Bygones

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Pulling his car onto the fog-shrouded road, he let his thoughts drift ahead to Christmas. It would be different this year, without Lisbeth. Fondness brought a smile as he remembered past years and the traditions he’d shared with his dear friend. He would miss her homemade noodles and spicy mince pies. He would miss shopping for fabric for her quilts. How she teased him about choosing such unattractive patterns! He could still see her crinkly smile, hear her teasing comment, “What do men know?” The comment always brought a laugh, never indignation.

  Mostly he would miss her—their time together.

  He supposed it seemed odd to others, how close he had been to Lisbeth. But there was no denying how much he had come to love the old woman. And he was sure she loved him like the son she never had.

  His tires crunched on the hard ground as he rolled slowly toward the church, the empty seat beside him serving as another reminder of Lisbeth’s absence. Even when she’d still had her buggy, he had driven her to the meetinghouse on days of inclement weather. If she were alive, he’d have her company today.

  Through the murky morning light, he glimpsed a figure hunching forward into the wind and moving in the same direction as he. He squinted, and his heart lurched. Marie? Bringing his car to a stop beside her, he reached across the seat to pop open the passenger door.

  “Marie!” He heard the concern in his tone but did nothing to squelch it. “What are you doing walking in this cold? Get in!”

  She made no argument, but slipped into the seat and yanked the door closed behind her. “Brr!” She hugged herself as she smiled at him. Her nose was cherry red, her eyes watery. She still looked wonderful. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how cold it was. The wind bites this morning.”

  “Yes, it does. You should have more sense than to walk.” He shifted the car into gear, his heart thudding at his own audacity. Had he scolded her?

  But she laughed. “It had nothing to do with sense. My feet were my only transportation today. I don’t have a car.”

  He shot her a sharp look before turning his attention back to the road. “Is something wrong with the engine?”

  “No. Beth went away for the weekend, and she needed the car.” He detected a hint of sadness beneath her statement. “So if I wanted to attend service, I had to walk.”

  “Well,” he blustered, “the next time you need a ride, let me know. You shouldn’t be out when it’s this chilly. You could get sick.”

  He sensed her pleasure by the upturning of her lips although she kept her gaze aimed ahead. “I appreciate that, Henry, but I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  “I always took Lisbeth to service.” He glanced at her. “I was just thinking how the seat seemed empty without her. It’s nice. . .to have someone there.” He was rewarded by her smile. He drew a breath and made a brave offer. “I can pick you up every Sunday if you like. That way if Beth wants the car. . .”

  Marie looked at him, her face pursed into a thoughtful expression. When she spoke, her voice was soft, hesitant, yet he also detected gratitude. “I appreciate that, Henry. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He pulled into the churchyard and parked close to the women’s entrance rather than his normal place at the front of the church. She got out before he could rush around and open the car door for her. Disappointment struck, but he pushed it aside. “I’ll give you a ride back to your house afterward, so come out here after service.”

  She flashed him another quick smile before ducking into the hood of her furry coat and dashing for the door. Henry had a difficult time focusing on the singing and sermon, knowing he would have time with Marie that afternoon. Brief time, certainly, since the drive to Lisbeth’s was less than a mile, but any time was a treat.

  His heart pattered hopefully as he recalled her decision to attend service despite having to brave the cold morning. Her desire to return to her faith must be strong. He offered a silent prayer for the work that had started in her soul to continue, as Lisbeth had hoped, and bring her completely back to the fold.

  His gaze flitted to the back of J.D. Koeppler’s head. The man’s thick, steel gray hair stuck up in the back, exposing a tiny bit of his freckled pink scalp. He stared at that spot of skin, wishing he could peel back the layers of J.D.’s heart and get to the soft center. How the man had hardened himself over the years.

  Lisbeth once said the pain of Marie’s departure had given J.D. a heart callus. At the time, Henry had been dealing with his own pain and hadn’t wasted any sympathy on J.D. Now, however, he had to wonder how much the man was hurting by being so near to his daughter yet holding himself at a distance. Or had his heart grown so hard that he didn’t experience any discomfort? Henry couldn’t tell by looking.

