She’d insisted on marrying at nineteen.
They’d wanted her to live near them in Pennsylvania. She’d wanted to live with Wesley near his family in Florida.
And after Wesley’s death, she’d gone her own way again. Instead of succumbing to her parents’ demands and moving back to Intercourse to live with them, Amanda had chosen to live in the little house she and Wesley had bought with every last bit of their savings.
Now she was working hard to make the mortgage payments and take care of Regina. Her life was busy, with few moments for regret. Instead, she was surrounded by her daughter’s joy. And, if, in the middle of the night, when the chores were done and Regina was asleep, she felt lonely and depressed? Well, that was her concern. Not anyone else’s.
She had nothing in common with a man who had little to say for himself other than he worked on his family’s farm.
Opening the refrigerator, she pulled out the quart of strawberries she’d bought at the market, and bit into the plumpest, juiciest one she could find.
The sweet taste exploded in her mouth, and she savored the flavors.
And couldn’t help but contrast that zing with Roman’s curiously bland manner. She wondered why he’d even agreed to walk over with his cousin to say hello.
After shaking out her towel again and hanging it on a rail on the back porch, she poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, irritated now.
She’d lied to Roman on the beach. The truth was that Regina wouldn’t be up for another hour at the earliest. She just hadn’t been eager to sit next to him for another moment, waiting for him to tell her something about himself.
Especially since she’d told him about Wesley being gone.
So, essentially, Roman had ruined her morning routine, her very favorite part of the day while on vacation. It was really too bad that he was staying right next door.
She couldn’t very well go back outside without looking rude.
Looking around, she thought about making some jam with those strawberries. They had a refrigerator full of fruit. But that meant hours of working in the kitchen.
And that sounded like too much effort.
Amanda supposed she could read her book. Or practice on those Sudoku puzzles everyone else seemed to do with ease.
But those things didn’t really appeal to her, either.
The phone rang and startled her out of her stupor. She eagerly ran to pick it up before it woke Regina.
“Hello?”
“Amanda, it’s Marlene, dear. I was thinking of hopping on the bus and visiting Siesta Key today. Would you like me to bring you anything? Or have lunch together?”
Her mother-in-law was a wonderful-gut woman. But she was a talker. And a worrywart. And a bit controlling. Having her around today would not be relaxing.
Actually, Amanda had a feeling Marlene was worried about Regina. Marlene often watched Regina when Amanda worked at the bakery. She made no secret about how much she worried about Amanda’s withdrawn little girl.
It did no good to tell Marlene that Regina was still recovering from Wesley’s death. And that it didn’t always make Regina feel better to be surrounded by constant talk and memories of a father she only remembered living in a hospital bed.
When she’d finally accepted her in-laws’ invitation to use the condominium, Amanda had promised herself that she’d try to make this a carefree week. A happy one. She was looking forward to a few days of doing what she wanted, when she wanted to do it.
If Marlene stopped by, she would certainly comment on the unswept floors and unmade beds. The crayons strewn across the table and the sand toys in buckets by the back porch.
Worse, she would likely settle in and tell Regina a dozen stories about when her father went to the beach as a child . . . and how sad he’d been when he’d gotten too sick to see the ocean.
That wouldn’t do. That didn’t sound like the kind of vacation Amanda had in mind.
“Danke, Marlene, but I don’t need a thing.”
“You don’t? Oh.” She took a breath. “Well, how about I simply stop by for a chat? I’m worried that you’re sitting by yourself day after day.”
In the privacy of the kitchen, Amanda let herself smile. After all, she’d only been gone for two days. “I haven’t been sitting alone.”
“No?”
“Not at all. I’ve made friends with the family next door. Regina has, too. The Keims have a little girl named Lindy, and she’s almost exactly Gina’s age. They have become fast friends. We’ve got plans to get together with them later.”
“Oh.”
