“You want me to sit by myself in that big haus while the two of us try to put together some terrible meals?”
Put that way, it did sound kind of ridiculous. “I can cook. Some.” Actually, he’d gotten pretty good at making rice and beans.
His father scowled. “I have no intention of eating your cooking.”
“I don’t cook that badly.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t compare to the food here.”
He didn’t know why his feelings were hurt, but the criticism did sting. “Hey, now, Daed—”
“Besides, this is my home now.” Patting the thick cushion of his chair, he cast Ed a self-satisfied smile. “It took me a bit to get settled in, but now that I am, I’m in no hurry to go anywhere. Surely you can understand that?”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
While he’d been gone, Ed had been thankful for the retirement home. He was glad his father had friends, and was in a place where so many eyes could watch out for him. But he’d never believed that his father would think of it as his living preference. “So, have you been to the house recently?”
“Nope. I haven’t been by there in months. I’ve been paying someone to look after it.”
That surprised him. What also surprised Ed was his own uneasiness about being back home and staying there by himself. He knew it would feel emptier than ever without his father there.
And he’d be forced to deal with all the memories of his mother, too.
“Daed, how about we go by there this afternoon? We could take a look around, pick up some groceries. Maybe even make soup and sandwiches like we used to.”
His father’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t think so. We’re going to have sundaes at four.”
Now he was getting irritated. Honestly, his father was acting as if he’d intruded upon his life! “I can take you out for ice cream.”
“It’s near on thirty degrees out, son. Why would I want to leave the comfort of the fireplace if I don’t have to?”
How many times had his father come in from the cold with red cheeks and a broad smile? Ed was flooded with memories of his father working outside for hours, no matter what the temperature.
Making him realize again that they’d both changed considerably while he’d been away. “I could make you a fire at home. . . .”
“Nee, Edward.” As if he noticed his dismay, his father softened his tone. “Listen, I am glad you’re here. I am. It’s a blessing to see you, and I give thanks to God that you are in such good health and spirits. If you’d like to stay here and have ice cream, that would make me happy. But I’m not leaving this building.”
There was only one right reply, but to his surprise, it came out a little sharp. “Ah. Well, all right.”
“Gut. Now go get yourself some kaffi, then you can sit with us and tell us all about your adventures in Nicaragua.”
Ed was perfectly happy to do that. Actually, the whole way home, he’d thought of nothing but telling his father all about the kids and the people, and the lush beauty of the area.
But now all he could seem to think about was Viola’s accusing gaze, his father’s unwillingness to leave the building, and the awful truth. He’d been so intent on coming home . . .
He’d forgotten that he didn’t have a home to go to at all. All it was anymore was an empty house with far too many memories inside.
“Aaron, it’s finally happened,” Lovina blurted the minute she walked into their cozy dawdi haus.
Her husband, who’d been in their small kitchen pouring himself a glass of milk, paused. “What happened?”
She steeled her shoulders and pretended that she wasn’t devastated. “Peter found out that I used to be English.”
“My goodness.” Carefully, he set down the glass and the carton of milk. “I suppose we should have known this day would come. You had better tell me what happened.”
Her mouth suddenly dry, Lovina swallowed hard. Her insides felt twisted, like she was holding pain at bay. After forty years, it seemed that their secret was about to completely disrupt the peaceful life they’d worked so hard to build.
She opened her mouth to tell him the story, then closed it just as quickly as she searched for the right way to tell him what had gone so wrong.
“Lovina, I know it ain’t easy, but it can’t be helped. How did Peter find out? What did you say or do?”
She looked away, hating the accusation in her husband’s voice, but having no defense against it. Aaron was right; all of this was her fault.
When they’d married, Aaron had wanted to burn most of her mementoes from the past. She’d hated the idea and they’d argued. Leaving everything she knew had been hard enough—disposing of her whole former way of life had seemed too much to handle.
So instead, she’d hidden a few of her things in the attic. She hadn’t looked inside for at least twenty years. Lately, she’d even forgotten that it was up there.
But she’d never told Aaron that she hadn’t followed his directive and burned the old photos. For all this time, he’d thought she’d been obedient.
“Peter and Elsie and I were up in the attic, cleaning out some things,” she began. “Uh . . . Peter found a trunk I thought was long gone. And next thing I knew, he was unwrapping my high school graduation picture.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand why that was even in the house. I told you to get rid of everything from your past.”
She noticed he only said “her” past. As if he had nothing to hide. Lashing out, she said, “I couldn’t burn it, Aaron. Not when it brings back so many memories.”
No matter what he thought, not everything about her past was forgettable.
His lips thinned. “We promised each other we’d never speak about that time. We promised, Lovina.”
She knew he was speaking harshly because he was afraid. She knew he didn’t want to remember his life before she stepped into it, and she knew he didn’t want to disappoint the children.
So with that in mind, she tried to keep her emotions in check. “I didn’t tell them anything about your life in Pennsylvania, Aaron. I didn’t say anything even when Peter asked.”
