Daybreak: The Days of Redemption Series, Book One

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  But that of course had to be canceled. So, he’d put on his warmest coat, grabbed his gloves and snow shovel, and then gotten busy.

  The fresh blanket of snow meant more chores than usual for him and Roman. Paths to the main house, barn, and dawdi house needed to be shoveled. Animals needed to be checked on and moved inside the barn. After he’d wrung the necks of two hens, he’d left Roman with the ugly task of plucking them while he went inside for a bit of hot coffee.

  When he walked into the kitchen, he found Marie on her hands and knees, a fierce expression on her face.

  “Marie, what in the world is going on?”

  She rocked back on her heels. “Oh, Peter, I’m so glad to see you! We have a mouse.”

  Marie could take care of just about anything, except mice. She was by turns scared of them and the fiercest of hunters. One squeak could send her squealing like a teenage girl. She’d never failed to amuse him with her squeamishness around them, either. “Marie, you should’ve come to get me. I would’ve taken care of it for you.”

  His comment didn’t appease her in the slightest. “If I’d gotten up to find you, I would’ve lost sight of the mouse.” Leaning down again, she frowned. “Though I’m afraid this one got away. Peter, we need to put out more traps.”

  “All right,” he soothed.

  “The sooner the better, too. This one gave me a fright when I opened the cabinet.”

  There was only one thing to do, of course. Help her locate it. “Let me get a flashlight, then I’ll help you mouse hunt.”

  “Danke, Peter.”

  She looked so relieved, he smiled to himself. Even after all this time, when she looked at him that way, her eyes wide and languid, she made him feel like he was ten feet tall.

  Kneeling beside her, he shone the light into the cupboard. Pulled out a container of sugar, and a carton of salt. And was just about to pull out another carton when a shrill squeak erupted, barely a half a second before the interloper appeared. It squeaked again. Loudly.

  Startled, he jumped. Beside him, Marie gave a cry of dismay.

  And then another mouse appeared, and he had nothing more than a silver flashlight in his hands. What to do?

  “Two!” Marie exclaimed. “Oh, but this is terrible!” she squealed when both mice started scurrying to them. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed her rolling pin, leaned back down, did a twist, then slammed it down hard onto the bottom of the cabinet.

  A tiny puff of flour appeared.

  Amazingly, he killed both in that one fatal blow.

  Still holding the rolling pin, he looked at his wife proudly. “Marie, your mouse problem is solved.”

  “But you ruined my rolling pin in the process!”

  He laughed. “It can be washed, dear. Now, hand me some paper towels and I’ll dispose of the bodies.”

  After another moment of staring at the pin in shock, she started giggling. And then her giggles turned to bright laughter. Making the dreary, snowy day seem like the best day in years.

  He set the tainted rolling pin down on the ground and held her in his arms as she continued to laugh.

  “Oh, Peter! I can’t believe you clubbed the mice!”

  “I couldn’t help myself. And I’m right proud of myself, too! I still have good reflexes.”

  “Indeed! We could hire you out, you and my rolling pin!”

  He started laughing, too, finally sitting on the floor next to Marie and wrapping an arm around her. “I haven’t laughed so much in ages.”

  She wiped her eyes. “Me, either.”

  “I think you need a kitten, though. A good mouser.”

  Sweet hope entered her eyes.“You’d get me a kitten?”

  “Of course, Marie. I’ll ask around in town. We’ll find you a kitten.”

  “It would be fun, to have a little kitten for a bit, don’t you think? The kids are so old . . .”

  “Ah, Marie. You need something little to cuddle, don’t you?”

  “Maybe.” Her gaze soft, she smiled into his eyes. Looking at him with so much love that his heart felt lighter than it had in months.

  All at once, he was reminded of when they were courting. He’d used to take her driving in his courting buggy. And when the streets were empty, they’d clip clop along quietly, and he’d hold her hand.

