Finally Home

by Lyn Cote

  “He’s done enough damage. I’m not going to let him do any more! Lynda has worked hard to get over the pain and make a life for herself and the kids. I won’t let him jeopardize them again.”

  She touched his arm for the second time that day. “You might not be able to do anything. Since they were legally married, I’m sure he’ll be able to get visitation rights, at least.” She caught the boldest kitten as it tried to crawl off her lap.

  “I’ll do something.”

  She thought he cursed under his breath.

  “I’ll do something,” he repeated.

  The Sunday morning sun gilded the tops of the golden oak pews. The small stained glass window high on the wall behind her father glowed with brilliant red, blue and gold. Hannah knew something had upset the people sitting around her, but she couldn’t put her finger on the uneasy emotion she sensed.

  She sat in the second pew, next to her mother, as she always had in church, and watched her father lead the first Sunday service she’d attended in Petite. The service had begun normally with a prelude and greeting, then a hymn. During the singing of “Bringing in the Sheaves,” a disturbed rustle had gone through the congregation.

  Hannah had glanced over her shoulder and observed a young man in clean but worn clothing take his seat in a back pew. Her head wasn’t the only one that had turned. The rustle was from the craning of necks and heated whispers.

  The arrival of the stranger seemed to paralyze the congregation. Everyone, even the children, stilled. Was this man’s presence the cause of the tension around her? If Hannah had brought a thermometer into the sanctuary, she knew the temperature in the room would read chilling. Was this Guthrie’s brother-in-law?

  If she could have glimpsed the Thomas family’s reaction she would have had her answer. But they sat several rows behind her, and she couldn’t see them unless she stood up and turned completely around. And, of course, she couldn’t do that.

  Maybe this wasn’t Lynda’s ex at all. He could be some other member in a small-town feud who’d entered enemy territory.

  This was one of the factors that made switching congregations perilous for a new pastor. No matter what the Bible said about loving one another and forgiving, most churches had some person who acted as a lightning rod. Someone who sparked controversy her parents would have to neutralize, or there would be unpleasant conflict within the church.

  Hannah bowed her head. Dear Lord, whatever this man has done or left undone, please don’t let this little church fall into conflict. It’s so sad, Lord, to see people who should know the most about loving and forgiving begin to squabble and separate themselves from each other. Oh, Lord, please bind up the spirit of discord and take it far from us here. Bless my father and mother, give them the right words to say and the right actions to take. Amen.

  Hannah felt better immediately. She’d done right this time, not stewing, but turning everything straight over to God.

  She glanced up. Her father was smiling at her. She smiled back. The service continued. All through the sermon, the stiff uneasiness in the congregation went unabated. Finally, the organ played the closing hymn, “Just As I Am.”

  Praying for peace with each word, Hannah sang, “Without one plea, but that your blood was shed for me.”

  Her father stepped forward to give the benediction.

  As if on cue, the stranger walked forward down the center aisle runner of worn maroon carpeting and up the two steps to the pulpit. “If you don’t mind, pastor, I’d like to say a few words.”

  A rustle of startled murmurs passed through the congregation.

  Hannah held her breath. Would her questions be answered now?

  Her father looked surprised, but asked, “What kind of words?”

  “An apology.”

  Hannah stared at the man. Oh, my, an apology given from a pulpit. That is very rare. Dad, help him.

  Her father nodded and motioned everyone to sit down, then stepped away.

  The young man stood beside the wood pulpit with one trembling hand resting on it and looked out over the congregation. “You all know me, except for your new pastor. You know what I’ve done and that I ran away. I guess you could call me Petite’s prodigal son. I’ve spent the past three years in Chicago living on the streets. Drugs took me there, put me there, kept me there.” The man wiped sweat from his forehead.

  The congregation sat in total silence, even the children.

  Hannah ached for him. He stood alone. The story of the prodigal son played in her mind. The prodigal had said, “Father, I have sinned against God and against you. I am not fit to be called your son.”

