The young waitress with curly red hair approached the table a second time. “Would you like to order now, sir?”
“Uh—no, I’m waiting for someone.” Jim glanced at his watch. It was now twelve thirty.
“I’ll check back with you in a few minutes.” The waitress smiled and moved away.
Jim tapped the edge of the table with his knuckles. Why hasn’t she called? Maybe I should call her. He pulled his cell phone from the clip on his belt and punched in the cell number she’d given him when they’d agreed to meet for lunch. After several rings, he got her voice mail and hung up. He dialed the number at the health food store, and one of the employees answered. “This is Jim Scott. Is Holly there?”
“No, Mr. Scott. She’s supposed to be having lunch with you.”
“Well, she’s not here, and I’m beginning to worry.” Jim glanced out the window again. The seagull was gone, and so was Jim’s appetite. He took another swallow of iced tea and tried to calm himself. I’m not going to sit here all day waiting for that woman. If she’s not here in the next five minutes, I’m leaving.
When Jim heard footsteps approach, he mumbled, “Sorry, I’m still not ready to order.”
“You may not be, but I am.”
He looked up, and the sight of Holly standing in front of the table brought relief and a strange sense of excitement. She was wearing a jean skirt and a plain pink blouse, but he thought she looked like an angel. “I—I was worried that you wouldn’t show,” he said.
She smiled, and her matching dimples seemed to be winking at him. “Sorry I’m late, but I had to stop at a gas station because my oil light kept coming on. It was fine after I added a quart of oil. I was going to call, but I left my cell phone at home this morning.”
Jim nodded. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve forgotten my phone.” He stood and pulled out a chair for her.
Holly sat down and took a sip of water. “I hope you didn’t think I’d stood you up.”
Heat flooded his cheeks. “The thought had crossed my mind.”
“I would never do something like that, Jim. If I couldn’t make it or had changed my mind, I would have let you know.”
“I appreciate that.” He toyed with his napkin. Should I tell her what’s on my mind, or would it be better to wait until after we’ve eaten?
“Have you heard anything from Jimmy lately?” Holly asked.
“Talked to him a few days ago.” Jim was glad for the change of subject. He guessed he wasn’t ready to put his feelings on the line or risk possible rejection by her saying no.
“How’s he doing?”
He shrugged. “He’s doesn’t call much, but I guess he’s okay.”
“Do you have relatives living in Pennsylvania, or is Jimmy taking an extended vacation?”
He grimaced. If I told her the truth, she’d be gone in a flash. “He—uh—recently found out he was adopted, and he’s gone on a quest to find his real family.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I’m worried he may like it in Pennsylvania and decide to stay.”
“I think all parents wish their grown kids would stick close to home.” Holly compressed her lips and stared out the window. “But since it doesn’t always work out that way, it’s best if parents allow their kids to make their own decisions about where they will live.” Her voice had a soft quality about it, yet she spoke with assurance.
The waitress showed up then, and Jim ordered a French dip sandwich and fries. Holly asked for a shrimp salad and a cup of clam chowder. As soon as the waitress left, he looked over at Holly. “You’re probably wondering why I invited you to lunch today, so I might as well get straight to the point.”
She picked up her glass of water and took a drink. “Did you have an ulterior motive?”
“Well, I was hoping you might help me with something.”
She leaned slightly forward, an expectant look on her face. “What do you need my help with?”
“I’m—uh—” He released a groan. “I’ve been really uptight lately, and the only way I can unwind or forget about my problems is to have a few drinks.”
“A few drinks, or are you getting drunk?”
He flinched. “Well, I—sometimes.”
“Drinking yourself into oblivion is not the answer, and I speak from experience.” She stared at her placemat with furrowed brows. “I grew up in Puyallup. Soon after I graduated from high school, I met Frank Simmons, who was stationed at Fort Lewis.”
“An army guy, huh?”