  And think about kissing her. After weeks went by, he did, indeed, kiss her. Sweet, chaste kisses, promising a lifetime of so much more. It had all been so special.

  Looking at her now, seeing the love shining in her eyes, he leaned closer, tempted by the promise of her smile. By the sweet memories when their lives weren’t so full of responsibilities.

  As if she’d read his mind, Marie blinked, then lifted her head, offering him her lips, right there on the kitchen floor. Just as if they both weren’t fortysomething, with three grown children.

  For a moment, they were only Marie and Peter, and he still thought he was the luckiest man in the world to have her.

  He kissed her lightly. Kissed her again. Smiled to himself when her hand reached around his neck and pulled him closer.

  “Mamm? Daed? Oh, my gosh, what are you two doing?” Viola’s voice called out, her voice hard.

  They broke apart. For a moment Peter was tempted to say that it was fairly obvious . . . but then something in her tone caught his attention. With effort, he climbed to his feet. “What is it, daughter?”

  She strode forward, her expression pinched. “Elsie and I need to show you something.”

  Marie stood up and brushed out her dress. “Is it a mouse, dear?”

  “Not a mouse. It is something much worse.”

  He shared a look with Marie. “What did you find?”

  “Elsie and I found a bottle of vodka. Under the sink in the bathroom.”

  As the words sank in, he felt his world spin a bit. He’d been so captivated by Marie, he’d completely forgotten about that stashed bottle.

  How could he have been so foolhardy?

  Beside him, Marie’s body turned to stone. And he knew at that moment that it was going to be a very long time before they’d be kissing again.

  Before she’d look at him with such love again.

  Yes, just like that, the mood was broken. There was also a very good chance that he might never get it back.

  chapter seventeen

  Himler’s Cheese Shop was practically a Berlin landmark. It had been around for generations, though only in the Alpine-looking building for thirty or forty years. Some were tempted to proclaim that the shop was merely a tourist attraction. And it was true, a great many tourists did choose to visit the store.

  But it was more than that. Men and women made the cheese the same as they always had, in painstaking processes that created velvety Goudas and sharp cheddars. Locals stopped by often. And many more folks ordered various cheeses to be shipped across the country.

  Lorene Keim had always enjoyed working there. She liked being a part of something bigger than herself, even if it was only a cheese shop in tiny Berlin, Ohio.

  Even though the weather was snowy, she’d arrived at eight o’clock that morning. She’d enjoyed walking to the store in her thick boots over the snow-packed sidewalks. Hardly anyone had been on the roads, and the resulting silence, broken only by the shrill trill of a bright cardinal, had been music to her ears.

  Soon after checking in with Frank, she’d gotten right to work. She helped fill a few orders, straightened the counters surrounding the checkout area, and counted the money for the opening balance of the cash register.

  Then greeted and assisted the first arriving customers.

  A tour bus from Cleveland hadn’t let the heavy snow slow it down. It parked in the parking lot a full thirty minutes ahead of schedule. And when the bus doors opened, at least forty people piled out and trotted into the store.

  Some took the tour of the cheese factory. Most, however, entertained themselves by sampling the many varieties of cheese the store had to offer and filling plastic grocery baskets. Two
hours sped by as she rang up sales and answered questions, both about the cheese shop and being Amish.

  When that group left, a few locals arrived, and kept them all busy enough so that the time didn’t drag. So, it was a good day, with plenty to do . . . even if it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

  And then John came in.

  She noticed other women—both Amish and English—pause in their conversations to take a first and second look at him. He truly was that handsome. If he noticed, he didn’t give any indication of it. When a few folks stopped to say hello, he talked with them politely, but it was obvious to Lorene that he had come for only one reason, and that was to see her. Every few seconds he glanced her way.

  She knew because she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from him for more than a few seconds at a time. The other girls who worked with her noticed and giggled.

  Lorene’s hands trembled a bit as she counted change for an elderly man from Columbus. She told herself it was merely nerves; she wasn’t used to being the center of attention. And everyone, it seemed, was looking at her and her visitor.

