Daybreak: The Days of Redemption Series, Book One

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  In preparation for his arrival, he’d called the gas and water company the week before. He lifted the faucet handle and saw that he did, indeed, have running water.

  Another check showed that the refrigerator was cooling.

  Satisfied that the necessities were taken care of, he pulled off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and went in search of cleaning supplies. His mother had been a big fan of Pine-Sol, and he knew the fresh, piney scent would go far in restoring the old house.

  After a few glitches, he’d found the mop, a bucket, and half a bottle of the cleaning liquid.

  It felt good to do something with his hands. This, he could concentrate on. It would be far easier to get rid of dust and grime instead of the pain of his loss.

  Ignoring the cold, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. In no time at all, he was sponging off baseboards, windowsills, and counters. He’d just begun to mop the white linoleum floor when he heard a clatter, followed by a yip, and another clatter at the front screen door.

  Dropping the mop, he quickly rushed to see what was going on, only to be greeted by a red miniature dachshund. Its tail was wagging fast enough to beat the band, right in sync with the most annoying barking he’d ever heard in his life.

  “Hey, you,” he said, daring to approach the tiny intruder. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  Soft brown eyes met his. The little dog crept two steps closer, then lifted its head, obviously ready to be petted. He obliged and scratched the dog behind its ears. “Where’s your collar?”

  The dog looked well fed, but a little scraggly. No collar was to be found. When he petted its side, he realized it was chilled. No small wonder, it was near on twenty degrees, with a chance of snow in the forecast.

  The dog stepped closer, then to his amazement, snuggled closer, whether because she enjoyed the companionship or the heat, he didn’t know. “You’re cold, aren’t you?”

  And thirsty, too, he had no doubt.

  After fetching it a little bowl of water, Ed left the dog in the kitchen and went outside to look for its owner. But he saw no one wandering around at all. In fact, things looked fairly empty on the street. “Well, this is a fine situation. I’ve got an old house and a wayward dog and no clue about what I should do with either of them.”

  The folks at the mission in Nicaragua would take great pleasure in his confusion, he knew. The whole time he’d been there, he’d taken pride in being the go-to guy, the man who could solve any problem, no matter how big or how small.

  Now, he seemed to be as frozen as the air stinging his cheeks. He had no idea what to do next.

  A new steady stream of barking interrupted his reverie. When he went back to the dog, it stilled, eyeing him hopefully.

  “You were waiting for me, weren’t you?” he mused. Walking to one of the closets that lined the hall, he pulled out an old blanket from the bottom of a stack. It wasn’t too dusty, so he made a little nest on the floor for the dog.

  The homeless pup sniffed the blanket, looked up at him warily, then crawled right into the middle of it. Almost instantly, it slept. Just like it wasn’t planning to go anywhere.

  For some reason, that made Edward feel pleased. It was nice to no longer be alone.

  chapter four

  The next morning, when Ed returned to Daybreak, he became entangled in a rousing discussion about pie, of all things.

  “Hiya, Edward,” his father greeted with a distracted wave. “Pull up a chair and help me talk some sense into Mr. Showalter and this girl.”

  While Jacob Showalter merely laughed, Viola raised her hands to her hips. “Mr. Swartz, I don’t believe that I need to be ‘talked to.’ ”

  Ed hid a smile, kind of liking that she was giving his father a run for his money. There weren’t too many folks who would venture into a war of words with his formidable father. “I’ll pull up a chair,” Ed said, “but I don’t intend to get in the middle of any argument. Especially not an argument about something as important as pie.”

  As Viola visibly tried to hide her smile, Ed let his lips start to curve upward. It was a pleasure to see his father looking so animated and lively. Especially when just three years ago, Ed had wondered if he’d ever see him smile brightly again.

  “You’d best change your mind about that,” Mr. Showalter reported from his usual spot on the overstuffed couch. “Your father here has a bee in his bonnet and won’t be sidetracked.”

  Now he didn’t even try to temper his grin. “You have a bee in your bonnet, Father?”

  His daed brushed off his quip. “All I’ve been saying is that Bonnets has the best chocolate cream pie in town.”

  “And all I’m saying is that you’re wrong, Atle. The Berlin Bakery is the best, for sure. Bonnets don’t hold a candle to the Berlin’s chocolate cream.” Turning to Ed, Mr. Showalter raised a brow. “What do you think, Edward?”

  “I have no opinion. Both bakeries sound wunderbaar, for sure.”

  But that was obviously the wrong answer. Both men’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Take a stand, man,” his father chided. “Everyone has an opinion worth defending.”

  Defending? Ed looked at Viola. “How long has this conversation been going on?”

  “Too long,” she said with an amused grimace. “And there’s no end in sight, either. Neither man will back down.”

  “Ain’t no reason to,” Mr. Showalter said. “My opinion is right; your father’s is wrong. That’s all there is to it.”

  “I’m sure the desserts from both restaurants are mighty good, Daed.”

  “Anything would taste good to you, son. As you just said, you’ve been at the ends of the earth, eating rice and rations.”

  Well, he hadn’t just said that. Not exactly. Though his father did have a point. He had been far away from Amish pie bakeries.