“Right. Frank and I had a whirlwind romance, and two months later, we were married and moved to Fort Polk, Louisiana.” She sighed. “Frank really wanted kids, and after we discovered that I wasn’t able to conceive, he became hostile toward me, and—” Her voice faltered. When she lifted her gaze to meet Jim’s, he noticed tears in her eyes. “Frank died from a drug overdose ten years later, and though I’m not proud to say this, I was actually relieved when he was gone.” She stared out the window. “The remorse I felt for feeling that way, coupled with the guilt I felt for not being able to give Frank any children was the excuse I used for drinking.”
Jim swallowed around the lump in his throat. “People do unexpected things when they feel guilty.”
“I wasn’t a Christian back then, and I didn’t have the support of family or friends. What started out as social drinking soon became a crutch.” She smiled. “I’m grateful that a friend of mine introduced me to Christ, because soon after I confessed my sins and became a Christian, my life began to change.”
He grimaced. Oh no, here it comes—the “you need to go to church” lecture.
“I thought you mentioned before that you got help for your drinking at AA.”
“I did. But help came in the form of my pastor and friends from church, too.”
Jim stared at the table. “Would you be willing to help me?”
She reached across the table and touched his outstretched arm. “I’ll do whatever I can, but you must be willing to cooperate—and that includes attending AA meetings.”
He nodded, and the heavy weight that had rested on his shoulders for many years seemed to lift a little.
Jimmy opened his window as he headed down the road in the direction of the Weavers’ place. The cool air, ushered in by the coming of fall, hit him full in the face. The longer he stayed in Lancaster County, the more he liked it. And the more he liked it, the more confused he became. He enjoyed the Amish people he’d come to know and was impressed with their gentle spirits and the way they helped others whenever there was a need—even those outside their faith. He was inspired by their plain lifestyle and enjoyed their simple, tasty food. There were times when he felt as if he truly belonged here. He’d even wondered about the possibility of joining the Amish faith, which would give him the right to court Leona Weaver. But could I give up all the modern conveniences? And what if I told them what little I know about my Amish heritage? Would it make any difference in how they accept me? Or would they think I’d made up the story in order to win Leona’s hand?
Jimmy groaned. He hadn’t seen Leona since last week when he’d given her and Lydia a ride to Lancaster so they could do some shopping at Wal-Mart. After he’d dropped them off at their home and Lydia had gone into the house, he’d been bold enough to invite Leona to go on a picnic with him. At first she seemed to consider it. Then she’d mumbled something about him being English and her not wanting to give anyone the wrong impression. She’d dashed into the house without another word.
“If I were to join the Amish faith, it would mean giving up my photography hobby. I’d have to exchange my truck for a horse and buggy, and adhere to the rules of the Ordnung.” He gave the steering wheel a sharp rap with his knuckles. If I hadn’t been taken from my rightful family when I was a baby, none of this would even be a consideration. In fact, Leona and I might already be dating or even be married by now.
As Jimmy continued down the road, his thoughts became more jumbled. He tapped the brakes and
slowed for a horse and buggy up ahead. Do I stay through the winter or return to Washington? And if I go back to the only home I’ve ever known, what’s waiting for me there? I’m like a ship without a captain, and no one can help me get where I need to go. He ground his teeth together. If I even knew where that was. Jacob’s the only person I’ve told the truth about why I came to Pennsylvania, and he was no help at all. Should I quit worrying about what will happen to Jim if I tell my kidnapping story to someone else?
Leona sat in a wicker chair on the front porch with a bowl of strawberry ice cream in her lap. Her folks were in the kitchen eating their dessert, but she knew if she’d remained in the house, Papa would have bombarded her with a bunch of ridiculous questions, the way he’d done most of the day. Saturdays were difficult to get through, since Leona was usually at home and couldn’t avoid her daed. She held up fairly well during the rest of the week—when she was at school or, on Sundays, when they were either in church or visiting others from their community on the off-weeks.