  He turned his head slightly and located Marie’s mother. He was certain Erma would embrace Marie if given the opportunity. He’d witnessed her sidelong glances, the longing in her eyes each time she looked at her daughter. But if J.D. didn’t bend, Erma wouldn’t make any overtures. She honored her husband in every way, even at the expense of her own heartache.

  Henry admired Joanna for making a stand against her family and welcoming Marie back into her life. She knew the woman paid a price, being ostracized by her parents and siblings, but Joanna followed her own heart. She and Marie were a lot alike. Marie had followed her heart twenty years ago. . .right out of Sommerfeld.

  But would she do it again? Henry’s chest grew tight as the question formed in his mind. He didn’t dare speculate on the answer to that question.

  The congregation shifted, slipping to kneel at the benches for the final prayer. Henry knelt, too, and when he folded his hands and closed his eyes, he repeated the prayer that had been a part of him since he was a young man of twenty-two. Bring her back to us, Father. He knew he meant not only spiritually but also physically.

  When the service ended, Henry reached for his hat from the overhead rack. Someone caught his arm, and he turned to find Doug Ortmann beside him. The man crooked his finger, indicating for Henry to follow him to the corner. Once separate from the crowd, Doug spoke in a hushed tone.

  “Have you heard, Henry? There haven’t been any thefts since Thanksgiving Day.”

  Henry nodded. Apparently the watch system was working. Of course, no one watched during service—the men had agreed service was too important for any of the members to miss. “I’m thinking the thief knows people are actively seeking him. He’s probably moved on.”

  Doug nodded. “I hope so. I didn’t like thinking Marie. . .” He shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “She’s a cousin, you know.”

  Henry clamped his hand over the man’s shoulder. “I know. It’s been hard on many people, the speculation and worries.”

  Doug nodded. “But if no more thefts take place, things will settle down, won’t they?”

  Henry took in a big breath. “I pray so, Doug.”

  “Me, too.” The man smiled. “My family’s waiting. I’d better go.” The man’s blithe words cut Henry. What must it be like to have family waiting? Then his heart lifted—today he had someone waiting. Marie. He hurried his steps to his car.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Marie slipped her hood over her head and crossed her arms, tucking her hands in her armpits, while she waited beside Henry’s car for his return. She watched the men’s door, standing on one foot then the other in an attempt to keep warm. When she spotted him she bounced forward two steps and met him in front of the hood.

  “Henry, Joanna invited me over for lunch, so I’m going to ride with Hugo. I just wanted to let you know.”

  His smile immediately faded. “Oh. All right.” He shrugged, his lips forming the semblance of a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, that makes sense for you to ride with them.”

  The depth of his disappointment seemed disproportionate to the situation. Guilt wiggled through Marie’s heart when she recalled his comment about the empty seat in his vehicle serving as a reminder of Lisbeth’s absence. Maybe she should let him transport her
. But no, she wasn’t Lisbeth, and serving as a replacement wouldn’t be healthy for Henry. Or her.

  She risked grazing his sleeve with her fingertips in lieu of the squeeze she wanted to deliver. “I do appreciate your willingness to give me a ride.” She licked her lips, her heart suddenly racing. “I would appreciate a lift next Sunday morning if the offer still stands.”

  “Sure it does. The wintry weather seems to have arrived. No need for you to get frostbite.”

  The hint of teasing in his tone made Marie smile. “Thank you.” She sidled toward Hugo’s waiting car. “I’ll see you Tuesday, right?”

  For a moment he looked baffled, then his expression cleared. “Oh! At the café. Yes, sure. You know you will.”

  She gave a quick wave, then jogged the final few feet to Hugo’s car. Sliding into the backseat with Kyra, Kelly, and Gomer, she released a giggle. “Whew! Maybe I should have let Henry take me. This is a tight fit!”

  Gomer scooted forward and draped his arms over the back of the front seat, giving the girls more space. “How’s that?”