Amanda winced. That one sound held multiple meanings, for sure. Wesley’s mother loved her very much. But she also envisioned Amanda memorializing Wesley for the rest of her days.
“Thank you for checking on me, Marlene. I’m glad you called.”
“Me, too. Is Regina right there with you? Could you put her on? I’d like to say hello.”
“Gosh, I’m afraid she’s still asleep.”
“Still? It’s almost eight.”
“I know.” Purposely, Amanda left the conversation at that. No way did she want to try to explain their late nights to her mother-in-law.
“Oh,” she said again. “Well, then . . . I suppose I’ll call you later.”
“I’ll be talkin’ with you then. Goodbye, Marlene.”
After hanging up, Amanda stared at the empty spot on the beach where she’d been sitting. She wished she were still sitting outside. Then she wouldn’t have heard the phone ring or picked it up.
She could’ve still been sitting quietly, giving thanks for the day and enjoying the antics of the seagulls as they flew in circles over the water.
Now? She was feeling guilty about rejecting her mother-in-law’s invitation and about letting Regina stay up late and sleep in.
And she couldn’t stop thinking about Roman Keim. The first man to tangle up her thoughts in years. For the first time in a long time, she felt a fresh slice of pain. Almost as if she was suddenly living again.
It was as if one of those rays of light from the rising sun had struck her skin and were blazing inside her.
Waking her up.
Chapter Three
“Momma?” Regina called out from her room. “Momma? You here?”
“I’m right here, dear,” Amanda said with a wry smile as she walked to the hallway. “Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know,” her daughter said around a yawn as her bare feet padded along the white tile floor. Every few feet, she stopped and gathered up her stuffed dog in her arms. When she did that, her toes curled away from the cool surface, as if the cold tile was a little too chilly on her skin.
As she came closer, Amanda noticed Gina’s white nightgown was wrinkled, and it fluttered around her ankles. It was the perfect complement to the long brown hair falling in thick waves to her shoulder blades.
As she stopped and yawned yet again, Amanda felt her heart fill with love for her little girl.
Regina always looked like an angel to her, but of course, she wasn’t the quiet, peaceful sort.
Not at all!
Instead, Regina had a way about her that brought a smile to your face. Since Wesley’s death, she was just a little hesitant, a little apprehensive about new things. But once she felt secure, her smile could warm anyone’s heart.
Amanda didn’t know how she’d been so blessed to have such a sweet little girl. “Are you hungry, sweet pea?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What will it be this morning? Scrambled eggs and bacon?”
“Do we have Pop-Tarts?” Regina’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
They’d played this game before. “Pop-Tarts? Here?” she asked in mock surprise.
“We might have them.”
“Truly?”
Regina giggled. “Jah, Momma.”
“Well, if you say so, I suppose I’d best go check.” She made a great show of opening several cabinets and looking a
round in wonder, but of course, it was all in jest. In truth, strawberry Pop-Tarts were their little secret. On vacation, the two of them ate foods that were decidedly different from their usual healthy diet.
Instead of bowls of nutritious oatmeal or eggs and toast, they enjoyed box cereal with tigers and other cartoon characters on the cartons . . . and indulged in their shared love of the boxed pastries. Regina loved the strawberry ones. And Amanda? She didn’t even pretend to be healthy—her favorite were the brown sugar cinnamon ones.
Regina got on her tiptoes, trying her best to peek on the counter. “Mamm, do we have any today?”
Her daughter’s voice was so hopeful, Amanda couldn’t continue the ruse any longer. “Of course we do, dear.”
“Aeb-beah?”
“Jah. You may have strawberry and I’ll have cinnamon sugar. But you must drink your milk, too.”
“I will.” As Amanda was pouring milk into a sippy cup, Regina asked, “What about you?”
“What about me what?” This time, she really was confused.
“Are you going to drink healthy millich, too?”
“Nee.” She held up her mug. “I’m going to stick to my kaffi.”
