A Promise of Grace

by Lynette Sowell

  If Belinda were here, they’d be in Africa, three of them, anyway, with Lena beginning her university studies stateside.

  Lately, he wanted to find something to do. He’d spent the last year having people hold him and the children up and support them. Yes, they’d needed it, much as he never asked anyone for help.

  Maybe serving on this committee would be a way to give back to the people who’d done so much for him. They’d cooked for him, cleaned their old rental from top to bottom, showed up to pack up when he announced they were moving to Florida. Countless prayers were offered for them.

  And tonight, he realized, while he missed Belinda—part of him would always miss her, with all the years they shared—he wished Rochelle could have been here on this adventure.

  Nothing improper of course, but she deserved some fun, when most of her time was taken by her job and now her studies.

  Just friends, he reminded himself. It was good to have friends. A.

  Whatever came next, he had no idea.

  * * *

  Things always looked better in the morning. Rochelle poured herself a cup of coffee, picked up her Bible, and went to the lanai for some quiet time. She was rewarded by seeing the first glow of daybreak come up over the palm trees.

  Yes, things did look better in the morning. After a brief discussion with Emma last evening, Rochelle’s initial irritation at Emma’s giving notice had faded quite a bit.

  She didn’t want to employ someone who didn’t truly want to clean homes. There were times when people had to work at something they didn’t particularly enjoy, but needed the earnings. Such was life.

  Rochelle picked up where she’d left off reading the day before yesterday. She found her bookmark, in Psalm 16.

  “The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage. I will bless the Lord, who hath given me counsel: my reins also instruct me in the night seasons. I have set the Lord always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.”

  Despite the ups and downs of Keim Cleaning, yes, the Lord had cared for her and given her wisdom and showed her the way.

  One temperamental formerly Amish young woman wouldn’t derail her business.

  Still, the sensation that Keim Cleaning wasn’t for her either wouldn’t leave her alone.

  “What do you want me to do, Lord?” she prayed aloud, softly. “One day, I know I’m going to finish my nursing studies. Maybe not as quickly as I’d thought at first. But they will be finished. Should I just close the business down? Surely someone else could, or would, be interested in running it.”

  Yet it wouldn’t be for a long time. She could sell the business before she finished her studies, then live on some of the money while she completed her nursing program.

  Either way, God would guide her, and the right answer would come.

  Rochelle sipped her coffee. There went a heron, taking flight from the narrow creek bank, an inlet of Phillippi Creek, behind her home.

  “Thank You for this beautiful place, Lord, and that I get to live here.”

  She closed her eyes in silent prayer, and then she knew.

  Yes, she’d agree to join the Heritage Committee. She wanted to keep Pinecraft Plain and honor the traditions and ways making Pinecraft village what it is. Some of the old-timers didn’t have the energy to keep up with planning, and since living in the village for so long, Rochelle herself had seen the transformation for some of the others who’d been the age she was now, when she first moved to the village.

  People like Henry Hostetler, even Vera Byler.

  If someone younger didn’t step up, who would?

  “Aenti Chelle?” Emma stood in the doorway. She’d already dressed, in a cape dress a vivid shade of coral and a starched white prayer covering.

  “Good morning, Emma.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner I wasn’t happy cleaning houses anymore.”

  “You should have, yes, but don’t worry, I’ll find someone else.”

  “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “Dear girl, you’re not disappointing me by being honest. If you’ll be happier waiting tables at Der Dutchman, it is perfectly fine with me. I didn’t expect to need to find another cleaner right now, but I’ll make do. It’s not the first time someone has given me notice and left.”

  Emma came onto the lanai. “All right. I don’t mind cleaning so much. But every day. And some people are so messy. Like pigs. And some have acted as if it’s my fault because they can’t keep things clean.”

  “Oh. I wish you’d told me.”

  “It only happened once or twice.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did find a job. You’ll like it there, I’m sure.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Like I said, I’ll find someone else to take the clients. It will all be fine.”