  Looking up, she was shocked to see him staring right back at her. His gaze was steady, unwavering.

  Which, of course, made her suddenly feel sixteen again.

  “John. This is a surprise.”

  “It shouldn’t be,” he murmured. “I told you I wanted to see you again.”

  Goose bumps appeared on her arms. “Um . . . I know, but I didn’t think you meant so soon,” she blurted before giving the gentleman his receipt. “Thank you. Come again.”

  When the man walked away, Lorene prepared herself to ring up the next person’s order. But no one was there—only John.

  Quietly she mumbled, “John, I can’t talk to you now.”

  Perfect white teeth flashed. “I know. I merely stopped by to ask if you’d like to come over for supper. I’m making beef and barley soup.”

  Supper. With John. At his house. Helpless anticipation coursed right through her.

  Shaking it off, she asked, “You’re cooking?”

  “Don’t sound so shocked,” he chided. “I live on my own, Lorene. Just because I’m a man, it doesn’t mean I can’t cut up meat and vegetables and add some broth.”

  He was exactly right. And worse, she had a vague feeling that she was sounding a bit like her mother, who was the last person she wanted to sound like. “Supper sounds mighty nice. Especially since it’s so snowy and cold out.”

  “Gut. What time do you get off?”

  “Four o’clock.”

  “I’ll be back then and walk you home, then to my haus.”

  The idea of his coming back for her, and everyone seeing that, made her cheeks heat like they were on fire. “You don’t need to go to so much trouble.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Lorene. Good day.”

  Wordlessly, she raised her hand in a poor example of a wave. But she didn’t think he saw it. He was already walking out of the store, with at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching his broad back.

  Only when he was out of the building did she dare exhale.

  Missy, one of her best girlfriends at the store, giggled. Frank, who’d been leaning against the back wall, watching unabashedly, coughed.

  Lorene felt her lips curve up so high, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to stop smiling.

  Not even when a lady suddenly appeared and plopped down a basket filled almost to the brim with cartons of cheese, crackers, and candies. “I’m ready, miss.”

  Lorene forced herself to concentrate on work. Not on the way John’s eyes had looked greener than ever, thanks to his forest green shirt. “Were you waiting on me? I’m sorry. I’ll ring you up as quickly as I can.”

  “Oh, don’t fret, dear. I was in love once, too.”

  As her cheeks burned, and Missy giggled a little more loudly, Lorene dared to wonder if her time for love had finally come. After all this time.

  Still holding the bottle of liquor, and fortified with Elsie by her side, Viola did her best to overcome her shock. What was happening to her family?

  And what was happening to her parents? Never before had she seen them be anything but cordial to each other. Now she walked in on them kissing on the kitchen floor?

  And that was nothing compared to the bottle of liquor she and Elsie had uncovered. It had to be their father’s. More than once, she, Roman, and Elsie had noticed him behaving strangely. Roman had even commented on it one night. They’d put it off to his being tired, and especially stressed because of Mommi’s secrets.

  But all the while, Viola had suspected that something else was going on. Of course, suspecting something and seeing the evidence were two different things.

  When both her mother and father merely stared at her in silence, she felt her temper go flying. “Are either of you going to tell me what this is all about?”

  “I am not about to talk to you when you’re using that tone of voice. You will stop it now, Viola,” her mother ordered.

  Viola recognized her mother’s tone of voice, too. She was most displeased. And, Viola suspected, not just with her. Viola also realized that she was causing her father a great deal of discomfort. But even as her father’s skin turned ghostly pale, she pushed for answers. She was tired of constantly pretending that everything was all right.

  “Daed? Is this bottle yours? Have you been drinking?”

  “Girls,” he replied, “you will put that bottle down now and leave us.”

  Automatically, Elsie backed away.

