When Love Returns

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Melissa’s face bloomed with wonder. She took the robe and crushed it close. “I like that thought. Better things to come.”

  Ms. Reed took the robe. “See what else is in there, Melissa.” She explored the robe’s pockets while Melissa obeyed her command.

  A huge smile expressed Melissa’s delight with the nightgown and the socks, and she didn’t even seem to mind when Ms. Reed took them for a thorough examination. Still sitting, she turned a look of puzzlement on Alexa. “Thank you. But why did you bring me these things?”

  Alexa slid into the remaining chair and leaned close, hoping the others wouldn’t overhear her answer. “Everybody needs something new now and then to make them feel pretty and special. I hope that’s how you feel right now.”

  Tears flooded the girl’s eyes. She nodded.

  Alexa smiled. “Good.”

  Ms. Reed plopped the gown and socks, which she’d pulled from their paper wrapper and separated, into Melissa’s lap. Two socks slid to the floor. Alexa reached for them as the woman spoke. “Melissa, take your things to your room and put them away. Then you may visit with your friend in the front room until lunch.” She faced Alexa. “We serve lunch promptly at noon. Our routine is very important here. It gives our girls security and structure.”

  Alexa squirmed. Ms. Reed seemed to forget the others were even in the room. Grandmother always complained loudly when people talked about her as if she weren’t there. But none of the girls protested.

  “Since this isn’t Melissa’s day to set the table, she can visit with you until eleven fifty-five. But then she’ll need to go up and wash for lunch.”

  Melissa jammed the socks, gown, and robe back into the bag. Unfolded, they made the seams bulge, and Alexa hoped the bag wouldn’t burst. Melissa pinched the tissue into one plump bunch and stood. She gave Alexa a hopeful look. “It’ll only take me a minute or two to put these things away. I’ll meet you in the front room, okay?”

  Alexa understood the unspoken question—Will you still be here when I come down? She looked directly into Melissa’s pleading eyes. “Don’t rush. I’ll be here.”

  Arborville

  Suzanne

  The doorbell rang, and butterflies immediately danced in Suzanne’s stomach. She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake by reserving a room for the Indiana businessman. Her siblings’ concerns rolled through her mind as she hurried to the foyer and opened the door.

  A tall, slender man wearing a long, unbuttoned leather coat over jeans and a faded blue-and-white-plaid flannel shirt stood on the porch. His silvery hair was wind tossed, and a spattering of salt-and-pepper whiskers dotted his cheeks. Suzanne tried not to frown—she shouldn’t greet a guest with anything except graciousness—but he didn’t look like any businessman she’d seen before.

  A battered briefcase hung from his clenched hand. Maybe he was a down-and-out traveling salesman rather than her expected guest. Their Old Order community, known for being nonconfrontational, attracted lots of people selling wares. Mostly frivolous items. “May I help you?”

  He beamed a broad smile, but somehow it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Or maybe his gray irises were too pale to light up. “You sure can. I made a reservation at Grace Notes B and B. If this is the place, you can let me in. If this isn’t the place, you can direct me on.”

  For a brief moment Suzanne considered directing him on to Wichita or Pratt. Alexa hadn’t put up a sign stating their right to refuse service to anyone, but something about this man left her edgy.

  He shifted in place, his coat flaps waving. “Ma’am?”

  Suzanne gave herself a little shake. If Clete and Shelley hadn’t raised such a fuss yesterday, she probably wouldn’t think twice about welcoming him. She stepped aside and gestured to him. “You’ve found Grace Notes. Please come in.”

  One long-legged stride brought him over the threshold. He seemed to sizzle with pent-up energy, and Suzanne instinctively moved aside and let him pass through the foyer. She closed the door and trailed behind him, observing him jerk his gaze from one corner of the room to another, seemingly fascinated with his surroundings. Then, unexpectedly, he spun around and stuck out his hand.

  “I’m Owen Mallory. And you’re…” She gave his hand a quick squeeze and then slipped her hands behind her back. “I’m Suzanne Zimmerman. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Mallory.”

