“Welcome home.” As much as Marie had celebrated hearing those words from Joanna, she still held a deep longing to hear them from the lips of her father. When she’d mentioned that to Joanna, her sister’s face had clouded.
“Marie, don’t put your faith on Dad’s shoulders. He’ll only let you down.”
Marie’s mind replayed Joanna’s warning as she loaded the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher at the café. Tiredness from the busy Saturday made her shoulders ache, but it couldn’t compare with the ache that stabbed her heart every time she recalled her father’s condemning tone and harsh expression. She knew she would never feel as though she had truly come home until she made peace with her father. But how?
The back screen door squeaked. Her focus on emptying the bin of dirty dishes, she didn’t look up. “Hey, Beth.”
“It’s me, Henry.”
Marie jerked upright and spun toward the door. Automatically, she smoothed her hand over her hair. The curls had grown, becoming less manageable over her weeks in Sommerfeld. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail at the crown of her head, but errant strands sprang free in every direction. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her to have Henry see her in a state of unkemptness. She only knew discomfort struck with his presence.
She went back to transferring plates from the bin to the dishwasher, jabbering to cover the erratic beat of her heart. “Deborah and Trina aren’t here. I told them I could finish up and they should go home. W–what brings you back? Deborah said you’d finished the bookwork for the week.”
“A storm is brewing. There’s sheet lightning in the east.”
Marie glanced at him. His dark-eyed gaze followed her every move. She swallowed and turned back to the plates. “A lightning storm in November?”
He shrugged. “It’s unusual but not unheard of. Kansas is unpredictable.”
So are you. “I—I haven’t heard any thunder.”
He took a forward step, bringing himself into her line of vision. “It’s not close enough yet. But the wind is picking up. It won’t be long before we’ll hear it.”
That still didn’t explain why he was here. “Thank you for telling me. Guess I’ll hurry home then.”
“I could drive you.”
The quiet statement sent Marie’s heart into her throat. She didn’t look at him. “I can walk.”
“I know you can. I’ve seen you walking all over the place.”
The gently teasing undercurrent forced Marie’s gaze around. His smile invited her to respond with one of her own.
“These storms can come up fast, and I don’t want you caught in it. I’ll be happy to drive you.”
Marie stood, hands curled around a plate, peering into Henry’s eyes. The realization that he’d observed her restless strolls, that he’d returned out of concern for her safety, brought a rush of gratefulness. . .and something else she couldn’t define. “I appreciate that, Henry. Thank you.” She focused on the dishes, stacking the last few as quickly as possible into the tray. “Beth went into Newton earlier. I have no idea if she’s back yet.”
Henry leaned against the far end of the rinsing trough. “She isn’t.”
Marie chuckled as she pushed the tray into the dishwasher, slid the door closed, and flipped the switch. The pound of water against the metal walls of the washer drowned out the sound of her laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Henry raised his voice above the noisy machine.
Marie removed her apron, shaking her head. “I’d forgotten there were no secrets in Sommerfeld. I should have just asked you if Beth had returned.”
Henry grinned. “Speaking of no secrets. . .” He hesitated, his grin fading and his neck blotching with red.
Marie’s hands froze in the process of rolling the apron into a ball. She waited, the pulsing beat of the dishwasher matching the pound of her heart. She had to strain to catch his next words.
“Joanna tells me you’re praying and reading the Bible every day.” He swallowed, the bob of his Adam’s apple capturing her attention. “I’m happy for you, Marie. Lisbeth would be, too.”
Her gaze bounced up to meet his, and the twinkle of tears in the corners of his eyes made her heart lurch. Unable to reply, she merely nodded.
He blinked quickly, and the shimmer disappeared. He held his hand toward the door. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, scooped up the basket of dirty linens, and scurried toward the door while Henry turned out the lights. The cool air, heavy with the essence of rain, filled her nostrils. The first gentle rumble of thunder in the distance echoed in her ears. Henry’s trembling fingers on her back ignited her senses.