“Well, he’s going to ask questions, I’m sure of it. And he’s going to tell Marie, too,” he added, his voice becoming panicked. “Then, no doubt, he’ll tell Jacob and Sara and Aden and the rest of the kinner.”
“Our ‘children’ are all adults, Aaron. Why, even our grandchildren are all adults. The twins are twenty-two.” Remembering their other secrets, she sighed, “Aaron, maybe it’s time to let them know about everything.”
“Definitely not.”
“But—”
“Lovina, there is no reason for that.”
“There is every reason.” Hesitantly, she grabbed his hands. “Maybe God wants us to start being honest with the family. Maybe that’s why He had Peter open that trunk.”
“Don’t go bringing our Lord into this mess you’ve created. He didn’t bring about this; you did, Lovina. For some reason, you decided to ruin our life, to threaten everything we’ve tried to create.” He shook his head as his hands clenched. “I know something is going to become of this. Peter isn’t going to let that photograph slip. He’s going to ask and ask and ask until neither of us knows what to do or say about it.”
“That’s why I think we should simply tell the truth.”
“Nee.”
“What we did wasn’t awful, Aaron.”
He stared at her, before saying quietly, “You’re right. What we did wasn’t so bad. But it is all over now, and there’s no way we’re ever going to be able to explain it to the kids.”
“They’re all adults—”
“It doesn’t matter how old they are, Lovina. They’ll always be our kids, and children, no matter what their age, want to believe that their parents are people to be proud of.”
“They might still feel that way.”
He shook his head. “I doubt that.”
She stood frozen as he turned and stormed out the door, into the cold, without more than his cotton shirt on. Through the window, she watched him cross the yard, bypassing the barn and keep walking. Back to the spot toward the edge of their land where they’d planted two trees. Two trees to represent his previous family.
Back in Lancaster County, he’d been married to someone else. He’d become a widower when his wife’s buggy had slid off the road in a rainstorm and crashed into an oncoming truck. Looking at the calendar on the wall, she winced.
Forty-two years ago this month, he’d buried his first wife and child. Less than a year later, they’d begun dating. She’d left her old life and adopted his. And as time passed, they both agreed that no good would come from discussing his earlier marriage—it was too painful. And to prevent anyone asking questions, they decided to avoid her past as well.
So they’d compromised and had tried to pretend that neither of them had lived far different lives before their wedding day. Only in the middle of the night when she lay beside him in the dark did she think about being English, and her family, and all the things that she’d used to do. Think about the person she used to be.
And only when Aaron was terribly distraught did he take a walk to the trees he’d planted in their memory.
In forty-two years, he’d never asked her to go with him.
Worse, she’d never offered.
chapter three
Daybreak Retirement Home was four miles away from the Keims’ property. Though she often walked, enjoying the time to collect her thoughts before work, and to process what had happened on her way home, in the dead of winter, she sometimes used the services of a driver to get home. The good thing about that was that she got home quickly.
The bad thing was that the short commute gave her no time to push all her work thoughts to the side. She was still thinking about Mr. Swartz and his son’s sudden appearance when she walked in the back door. Eager to discuss the day’s events with Elsie, she was surprised to discover that no one was around.
Viola felt an uneasy sensation on the back of her neck when she entered her home’s oversize kitchen. Usually, her mother would be busily working on supper, and her grandmother would be sitting at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes or sipping hot tea. More often than not, Elsie would be there as well, her silhouette in front of the sink a calming presence.
But instead of bright, bustling, and happy chatter, all was oddly quiet.
“Hello?” she called out.
When only silence greeted her, she became more concerned. Slipping off her cloak, Viola looked around, then headed upstairs. She vaguely recalled Elsie saying that she and their father were going to help clean the attic today. Perhaps that’s where they all were? It was late for such a chore, but stranger things had happened.
It was just as quiet and unnaturally still upstairs. Usually, her father would be showering after a long day in the fields, Roman would have one of his many friends over, and most of the doors would be open.
Not today.
Her parents’ bedroom door was closed. As was Roman’s. Viola paused by each, then kept walking to her bedroom. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was going on.
Warily, she turned her door’s handle. As she’d half expected, the room was dark, cool, and still.
Then she spied Elsie curled on the window seat, her plum-colored dress mixing in with the cheery flower pattern of the window seat’s cushion.
“Elsie, what are you doing up here in the dark?”
Her twin spun with a look of relief. “Ah, Viola! Finally, you’re home. Thank the Lord.”
Viola rushed forward. As always, she worried about her sister. Elsie’s failing eyesight meant she often had small accidents. Viola suspected her sister’s eyesight was far worse than she let on. “What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you okay?”
Elsie waved her hand in annoyance. “I am perfectly fine. But close the door; I’ve got a story to tell you.”
Though she usually would have grumbled about being told what to do, Viola was too curious. She turned and closed the door. Then, without even taking the time to remove her thick-soled black boots, she sat right down on the closest twin bed. “Start talking.”
Elsie twisted to face her. The shade behind her edged up a bit, bringing in a little sunlight, illuminating the worry etched in her features. “So, Daed, Mommi, and I were up in the attic today.”