  The young woman nodded, then left the lanai.

  Rochelle bit her lip. She hadn’t needed to call the Yoders in Ohio, not about Emma or Betsy, but she had a feeling there was something wrong with Emma, something Emma still wouldn’t share.

  Would Nora Yoder, Betsy and Emma’s mamm, be able to help? But then, if she had a daughter of her own, she’d like to know if something was troubling her, no matter what her age.

  She had the number to the phone shanty and could leave a message. It was still early, and who knew when Nora or someone else in the Yoder household would go to the shanty to check the voice mail?

  Rochelle glanced toward the doorway leading to the kitchen. Better to move a discreet distance away, in case ears were listening. She placed her Bible on the small table between the chaise longues and stood.

  She entered the slice of green she called her backyard and ambled over to the edge of the creek bank, not five yards away.

  When she dialed, the phone immediately clicked over to the voice mailbox.

  “We are Jedediah and Nora Yoder. Please leave us a message and we will return your call. Thank you and danke.” Jedediah’s voice had the lilt of an accent Rochelle was accustomed to her in her Amish relatives.

  “Good morning, Jedediah and Nora. This is Rochelle Keim in Pinecraft. Please call me when you have the chance. I am leaving for the day, but I will be home tonight after supper. Thank you.” She left her phone number, then pushed the end button on her phone. Did her voice shake a little? No, she sounded much as she would have, were she calling a housecleaning client.

  Anyway, perhaps Nora would assume Rochelle was calling about wedding plans. And Nora might have some advice on how to handle Emma. Few people would understand a young woman better than her mother.

  A pang of old grief rippled through her. Oh, Momma.

  * * *

  Silas, 21

  Silas wondered how many times Rochelle would push him away. It was as if she’d retreated into her grief, inside a locked room where no one else was welcome.

  Finally, he decided to stop at the Keims’ house and invite himself for supper and not take no for an answer.

  He held a fresh bunch of flowers while he approached the familiar home as he had dozens of times before. The family’s two vehicles sat in the driveway, Mr. Keim’s pickup truck and Rochelle’s sensible sedan she drove back and forth to college. When she was enrolled.

  Mr. Keim had assured him he was welcome “anytime,” the older man said.

  Rochelle answered the door. Smoky circles made smudges under her eyes, but she had a smile for him. “Silas.”

  She tugged his hand and pulled him inside the house. Something smelled like cheddar cheese and beef. “I’m inviting myself for supper.” He held up the flowers.

  “Thank you. We just threw out the last of the wilted ones. These are beautiful.” She held them up to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes.

  “I’ve . . . I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” She turned, leading him toward the kitchen, where she found a vase for the flowers.

  “I don’t
know what to say.” He might as well be completely honest. He had no idea of how to help her, and his own helplessness shouted in his ears that he wasn’t quite good enough.

  “Then, don’t say anything. Just be here.”

  “Are you resting all right? You look tired.”

  Rochelle shrugged. “I think the last couple of years have caught up with me. I’ve spent so much time between caring for Momma and keeping up with my classes, I just don’t know what to do right now.”

  They visited during and after supper, had dessert and coffee. But Rochelle seemed distant to him, and he left not long after finishing one cup of coffee and a slice of cake.

  10

  Rochelle’s phone rang at seven the next morning, a call from the Yoders.

  “Rochelle, this is Nora Yoder. I received your message yesterday afternoon, but the phone shanty was busy and then it was too dark for me to stay. I came back this morning to call. I hope this isn’t too early for you.”

  “No, not too early at all. Thank you for calling me back.”

  “I still have four more attendant dresses to finish for the wedding, but I should have them completed in plenty of time. My husband and I will be arriving in Pinecraft on the eighteenth.”

  “Good. I haven’t spoken lately to Frances Fry, the seamstress here, but she’s only sewing three dresses, not eight, as you and your friends are sewing.”

