A Promise of Grace

by Lynette Sowell

  She tried not to think about the fact that the young woman sitting beside her was also Silas’s daughter. So quickly, Belinda had conceived after the wedding. So quickly, Silas had moved on. Truthfully, he’d always had a soft spot for Belinda. Part of her now wondered if it had been part of the problem that had blown up into a tumult after John’s death.

  Maybe, back then, he’d been having feelings for Belinda, too.

  Stop it.

  Rochelle shoved the idea aside internally, while on the outside she smiled and nodded at Lena exclaiming over the flamingos in the pond in the center of the park-like entrance to the college.

  “I think I’m going to like it here,” said Lena, to which Rochelle responded with a nod and another smile.

  She shouldn’t be turning the past over in her mind like she had been, ever since her first glimpse of Silas in the village. For almost a year, since first learning of Belinda’s death, she’d avoided thoughts of Silas and what his life must be like. Daniel Troyer had distracted her last fall, but she’d learned from her mistake and wouldn’t repeat it again.

  Lena kept a chatter up about classes and activities now that they’d reached the parking lot. She talked of what it would be like to work in a lab and study more chemistry and biology and how good it would be, a number of semesters in the future, to finally see patients and care for them.

  “I wonder if I can get some credits for helping.”

  “Helping?”

  “There is a Mennonite medical clinic in the village where we lived, in Africa. I would volunteer and help there as often as I could,” Lena said.

  “What valuable experience.” Rochelle maneuvered her van into an empty parking space.

  “I think so. I knew then I wanted to learn how to help people get better, to figure out what their illness is, and help them stay well.”

  Rochelle wanted a bottle with a cork to gather some of Lena’s enthusiasm. Where had her own disappeared to?

  Suddenly, she felt old. When had it happened to her?

  She tried not to sigh as she turned off the ignition. “Well, here we go.” She smiled at Lena. Yes, the seagulls began flapping their wings once again. She could do this. She knew she could. It was time to finish what she’d started.

  * * *

  Silas arrived home to a quiet house, earlier than he thought, not long after one o’clock. He’d given Matthew permission to bicycle over to Uncle Tobias’s shop immediately after breakfast and right before Rochelle arrived to pick up Lena for the college.

  He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a container of Aunt Fran’s enchiladas she’d sent home with them last evening. Good stuff. He scooped a few onto a plate, then popped the plate in the microwave and watched it spin as it heated.

  Tomorrow, he’d make a practice flight to get himself back into the swing of things, so to speak. He’d kept up his pilot’s license while in Ohio. Life would have to go on, he knew, and having it constant in his life—the sky—helped immeasurably. That, and the children, of course.

  The children.

  He’d almost said no to Matthew’s request to bicycle the few short blocks to Uncle Tobias’s house. The boy was fourteen, almost on the brink of manhood. When he was fourteen, he was already doing plenty, not treated as if he were a six-year-old. And where they’d lived wasn’t exactly the safest place.

  “I just don’t want anything to happen to him. Or Lena,” Silas spoke aloud as the microwave beeped.

  He and Belinda had drifted along, their life a series of ups and downs as they lived overseas. But never like this. Not this fear the hand of God would yank their worlds out from under them again.

  Enough. He pulled the steaming enchiladas from the microwave, then winced as he set the hot ceramic plate on the counter.

  He knew he’d protected them all as best he could. Even if it wasn’t enough, he had no right to question God’s ways.

  As far as the heavens are above the earth, so God’s ways are above man’s ways, didn’t the Scripture say?

  And he’d seen firsthand, spending hundreds upon hundreds of hours above the earth.

  “I don’t understand, God. But I trust You still. Somehow.” Yes, he’d loved Belinda. They’d built a good life together, worked as a team overseas, her teaching, him flying out on medical missions here and there, but always being grounded in the town beside the coast where they’d lived. Over a decade, fifteen years, they’d begun to see fruit from their work where once was poverty, disease superstition, and hopelessness.

  And now?

  The missions board had said for him to take as long as he needed, then one day he could go back. Piloting short flights, here in the States, would do for now.