“I know. . . .”
“It was a terrible mess up there.” Elsie shook her head. “I was rather surprised about that, for sure.”
Viola’s impatience started to get the best of her. With effort she curled her fingers into fists and tried to stay silent. Elsie had only one way to tell a story . . . in the most roundabout way possible.
After a sigh, Elsie continued. “Well, we started going through old boxes, then next thing you know, Daed pulled out a really old trunk and Mommi got upset. She started fidgeting and saying she wanted us to stop sorting through her things.”
“And?” Viola blurted.
After giving her a disapproving glare, Elsie said, “And Daed ignored her, of course. He pulled out all sorts of things that used to be our grandmother’s. Then, finally, he pulled out a framed photograph.”
“A picture? Of who?”
“Of Grandma.” Elsie warily eyed the closed door like it was going to be thrown open any second. “It was of a woman—a girl really—in a high school cap and gown. It was a photo of Mommi at her high school graduation!”
Caught in mid-nod, Viola paused. “Wait a minute. . . . What?”
“Viola, I’m trying to tell ya that Mommi used to be English.”
If Elsie had said that their not-so-agile grandmother had suddenly started doing jumping jacks in the small, cramped attic, she couldn’t have been more surprised. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Believe me, I know!” Looking as if she was still stunned, Elsie shook her head.
“Well, what did Mommi say?”
“Mommi got so mad at Daed when he questioned her about the photo that she looked like she might cry.”
Their grandmother did not cry.
“Then, when Daed wouldn’t back down, she got up and marched downstairs. She didn’t even wait for Daed to help her with the steep steps.”
Viola was floored. Like everyone else in the family, she’d held her grandmother up as the ultimate example of a godly Amish woman. Everything about her grandmother was perfect. Except for her terrible habit of constantly putting the rest of them down, that is.
“Poor Daed.”
“I know,” Elsie whispered, eyeing the door yet again. “He looked so confused. Irritated, too.”
“No telling what the rest of the family is going to say.”
“Do you really think he’d tell everyone?”
“Are you kidding? I would!” She wouldn’t waste a minute, either. Their grandmother had reigned her superiority over them for their entire lives. “What did Mamm say?”
“I don’t think she’s home yet. She left this morning to go shopping with Aunt Lorene in Berlin.” Elsie hopped off her perch and joined Viola on the bed, sitting so close that the skirts of their bright dresses mixed together, Elsie’s plum dress complementing Viola’s dark purple one.
Grabbing Viola’s hand, Elsie whispered, “This changes everything, V.”
“Indeed, it does.” Unbidden, Viola thought about her own attitude with Ed Swartz. To her shame, she realized she’d been displaying more than a little bit of her grandmother’s holier-than-thou tendencies.
Flopping backward down on the bed, she grimaced. She hated saying she was sorry, but worse than that, she hated feeling like she owed someone an apology. Well, she’d just have to find a way to tell Ed she was sorry the next time they saw each other.
But now wasn’t the time to think about Ed. She couldn’t imagine what dinner would be like tonight. Who knew when the tension from this would blow over. . . .
Then she remembered.
With a groan, she sat straight up again. “Oh, Elsie, we’re hosting church next Sunday!”
“I know.” Smiling a little, she said, “The next two weeks are going to be terrible.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Because ever since I can remember, everyone’s treated me like I was the sole imperfect Keim. The damaged one.”
“That’s not true. You’re not damaged.”
One of Elsie’s brows lifted. “True or not, damaged was how I felt. But now . . . it seems that I’m not the only one with a flaw. I just might be the only one who is used to admitting it.”
Yes, they did all indeed have flaws, Viola realized. Some that were far worse than a vision problem.
Some much, much worse.
The key slid into the lock easily. But the brass doorknob stuck when he turned it to the right. As always. Remembering to push the knob in slightly, he jiggled it a little harder. Finally, the lock gave way. The hinges squeaked in protest when he opened the door. As a wave of musty air sprang out to greet him, Ed peeked inside.
He was home again.
His feet felt glued to the faded and frayed welcome mat. Who would have thought it would be so hard to go inside?
Glad no one was around to see him hesitate, Ed took a deep breath, clipped the screen door open, then stepped forward. The entryway looked as dark and felt as eerily cold as a cave.
But of course it would be. No one had lived there in almost two years.
Before he knew it, he had stopped on the edge of the area rug, ready to pull off his heavy boots. Just as his mother had always insisted upon.
But his boots weren’t muddy, it wouldn’t make much of a difference in the dusty spaces, and, of course . . . his mother was long gone. She wouldn’t be there to make sure he obeyed her dozen or so “household commandments.” Funny how she’d ruled the three of them with an iron will, hidden carefully inside warm hugs, beaming smiles, and a laugh that could light up a room.
A lump formed in his throat, as the pain of his loss hit him all over again. It had been three years now, but here, standing inside the house, looking around at the entryway, the room she used to take such special care of, the pain was so intense he had trouble breathing.
The Days of Redemption Page 3