  “I am so thankful, both my dochders marrying, the same day. And I am thankful for everything you have done for them.”

  “I’m glad to. I, ah, I’ve been wondering. About Emma . . .”

  “Is something wrong with Emma?”

  “I’m not sure. She wasn’t happy working for me. It was the cleaning. She quit—she gave me notice, yes, but I didn’t know something was wrong.”

  “Emma was always my one more interested in fun than work. Oh, she’s a gut cleaner, when she does clean. I admit I was surprised when she said she decided to work for you. I thought it was a phase, and then she would return to Ohio.”

  “I did too, at first. Maybe it was a long phase.” At Rochelle’s words, they both chuckled. “But she doesn’t seem . . . settled, I guess is the right word.”

  “She always was the one flitting like a butterfly, after this thing, then another.”

  “How did you manage her?”

  “Much prayer, and attempts to reason with her, to help her seek out the wisest solution.”

  “So, pretty much what I’ve been trying to do as well.”

  “Count the days, Rochelle. Less than sixty days and she will be her husband’s responsibility. And, speaking of which, I have written the announcement for Betsy’s wedding to run in The Budget, in December. I also mentioned Emma, as they’re sisters and I don’t want family or friends to be surprised by two ceremonies on one day.”

  “Good. I was going to ask about the family coming for the wedding. Nora, I know you have a full day ahead of you, so I will let you go now. Thanks again for calling me.”

  “You’re welcome. And next time you speak to both of my dochders, please remind them I would like a call, or letter, from them as well.”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Silas arrived back in Pinecraft after his return from Atlanta the next morning and headed straight for Uncle Tobias’s house. The village’s atmosphere embraced him. While it was a thrill to be at the controls of a plane again, it seemed like he’d been away from Pinecraft for days.

  He tried not to yawn as he pulled into his uncle’s driveway. The hotel, while nicer than any he’d ever stayed in before, had a mattress leaving him stiff and achy. After his flight home in the Cheyenne, he was ready to take a couple of pain relief pills and take a nap.

  The sound of the van’s engine drew Uncle Tobias from his workshop. The older man’s face broke into a smile while he approached the van.

  “I’m back.” Silas left the van and stretched.

  “So I see.” Uncle Tobias looked as expectant as a dog waiting for a snack. “Well?”

  “Well.”

  “The Heritage Committee. You said you’d let me know your decision. Will you come, give us some younger blood and ideas?”

  “Yes, I will.” His uncle’s eagerness made him grin. “I’ll do my best to give good input. But, you know, our move here might not be permanent.”

  “It’s not?”

  “My lease is for a year, yes . . . but I thought you should know. In case you want someone who’ll be here year-round.”

  Tobias’s shoulders sagged a bit. “I appreciate that. Well, Fran and I are pleased to have you around for as long as it may be. All of you.”

  “Thank you. My parents . . . they didn’t understand why I didn’t want to stay in Ohio. But I couldn’t. Too many reminders. You know?” Maybe Uncle Tobias didn’t know.

  “I imagine it’s true, but no, I don’t know. Your father is more understanding of why, but a mother, now, she always likes having her brood close by.” He squinted in the direction of the house. “Fran does. She’s been as happy as Christmastime with Matthew and Lena around.”

  Sometimes, Silas realized, his journey wasn’t about him. Maybe God did have a hand in sending him to Pinecraft. Or gave Silas the nudge even in the midst of the numbing sensation of loss.

  “Well, I’m glad she is.”

  “So, what was it like, flying again?”

  “Felt like I never left, felt like the first time I soloed, sort of. It came back to me right away.”

  Another vehicle pulled up into the driveway behind Silas’s van. Henry Hostetler, the Mennonite with the tropical shirts. Today’s was sky blue.

  “How do,” Henry said, tugging on his suspenders as he approached. “You about ready?”

  “Ready?”