Leona reached down to rub the top of Cinnamon’s head but stopped herself in time. Cinnamon’s dead, and she’s not coming back. Ezra’s dead and won’t be back. The man I’ve known as my daed all these years is gone and won’t be coming back, either.
The rumble of a vehicle brought Leona’s thoughts to a halt. She glanced up and was surprised to see Jimmy’s truck pulling into the yard.
“What brings you by?” she asked when he joined her on the porch a minute later.
“I was out for a drive and thought I’d stop over and see how things are going with your daed.” Jimmy grinned as if he was pleased for using one of their Pennsylvania Dutch words.
“Everything’s pretty much the same around here,” she said with a shake of her head. “No real change in Papa’s memory, that’s for sure.”
Jimmy dropped into the wicker chair beside her. “Sorry to hear there’s no change.”
She lifted her bowl. “Would you like some strawberry ice cream?”
“Thanks anyway, but I had a huge slice of Esther Raber’s applecrumb pie not long ago.” He patted his stomach. “That woman is one good cook, and if I’m not careful, she’s gonna make me fat.”
“As busy as you keep painting, I doubt you’ll ever be fat.”
“You could be right. My dad told me once that he’s been painting since he was in his early twenties, and he’s still fit and trim.” He paused. “Of course he’s not really my—”
Maa–aa! Maa–aa! Jimmy’s words were cut off when Jacob’s goat bounded onto the porch, leaped over the railing, and nearly knocked Leona out of her chair as it stuck its nose into her bowl of half-eaten ice cream.
“Get away from me!” she shouted, pushing the animal aside. “You’re nothing but a zwieschpalt—!”
The goat let out another loud maa-aa; then it nosed into her dish again.
Before Leona had time to react, Jimmy jumped out of his chair and scooped the critter into his arms. “Want me to put your so-called troublemaker back in his pen?”
She nodded, inwardly pleased to realize Jimmy understood her rantings in Pennsylvania Dutch. “I’d appreciate it.”
Jimmy bounded off the porch and headed to the goat pen, which was behind the barn. Several minutes later, he was back. “Someone must have left the gate open,” he said. “I closed the gate and made sure it was secure.”
“Danki.” Leona set her bowl on the porch. “I have no appetite for this now. Not after that pesky goat stuck his nose full of germs into it.”
“Your daed says you don’t like his goat much,” Jimmy commented as he sat back down.
Leona gripped the arms of her chair. “He’s right about that. If it weren’t for Billy, Cinnamon would still be alive.”
“Jacob thinks you blame him for the goat chasing your dog into the road.”
She released a quiet moan. “After he made a pet out of the goat, it started getting out of its pen and causing all kinds of havoc around here.”
Jimmy stared at his hands, which were folded in his lap. “It’s hard to forgive others sometimes, whether you know what they did was wrong or just an accident.”
“That’s true, and I’m having a hard time forgiving Papa for not keeping that dumb goat penned up.” She hung her head as a feeling of anger and frustration threatened to choke her. “My faith was shaken when Ezra died, but this whole thing with Papa’s memory loss has made it worse. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel the same way about things as I used to.”
Jimmy reached over and took her hand as a look of understanding swept over his face.
“I used to believe God was in control and wants the best for us,” she murmured. “But after all the losses I’ve had to endure this past year, I’ve begun to wonder if God cares what happens to anyone.”
“On some level, I think I understand how you feel. I’ve been hurt, too.” Jimmy’s dark eyes clouded over, and Leona could see the depth of his pain.
“Do you mind if I ask how you’ve been hurt?”
“I grew up thinking I was my parents’ son—by blood, I mean. Then shortly after my twenty-first birthday, I learned that I’d been adopted.”
“Oh, I see.”
“After Mom died, I was sure God didn’t care about me or my dad. Then, when I realized I’d been adopted, I felt rejected and wondered why my parents hadn’t told me sooner.” Jimmy winced. “One day, not long ago, I found out that I was—”
A horse and buggy rumbled into the yard, halting Jimmy’s words. Leona turned as Abraham and Fannie climbed down from their buggy and started across the lawn toward the house.