  Of course, the people at the mission in Nicaragua would also be somewhat horrified to see so much energy expended over something so insignificant. If everyone had food in his belly, well, that was a blessing in itself.

  But perhaps that was the point about retiring—it gave folks an opportunity to fuss about things that didn’t matter all that much.

  As the conversation continued with more men and women coming out of the woodwork to voice an opinion, he became aware of two things: One, his father was not in any hurry to hear about the house and the cleaning he’d done.

  And two? Viola Keim was more than a little quiet around him.

  And once again, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

  “What do you think of that idea, Edward?”

  “I’m sorry? I wasn’t paying attention.”

  As he’d known he would, his father scowled. “What is it with you young people? I’m continually having to repeat and explain myself to you.”

  “Sorry—”

  “I was saying, Edward, that I think we should send Viola out to get pie samples and bring them back.”

  Before he had time to venture an opinion, Viola shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a gut idea at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “I canna carry all the pies back here, for one.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . I can’t afford to be buying you pies, either, Mr. Swartz.”

  As Ed could have predicted, that started a flurry of emptying pockets among the residents. Before long, thirty dollars in singles, fives, quarters, and dimes had been accumulated.

  His father looked at the pile with pleasure. “That should be more than enough to buy two pies, Viola. Off you go now, and don’t worry. Edward here will help you carry them.”

  She visibly blanched. “Him?”

  He felt her pain. “Me?”

  “Yes, and yes.” Turning to his son, his daed’s voice turned a little snippy. “Edward, surely you don’t intend to make poor Viola carry the baked goods all by herself, do you? And such a long way, too. I raised you better than that, surely.”

  “You raised me well, Father. But that doesn�
��t mean this scheme is a good one.”

  Getting to her feet, Viola looked like she was doing everything she could to ignore his very being. “Mr. Swartz, please don’t worry about me needing help. I’m certain your son isn’t used to offering his services freely. I can go get your pies on my own.”

  Ed grunted as he felt yet another jab taken at his character. “I’m surprised you can lift your head, you’re so sanctimonious, Viola.”

  “I’m only speaking the truth, Edward.”

  “The name is Ed.”

  “Nee, it’s Edward,” his father groused. “Your mother and I gave you a perfectly gut name. You should use it in its entirety, not just the first two letters.”

  Now it seemed he could do no right with anyone. “I should have stayed home with the wiener dog,” he muttered.

  “Wiener dog?” Viola asked.

  “Yes. Um, somehow I’ve adopted a dog. A little red dachshund, somewhat down on her luck, wandered to the haus yesterday. I couldn’t find her owner, so I made her a bed in the kitchen.”

  He’d even privately named her Gretta, though he wasn’t in the mood to share that bit of information.

  “What is going to happen to her when you leave?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Viola frowned. “If you’ve taken in a dog without thinking ahead to her care, that’s hardly fair to the dog.”

  “I only just found it.”

  “You could have taken her to the shelter.”

  “Enough already, Viola. There’s no need for you to be badgering me about this.”

  “I wasn’t badgering,” she countered, her cheeks staining red. “I mean, I didn’t mean to badger. I was only giving my opinion.”

  “Which you seem to do all the time, even though we hardly know each other.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I’m beginning to think I know enough.”

  “Enough, you two,” his daed interrupted. Just as if they were twelve years old. “Go on now, and don’t tarry.”

  “Yes, Mr. Swartz.” Viola gathered up the bills and change and put it in an envelope. “You know, I must say that you’re getting terribly bossy.”

  His father looked pleased. “I’ve earned the right to be bossy. I’m an old man.”

  “You’re not that old. And once more, I must tell you that bringing you pies isn’t in my job description.”

  “You bring me coffee. Pies aren’t that different.”

  Viola looked about ready to pop a gasket . . . then looked at him again and chuckled. “You certainly know how to get me on my high horse, Mr. Swartz. Fine. I’ll go get your pies. I’ll be back when I can.”

  Looking extremely satisfied, his father grinned. “Gut. Now be a sweet girl and let my son accompany you.”

  “It’s really not necessary.” She would barely glance at him. “I’ll be fine . . .”

  Ed stood up as well, took the envelope full of bills and change, and slipped it into his jacket’s front pocket. It sat heavy there, making his coat jingle when he stepped away from the table. “Of course I’m going to help you. I’m not going to let you go run my father’s errands on your own.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  After a quick look backward at his father, who was now playing spades with Mr. Showalter, he strode to her side. “Let me go with you. Just so they won’t start up another argument.”

  “Well, all right.”

  He was glad about that, though he wasn’t exactly sure why he was so relieved. She didn’t like him. At all. Even so, when they left the main room and started down the tiled hallway, he stayed at her side. “You know, I am sorry for all these shenanigans. He wasn’t like this when I was growing up.”

  To his surprise, now that they were out of his father’s sight, Viola didn’t look all that disgruntled. Instead, she looked amused. “I think the other residents look to him to stir things up.”

  Ed was slightly horrified. Suddenly, it felt as if he were the adult and his father were the child. “He seems to be doing a good job of that. I guess my daed can be a handful.”