“Come on, Marie. Let’s get you safely home.”
SIXTEEN
Marie stood in front of Lisbeth’s closet, remembering her reaction to the whisper touch of Henry’s fingers on her back as he’d guided her to his waiting car so he could transport her safely home last night. Just loneliness, she told herself. Like her flustered reaction when Mitch stepped into the kitchen. She would have had the same response with anyone. It had been a long time since she’d been shown that kind of consideration.
It wasn’t Henry. It was loneliness.
She told herself this again as she dressed for service. Her heart pounded as she considered the possible ramifications of her showing up this morning. She knew Joanna would be thrilled. So would Henry. But everyone else? She hoped no one—her father, in particular—would make a scene that would embarrass her sister or Henry. But it was time for her to worship formally again.
Beth didn’t understand. When she had returned from Newton in the midst of a pouring rainstorm, Marie had told her she planned to start attending church. Beth had argued, pointing out all the things Marie herself feared. “You’re just going to get yourself hurt,” she shouted, her voice booming more loudly than the thunder that shook the house. When Marie remained determined to go, Beth had stomped off to bed.
Well, Marie decided as she buttoned her blouse beneath her chin and tucked the tails into her skirt, Beth might be right. She could get hurt. But she knew she would hurt more, in her heart, if she ignored the tug of the Holy Spirit to return to the fold. Even if people rejected her, she had to at least try.
In the bathroom, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and formed a makeshift bun. Using bobby pins, she anchored the strands that were too short to reach the tail. She had found Lisbeth’s caps in a box on the shelf of the closet and had even considered putting one on, but in the end she decided against it. She wasn’t a meetinghouse member, and she wasn’t sure she would seek membership again. Right now, she only wanted to attend, to listen, to learn, to rediscover a portion of what she’d left behind when she drove away with Jep.
One step at a time.
She peeked in at Beth. Her daughter slept soundly, her hair spread across her pillow. The familiar swell of mother-love rose in her breast, and she tiptoed across the room to smooth the tangled blond locks and place a kiss on Beth’s forehead.
Beth stirred, her face crunching. Her eyes slid opened, and she blinked several times, her bleary gaze on Marie’s face. “Mom?” her voice croaked.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Beth scowled at her mother. “You’re going, aren’t you?”
Marie nodded.
“But it’s still raining, isn’t it?”
The patter on the roof gave the answer. Marie smiled. “I won’t melt. I’m not made of sugar.” How often had she told Beth she needn’t fear the rain because only sugar melted in the rain. Her own mother had told her the same thing.
Beth rolled over. “Well, have fun.”
Her daughter’s tone stung a bit, but Marie smoothed her hair again and focused instead on the calling of her heart. “I’ll be back by noon; then I’ll fix us some lunch.”
Beth didn’t reply. Marie tiptoed out, pulling the door closed. She took a jacket from the hooks by the back door and held it over her head as she hop-skipped around puddles on th
e way to the car.
When she reached the meetinghouse parking lot, she felt a lurch of discomfort. How obvious her bright red car looked among the plain black ones lining the side of the meetinghouse.
“No more obvious than my uncovered head,” she reminded herself. Reaching under the seat, she located an umbrella. She heaved a sigh of relief when she discovered it was her own solid blue one rather than Beth’s bright orange, daisy-covered one. Much less conspicuous.
Headlights cut through the curtain of rain as another car pulled up next to hers. Marie squinted through the foggy glass and saw a familiar face—Joanna’s. Heart leaping with gratitude for the perfect timing, she popped her door open and thrust out the umbrella. Joanna stepped from her car and joined Marie under the plastic cover.
“You ready?”
Marie took in a fortifying breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Joanna’s husband and children jumped from their vehicle and dashed toward the white clapboard meetinghouse. Hugo and Gomer entered the door at the right corner in the front of the building, and Kyra and Kelly ran side by side to the door at the back. Joanna and Marie followed the girls, their elbows linked, sidestepping around puddles.