  “About a year ago in Chicago, I staggered into the Salvation Army near Maxwell Street looking for a meal and a bed for the night. I got more than that. That night for the first time I faced up to what my addiction had done to me, to my family. That night I promised God I’d get off drugs if He would stand with me. Since you know God, you all know what His answer was.” The man stood a little straighter.

  The deep emotion in his plain words touched Hannah. She blinked away tears.

  “I’ve been clean since that night. I went through a substance abuse program, and I attend AA meetings weekly. I know most of you never wanted to see my face again, but once I came back to my right mind, I knew I had to come back home. I have responsibilities. I have a job in Portage and will be staying with my mother and assuming responsibility for the family I left behind. I hope you will all give me a second chance. But I won’t blame you if you don’t.” The man stepped down and walked to the back of the church.

  Hannah glanced around. She wasn’t the only one grappling with overwhelming emotion. Everyone looked stunned. She could only think of Guthrie’s sister. This man must be Billy.

  At the end of the benediction, Dad said the final amen and everyone stood up. Hannah noticed that, as one, everyone refused to look at the stranger. She’d heard the Amish used shunning on members who didn’t conform. Evidently this congregation was so shocked they couldn’t confront the man. Instead, everyone gathered around Lynda and her family as though trying to protect them. Lynda’s face looked frozen, pained.

  As Hannah had expected, however, her father made a beeline to the stranger, shook his hand and talked to him for several minutes while everyone else pointedly kept their attention elsewhere. Wasn’t anyone going to speak to him? Finally, the stranger walked out of the sanctuary.

  Hannah watched him go. Dear Lord, you’ve sent Mom and Dad a tough one this time.

  Chapter Seven

  The shrill ring of the phone by the bed woke Hannah. In the midnight darkness, she groped for the receiver while trying to bring the bedside clock face, the only circle of light in the room, into focus. “Hello?”

  “Gotcha!” Doree’s voice giggled in her ear.

  “Oh, go to bed.” Hannah closed her eyes. “It’s after one a.m. Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “I’m back on campus. Who goes to sleep before two a.m. around here?”

  “Do I care? Good—”

  “No! Tell me how Mom and Dad are and how the search is going.”

  “Haven’t you talked to Spring?”

  “No. I’m talking to you.”

  Hannah came fully awake. No use trying to go back to sleep. She sat up in bed, arranging her feather pillow behind her, then leaning against it. Fatigue made her whole body feel heavier than normal. Lifting her arm compared to lifting a twenty-pound bag of cement.

  “Doree, I thought you’d stop here on your way back to Madison.”

  “Couldn’t. My car died for the last time in Milwaukee and I had to hitch a ride with a few friends. I couldn’t ask them to stop. What’s up? What was Spring going to tell me?”

  Hannah sighed. Doree wouldn’t like the answer. “Mom and Dad’s house isn’t going to be ready on time.” The little golden kitten Hannah had adopted woke up from where it slept near her side. It baby-mewed softly as it yawned.

  “Oh? How far is it from being finished?”<
br />
  “They have a foundation.” The stark image of her parents’ forlorn foundation came to Hannah’s mind.

  “And?”

  “And nothing else.” The issue, the unfinished house, had been overshadowed in Hannah’s mind by the dramatic return of Lynda’s ex. What did wood and cement matter when human hearts remained broken? The worrying thoughts Hannah had finally eluded with sleep rushed back, seizing her dog-tired mind.

  Last Sunday evening, Dad had talked to Mom and Hannah about Billy and Lynda, then they had prayed for healing and reconciliation. So far their prayers hadn’t moved Lynda. Nearly a week had passed and still she hadn’t spoken to Billy. The town of Petite watched, frowned and murmured. Several had called her father, though Dad couldn’t force Lynda to deal with the issue. Last night, Martha had called Dad and asked him to speak to Lynda. So he had walked over after the children had gone to bed. No luck. She’d politely thanked him for his concern and turned away. But ignoring Billy wouldn’t make him go away.

  Doree’s voice broke in on Hannah’s thoughts. “Hey, you’re not listening to me. I said, and I quote, ‘A foundation, just a foundation! Is this some kind of sick joke?’ And are you trying to get out of looking for Mom’s adoption papers?”