  He stared at her, unblinking, for several seconds. She stood beneath his penetrating gaze, battling the urge to fidget. Or escape. Before she could do either, Mother rolled her wheelchair into the front room and captured the man’s attention.

  Questions flashed in Mother’s blue eyes. “Is this our guest, Suzy?”

  Suzanne nodded. “Yes, Mother. Please meet Owen Mallory. Mr. Mallory, this is my mother, Abigail Zimmerman.”

  Mr. Mallory politely shook hands with Mother. He shot a glance between the two women. “I hope you won’t think I’m rude, but I’m curious. You”—he bobbed his head at Mother—“have a cap, but you don’t.” He faced Suzanne, his brow furrowing. “Aren’t you Amish, too?”

  Suzanne forced a light laugh. “Neither of us is Amish, Mr. Mallory, although you aren’t the only one to suffer confusion. Mother belongs to the Old Order Mennonite fellowship here in Arborville. I attend their services, but my membership is with a Mennonite Brethren church in Franklin, Indiana.”

  “Ah. I see.” Interest flickered in his pale eyes. “So you are a native of Indiana?”

  There wasn’t a good answer to his question. Suzanne smiled. “Yes and no. But I’m here for now, giving my daughter some help in operating the bed-and-breakfast. She’s the actual owner of Grace Notes.”

  Mr. Mallory appeared ready to speak, but a rustle intruded. Anna-Grace stepped into the front room. Her cheeks were flushed from the stove’s heat, and a few blond wisps of hair clung to her temples. She moved behind Mother’s wheelchair and offered Mr. Mallory a shy smile.

  He stared at Anna-Grace for several seconds, then zipped his gaze to Suzanne and frowned at her for an equal amount of time. Something—disappointment?—briefly sagged his features, but then he seemed to paste on a smile. He held out his hand to Anna-Grace. “I’m Owen Mallory, and you must be Suzanne’s daughter, the owner of Grace Notes.”

  Indianapolis

  Alexa

  Much to Alexa’s shock, Ms. Reed asked if she’d like to stay and eat lunch with Melissa. She started to refuse. Her conversation with Melissa had been stilted, as if she was afraid she’d say something wrong, and Alexa had nearly decided coming here had been a mistake despite the girl’s initial happy reaction. But the pleading in Melissa’s eyes changed her mind. She quickly called Tom and Linda, secured their approval to keep the car longer, and then joined Melissa, Ms. Reed, and the other two girls, Polly and Lennah, in the dining room.

  The food was already on the table. Simple fare, from the looks of things—baked chicken tenders, buttered noodles, steamed broccoli, and store-bought wheat bread with margarine—but it smelled good. She eased into her chair and bowed her head, expecting someone to offer grace. Instead a spoon clinked on the side of a serving bowl.

  She lifted her head in time to grab the bowl of broccoli, which Lennah handed to her. Too surprised to do otherwise, she spooned a few chunky florets onto her plate. They passed the bowls around the table without speaking, so unlike Alexa and Mom’s habit of dinnertime chatter or even the Zimmerman family meals. Were they always this quiet, or was her presence putting everyone on edge? She wished she knew.

  Once their plates were filled, they picked up their forks and began eating, their focus on the food rather than on each other. Everything was well seasoned—Alexa didn’t think she could have done better herself with the chicken—but she still had trouble swallowing. Such tension. No wonder Melissa seemed so strained and tired. Alexa had only endured a few minutes of Ms. Reed’s “structure.” After several months she’d probably be half-crazy.

  Alexa cleared her throat. The three girls jumped, and Ms. Reed sent her a frow
n. Alexa released a nervous titter, then yanked up her water glass and drowned the sound. She ate a couple more bites, her tongue picking up the savory flavors of basil and garlic on the noodles, but the silence was too stifling. Somebody needed to say…something.

  She jabbed a piece of broccoli and sent a smile across the group. “This is a pretty room.”

  Everyone froze and stared at her, forks held halfway between plates.

  Alexa glanced around the large space. “Yes, very pretty. It has so much character with the stained-glass windows and built-in cupboard. I’ve always loved old houses because of their character. Are the parquet floors and the wood moldings original?”

  Ms. Reed frowned again. “I assume so. I’ve never asked.”

