When Hope Blossoms

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  The two scampered upstairs, Adrianna’s giggles competing with Parker’s huffing breaths. Bekah hung the dishtowel over a little silver bar above the sink, then leaned her hips on the edge of the sink. “Want me to go make sure they get ready for bed?”

  Amy tugged one of the white ribbons trailing from Bekah’s cap. “Wouldn’t you rather take a book onto the back porch and read before the sunlight is all gone?”

  Bekah straightened. “Really?”

  “Really. You’ve done plenty today.”

  Bekah dashed to the enclosed stairs.

  Amy called, “Bekah?”

  Her daughter paused on the little landing, peeking over her shoulder.

  “Thank you for all your help in the house and with your brother and sister. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Bekah sucked in her lips, her brow furrowing. Then she gave a quick nod that sent her ribbons bouncing on her shoulders, turned, and trotted out of sight. Amy sank into the nearest chair, looking after her daughter. She’d hoped her compliment might elicit an answering smile, a sweet “You’re welcome, Mom.” Over the past year, it had seemed Bekah drifted farther and farther away. What had happened to the smiling, happy little girl who’d dogged her steps and begged, “Let me help you, Momma. Please?”

  The clatter of feet on the stairs intruded upon her thoughts. Bekah trotted around the corner with a book in her hand and slipped out the back door without so much as a glance in her mother’s direction. Tears pricked Amy’s eyes. Might she, in this place of new beginnings, find her sweet Bekah again? Father, bind us together once more. Please, dear God.

  “Adrianna Amelia, stop kicking the back of my seat!” Bekah spun to glare over the backrest at her sister. Adri grinned, one finger in her mouth.

  Mom sent a disapproving look in Bekah’s direction. “Season your tone with kindness.”

  Bekah huffed and faced forward. Couldn’t Mom scold Adri instead? Bekah wouldn’t be fussing if Adri would just keep her feet down instead of bouncing them on the back of the seat. Last night, when Adri had leaned against her arm while Mom read from Psalms, she’d felt so close to Adri and to Mom. But now all those good feelings had fled, leaving her grumbly. She stared out the window at the passing landscape to keep from scowling at her mother.

  Mom slowed the car and turned into a long lane lined by trees. Another bump on the seat’s back sent Bekah sitting straight up. She gritted her teeth and planted her hands on the dash, looking ahead. Instead of a tall, square two-story farmhouse with a spindled porch like theirs, Mr. Roper’s house was one story with some kind of up-and-down brown siding and an almost flat roof. A rickety-looking iron platform served as a porch. The yard in front of the house was bare of flowers, but flowering vines crawled up the side of the huge barn, framed the doorway, and wriggled their way all along its rock foundation. Bekah decided the red-painted barn looked a lot more inviting than the house.

  Mom parked the car, then looked into the backseat. “All right, you two. Hop out and deliver your apologies.”

  Bekah bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing when Parker and Adri gaped at Mom. Parker offered his customary, “Huh?” Adri launched herself forward and hung her arms over the high back of the car’s front seat. “Aren’t you comin’, too, Momma?”

  Mom shook her head, her black ribbons swaying beneath her chin. “No. You wandered onto Mr. Roper’s property by yourself. So you can apologize by yourself.”

  Bekah almost felt sorry for her brother and sister as they slowly slid out of the car and walked hand in hand to Mr. Roper’s front door. Parker let loose of Adri’s hand to knock, and then the two stepped back and waited on the corner of the rusty iron platform, flicking worried glances over their shoulders to the car. Bekah sneaked a look at Mom’s profile. Mom bit down on her lower lip, her brow all puckered as if she was worried, too.

  Bekah said, “If it bothers you so much to send them up there alone, why not just go with them?”

  “They need to do this alone. It’s part of growing up, being accountable for your actions. If I do their apologizing for them this time, they’ll expect me to make amends the next time they make a mistake. That isn’t what’s best for them.”

  Bekah shrugged. “I don’t think it matters much. I don’t think Mr. Roper is here.” At that moment, someone tapped on the passenger-door window, and Bekah yelped in surprise. She turned to find the orchard owner staring through the glass at her. She quickly rolled down the window.