  Marie tousled his short hair with her fingers. Although the Kansas seat-belt laws prohibited Gomer’s position, Marie knew no police officer was likely to swing through Sommerfeld and ticket Hugo for not having his son belted in. “Thanks, kiddo.”

  He grinned.

  Kelly tapped Marie on the arm as the car backed out of the churchyard. “Aunt Marie, are you and Mr. Braun courting?”

  “Kelly!” Joanna gasped and abruptly shifted to stare into the backseat.

  Kelly pressed herself farther into the seat, her gaze bouncing between Marie and her mother. “What did I say?”

  Kyra bumped her sister’s arm. “It’s a nosy question, Kel.”

  Kelly folded her arms, her lower lip puckered. “I wasn’t trying to be nosy. I just wondered.”

  Marie swallowed. “W–what would give you that idea, honey?”

  The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. You used to court. Mom said so.”

  Joanna spun to face the front. The back of her neck, visible between her coat collar and her hairline, turned bright pink.

  “And sometimes,” Kelly continued, “people who courted when they were young get back together when they’re old.”

  Marie nearly giggled at being referred to as “old,” but she suspected Kelly would take offense.

  Hugo, his hands clamped over the steering wheel, glanced into the backseat. His forehead creased into a scowl. “Have you been reading romance books again?”

  Kelly blushed crimson and ducked her head.

  Kyra burst out laughing. “Kel!”

  “I don’t see anything funny.” Kelly’s tone turned defensive.

  Huge sent his daughter a glowering look. “I don’t see anything funny, either. Those books give you wrong ideas. No more of them, Kelly.”

  The girl kept her head low. “Yes, Dad.”

  Kyra continued to chuckle.

  Kelly socked her in the arm. “Stop laughing!”

  Kyra brought herself under control as Hugo pulled into the driveway. Gomer clambered over Marie’s legs and shot out of the car. Marie followed more slowly, slipping her hand through Kelly’s elbow so they could walk together behind the rest of the family.

  On the porch, after everyone else had gone inside, Marie gave Kelly a one-armed hug. “Honey, I’m not upset with you.”

  Kelly’s blue eyes shimmered as she peered into Marie’s face. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean anything bad when I asked. I just. . .” She lowered her gaze.

  Marie cupped her chin and lifted her face. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Kelly shrugged. “I just think it would be neat if you and Mr. Braun got together. Then you could stay here and not go back to Cheyenne.”

  A teasing grin twitched at Marie’s cheek. “What, I can’t stay here alone?”

  Kelly released a self-conscious giggle, hunching her shoulders. “Well. . . I suppose you could.” Tipping her head to peer at Marie out of the corners of her eyes, she said, “But wouldn’t it be more exciting if you had a beau?”

  Marie pinched the end of her niece’s nose. “You have been reading romance novels.”

  The girl giggled, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t tell Daddy, but my friend Abbie Muller gave me one about this couple who dated all through high school. They were going to get married, but they split up when the girl got swept off her feet by a traveling salesman. But the salesman died, and the girl came back to town, and she and her high-school boyfriend got together again.” Kelly released a deep sigh. “It was a really good story.”

  Marie shook her head.

  “It reminded me of you and Mr. Braun,” Kelly went on eagerly. “The couple in the story was really happy they got back together. Don’t you think you’d be happy with Mr. Braun?”

  Marie smoothed a wisp of hair behind Kelly’s ear. “Honey, life never works out like storybooks. It’s a good idea in theory, but. . .”

  Kelly tipped her head to the side. “But what?”

  “In storybooks, people often don’t think about what God wants for them.” Marie smiled, her heart lifting at the realization of how important God’s will had become in the past few weeks. She hadn’t even considered whether leaving with Jep was what God wanted for her back then—she’d just gone. Now she didn’t want to proceed on anything without His blessing. “I need to do what God would have me do, not what sounds romantic. Do you understand?”

  Kelly nodded, but Marie could see by the loss of sparkle in the girl’s eyes that she was disappointed. Flinging her arm around Kelly’s shoulders, Marie aimed her toward the door. “I tell you what. If God lets me know He has romance in mind for me, you’ll be the first one to hear about it, okay?”