  Hannah’s emotions felt worn thin, like the 1970s faded harvest gold sheets on her bed. “Doree, the rain has delayed the house.”

  “Hey, it hasn’t rained that much since June.”

  “Dad’s church’s roof needed to be replaced by the same builder.” The kitten climbed onto Hannah’s lap.

  “And, of course, our parents said, ‘No problem. We’ll wait.’ Sheesh!”

  “Yes, you’ve got the picture.” Hannah worried her lower lip.

  “Darn.” Rock music screeched in the background in Doree’s dorm. “You can’t do a thing about the adoption papers until the house is done. Everything’s in storage.”

  “Too true.”

  “You’re not trying to weasel out then?”

  “Weasel out? In Milwaukee, I told you I’d think about it.” Hannah’s kitten kneaded her gold twill bedspread with its tiny paws, then curled up to go back to sleep, purring.

  “So? Did you think about it?”

  Yes, in between helping Guthrie, writing her column and outlining her next cookbook, she had pondered and prayed about searching for her mother’s biological family. She wished she could wipe her mind clean of prodigal fathers, inclement weather and her mother’s leukemia. “Quite a bit.”

  “And?”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re right.” In fact, Hannah had worried before coming to Petite that she might not have a choice.

  “I know I’m right.”

  “Of course, you do, Doree. You always think you’re right!”

  Doree ignored her. “Oh, I almost forgot! I saw you on TV! I was in the Student Union eating lunch when I looked up at the wall TV and there you were. Hannah, how did you get on TV?”

  Hannah wondered at her sister’s flightiness. Straight from discussing their mother’s illness to the TV show? “My agent had called them several times in the past trying to get a spot when each of my cookbooks came out, but no luck. Then they called her out of the blue. She gave them my number, and they asked me to fill in their local spot on the noon news. I said yes.” Hannah yawned.

  “Where were you cooking? I thought, ‘If that’s Mom’s new kitchen, I’m going to strangle the builder even if he is a hunk.’ How is he, anyway?”

  Doree, let me go back to sleep, please. I don’t want to deal with this now. “I was cooking in the church kitchen, and Guthrie is fine.”

  “Guthrie is fine,” Doree’s voice teased. “My, we’re getting friendly with the builder, aren’t we?”

  “It’s a small town.” Hannah recalled the day of the live cooking demonstration, and later, Guthrie’s preoccupation on their trip to Portage. He must have known then that his ex-brother-in-law was in town.

  Hannah pulled her mind back to the conversation at hand. “Besides, I’ve begun pitching in to help him get the church done so he can get on with our parents’ house.”

  Doree laughed. “Outrageous! I wish I could see you up on the roof with him.”

  “Yes, yes, anything else?” Hannah asked wearily. “I have to be up and ready at six for breakfast and at the church by seven.”

  “Oh, yeah, who were those funny old ladies who were on the show with you? I don’t remember seeing them on that station before.”

  Hannah felt uncomfortable with her sister’s careless words. Ida and Edith were sweet, just a little vague on facts and if, because of them, she didn’t get asked back to that noon show, the world wouldn’t end. “Those were Guthrie’s maiden great-aunts who live here in town.”

  “Don’t get huffy. They were great! They were hilarious! Kind of like having an old radio comedy team cooking with you.”

  One corner of Hannah’s mouth crinkled up. “It was funny. Afterwards,” she admitted. “During the show when they popped up from the audience, I nearly passed out.”

  “You mean you didn’t plan on them helping? What a hoot!”

  “Yes, and on that note, good night, little baby sister.” Hannah hung up on a protesting Doree. She said to the receiver, back in its place, “‘Little baby sister’ serves you right for waking me up in the middle of the night.”

  With one last pat for her cat, she slid down, glanced at the clock and groaned. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax, tried to empty her mind of all the thoughts she’d been fighting before she finally fell asleep the first time.