“We came to visit your folks,” Fannie called with a friendly wave.
Abraham stopped when he got to the porch and glared at Jimmy. “What are you doin’ here?”
“I came by to see how Jacob’s getting along.”
“Then why aren’t you in the house talkin’ to the bishop instead of sittin’ out here with his daughter?”
“I’m sure he’d planned to see Papa,” Leona spoke up. “But we got to visiting and then—”
“Jah, I’ll bet you did.” Abraham continued to stare at Jimmy as though he’d done something wrong.
Jimmy shifted in his chair, and even though his face had turned red, he made no comment. Fannie tugged on her husband’s arm, and he glanced over at her. “What?”
“Why don’t we go inside, Abraham?”
He nodded and mumbled, “Sure, okay.”
“Sorry about that,” Leona said once the Fishers had gone into the house. “I don’t know why Abraham is acting so ornery tonight.”
Jimmy stood. “I’d better go.”
“But I thought you wanted to see my daed.”
“Some other time—when you don’t have company.” Jimmy sprinted off the porch without even saying good-bye.
By the first of December, the thermometer hovered near the freezing point for several days. Rain fell, and the cool air turned it to a thick film of ice. Leona knew it wouldn’t be much longer before the young people in their district could enjoy some good ice-skating.
“Do you think this cold weather means we’re in for a bad winter?” Leona turned to her mamm, who stood in front of their wood-burning stove one Saturday morning making pancakes.
Mom shrugged and reached for her spatula. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see how it goes.”
“I may need to have another talk with Naomi about Millie,” Leona said as she began setting the table.
“Oh? How come?”
“She’s still not doing well in school, and I feel frustrated because nothing I’ve tried has made much difference.”
“Have you brought the problem up at one of your teachers’ meetings?” Mom asked. “I’m sure some of the other Amish teachers have dealt with learning problems similar to Millie’s. Maybe one of ’em will suggest something you haven’t tried yet.”
“I’ll mention it at the meeting that’s scheduled for next week.”
Mom glanced over at Leona
and smiled. “It’s good that you’re so concerned about your students—just proves what a dedicated teacher you’ve become.”
Leona made no reply but moved over to the cupboard to get a bottle of maple syrup. She was tempted to mention that if she were able to further her education, she might have more knowledge in dealing with children who had special needs, as Millie obviously had. But she decided to keep her thoughts to herself, knowing that the leaders of their church would never accept the idea of her furthering her education.
There were times, such as when Leona encountered a teaching problem she had no answers for, when she wished she hadn’t been so hasty to join the Amish church as soon as she’d turned eighteen. If she had more education, she could probably do a better job of teaching, and she might not be having such a difficult time getting through to Millie.
“The pancakes are almost done. Would you mind callin’ your daed in from the barn?” Mom’s request forced Leona’s thoughts to the back of her mind.
With a reluctant sigh, Leona grabbed her heavy shawl off the wall peg and hurried out the back door. She wasn’t anxious to spend even a few minutes alone with Papa. Seeing him struggle with his loss of memory was always a reminder of all that she’d lost. She and Papa had been so close in days gone by. Now it was like there was a cavern between them.
When Leona entered the barn, she found her daed bent over a bucket of paint inside one of the horse’s stalls, stirring it with a flat wooden stick. “That way and so. That way and so,” he mumbled over and over.
“What are you doing, Papa?” She stepped into the stall and closed the door behind her.
He looked up and smiled. “Jimmy says I’m gettin’ pretty good at paintin’. He thinks I need more practice. So I’m gonna paint all the horses’ stalls today.”
“I don’t think this is the kind of practice Jimmy had in mind. It’s probably not a good idea for you to do any painting when Arthur, Jimmy, or one of the other painters isn’t around.” Leona touched Papa’s shoulder. “Mom sent me out to let you know that breakfast is ready.”
The Bishop's Daughter Page 20