  Mr. Roper looked past Bekah to Mom. “Did you need something?”

  “The children have something to tell you.” Mom gestured to the front of the house.

  Mr. Roper strode around the car. Adri and Parker clambered down the wobbly steps and met him halfway across the yard. Adri thrust her drawing at the man, then locked her hands behind her back, swaying as she stared up at him. Parker lifted his letter more slowly, his head low. Bekah saw his lips move, but she couldn’t hear what he said. Mr. Roper looked at the papers in his hand, then reached out and patted Parker’s shoulder. It looked like an awkward gesture, but Parker lifted his head. A crooked smile appeared on his face.

  Bekah discovered she’d been holding her breath. She let it out in a whoosh and looked at Mom. Relief shone on Mom’s face, too. Mom rolled down her window. “All right now, children. Get in the car so we can let Mr. Roper get back to work.”

  Adri and Parker dashed to the car, Parker’s ambling gait cumbersome next to Adri’s nimble spryness. A wave of protectiveness rose within Bekah’s breast as her brother nearly fell into the car. She was glad Mr. Roper accepted their apology. It would have broken Parker’s heart to be treated rudely. And it would’ve broken hers, too.

  Mr. Roper followed and stopped next to the car, leaning down to peer in at Mom. “I told the kids ‘no hard feelings.’ ” He shook the papers. “I appreciate them setting things right.”

  “ ‘If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.’ ” Mom quoted Romans 12:18, a verse Bekah had memorized when she was very young. She had a hard time remembering it sometimes when it came to living with her little sister.

  Red streaked across Mr. Roper’s cheeks. He balled his hand into a fist, crumpling the papers. “Yeah. Well, like I said, no hard feelings.” He started to straighten.

  “We’re goin’ to the li-barry,” Adri chirped from the backseat, bouncing on her bottom. “Momma says there’s programs for us there.”

  Mom sent Adri a silencing look over the seat. Then she turned to Mr. Roper. “I’m taking your advice and checking into summer programs. You said they were listed at the library?”

  “That’s right.” Mr. Roper began naming the various activities available in town.

  Listening in, Bekah clamped her teeth together. Everything sounded so babyish. Did she want to do arts and crafts or get involved in reading races with other kids?

  “You’ll find the library on the east edge of town, right across from the high school. You can’t miss it.” He pushed off from Mom’s windowcase. Before Mom had the car out of park and into drive again, he’d trotted back into the barn.

  Mom angled the car down the lane and turned west onto the dirt road. She smiled at Bekah, but Bekah thought she looked a little strained. “Here we go, getting acquainted with our new town.”

  Parker and Adri cheered from the backseat, but Bekah’s stomach gave a nervous flip. In Arborville, half of their neighbors had been Mennonite. The non-Mennonite people in town were used to them and they’d all lived peaceably together. But this new town wasn’t used to Mennonites. Would the kids point and stare? Would they make fun of her dress and cap? Worse, would they torment Parker because he was slow? Bekah gulped as the car rolled past the farmhouse on its way to Weaverly, their new home. She hoped Mom hadn’t made a mistake by bringing them here.

  5

  Amy whispered to her daughter, “Keep an eye on your brother and sister. I’ll be back at noon to pick you up.”

  “Okay,
Mom.”

  Bekah, hunkered into a strange chair resembling a huge half-filled beach ball, barely looked up from the book in her hands. With her ankles crossed, her dress smoothed precisely over her knees, and the rumpled ribbons from her cap crunched against her shoulders, she looked younger than her thirteen years. Tenderness welled in Amy’s breast. “You’ll be all right until then?”

  Bekah gave a long-suffering sigh. “We’ll be fine.”

  Amy bit down on her lower lip, contemplating the wisdom of leaving the children for nearly three hours. The friendly librarian had assured her that parents often sent their children unattended to the library, but it still felt uncomfortable to leave the children in an unfamiliar place on their own. However, the children didn’t seem at all uneasy about spending their morning in the cheerful, air-conditioned library. Amy set aside her apprehensions and reached down to squeeze Bekah’s shoulder. “All right, then. I’ll see you later.”