  “Oh.”

  Ms. Reed returned to eating, and the others followed her example.

  Alexa poked at her food, but she couldn’t take a bite. The silence was making her skin crawl. She tried another question, one that might encourage lengthier answers. “So…where are all of you from? Indianapolis?”

  The three girls, in unison, stared at Ms. Reed. The director set her fork beside her plate and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Lennah is from Minnesota, Polly’s family lives nearby, and Melissa came to us from Kansas.”

  “Seriously?” Alexa laughed, hardly able to believe what she’d just heard. “Melissa, you’re from Kansas?”

  Very hesitantly, Melissa nodded.

  “What a coincidence! I moved to Arborville, Kansas, last May from Franklin. How long have you been in Indiana?”

  Melissa shot a quick look at Ms. Reed before answering. “Since late August.”

  “Then we kind of traded places, didn’t we? I operate a bed-and-breakfast in my grandparents’ farmhouse. It has a lot of character, too, but not nearly as much as this house.” Although Grandmother’s farmhouse seemed much cozier and homelike. Amazing what a little elbow grease and some fresh paint could do for an old house. A hopeful thought filled her mind and spilled out of her mouth in a rush. “Maybe you can visit me there sometime.”

  Melissa hung her head. “Maybe.” She picked at her chicken.

  Ms. Reed lifted her fork and speared two noodles. “Melissa isn’t yet sure she will return to Kansas. Regardless, it will be at least three months before she’s released. She’ll do her convalescence here after the baby is born. The midwife recommends four to six weeks before our girls are released for lengthy travel.” A tight smile pulled up the corners of her lips. “So you’ll need to put your plans on hold.” She used her knife to cut a small bite of chicken. “If your home is now in Kansas, what brings you to Indianapolis?”

  Alexa came very close to sharing her search for her birth mother. But something in Ms. Reed’s expression—distrust, disdain, or maybe just disinterest, as if she was only making polite small talk and really didn’t care about her reasons—brought a different response. “Tying up some loose ends.” She shrugged. “It’s kind of personal.”

  Ms. Reed sent a warning look at the girls, and they all dug into their plates. Alexa decided to clean her plate, too. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could get out of here. The place, in spite of its gracious character, was starting to give her the heebie-jeebies.

  When they’d finished, Lennah rose and began clearing the table. “I’ll bring in our dessert.” She glanced at Alexa. “The cook cut up the muffins you brought, but she said they’d go good with ice cream.”

  Ice cream in January. A cold dessert to accompany a cold atmosphere. Alexa gave an involuntary shiver and then forced a smile. “I hadn’t thought of serving them with ice cream, but cake and ice cream are a good combination, so she’s probably right.”

  Lennah left the room, balancing her load, and the others sat quietly with their hands in their laps until she returned. She placed a tray on the table. When Alexa peeked into the bowls, she couldn’t hold back a gasp. The cook hadn’t cut the muffins in halves or even quarters, the way Alexa had envisioned. Instead she’d obliterated them into nothing more than crumbs. If it wasn’t for the chunks of dried apples and walnuts and evidence of oats, she wouldn’t even have recognized the topping on the scoops of vanilla ice cream.

  “Why’d she chop them up that way?” She hadn’t meant to ask out loud. Her question hung in the room like an unwelcome stench.

  Ms. Reed’s face puckered. “She needed to know for sure what was in them.” She touched Lennah’s wrist. “Serve the dessert, please, or you might still be washing dishes when Mr. Ramirez arrives for your relationship class.” She faced Melissa and added sternly, “Your guest will need to leave as soon as we’ve finished eating. You can’t miss today’s class.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Alexa gritted her teeth as waves of fury crashed through her. They’d chopped her muffins to bits because they were afraid she’d put something in them that would be harmful. The director had snatched away Melissa’s gifts and pawed over them out of fear. These girls sat around a table in tense silence instead of enjoying a relaxed meal. Was this how Mom had been treated when she stayed here twenty years ago, like a prisoner? Just because these girls had become pregnant out of wedlock didn’t make them criminals.

  “Are you going to eat your dessert, Alexa?” Ms. Reed’s tart voice cut into Alexa’s thoughts. “We need to finish so the girls have time to clean up before their one thirty class.”