  The thirteen-year-old’s face lit with pleasure. “Okay!”

  That evening, in Lisbeth’s bedroom, snuggled beneath one of her aunt’s quilts, with a lantern illuminating the pages of Lisbeth’s Bible in her lap, Marie reflected on her conversation with Kelly. As much as she hated to admit it, she felt haunted by the girl’s innocent question: “Don’t you think you’d be happy with Mr. Braun?”

  She had many memories of Henry, and none of them were unpleasant except the one from the day she left Sommerfeld with Jep. The image of his stricken face, tears glittering in the corners of his dark eyes, brought a stab of guilt as sharp as the one she’d felt that day. Even though she hadn’t looked back, she knew Henry stood beside the road until the semi was out of sight. She knew he had mourned her leaving. Even if Lisbeth hadn’t shared Henry’s heartbreak in her letters, Marie would have known.

  But she had loved Jep. They’d been happy. He’d teased her about being his little Mennonite girl, but he’d never been put off by her cap and simple dresses. He hadn’t even insisted she adjust her attire after they recited vows in front of a justice of the peace. Jep had been raised in the Baptist church but slipped away due to his job as a truck driver. All the traveling pulled him away from regular church attendance, but Marie had insisted on finding a church to visit every Sunday when she began traveling with him.

  She smiled, her heart swelling with gratitude as she remembered Jep holding her close, whispering, “Marie, honey, you’ve been so good for me. I feel like Jesus is my friend again. Thanks for getting me back on track.” She had been so happy with him, so certain God meant for them to be together.

  But their time together had been short-lived—not quite two years. She hugged the Bible to her chest, pain stabbing with the memory of the day the police officer knocked on the apartment door and told her Jep was gone. He’d fallen asleep at the wheel, the man had said, and rolled the semi over an embankment. He’d been killed instantly, so he hadn’t suffered. Marie hadn’t found much comfort in that fact at the time.

  In the numb days following Jep’s funeral, his parents had been wonderful, supportive, assuring her they would help her with the baby, who would never have the opportunity to know the father who had celebrated her conception. But Marie
had wanted her own mama. So as soon as she could travel—when Beth was a mere two weeks old—she had climbed on a bus and returned to Sommerfeld.

  Only to be sent away by her father.

  So she had left, disgraced and aching, and moved in with Jep’s parents, relying on their help. The day she moved under their roof she discarded the outer coverings that told of her Mennonite faith.

  Marie touched her tangled hair, recalling how odd it had felt those first days without her cap in place.

  A sudden desire struck. Almost against her will, she set the Bible aside and slipped from the bed. Padding on bare feet to the closet, her heart pounding, Marie sought the old, familiar covering. Lisbeth’s caps rested in a box on the closet shelf. She removed the box, set it on the bed, and lifted out one cap. Her hands trembled as she fingered the white ribbon—white, because Lisbeth had never married. Her cap would require black ribbons.

  Her breath caught. Did she truly want a cap again?

  She licked her lips, her mouth dry, and crossed to the bureau and the round mirror that hung above it. Placing the cap on the bureau top, she smoothed her unruly hair from her face and examined her image. When she lowered her hands, the strands flew in disordered curls around her cheeks. The lantern light brought out the gold and red highlights. Henry had always admired the red in her hair.

  Shaking her head, she pushed thoughts of Henry away. This had nothing to do with him. Picking up the cap, she held her breath and slipped it over her curls. With quivering fingers, she tucked the errant curls beneath the sides of the cap. Her reflection blinked back at her, her face pale, her eyes wide. The white ribbons trailed down her neck. Time melted away, and Marie looked into the face of her youth. A tear slid down her cheek.

  Closing her eyes, she dropped to her knees beside the bed. “Oh, my Father God, I’ve missed You. I’m so glad to have You back in my life. I know when I leave here, You will go with me. I can worship You away from Sommerfeld. But I don’t know what to do.” For long moments she remained beside the bed, hands folded beneath her chin, her knuckles digging into her flesh, her heart crying out for guidance.