by Nancy Mehl
She scooted her chair closer and put her arms around me, crying quietly. Finally she straightened up. “My soul exceedingly rejoices.”
I smiled at her. “I’m glad.”
She finally let me go, a look of happiness on her face. I cleared my throat and hesitated, not wanting to chase away the moment, but I had to know the truth. “Clay told me that he wrote to me, Mother, not knowing I wasn’t here anymore. Is that true?”
She didn’t answer right away. I hoped against hope that Clay hadn’t lied. If he really had sent letters, it would be the proof I needed to believe he was sincere.
Finally she nodded. “Yes, he wrote to you. I never actually read the letters, Lizzie. Your father took them. As far as I know, he did not read them either.”
“So Clay was telling the truth,” I said slowly, letting this new revelation sink in.
“This does not mean it is God’s will for you to take up with this man again,” Mother warned. “You must turn this over to God and ask His counsel. Do not jump into anything without His wisdom. Please, Daughter. I worry about your happiness as well as Charity’s.”
“I understand,” I said, although I truly believed my mother had just delivered the answer I’d been seeking. Clay cared about me. He’d always wanted to be with me. Maybe Charity would finally get the father she wanted. I stood to my feet. “I’ll get lunch ready right away. Charity has already eaten, so we’ll let her sleep a little longer. If she’s not up soon, I’ll wake her so you can spend time with her before you leave.”
“Can I help you?”
“No, it will only take me a minute.” I was on the way to the kitchen before I remembered my other news. I stopped and turned back to look at her, catching her distressed expression. Obviously, my news about Clay was as unwelcome as I’d suspected it would be. “Mother, I almost forgot to tell you. Cora’s left town. Her sister is ill, and she’s gone to be with her. I have no idea when she’ll be back. She suggested I ask Callie Hoffman to help out in the restaurant until she returns. Do you know where the Hoffmans live? Can you contact Callie for me?”
“Oh, Lizzie,” Mother said. “Will you be all right? Can you keep the restaurant going without Cora?”
I shrugged. “I don’t have much choice. Cora can’t lose the income, and I need a place to live and food to feed Charity. So for as long as it takes, I’ll be running things.”
“I wish I could help you,” she said.
I chuckled. “Yeah, Father would really like that. Might be all it takes to really make him blow his top.”
“Well, perhaps I can help you indirectly in some way.”
Her offer touched me, but she was already defying my father by stepping foot in the restaurant. “Let’s wait and see what happens. I don’t want to do anything that would cause further strife between you and Father.”
The look of disappointment on her face distressed me. “How about this? When you come to visit, you can watch Charity. Keep her occupied. I can’t tell you how much that would help.”
“I would be happy to do that, Daughter, and on the way home I will stop by the Hoffmans and inform Callie that you need her assistance.”
“Thank you, Mother. I’ll have lunch ready in a jiffy.”
“Lizzie,” she said, drawing out my name slowly.
“Yes?”
“That man. The one who died?”
I waited for her to finish, but as I stood there, I realized that my mother was afraid of something. I’d seen it in her eyes ever since I’d told her that the dead man had turned out to be my stalker.
“Wh-when did the man die?” she asked.
“I don’t know. The sheriff didn’t say. Why?”
She shook her head and wouldn’t look at me.
A cold chill ran through my body. “Mother, I must know why you’re asking.”
“I do not want you to jump to conclusions.”
I walked back toward the table where she sat. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“The other night when your father drove to Washington to see if the man who was following you might be staying there . . .”
“Yes? What about it?”
She clasped her hands together and leaned her forehead against them. “When I washed the clothes your father wore that night I found . . . something.” She put one hand loosely over her mouth and stared at me, fear in her eyes. “Oh, Elizabeth. There was blood on his clothes. I am so afraid. Could your father’s anger have led him to actually take a life?”
CHAPTER / 17
My mother’s question shocked me. I’d determined my own suspicions to be ridiculous only minutes earlier. But now my mother was expressing her own misgivings, and no one knew my father better than she did. Was it possible? Could he be involved?
“Did you ask him about it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She nodded, her eyes still wide with panic. “He told me he found a dead deer in the middle of the road when he drove back from Washington. And that when he moved it, his clothing was stained.”
“Well, that certainly sounds reasonable. Deer get hit by cars a lot around here. Is there any reason for you to doubt him?”
She sighed, her body shaking. “I don’t know. When I told him about the man from Kansas City, he was so upset. He said something about putting a stop to the situation.”
I smiled at her, my chest feeling tight. “That doesn’t sound too ominous. Father didn’t say he was going to put a stop to the man—just to the situation.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed as she turned this thought over in her mind. “But if you could have seen his face. It was so . . . dark. I have seen his anger many times, but this was something beyond that. It was . . .” She shook her head. “I do not know how to describe it.”
I patted her hand. “I can’t believe Father is capable of murder.” Even as I said the words, the constriction inside me tightened. Although I didn’t think my father cared enough about me to take a life, rejecting the core belief of his Mennonite faith, I felt uncertain. I’d seen his anger. Was it possible? Feeling protective of my mother, I tried to push the fear away. If I suspected him of something so heinous, it would certainly frighten her.