A musty smell from the coats dripping on hooks assaulted Marie’s nose as she entered the cloakroom. Several women stood in the room, quietly chatting. When Marie entered, the talk immediately stopped, leaving an uncomfortable silence. Marie put her coat on a hook and then turned to face Joanna.
Joanna offered an encouraging smile. “Let’s go find our seats.”
A shiver shook Marie’s frame. She no longer had a seat. After she’d left with Jep, the leaders had voted on her excommunication. What would happen when she entered the worship room? Would people point fingers and send her away, as her father had done?
Joanna took Marie’s arm. “Come on.” Her voice was gentle, understanding.
Swallowing, Marie stayed close to Joanna as they stepped past the quiet women who watched their progress. A flurry of voices sounded behind them the moment they left the cloakroom. “That was Marie! Yes, Marie Koeppler—remember?” Marie ignored the hushed remarks.
When she and her sister entered the simple square worship room, Marie let her gaze sweep the area. Memories rushed back as she found the preachers’ bench along the side wall behind the unstained wood pulpit. Two rows of benches faced the pulpit. Several men and boys, dressed in black suits and white shirts, sat on the right-hand side. A hat rack, suspended from the ceiling, hung over the last row of men’s benches. The hats, wet from the rain, dripped onto the heads of the men seated beneath them.
Joanna tugged on Marie’s arm, leading her to a center bench on the left-hand side. Joanna slid in first, followed by Marie; then Kyra and Kelly sat on Marie’s other side, surrounding her with their comforting presence. A quick glance confirmed her parents had not yet arrived. She aimed her gaze at her lap, her heart pounding, fearful of what might happen when her father came through the front door and spotted her uncovered head.
She knew, even without looking, the instant he arrived. A hush fell over the room, followed by an air of expectancy. Her scalp prickled, and she wondered if her father’s large hand would grab the back of her neck and pull her from the seat. Her heart pounded with the thud of footsteps on the wooden floorboards. Then the creak of a bench and a sigh as collective breaths were released.
Marie peeked sideways to see the swish of a dark blue dress moving down the side aisle. Allowing her gaze to drift upward, she focused on the profile of the woman who moved into an open spot two benches closer to the front. Her heart skipped a beat and tears stung her eyes. Momma. Her throat convulsed with the desire to rush forward, to cry out the name she hadn’t uttered in more than twenty years, to embrace the woman who once held her to her breast.
Joanna’s hand clamped over Marie’s fist in her lap, and Marie jerked her head to peer into her sister’s eyes. Joanna’s eyes also glittered. Marie’s gaze moved past Joanna to the other side of the church, to the man who had raised her. His face was aimed forward, his jaw firm, his eyes steely.
Marie swallowed. He didn’t want her here. She read that clearly in his stiff bearing and clamped jaw. But he stayed silent on his bench. Throughout the entire service—the entry of the ministers, the hymn singing, the prayer and scripture reading, the sermon, the closing hymn and announcements—her father remained silent on his bench, never so much as flicking a glance in her direction.
When the benediction was complete, he stormed to the hat rack, snatched his hat from its hook, and charged out the door. His wife followed.
Marie’s heart leaped with hope when, just before slipping through the cloakroom door, her mother paused and looked over her shoulder, meeting Marie’s gaze. A tender longing lingered in the brief, silent exchange. Then she disappeared from view.
Joanna squeezed Marie’s hand as three men stepped to the end of their bench. Marie swallowed the tears that choked her throat and turned to face the men. She held her breath, waiting for them to tell her she should not return. But to her surprise, the tallest one offered a hesitant smile.
“Marie?” He clutched his hands against his stomach, his blue eyes searching hers. “Do you remember me?”
She frowned, looking into lined eyes. Suddenly recognition dawned. “Art?”
He nodded, his smile growing. He gestured to the two younger men standing behind him. “And Conrad and Leo, too.”
Marie met each of her brothers’ gazes in turn. Still holding Joanna’s hand, she stammered, “Oh, my. You–you’re all grown up, you little pests.”