  Oh, Lord, let your love flow through Petite and change the hearts here. So much pain, so much of the past to be forgiven. Would Lynda give Billy a second chance? Would Guthrie? Did they have a choice?

  At six-twenty the next morning, yawning, Hannah walked into Hanson’s Cozy Café.

  “None of that allowed in here!” Lila called from behind the worn, speckled Formica counter. “You’ll have us all yawning. Coffee?”

  Nodding, Hannah swallowed another yawn, sat down at the counter and placed her order.

  Lila called the order to the cook behind her. “So when do you think Lynda will break down and talk to Billy?”

  Shrugging, Hannah tried to think of a polite, non-gossipy reply, but drew a blank. Fortunately or unfortunately, Lila didn’t seem to need one.

  “Well, I feel sorry for his mother, Terri Sue. She not only lost her son when Billy took off, but she hasn’t been able to face Lynda. But he’s her only son, and those three children are her only grandchildren.”

  This bit of news stirred Hannah’s sympathy. “I haven’t met Terri Sue.”

  “Well, she isn’t very sociable since the trouble with her son. She lives about five miles west of town, works in Portage.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t think Lynda would—”

  “Oh, Lynda didn’t say Terri Sue couldn’t see the children. But the way Billy left and all that happened because he left made his mother too ashamed. Martha even called her after the funeral and told her they didn’t bear her any grudge. Real Christian of Martha, I say. It was her husband, after all.”

  Funeral? Martha’s husband? Hannah couldn’t follow what Lila was saying, but before she could ask, four boisterous truckers came in demanding breakfast. Lila left the counter to take their orders. Soon she placed Hannah’s breakfast in front of her, but was too busy to stop and finish their conversation.

  Hannah chewed her buttery eggs and crisp bacon and pondered what Billy could have done that had made his mother so ashamed she couldn’t face her grandchildren. Terri Sue was another victim in this family tragedy. Would Hannah ever get used to the way families hurt one another? Spring, Doree and she had been so lucky in the family they’d been born into.

  But what about their mother? When…if Hannah located the adoption papers, would they lead her and her sisters to another sad, painful story? Giving a child up for adoption must have been the result of one. She bet Doree hadn’t thought abo
ut that. Hannah closed her eyes and pushed this out of her mind. A heart could only carry so much at one time. She forced herself to finish breakfast and waved goodbye to Lila. On the way out of the restaurant, she stopped at a table to chat with Becky, one of the beauticians at the Bizzy Bee whom she’d met at church. She made an appointment with Becky for a trim and left with a wave. Then she headed to the church for a day on the roof.

  By the time the sun had climbed high, Hannah had shingled halfway up her side of the dark green roof. She did know how to shingle a roof, but that didn’t mean she was fast. She’d only done it a few times before, but she felt she was getting better, more efficient.

  Guthrie, on the other side, sounded close to the peak by the timbre of his hammer. It wasn’t like they were competing, but Hannah still didn’t like it that she was losing.

  “I’ll be able to come over and help you after I finish three more rows,” Guthrie called as if he’d been reading her mind. “In fact, it’s time for a break. Meet me in the steeple.”

  “Good.” She pounded one more roofing nail in.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Guthrie shouted.

  “Wow! What brought that on?” she teased. She’d tried to act as naturally as possible toward Guthrie since church on Sunday. She surmised he must be suffering internal turmoil, but she couldn’t do anything to change what had happened years ago or this week. He’d spent most of the week on his dairy feeder cattle farm, harvesting this winter’s hay crop while the fields had been blessedly dry.

  The time apart had made it awkward to be working alone with him. She’d hoped he would stop by the motel or church office and open up to her father. Didn’t Guthrie realize the danger in which his sister’s children stood? It made Hannah feel a little sick every time she imagined Amber, Jenna or little Hunter overhearing something they weren’t supposed to hear.

  Guthrie didn’t reply to her teasing question until he appeared at the peak and looked down at her. The sunshine gilded his tanned arms. Hannah swallowed, trying to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.

  He settled his hand on his tool belt. “Very funny. I think I’ve thought of a way to hurry up your parents’ house.”