  Waving to Parker and Adri, who sat cross-legged on the floor in front of a plastic tub of puppets, Amy set off for home. “Lord, forgive me. I need to let loose of my fears that something ill will befall them when I’m not looking. I know worrying means I’m not trusting You to keep watch over my children.” She spoke the prayer aloud as she pulled the car onto the highway. Her prayer was sincere, but even while she uttered the words, she realized Parker’s accident had impacted her deeply. Now that she knew what kind of harm could befall a child, would she ever be able to completely release the burden of worry?

  She rolled down the window and let the warm air caress her face as she drove. Only a short distance—a little more than two miles from town to the farmhouse. Once the children were familiar with the entire town, she could let them ride their bicycles to the library or the park now and then. The highway wasn’t heavily traveled. How many people needed to visit Weaverly? The town, with its population of less than one thousand, was as sleepy as her former hometown. She’d been comfortable allowing the children to ride their bikes all over Arborville. They’d probably appreciate the same freedom here.

  “Roots and wings,” she murmured to herself, recalling her mother’s philosophy for child rearing. A mother’s first responsibility was to give her children roots; the second was to let them grow wings. Amy found the first half much easier than the second.

  In the rambling house by herself, she made good use of her time and set to work on the sewing room. By eleven thirty she was hot and sweaty—she needed to purchase an additional box fan to put in the window—but she couldn’t deny a sense of pride in having everything neatly organized and ready for use. This afternoon she would start stitching the trio of quilts she’d designed for three siblings who’d lost their mother to cancer. Hopefully the wall hangings created from patches of their mother’s favorite items of clothing would bring happy memories.

  She washed her face and hands, changed into a fresh dress, then returned to the car to drive into town and retrieve the children. Adrianna was waiting at the window, and the little girl raced out and met her mother on the sidewalk. Bekah pounded after her. Amy captured Adrianna in a hug while Bekah scowled.

  “You were supposed to stay with me.” Bekah folded her arms over her chest and released a huff. “Mom, she’s been complaining for the past half hour about being hungry. She even asked the librarian if she had anything to eat! I was so embarrassed.”

  Amy placed on a kiss on Adrianna’s head and took the little girl’s hand. “Maybe next time you come in, we’ll send some crackers or fruit. Then if you get hungry, you can sit on the bench outside the library and have a snack.”

  Bekah snorted in reply as she followed Amy back into the library. Amy stopped at the librarian’s tall desk and thanked her for letting the children stay.

  The woman smiled brightly. “It was no problem at all, Mrs. Knackstedt. They’re very polite. And they got to meet a few of our town’s children who came in to borrow books or use the computers. In fact”—she bobbed her head toward the row of computers on the far wall—“Parker seems to have made a friend. The two of them have been playing Number Munchers for almost an hour.”

  Amy’s heart caught at the sight of Parker side by side with another boy, their heads nearly touching as they manipulated images on the screen. The other boy was smaller and obviously younger, but it was more likely a younger child would choose to befriend Parker. Even the boys Parker’s age in Arborville who’d grown up with him sometimes abandoned him due to his clumsy gait and inability to easily grasp the concepts of their games. So far, Parker hadn’t expressed sadness at being overlooked by his peers, but she knew eventually he would recognize the slight. She prayed she’d find ways to ease her son’s pain when the day came.

  Adrianna tugged on Amy’s hand. “Momma, what did you make us for lunch?”

  Amy smoothed stray wisps of hair from Adrianna’s face. “I haven’t fixed lunch yet, sweetheart. I was very busy. But I’ll fix us something as soon as we get home.”

  “Then let’s go now.” Adrianna gave Amy’s hand a firm yank.

  Amy frowned at her daughter, then offered the librarian another smile. “Thank you again. I guess I’d better take these children home and get them fed.” She handed Adrianna off to Bekah. “Take her to the car.” Then she headed to the bank of computers. “Okay, time to go, Parker. Say good-bye to your friend.”

  In typical Parker fashion, he muttered “Huh?” but offered no word of complaint. He set aside the gray controller and unfolded himself from the plastic molded chair. “Bye, Lance.”