  Viola, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so ready to end the conversation. Goodness, but her father was acting just like her grandmother—keeping secrets! “But I want to—”

  “But nothing,” her mother countered. “You two should learn to stay out of things that are none of your business.”

  “Not our business? We were cleaning out bathroom cabinets. It’s not our fault Daed picked such a poor hiding place.”

  Her father turned away. Whether it was in shame or anger, Viola didn’t know. But she did know that she’d certainly just gone too far. She bit her lip to keep from saying another word.

  Luckily, Elsie, ever the peacemaker, spoke. “Mamm, if Daed is drinking, it is our business. We are members of this family, too. And we live here.”

  “Leave us,” Mamm repeated, a little more loudly. “This is not your concern.”

  Viola knew the right thing to do was to obey her parents. But she couldn’t believe them. They were frustrated by her grandparents keeping secrets, yet here they were doing the same thing. Maybe all of these secrets coming to light had made her be more obstinate than usual.

  Or maybe she was still coming to terms with the fact that for most of her life she’d been a little too full of herself, thinking she was part of a group of people who had much to be proud about. Whatever the reason, she placed the bottle on the countertop, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I know if we walk away you will never bring this up again. We’ll simply push it under the rug. But we mustn’t. If Daed is drinking, it’s a big problem, and it’s all of our concern.”

  “I agree,” Elsie said. “I’m sure Roman would, too.”

  “As do I,” their grandmother said from the shadows of the hall.

  Her father visibly flinched. “Mamm, I didn’t know you were here.”

  In a voice as cold as ice, she said, “You know, I had wondered a time or two what was wrong with you. You seemed sluggish. Now I understand. You’ve let alcohol in this godly house. Into your body. I am terribly ashamed of you, Peter. I don’t know what I am going to tell your father.”

  Viola heard Elsie inhale sharply. Their grandmother’s words seemed especially out of place, given that they all knew she’d been keeping some whoppers of secrets to herself.

  But even more amazing was their father’s reaction. Before their eyes, his cheeks flushed and he stood taller. His back became straight and strong. And the look he shot at his mother was as dark and angry as Viola had ever seen
it.

  “I no longer care if you are ashamed of me or not.”

  “You should. I am your mother.”

  “Indeed you are. But I am not a boy, and I have not been one for a very long time. There is nothing here for you to be involved with. Please go back to your own home.”

  “Your father and I built this house when we moved here from Pennsylvania. We borrowed money from the bank and worked night and day on this farm in order to pay back those loans. It’s as much our house as yours.”

  They’d had to borrow money from the bank instead of family like most Amish? Viola barely had a chance to share a look with Elsie when their father replied.

  “Yes, but you no longer live here. Mother, your place is in the back. Especially right now.”

  “Your brother Jacob wouldn’t speak to me like this.”

  “Jacob also wouldn’t live with you. He’s out in Indiana! Neither would Sam. Or Aden. Or Sara. Matter of fact, no one wanted to live here in this big drafty haus with way too many bad memories.”

  Hurt flashed across her face, but her tone was sharp. “Then why did you?”

  “Duty.” He said the word like it was a curse word. Like it was something he couldn’t ever push aside, no matter what.

  If he’d meant to hurt Mommi, Viola saw that he’d done a good job of it. She paled.

  But she didn’t back away.

  As the tension in the room thickened, their mother grabbed their father’s arm. “Peter, stop. Stop saying such hateful things.”

  He shrugged off her grip. “They’re only hateful if they’re not true, Marie. And you know as well as I that I speak the truth.”

  Tears filled their mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Lovina. Peter is not himself—”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And we all know why, don’t we?”

  “No, I am very much myself, Marie,” Peter countered. “And after more than forty years of keeping my mouth shut, I think I have every right to speak my mind.” Still staring at his mother, he continued, his voice almost completely void of emotion.

  “And so that is how we all came to be living here together. That is why you got stuck with me, Mamm,” he said with a trace of irony. “No one else could stand you any longer.”