“You do not understand the depth of his feelings for you, Daughter. You have always mistaken his harshness for a lack of affection for you, but the opposite is true. I think he is afraid of how much he loves you.”
“So what are you saying?” My tone was sharper than I intended, but her insistence that my father had some kind of deep devotion toward me made me angry. It just wasn’t true. My mother flinched at the harshness in my voice, and I immediately felt bad.
“I see I have upset you,” she said gently. “That was not my intention.”
I waved her comment away. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I know I’m sensitive when it comes to Father. In many ways I’ve allowed my bitterness to twist my past experiences.
“On the way to Kingdom, I began to remember some of the good things that happened here. And the wonderful people who were in my life. For some reason, I’d shoved all those memories into a closet in my mind, refusing to acknowledge them.”
I frowned at her. “But when it comes to Father, my memory is sharp and precise. The spankings for no reason, the cruel punishments, the unkind comments. They’re not embellished by my imagination. They’re very real.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she nodded. “You are right, Daughter. There is no excuse for his treatment of you—or for my acquiescence to his behavior. All I can pray is that you will one day forgive us.”
“I’ve already forgiven you, Mother. Maybe you were wrong in allowing Father’s behavior, but you were afraid. And your intention was to be a submissive wife. I may not agree with your choices, but at least I understand them.” I sighed. “I know I must forgive Father, and I’ll work on it. Understanding his actions will be hard, though. As a parent, I just can’t excuse his behavior.”
“Forgiveness is a decision, D
aughter, and is not based on our ability to excuse it. However, I will pray that one day you will see your father through eyes of compassion. Perhaps then you will be able to understand him too, but I see it will take the grace and help of the Almighty to accomplish it.” She held up her hand when I began to protest. “What is the popular phrase people in the world use? I guess we will have to ‘agree to disagree’?”
“Yes, that’s it,” I said, my displeasure at her statement dissipating at her use of such a “modern” phrase. “But wherever did you hear that?”
She chuckled. “I have a friend who goes to Washington and buys the newspaper once a month. She hides it from her husband and children, but the ladies and I look at it when we quilt. You will understand if I do not reveal her identity. We are . . . flying under the radar.”
Even though I was frustrated with my mother’s attempt to downplay my father’s abusive behavior, her revelation made me laugh. The idea of a group of old-fashioned Mennonite women giggling over a newspaper while they quilted was just too funny. The tension between us broke, and we spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening enjoying each other’s company and playing games with Charity. My mother had never seen a manufactured child’s game before, so explaining Candy Land to her was not only challenging but extremely comical. Charity and I giggled at her obvious confusion, but no one was more amused than Mother. Even funnier was Charity taking Mother by the hand and leading her to see the bathroom in the restaurant, accompanied by my daughter’s patient instruction as to what a proper potty should be.
By the time my mother left, she seemed much more relaxed, but I suspected she was still bothered about the blood on Father’s clothes. As was I. The coincidence was troubling, but I had no real reason to suspect anything else. I tried to put it out of my mind, but for some reason the thought seemed to sit in my psyche, refusing to be banished.
Charity went to bed early, worn out after our fun but busy afternoon. As I said good-bye to Mother, I checked the time. If I was going to call Clay, I’d have to do it soon. I went upstairs, plopped down on the couch, and thought about my choice. Clay and I hadn’t been together in years. Was it too late for us? Even if we could never be a couple, was it fair for me to keep him out of Charity’s life? Didn’t I owe my daughter the chance to get to know her father? I found the piece of paper with his number on it and hurried downstairs to the wall phone in the kitchen. As I dialed the number on the old rotary phone, I prayed I wasn’t making a mistake. When the phone rang, for some reason the sound made me jump. The front desk put me through to Clay’s room.
“Lizzie?” he said after I said his name. “It’s late. I was beginning to worry.”
“Listen, Clay,” I said. “I can only do this one day at a time. And I don’t want to tell Charity who you are until I’m sure this will work out. But if you could stay awhile . . .”
His warm, gentle laughter drifted through the phone. “I can stay. Until you tell me to go.”
“Okay, if you’re certain you really want to.”
“I am. I definitely am.” He cleared his throat. “When can I see you?”
I explained the situation with Cora and told him I would be really busy all day tomorrow. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be wiped out by tomorrow night. Would you mind waiting until Tuesday? You could come in around six. I’ll close early, make you dinner, and you can spend the evening with Charity and me.”
“That sounds perfect. I have some business to take care of, so I’ll spend tomorrow getting that done. See you Tuesday. And Lizzie?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome.” I hung up the phone, feeling cautiously positive about having Clay back in my life. For Charity’s sake. But I couldn’t help thinking about Noah. As I stood there, I chided myself for even allowing him into my thoughts. We had no future together. For now I just needed to concentrate on building my relationship with Clay. Perhaps I could finally give my daughter the one thing she needed most. A family. If that was ever going to happen, it would probably only happen with Clay.