  Lance tipped his freckled face toward Parker. “See ya.” Then he spun on his chair, meeting Amy’s gaze. “Can Parker come to my house? My big brother’s got a Nintendo. He lets me play games on it sometimes. They’re a lot cooler than the games on this thing.” He jammed his thumb at the computer screen.

  Parker gave Amy a pleading look. Amy slipped her arm around Parker’s shoulders and smiled at the younger boy. “We’ll have to talk about that at home. But I imagine Parker will see you again here at the library. Do you come in often?”

  Lance shrugged. “Sometimes. When there’s nothin’ good on TV.” He slapped his controller onto the table and bounced up. “I gotta go. See ya later.” He darted out of the library.

  Amy and Parker followed more slowly. Although Parker hadn’t mentioned his back hurting this morning, his stiff motions made Amy believe he was still a little sore from his fall from Mr. Roper’s apple tree. She wouldn’t rush him. They reached the car, where Bekah and Adrianna sat with the doors open and their feet dangling out. Adrianna shot to Amy and threw her arms around her mother’s waist.

  “I smell somethin’.”

  A pleasant aroma reached Amy’s nostrils. Her stomach panged in response.

  Parker sniffed the air like a hound dog on the hunt. “Mmm. Hamburgers.”

  Adrianna bounced up and down while still clinging to Amy’s middle. “I want a hamburger for lunch! Please, Momma? Please?”

  Parker added his pleading look to Adrianna’s open begging. Amy pondered the amount of cash in her purse. Surely she had enough to purchase hamburgers. The children had worked hard the past week getting ready for the move and settling into their new home—they deserved a treat. She looked at Bekah. “Does a hamburger sound good to you, too?”

  Bekah offered a slow, disinterested shrug. “Whatever.” She pointed up the street to the next block. “The café’s over there. We can just walk.”

  Adrianna immediately released Amy and began trotting in the direction of the café. Amy caught up to her and captured her hand. The little girl giggled, swinging their joined hands and making giant strides to match her mother’s. Parker and Bekah trailed behind, talking softly about the kids who’d come into the library. Although the walk was short, the sun beaming from overhead heated Amy’s scalp through her mesh cap. She welcomed the rush of air from the café’s window cooling unit as she and the children stepped inside.

  Even though it was noon, only one of the tiny café’s table
s was filled. Amy led the children past the group of retirement-age men who surrounded a rectangular table near the front window. Plastic open-weave baskets of half-eaten burgers and crispy fries sat in front of each man. Their conversation ceased as they watched Amy and her children parade past, then resumed when she settled the children around a square table at the back corner of the dining area.

  A teenage girl with shaggy-cut, streaked blond hair and silver braces highlighting her smile bustled from behind the counter and ambled to their table. Her gaze flicked across Amy’s head covering. “Hi. Welcome to the Burger Basket. You some of the new folks who moved in?”

  Amy noted the men at the rectangular table angling their heads in her direction, obviously listening. “I’m Mrs. Knackstedt, and these are my children.”

  “I’m Adri,” Adrianna said, her bright smile aimed at the girl. “What’s your name?”

  The girl beamed back. “Tara. I have a little sister named Trista who’s just about your age. Betcha you’ll be in kindergarten in the fall, right?”

  Adrianna nodded enthusiastically, her braids bouncing. “Uh-huh. An’ Parker’ll be sixth grade. An’ Bekah’ll be eighth grade.” She pointed at her siblings by turn before squinting up at the girl again. “What grade are you?”

  Tara laughed, her braces flashing. “Eleventh grade. That sounds pretty funny, doesn’t it?”

  Adrianna responded with a trickling laugh.

  Amy supposed she should discourage Adrianna from talking to everyone she met, but she found it difficult to curb her daughter’s friendly nature without squelching her. Thus far, most people had responded positively to the little girl’s overtures, including the men at the other table, who grinned, bumping one another with their elbows.

  Tara whipped a little pad of paper and a pencil from the pocket of her apron. “But I guess you all didn’t come in here to talk. You prob’ly wanna eat, right?”