  The front door banged open. “I’m home!” Lena’s voice rang out. “Do we have some iced tea or lemonade?”

  “I believe we do,” Silas called toward the front of the house.

  Another voice murmured something, too. Rochelle, something about being parched. Female laughter.

  He saw Rochelle hesitate a fraction of a second before stepping into the kitchen.

  “We’re so talked out, Dad, we’re practically hoarse.” Lena strode to the kitchen table and set down a colorful folder, covered with a large blue “SSC.”

  “Ah, I see. Or, I hear.” Both women chuckled.

  Women. Yes, Lena was a woman, and he finally saw it despite the fact his mind balked over the idea yet again. She and Rochelle somehow had a camaraderie going on, as Lena pulled glasses from the cabinet.

  “I think we should see where our classes overlap.” Rochelle set her own folder, similar to Lena’s, on the table. “If they do, you can ride in along with me instead of taking the bus.”

  “So,” Silas said, grabbing his own glass from the cabinet, “I gather this morning’s venture was successful.”

  Lena scooted past him and opened the refrigerator door. “Yes, it was. I’m glad I submitted paperwork before we got here. A lot easier to sign up once we got to the college. There were a few long lines, and I was worried I wouldn’t get the classes I wanted to start with, but I did. Biology, a math class, advanced chemistry, and technical writing.”

  Silas shook his head. “Wow. You’ll have quite a bit of homework, I imagine.”

  Lena poured some lemonade for herself and for Rochelle. “No more than I had when we were overseas.”

  “Well, those weren’t college studies.” He couldn’t help the words, but Lena sometimes had an unrealistic viewpoint compared to the actual circumstances.

  Rochelle glanced from him to Lena, then back to her folder.

  “I know, but I’m going to work hard. You’ll see.” She smiled at him.

  “I don’t doubt it at all.” His own smile wanted to spread across his face.

  Lena studied his plate on the counter. “Oh, you’re having lunch. We can move to the living room and sit there.”

  “No, it’s fine. Please, stay in here.” He spoke to Lena, but kept his focus on Rochelle, who looked up from the open folder in front of her.

  “All right, then.” Lena took the empty seat on the corner opposite Rochelle, while Silas settled onto the chair across the table from Rochelle.

  Silas ate his first bite of enchiladas. Even better than they’d tasted yesterday.

  “I have Biology on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, first thing,” Lena said. “My lab is Tuesday morning.”

  “Okay. That’s when I go in for Chemistry.” Rochelle tapped a computer printout. “I’ve already taken Chemistry, but because I earned a C the first time, they suggested I take it again. It’s been a while.” Then, she caught Silas’s eye.

  “I’m glad you’ve restarted your studies,” he managed to say.

  “Thanks, Silas. I’m a little nervous about it, but it’ll be good to finish.”

  He took another bite of enchiladas and nodded. Then swallowed. “I meant to say thanks again for giving Lena a ride today.”

  “Not a problem. I didn’t mind one bit. So, you started y
our new job today. Piloting.”

  “Yes, I saw the airport, toured the office and the hangars. Tomorrow I get back in the air again.” The thought sent a thrill through him. To feel the push of the engines, forcing against gravity and propelling him into the blue sky above. . .

  “You look happy about it.”

  He nodded. “It’s been a while, but it’ll come right back to me.”

  “I still remember your first solo flight.” A glimmer entered her eyes. “You were so . . . so . . . I don’t know. As if you were Charles Lindbergh or someone like him. Or Chuck Yeager.”

  “You remembered all my bragging, what I said before my solo flight, about wanting to be like Lindbergh and Yeager?”

  She nodded and laughed.

  His own memory of the flight came back to him, and a laugh like he hadn’t experienced in many months came out. “Then I finished the flight, got out of the cockpit and lost what breakfast I’d had all over the tarmac.”

  Her laughter joined his, while Lena gave them both a quizzical look. “Yuck,” was all she said.

  Yuck. But it was one of the greatest days of his life.

