead he felt an unexpected calm as he got ready to go visit the woman who had changed his life.
Those letters. Those handwritten letters spread over twenty hard-bitten years. Not once had he written her back. Not once had he told her how much any of those letters had meant to him. He had tried many times, but he simply did not have the words. Nor did he feel worthy.
Perhaps George, her cousin, had conveyed to her what he knew of Carl’s appreciation, but he doubted that even George knew the depth of his gratitude.
Carl kept expecting the letters to stop, but each year, like clockwork, on the anniversary of her brother’s death, Bertha wrote of forgiveness. Each letter had been like a drink of cool water in the scorching desert of his life. The woman had meant what she said.
With two paying jobs, one quickly turning into a career, Carl had decided to shop for nicer clothing than the original hand-me-downs George had found. Those had been fine in the beginning, but he wanted to look his best when he met Bertha Troyer.
He had gone alone to shop for clothes. George was not exactly the best-dressed man he’d ever met. In fact, his mentor rarely seemed aware that he was wearing clothes at all. Carl had watched other people and seen how they were dressed and planned exactly what he wanted to buy.
A pair of sharply creased khakis, a dark blue polo, nicely polished dress shoes, and a good haircut was Carl’s outfit of choice. The only full-length mirror in the church was the one in the women’s bathroom, but since he cleaned it anyway, he felt comfortable in checking himself over there. Not a hair was out of place, nor was there a loose thread.
He’d lost about twenty pounds and shed the puffiness he’d gained while eating the cheap, carbohydrate-heavy prison food. He had worked outdoors with Shadow every day for weeks, and it showed in tanned, healthy skin and a trim body. He might be sixty-two, but he was fit and strong.
In his pocket was something he’d chosen with great care—a small pocket watch. Plain, of course, but beautifully made. George had assured him that although Amish women never wore jewelry, a nice pocket watch would be acceptable and appreciated. Carl was proud of the lovely satin-lined, velvet box it came in, too. It seemed like such a small thing to do for Bertha as a thank-you, but at least it was something.
He also had a present for Anna, who had forgiven him so easily in the vet’s office that day. He’d found it at Sol’s in Berlin, which had interesting gifts. It had caught his eye because it was a piggy bank in the shape of a gray cat that looked almost exactly like the one Anna had offered to let him pet.
Carl decided to take Shadow with him as well. The dog was so well-behaved now that he went with him anywhere dogs were allowed. Besides that, he was proud of Shadow and wanted to show him off.
And last of all, he’d polished his truck until he could see himself in the surface.
“Let’s go, boy!” he said to Shadow. “It’s time.”
And it was time. There were things he wanted and needed to say.
He just hoped that the little girl in the pink dress, who had grown into a cop with hard eyes, would not be there.
&n
bsp; Chapter 46
Rachel was using part of the morning to clean out her car—a sharp, little red Mustang she adored—which was starting to feel a little inappropriate for a mom. Especially with a baby on the way. She hoped to shine it up, sell it, and purchase something more along the lines of a used minivan.
She was vacuuming the backseat, while Bobby helped by wiping down the dash, when she felt a flutter directly beneath her heart—as though a tiny butterfly had unfurled its wings. She leaned against the car with one hand on her stomach, savoring the feeling of new life within her. She was eighteen weeks along, and the pregnancy hormones had definitely taken over.
This worried her because she was developing a desire she had never before experienced—to stay home and forget this whole law-enforcement gig she’d chosen—at least for a while.
Instead of watching for potential crimes as she walked about town, she tended to catch herself admiring hair bows and children’s books in the store windows. She tired more easily these days and found herself daydreaming about what color to paint the bedroom that the baby would share with Bobby.
But with convicted killers being set free by parole boards all the time, how could she relax her vigil? How could she lay down her gun and pretend that everything and everyone around her was okay?
She couldn’t. That was the answer. While another woman might go to a park and coo over her newborn, she knew she would always have one eye watching for illicit drug activity and checking her perimeter to make certain no one was lurking in the shadows.
The instinct to be vigilant and protective of those she loved would never leave her, nor did Rachel want it to. But still, she wouldn’t mind letting someone else shoulder the responsibility of keeping Sugarcreek safe for a while. It would be nice to relax and revel in the experience of preparing for the birth of their child.
For the first time, in spite of her brave words to Joe about living an ordinary life, she wished he were still the rich man he was when they got married.
“Can I go play with Ezra when we get finished?” Bobby asked.
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