  “We’re having a quick committee meeting this afternoon at Betsy’s bakery. Around four o’clock or so. Rochelle has clients this afternoon and doesn’t think she’ll be able to make it.”

  “Yes, I’ll be there.” He was free; no more flights until Friday, a quick hop to Miami and back, a business lunch.

  * * *

  Silas opened the door of Pinecraft Pies and Pastry, and the scent of apples and cinnamon embraced him, pulling him inside. Henry Hostetler was there, along with Uncle Tobias, the Amish bishop, and Samuel Byler.

  “Good to see you,” Henry said. He nodded at an empty chair. “Get yourself some coffee and something sweet, and we’ll get started.”

  Silas helped himself to the coffee—the sign said it was for donations, so he put a dollar bill in the jar. Then he went to the counter, where Betsy Yoder stood.

  “Hello, Mr. Fry. How may I help you?” She kept her hands clasped in front of her.

  He studied the case, and his mouth began to water. Dutch apple pie, fresh from the oven, the sign read. Special of the day.

  “I’ll take a slice of the special.”

  “Warmed, with vanilla ice cream on the side?”

  “Well, sure, if you insist.”

  “I don’t insist, but I do recommend.” She smiled at him as she reached for a plate.

  “All right, then.”

  She dished up a slice of pie, then disappeared for a moment through a Dutch door, into what he figured was the kitchen, then reemerged not thirty seconds later with the pie and an accompanying scoop of ice cream.

  He’d never been to the shop, not since moving to Pinecraft, and his waistline thanked him.

  Silas returned to the table, where Henry stood beside an easel with a chart propped up on it. The others waited while he sat down. They’d already eaten half their desserts.

  Uncle Tobias was polishing off a chocolate fried pie. “So, you see, here’s our list of things to do for our first event, a fish fry. We already have many of the tasks accomplished. But we’re still haggling back and forth on a fair price to charge for the plates.”

  “Remind me again, what the proceeds will go toward?” Silas took a bite of pie along with a taste of vanilla ice cream.

&nbs
p; “This is our initial fund-raiser, and we’re using it to pay for operating expenses for the next events.”

  “I say we should use part of the money to fix the pavilion roof,” said Bishop Smucker. “I would like to show people we are not only taking their money, but they see something with their own eyes, how we care for the village.”

  “Does anyone know when the roof was last repaired?” Silas asked. “Also, do we know how much it will cost to fix it?”

  “I would have to get up there and look,” Henry said. “But I would be willing to do it for the cost of materials.”

  “How much should we charge for the plates? This seems to be the big question,” Uncle Tobias said.

  “Did the foundation have to buy any of the food or plates?” Silas asked.

  “No, those are all being donated. The fish, too. Several hundred pounds of catfish from someone who wishes to be anonymous.” Samuel Byler studied his empty coffee cup.

  “How about we ask for eight dollars a plate, but people can donate the change if they’d like?” Silas suggested. “If people can only afford eight dollars, then so be it, and if others can do more, they’re welcome to.”

  “I had the same idea.” Henry nodded.

  The bell over the front door clanged, and in came Rochelle, her cheeks flushed. Did the flush deepen when she glanced at him?

  “Hello. I finished earlier than I thought I would.” She served herself a cup of coffee and joined them at the table.

  Henry scooted over to make room for her, while Silas fetched her an empty chair from an unoccupied table.

  “We’ve just started,” Henry said.

  Rochelle nodded. “What is the menu for the fish fry, besides fish, if I might ask?”

  The men exchanged glances.

  “Potato salad . . . and beans,” Bishop Smucker said.

  “Do you have a dessert planned?”

  “Ah, no . . . we didn’t get that far yet.”

  “And the fish fry is in . . . ?”

  “Two weeks.”

  Rochelle’s eyes widened. “You don’t have dessert planned, and you only have potato salad and beans for the side items. What about bread or rolls?”

  Samuel huffed. “We don’t need bread.”