  * * *

  Rochelle, 19

  The sun beat down from a bright blue sky, and winds were nearly calm. This, Silas told her, was a good thing.

  “Oh, son,” Jonas Fry said from the back seat, “are you sure about this?”

  “Definitely. J. D. said I’m ready to solo, and I’ve logged more than enough hours.” Silas grinned at Rochelle sitting beside him on the front seat of his vehicle. They’d nearly reached the small airport where Silas had been taking flying lessons.

  Today, the day of the solo flight.

  Silas’s grin did little to quell the tremulousness in Rochelle’s stomach. It was one thing to fly with an expert at the controls beside you, but to be in command of the small plane?

  The what-ifs swirled around inside her head like autumn leaves in a whirlwind.

  What if something went wrong? What if the engine gave out? What if a rogue crosswind caused the plane to spin out of control? What if one of the wheels or something broke off on landing?

  Rochelle didn’t voice these questions aloud. His parents likely had the same concerns. But to see the gleam in Silas’s eye, the rush of adrenaline already making his breathing come a bit faster, she didn’t dare squash his enthusiasm.

  One day, they would fly out together on an adventure and change the world. He would fly them into a remote area, somewhere in desperate need of medical care and the gospel. She’d be at his side, helping in the clinic and ministering to the sick.

  Oh, Silas hadn’t mentioned courtship, specifically, but it was clear she had a special place in his heart. Any day now, too, she suspected he would speak to her father.

  Yes, skies were sunny and blue today.

  They passed through the chain-link gate of the airfield. Rochelle could see rows of small planes, single engine, some twin engine. Silas could rattle off specifications of this model and others. His plane today? A single-engine Cessna.

  “And this is just the first one I’ve learned to fly,” Silas said as he pulled into an empty parking spot. “After this, it’s studying and training for my private pilot license. Well, along with IFR.”

  “IFR?” She was trying to pay attention to Silas’s conversation, but her pulse kept pounding in her ears.

  “Instrument flight rules. I can qualify to fly by instruments. I’ll need it, for overseas flying.”

  His parents remained silent in the back seat, but after they left the car, his father spoke.

  “We’ll be praying for you, Silas.”

  “Thank you, Dad.” At his words, the wind picked up a bit.

  “Isn’t it too windy to fly?” The question escaped before Rochelle considered whether she ought to ask.

  Silas cast a glance to the windsock. “No, it’s good.” He scanned the area. “We’re supposed to meet J. D. at the hangar.”

  The next minutes passed in a blur, as Silas introduced his instructor, J. D., to his parents and Rochelle, and J. D. led him over to a white Cessna with dark-blue detailing. The two men checked over the plane, nodding. Silas held a clipboard, making notes on whatever paper was clipped to it.

  She could scarcely breathe when Silas climbed into the plane without J. D. The two of them talked through the open window of the plane. Then Silas glanced up across the tarmac at them, grinning as he did so.

  “I can’t believe it. Silas is going to fly on his own.” Mrs. Fry shook her head. “Oh, my husband, I know we prayed for our son when he was young, but I know now we will pray all the more for him, the older he grows every day.”

  “How are you holding up, Rochelle?” Mr. Fry asked.

  “I’m all right.” Her words came out as a squeak. “I can’t help but look, yet part of me wants to look away.”

  The three of them watched as the propeller began to turn, faster and faster as the engine’s whine increased. Then the wheels began to roll as Silas maneuvered the plane away from the hangar and taxied toward the runway.

  J. D., the flight instructor, sauntered in their direction, glancing toward Silas and the plane every few paces.

  “Well, it’s all up to him now.” A grin spread across the older man’s wrinkled face. “I tell ya, I’ve been teaching a long time, and this never gets old, watching a first solo flight.”

  “How long have you been teaching?” Rochelle managed to ask.

  “About twenty-five years, right after I retired when I got home from ’Nam.”

  Ah. A military man. “How—how long is the flight going to be?” She had to keep talking, to keep her mind from thinking the worst. Even though Silas had told her at least three times this week what his solo flight involved.