“But Mommi says you don’t take care of yourself.”
Surprised, Amanda set the carton of milk down. “When did your grandmother say that?”
Eyes wide and innocent, Regina said, “Mommi says you don’t take care of yourself like you should. ’Cause you’re still missing Daed.”
“I’m taking care of myself.” Seeing the stress in her daughter’s eyes, Amanda felt a flash of annoyance. She didn’t appreciate Marlene causing Regina unnecessary worry. Regina had already had more than enough pain and worry in her short life. “Don’t worry about me, child. I am fine.”
“But—”
“I am perfectly fine, Regina. Please, don’t worry that I’m not,” she said with a bit more emphasis than she’d intended.
Just as Regina started to get that pout in her lip that signified she was going to argue, Amanda set the red plastic cup on the table and placed one strawberry Pop-Tart on a napkin beside it. “Now, what would you like to do today?”
“Go to the beach.”
That was the top of Regina’s list always. She loved the beach and hunting for crabs and building sand castles, and swimming, too. Never did she complain about sunscreen or getting salt or sand in her eyes. If she was outside at the beach, she was a happy girl.
“I think we can go to the beach,” Amanda said with a smile. “And maybe we can go for a walk and look for shells?”
Regina nodded, as if they were discussing extremely important matters. “And maybe get some ice cream, too?”
“Perhaps. Also, Lindy might have time to play. Would you like that, too?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Eat up, then.” Amanda smiled, but felt her insides churning with doubts all over again. As much as she loved spending time at the beach with her daughter, something about those few moments with Roman Keim had reminded her of what it was like to have a man by her side. To be more than just a mamm.
Yes, she was calm and relatively content. But she was beginning to feel as if she were only half alive. Suddenly, a lazy day at the beach didn’t sound as if it were the best day ever.
No, it sounded like another day to pass while she waited for something better to happen.
Was that true? Had she begun to confuse contentment with happiness . . . simply because both were far better than grieving for things that couldn’t be?
“Have you heard from Roman again, Marie? Has he called, by chance?” Lovina asked from across the room where she’d been hard at work at the treadle sewing machine for two hours.
They’d been working in almost complete silence, each lost in thought. At least, that was what Marie suspected. For herself, she kept thinking about Peter . . . and wondering how he was going to react to the latest bombshell about his parents.
Marie kept waiting for Lovina to bring up the matter again. But, like always, it seemed she was content to push their problems to one side . . . almost as if they weren’t happening.
“Have you heard anything?” Lovina asked again, her voice now tinged with impatience.
“Not a thing.” Looking up from the pattern she was tracing for Lorene’s wedding dress, she said hesitantly, “Perhaps Roman is trying to forget about us this week. If he stayed in constant touch, he’d hardly be taking a vacation from the goings-on around here.” She paused, half expecting Lovina to say something caustic.
But instead, her mother-in-law chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. We’ve had enough drama in this home for a lifetime. If I were a young man, I’d try to stay as far away as I could. At least things seem to be calming down here, I think.”
“Are they?” Marie asked. “Lovina, when are you planning to explain this news about Aaron’s first wife and son?”
Lovina clenched her hands on her lap. “I wasn’t planning to discuss it.”
“But we deserve to know more. I mean, if he lost his wife and child . . .”
“It’s not my place to discuss my husband’s past.”
“Since he doesn’t seem ready, I wish you would.”
The tension in the air thickened. Marie stared at her mother-in-law, tired of playing games.
“We need to have everything out in the open,” she whispered. “Only then can we begin to heal.”
“Perhaps,” Lovina said, but she didn’t sound too convinced.
For a moment, Marie was sure Lovina was going to talk. Was finally going to share her feelings and talk about their past. Chest tight with unspent emotion, Marie waited.
And waited.
Then watched as her mother-in-law shook out her fabric and cleared her throat. “Well, now. At least Viola is happy. That is a blessing, for sure.”