  “He’s a kind man.” She flashed a smile. “Though he keeps things lively, I’d rather it be that way instead of boring. And he’s never mean or short-tempered.”

  “I bet.” He glanced her way again. “I hope you realize he’s a master manipulator. He wasn’t near as chatty when I was growing up, but he never was shy about getting me to do things his way.”

  “I’ve gotten that impression.” She stopped at the door. “Truly, if you’d rather stay here, that is all right with me. I don’t need your help.”

  Her voice told him that she didn’t want to accept it, either. Which, of course, made him want to help her all the more. “Are you always this independent?”

  Her eyes widened, looking like she was taken aback—then she nodded. “Maybe I am.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  Now her cheeks turned a becoming rosy shade. “All right. Probably. But most don’t have a problem with it.” Lifting her chin a bit, she said, “Most folks enjoy having someone take charge.”

  “Lucky for you!”

  After a quick stop in the coat room to put on her coat and mittens, as well as her black bonnet, she stopped at the office and spoke to Mrs. Ames.

  After she signed out, they exited the building side by side and headed down Main Street. It was nice that the retirement home was so close to town. This part of Berlin was filled with shops and older homes and lovely wide sidewalks. Not too many other people were out, just a few tourists and a jogger or two. The day was chilly, and his body, now more used to the tropical temperatures, chilled instantly.

  But besides the cold, he had to admit to enjoying the beauty of the winter day. The trees’ branches that surrounded them were bare, and the ground still had patches of snow in shady sections of grass. A few houses that they passed still had their pine wreathes hanging on their doors. The fragrant bursts of green brightened the walk.

  But not as much as Viola did.

  Actually, it took everything he had to not continually stare at her. The problem with Viola Keim was that she was flat-out beautiful. She was slim and graceful, and had dark hair that looked like it would feel like satin against his hands. Matching brown eyes seemed to say too much and nothing, all at the same time.

  She was so completely different from the women he’d been around for the last two years. He’d either been around the Nicaraguan women who were so delicate, he felt as if a strong wind would blow them away. And the Amish women working in the mission were mostly older women, no one who would make him look twice.

  But more important, none of them seemed to be comfortable around him. Whether it was because he was a man and they were women—or because it was in their nature to be circumspect around men of marriageable age, he didn’t know.

  He wasn’t used to it. Growing up, he’d never had a problem flirting with girls in his church district. He’d been blessed with a great many friends of both sexes, which had given him a confidence that he’d sometimes had to keep in check.

  But now that he was around Viola? She didn’t avoid him like the women in Nicaragua. She simply didn’t like him.

  Which, for some perverse reason, appealed to him all the more.

  He glanced her way again. Viola, why even her name was ladylike. It was no wonder his father had been smitten with her!

  When she entered the room, it was as if a new force had just blown in. Today she wore a bright pink dress, which made her cheeks look rose-colored. And her voice was so melodic, he found himself baiting her, just so she would talk a little bit more. To his amusement, he seemed to be following in his father’s footsteps . . . he was smitten—and he hardly knew her.

  “So, does my daed send you on these fool’s errands often?”

  She turned to him sharply, then thawed when she saw his almost innocent expression. “Nee. He’s been known to have me fetch him blankets or tea or coffee or cards or books . . . but this is the first chocolate-pie mission.”
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  “Is he so needy?”

  “He’s a character, that’s what he is. I truly don’t mind. He has no one else, you know.”

  Ah. Yet another jab. “He and I made the decision for him to go to the home together, Viola.” Not that it was any of her business.

  She visibly winced. “I didn’t mean to sound as harsh as I did. I’m beginning to see that he’s happy, living at the retirement home.”

  “He is. Though I’m a bit surprised by how happy. I thought he’d be content at Daybreak, but that he’d also jump at the chance to go back home for a while.”

  “And he didn’t jump, did he?”

  “Nope. But I suppose I can’t blame him. Our house is no longer the happy place it once was,” he said before he could take back the words. Well, he might as well explain. “Ever since my mother died, it only holds sad memories.”

  Her dark brown eyes clouded with sympathy. “Yes, I can imagine that.”

  A new sense of peace drifted between them. Almost tangibly, he could feel some of her anger toward him dissipate.

  She smiled, the first real smile she’d directed his way. “Going back to this fool’s errand, I have to say that I have a feeling if we do a good job, it won’t be the last.” She smiled and a dimple appeared. “He’s a terrible jokester. Was he always like that?”

  “Not so much. My mother kept a fairly tight rein on him. She didn’t have any patience for a lot of teasing. But he definitely tried to get her dander up.”

  “There was only the three of you?”

  He nodded. “I was their surprise baby, more than they expected, I guess.” What he didn’t dare confide were all of his parents’ comments about how special he was. They’d told him time and again that he must have been born to them for a reason. That God had a plan for him, to be born when his parents had long since given up having a family full of kinner.

  “And what about your other relatives?” she asked. “What do they think of your mission work, and of your daed living in the retirement home?”

  He was beginning to feel interrogated again. “I have none living in the area. My parents were youngest children, and they moved out to Berlin on their own. I’m getting the sense that your home wasn’t like that?”