Her face filled with heat as she realized what she’d just said, but all three men laughed, earning a stern look from the residing preacher.
Art touched her arm. He kept his voice low. “Where can we go and visit?” His gaze swept across the other family members standing in an awkward circle.
“My house,” Marie blurted. My house? Since when is it my house? She remembered too late that Beth was there, maybe still in her pajamas, not expecting company.
Joanna shook her head as Hugo and Gomer joined the little circle. “My house is bigger, and I have a turkey in the oven. Let’s all go there today, hmm?”
Marie’s eyes filled with tears. Obviously Joanna had planned—in advance—a welcome-back-to-the-family celebration for her. Knowing her parents wouldn’t be there made the situation bittersweet, yet how wonderful to experience the warmth of her sister and brothers’ acceptance.
“Thank you. I’ll need to go home first and—” She intended to say, “Tell Beth where I’ll be.” But Art offered a suggestion.
“You could pick up your daughter. We’d like to get to know her, too.”
Tears of gratitude spilled down Marie’s cheeks. Swallowing, she offered an eager nod. “I’ll be there soon.”
She turned to retrieve her jacket from the cloakroom but froze when she heard her sister’s words: “Henry, if you don’t have lunch plans, please come to our house. We have plenty.”
Her heart pounding, she waited for his response.
“I usually have lunch with Deborah’s family on Sundays. They’re expecting me. But thank you for the invitation. Maybe another time?”
Joanna’s laughter rang. “Sure. There’ll be plenty of other times.” Marie experienced a brief roller-coaster ride of emotion—relief, followed by disappointment, followed by elation. Before she could examine the odd feelings, she dashed to the cloakroom, grabbed her jacket, and ran through the drizzling mist to her car.
Henry slapped his hat on his pant leg, shaking off the raindrops, before knocking on Deborah’s front door. Normally he entered through the back, but on Sundays his sister insisted on formality. Trina opened the door to him and took his hat with a twinkling grin. He chucked her under the chin to thank her, smiling when she giggled.
Trina scampered to the hall tree, hung up his hat, then headed toward the back of the house. “C’mon, Uncle Henry. Mama’s just about got everything on the tab
le.”
Henry smiled and followed. Of all his nieces and nephews, Trina was his favorite. Her infectious giggle and freckled nose had always been impossible to resist. There were times when sympathy swelled for her—he believed her parents were too strict, their expectations unreasonable. But he was cautious enough to keep that opinion to himself. No need to incite rebellion in the teenager’s heart. He also carefully refrained from giving her preferential treatment to avoid conflict with her cousins. But he couldn’t deny she possessed a special piece of his heart. If he had a daughter, he’d want her to be like Trina. Suddenly an image of Beth Quinn in her faded blue jeans and tight shirt flashed in his memory. He scowled. There was no comparison between Beth and Trina. And hadn’t he decided to come to his sister’s house today so he wouldn’t be faced with Marie Koeppler Quinn and her daughter? There was no sense in thinking about either of them.
Still, as he sat at Troy and Deborah’s table, eating his sister’s good cooking and participating in the conversation, his mind kept flitting down a few blocks, to where half of the Koeppler family had gathered. He chewed Deborah’s baked ham and wondered if Marie and Beth were enjoying Joanna’s turkey. He listened to Troy’s opinion on the proper irrigation of winter wheat and wondered what kind of reminiscing was taking place around Joanna’s dining room table. He watched Trina and her brother Tony engage in a quick exchange of elbow pokes and wondered if Beth was feeling at ease with Kyra and her other cousins.
By the time Deborah served dessert, Henry knew he wouldn’t be able to relax that evening unless he could find out how the reunion between Marie and her brothers had gone. He excused himself as soon as he could, experiencing a prick of guilt at Trina’s hurt look when he refused a game of Wahoo, their usual Sunday afternoon activity. He gave his niece a one-handed hug and promised, “Next Sunday we’ll play two rounds, okay?”
Bygones Page 14