So that was going to be the way of it.
With a sigh, Marie relaxed her posture and played along. “It is a blessing, to be sure. I fear the postman is going to start coming to our house with body armor on. Viola practically tackles him when he delivers the mail.”
“She’s in lieb. She can’t be faulted for wanting to hear from Edward.”
There was such fondness and whimsy in her mother-in-law’s voice that Marie looked her way in surprise. “So, you don’t think I should be worrying about Viola marrying a missionary? Moving to Belize is a big step.”
“It is, but I’ve never known your daughter to do anything she doesn’t want to do. Or to take advice.” Carefully clipping some stray threads, Lovina held up the portion of the pink dress she’d just pieced together. “Elsie now has half a dress for Lorene’s wedding.”
Marie noticed how perfectly the sleeves were attached and again marveled at what a competent, skilled seamstress Lovina was. “Viola’s dress is already done, right?”
“It is. As is mine. I only have Elsie’s to finish, and yours.”
Thinking about her sister-in-law Lorene, her husband’s youngest sister, Marie said, “Lorene is as giddy as a schoolgirl, don’t you think? I’ve never known her to be so full of life. It’s fun to see.”
“It is gut to see. It is time she had some giddiness, I think.” Smoothing out the pink fabric in front of her, Lovina added, “I truly thought John Miller wasn’t the right man for her all those years ago. I thought interfering in her life was the right thing to do.”
“Maybe it was? Not everyone is ready for marriage at twenty.”
“I should have let her make that choice.” Lifting her chin, she gazed at Marie. “I regret my actions.”
“It wasn’t just your choice, Lovina. Aaron agreed, and both John and Lorene went along with your decision.” Smiling slightly, she said, “But could you ever imagine Viola giving in so easily?”
Her mother-in-law chuckled. “I can’t even imagine Viola eating carrots! She never was one to do something she didn’t want to.”
Marie smiled. “I had forgotten about that. When they were little, that was one of t
he ways Peter and I could tell them apart! Elsie always loved all vegetables. Viola? Not so much.”
“Those were the days, weren’t they? It was such a busy house, with those twin girls constantly causing mischief.”
Marie felt the same spark of nostalgia. “I thought I’d never get a moment’s rest when the girls were two and Roman was three. Oh, the three of them together were a handful.”
“Remember when Roman announced he wanted to live in the barn, because there were no little girls there? Aaron and I couldn’t stop laughing.” There was more than a touch of fondness in Lovina’s tone . . . and a bit wistfulness, too.
Which made Marie realize she was feeling the absence of another member of their family.
Marie hesitated, then decided to let the cat out of the bag. “I hope Peter will be able to attend Lorene’s wedding. They’re so close, it would be a shame if he missed it.”
“So . . . I don’t guess you’ve heard from him?”
“Only one phone call so far.” Her husband had warned her that his time in the alcohol rehabilitation center would be restrictive. But somehow, she’d thought they’d talk more often. She missed him so much. Before he’d left, they’d never been apart more than two nights, when he’d sometimes go with his father to a horse auction. They’d been together so long, she felt his absence acutely, as if she were missing one of her limbs. “I sure hope he calls soon. I wonder why he isn’t writing?”
“Are you worried about him, Marie?”
Once again, Lovina’s voice was so kind, it almost caught her off guard. Lovina had never been one for sympathy, or understanding people’s weaknesses. But ever since it came out that Lovina had grown up English, and that she’d kept it a secret all these years, there was a bit of humility in her that Marie didn’t know what to do with.
Little by little, Marie had lowered the defensive wall she’d erected for self-preservation. It was time to speak the truth—even if it made her vulnerable. “Of course I’m worried. I mean, I don’t want to think the worst, but hardly hearing from him for two weeks . . . my imagination takes control and I start worrying that he’s sick. Or that his drinking problem has gotten worse.”
The Days of Redemption Page 24