  “Three takeoffs, three landings. Not long.”

  Long enough.

  There went the Cessna, shooting like a small white dart along the runway, then its nose tilted upward and Silas was zipping up into the sky.

  Oh, dear Lord, please keep Silas safe. I love him, and I can’t imagine my life without him.

  The ominous silent prayer made her shiver, along with a puff of wind.

  6

  A week after classes began at the college, the fabric for the wedding dresses arrived, and Emma and Betsy asked Rochelle to accompany them to Frances Fry’s house to see it. Rochelle would rather have put her feet up after a long day at work and enjoy a tall glass of iced tea on the lanai.

  “But you have to come. We have a surprise for you,” was all Betsy would say.

  Emma looked as if she would pop from excitement, but said nothing.

  “All right, I’ll come, too.”

  “And no, it’s not to give us a ride in the van. You know we don’t mind walking or taking our bicycles,” Emma blurted out.

  Rochelle laughed. “I thought no such thing. So, the fabric is at Frances Fry’s?”

  “Yes, she called me today to let me know it’s here. They were out of the shade I wanted, so it’s taken longer. But it came in today on the Pioneer Trails bus from Indiana.”

  “So it did.” The young women’s enthusiasm pulled her along, and soon they were cycling their way through Pinecraft’s streets, waving to the rare passerby on their route to the Frys’ home.

  “We should be back in plenty of time for supper.” Betsy slowed her bicycle at the stop sign on the corner of Clarinda and Hacienda. They all stopped as a black buggy crossed in front of them.

  The sound of a horse’s neigh filled the air. But there was no horse pulling the buggy, slightly smaller yet longer than the traditional-size buggy used in places like Ohio or Indiana.

  “What on earth—” Rochelle began, then glimpsed the driver. Silas, grinning at all of them, as he sat beside a bearded man—Tobias Fry.

  “Hello!” the men called out, continuing on their way.

  Rochelle laughed, then shook her head. “I imagine we’ll hear all about this after we get to the Frys’ house.”

  “Anothe
r buggy in Pinecraft.” Betsy resumed pedaling. “I wonder if one day buggies will outnumber bicycles.”

  They continued chatting about the horseless buggy, and Emma, of course, speculated if Mr. Fry would let them each take a turn riding around the village.

  A few more blocks and, after carefully crossing the bustling four lanes of Bahia Vista Street, they glided up to the Frys’ wide driveway, which ended at a large utility barn of sorts. A few tricycles stood padlocked by the doorway.

  They pedaled to the nearest set of empty bicycle stands at the end of the driveway where they stopped and locked their tricycles. Rochelle thought it a shame even in a place like Pinecraft, you still had to use a bike lock. But they were in the city, something she’d quit reminding herself of years ago. She simply locked her tricycle, locked her van, and locked her front door.

  Betsy and Emma lost no time scaling the steps to the Frys’ side door. Emma rapped her knuckles on the frame of the wooden screen door, squinting into the house as she did so.

  Frances Fry bustled up to the door. “Come in, come in. I was so excited to see the bolts of fabric come off the bus, you don’t know.”

  Rochelle pictured the bolts hopping down from the massive travel bus and searching for Frances, their way home, and laughed.

  They followed Frances into the snug kitchen, where something delicious baked. Rochelle sniffed. Fresh bread.

  Frances Fry stepped over to the kitchen table and opened a thick narrow rectangle, wrapped in plastic and bearing a shipping label of sorts. “Here ’tis. I already peeked. It’s lovely fabric.”

  Betsy took the package from Frances and peeled back the open end to reveal a light turquoise blue. “Oh, yes, it is.”

  Emma reached out to touch the fabric. “Almost the color of the Gulf of Mexico water. Pretty.”

  Rochelle smiled at the young women. Maybe she’d never had the chance to plan her own wedding, but moments like this made up for it. Her heart swelled, and she ran her fingers over the fabric.

  “I’m glad this finally arrived.”

  Frances nodded. “It was back-ordered, I was afraid it wouldn’t arrive in time to get the dresses started.”