  She didn’t want the dessert. She wanted out. “Actually I—” Alexa’s gaze collided with Melissa’s. The young woman had said very little during Alexa’s time at the home, but her eyes spoke volumes. She wanted Alexa to stay. So she tamped down her negative retort. “I’m eager to see how my muffins taste as an ice cream topping.”

  She dipped her spoon. As she ate, she vowed to find out the official visiting hours and come back as often as she could. She didn’t know why this young woman with the swollen belly had become so important to her. She only knew she felt drawn to her. Mom would probably say God had placed Melissa on Alexa’s heart. It made sense, given how strongly she felt connected to someone she’d just met.

  Melissa’s time at the home was nearing its end, and Alexa’s time in Indianapolis would end as soon as she located her birth mother. This couldn’t be a long-term friendship unless they found a way to stay in touch once they were both back in Kansas. Even if their friendship was temporary, she’d do her best to make Melissa feel as though someone cared. She’d also try as hard as she could to talk Melissa out of giving up her baby for adoption. Because in Alexa’s opinion, getting pregnant wasn’t the girl’s biggest mistake. Getting rid of her baby would be.

  Arborville

  Paul

  After lunch Paul drove out to the Zimmerman farm. Even though no one had asked him to check the trough he’d constructed to channel water away from the corner of the house, he felt obligated to make sure his work was holding up okay. A houseful of women—even though Clete came and went out there—didn’t need to deal with water in the basement. And the last thing he wanted was to get mold growing. Then Alexa would have to close her inn. He couldn’t stand to think of all her hard work being destroyed by something as avoidable as mold spores.

  He parked beside the barn and shut off the ignition. When he stepped out of the truck, the Zimmermans’ border collie, Pepper, trotted up to him and whined. He rubbed his hand over her black-and-white ears. “Hey, girl, aren’t you cold? Let’s put you in the barn, huh?” The dog pawed at Paul’s leg, released a little yip, and dashed for the barn.

  Paul chuckled. Sometimes he thought that furry beast understood English. He pulled his new shovel from the back of the truck, propped it over his shoulder, and headed across the yard. Carving out cold ground wasn’t much fun, but if he could shave off a few inches to encourage water to run away from the house instead of pooling next to it, it would help until spring arrived and he could officially repair the foundation.

  As he neared the barn, a strange sound—not a moan, not a scream, but something in-between—met his ears. He stopped
, tipping his head. What was that? It rose again, wavering before dropping low. Pepper stood on her hind legs and dug at the door, adding her whine to the mournful sounds emerging from inside. Paul’s pulse pounded. Someone was in great distress. He dropped the shovel and jogged to the door.

  “Hush, Pepper.” One hand on the dog’s head, he leaned close to the inch-wide gap between the barn’s solid wall and the door. “Who’s in there? Are you all right?”

  The sound abruptly stopped. After a few seconds someone rasped, “P-Paul?”

  Recognition made his knees go weak. He yanked the door, causing it to shriek on its rails, and moved it just far enough for him to slip through. Pepper darted between Paul’s feet. Deep shadows shrouded the interior, but Pepper ran a straight course to the middle of the barn and sat. Then she lifted one paw to the woman standing close to her dad’s old tractor with her arms folded over her waist and her face damp and chalky.

  His heart lurched. “Suzy…” He crossed the hard ground in less than half a dozen strides and took hold of her shoulders. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Her face crumpled. She sagged against him, and he had little choice but to hold her. She clung to his shirt front, her face buried in his chest, and sobbed with such force his entire body trembled along with hers. Pepper dropped flat on her belly with her head on her paws and added her low whines to Suzy’s cries. Fear turned his mouth to cotton. Someone must have died. He couldn’t imagine anything else that would cause such an intense expression of grief.

  Very gently he cupped her face and tipped it upward. Red nose, red eyes, red-blotched cheeks, damp, straggly hair clinging to her temples—she’d been crying for quite some time. When Karina cried, which wasn’t often, he’d kissed her to give her comfort. But he couldn’t kiss Suzy. He didn’t know what to do.