I tried to feel happy about the possibility, but for some reason, there was an odd sadness stirring deep inside my heart.
CHAPTER / 18
I crawled out of bed early the next morning to start the scrambled eggs and mix up the pancake batter. Around five thirty I got Charity up and dressed, and then I brought her downstairs and set her up at her little table in the kitchen. She’d wanted to stay in bed, but until I was certain she could get herself dressed and ready in the morning, I couldn’t risk having her show up in her pajamas during the morning rush. She grumbled a bit, but I made her a couple of pancakes, put warm syrup and butter on them, and added a squirt of whipped cream right in the middle. That put a smile on her face, and her grumpiness evaporated.
A little before six, I went out to flip over the Open sign. Avery Menninger was already waiting outside, along with several others. I let them in and had just started to close the door when my mother pushed it open.
“Mother,” I said, surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might need some help with Charity this morning.”
I looked outside but didn’t see our buggy. “What’s going on? Where’s the buggy?”
She closed the door behind her and took off her heavy cape. “Your father forbade me to use it, so I walked.”
I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the back of the room. “Mother,” I said when we were far enough away so that the people in the restaurant couldn’t hear us, “it’s freezing outside. You shouldn’t have walked all the way here. I can’t believe Father allowed you to do this. What’s wrong with him?”
“I do not care anymore.” Her blue eyes flashed with emotion. “I have had all I can take, Lizzie. Last night your father issued an ultimatum. He plans for us to leave Kingdom and move farther into the country. Away from this town. Away from people in general. I told him I would do no such thing.” She put her hand on my cheek. “I will not leave you and Charity. I simply will not.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but she shushed me.
“We will talk about this later. Now you must concentrate on your customers. Tell me where my granddaughter is.”
I silently pointed toward the kitchen. Without saying another word, she walked away. I’d never seen her act like that, not in all the years I’d known her. I wanted to cheer her on, yet the idea of my parents separating weighed heavily on my heart. Looking back toward the dining room, I found Avery and the other customers staring at me. It was time to concentrate on the task at hand.
I began to put my plans into action, and by ten o’clock everything was running like clockwork, albeit a little slower than normal. Some of my time was spent explaining to everyone what had happened to Cora. It didn’t take long to see how much she meant to the people of Kingdom. Cora was more than the owner of the town’s only restaurant—she was a friend, confidante, and helper. I had to wonder if I could fill her shoes, not only in my handling of the restaurant, but in her personal touch with people. I was certain everyone would be relieved when she returned. Especially me.
Around ten thirty, during a short lull, I pulled Mother aside and told her about my call to Clay.
“So you are standing by your decision to stay in town for now?” she asked.
“For now. But if I get any idea that the sheriff can link me to the man in the red cap, I’ll cash Clay’s check and leave.”
“Will you let me know where you go?” she asked, her eyes searching my face.
“Not for a while, Mother. I can’t take the risk, and I won’t put you in a situation where you have to lie.”
She nodded and looked away. “It seems wrong to run away when you are innocent, Elizabeth Lynn,” she said. “But I understand being willing to do anything to keep your daughter in your life.” She went back into the kitchen to check on Charity. I’d seen the pain on her face, but I couldn’t make promises right
now, even though I wanted to.
Mother informed me that Callie Hoffman would be in after lunch. She’d promised to cover for Leah at the school in the morning, while she went to Washington for needed supplies. I welcomed the help, but I was actually happy to have the morning to myself. A little time on my own would show me just how I wanted to use Callie. Sure enough, by the time the lunch menu was being served, I’d decided I’d have her take over the same duties I’d been doing. Cora had it right. Cooking was a full-time job. Serving customers, except when we were behind, was impossible if I was going to keep up with all the orders and get food out as quickly as I wanted to.
Mother kept Charity occupied all morning. I thought she’d leave after lunch, but she stayed, seemingly unconcerned about my father. At one point, when I was running behind, she took plates out to the tables. I’m sure my customers were shocked at being served breakfast by the wife of Matthew Engel. But Mother took it in stride, as if she’d been doing it all her life. I was proud of her.
True to her word, Callie Hoffman came into the restaurant a little after one o’clock, looking much as she had when I left town. She was a small, delicate young woman with curly red hair and big, beautiful eyes. She had such a slight build I worried that she wouldn’t be strong enough to do the job. But she followed my instructions to the letter, and the customers seemed to like her very much. She wore a white prayer covering over her hair, and her dress was a lovely pink with small white flowers. I noticed that several of the women who came in on Monday had traded their black prayer coverings for white. And the black and dark blue dresses were in the minority for once. The meeting on Sunday seemed to be having an effect that Father would not appreciate.
I took a break at three and ate a late lunch while Callie checked on the few remaining customers. Everyone’s needs seemed to be met, and the atmosphere was relaxed and jovial. While sipping a well-deserved cup of coffee, I looked up when the front door opened and Noah walked in. I smiled at him as he strolled over to my table.
