Bygones Read online

  When she’d called yesterday, Henry had been eating lunch in the café, so Deborah had called him to the telephone. He had sounded dismayed when she’d said she and Beth would be coming the next day. She could still hear his startled, “But there’s no time for preparation.” That had been her intention—she hadn’t wanted him to feel obligated to get things ready for her. Then he’d asked, “Do you remember Lisbeth only has one bed in her house? Will it work for you and your daughter to share?”

  Marie’s hesitation before replying that it would be fine no doubt communicated her true feelings about having to bunk with Beth. He must have brought in the cot. And covered it with the bright heart-appliquéd quilt Marie had always loved. Did he remember her preference for bright colors when he’d fixed up the cot?

  Her chest felt tight, and she pushed that thought away. How silly to take a trip down Memory Lane. Yet she couldn’t deny being in Lisbeth’s house, being in Sommerfeld, was tugging her backward in time.

  She closed her eyes, her body tired, yet her mind refused to shut down. Outside, under the stars, the Bible verse from Psalms had slipped from her mouth so easily. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d quoted a scripture. Yet it had happened effortlessly, as if it had been lying dormant, waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

  When she’d first pulled into the yard and seen the light glowing from the kitchen window, her heart had leaped with hope that maybe—maybe—someone would be in the house waiting to greet her, to hug her, to welcome her back. But the locked door had let her know no one was around.

  The disappointment of that moment stabbed like a knife. Hadn’t Sally told her not to expect too much? Yet underneath, an ever-sohesitant glimmer of hope resided, only to be snatched away by a locked back door. No, no one had been waiting.

  Except God.

  Marie’s eyes popped open. What made her think that? “ ‘The heavens declare the glory of God.’ ” She whispered the words into the quiet room. A feeling of comfort followed. A feeling she little understood and was too tired to explore.

  “Well, if You’re around, God,” she muttered with a touch of belligerence, “You might let me get some sleep. It’s been a long day, and I’ve got my work cut out for me tomorrow with cleaning this house and carting in the stuff Beth and I brought.”

  How strange it felt to speak to God that way, the easy way Lisbeth had always spoken—out loud, without pretension. The way one would talk with a neighbor over the fence. Another constriction grabbed her chest, making her breath come in little spurts. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushed aside the emotions straining for release and willed herself to sleep.

  “Mom?”

  The soft voice brought Marie to full attention once more. A shadowy figure stood beside the bed, reminding Marie of the days when Beth was little and would wander in, awakened by a nightmare. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “I can’t sleep. I’m tired, but it’s so quiet here. It’s creeping me out.”

  Marie understood. She scooted over. “Climb in. We’ll share tonight, huh?”

  Beth slipped in and curled onto her side, facing her mother. “I heard you talking.”

  Marie’s heart caught. “Oh?” She chuckled softly. “I guess I was planning out loud. Lots to do tomorrow.”

  In the muted shadows cast by moonlight, Marie saw Beth nod. “Do you think I should go to the café tomorrow, or can it wait?”

  “It can wait if you want to. It’s never open on Mondays.”

  A long sigh came from Beth’s side of the bed. “I guess I should have asked questions before we came. But I was right—I wouldn’t have come if I’d had any idea. . . .”

  “You know, it really isn’t that bad,” Marie’s voice snapped out more tartly than she’d intended. Why was she so defensive? Sommerfeld was no longer her home. Based on the fact that no one was here to greet them, her family was no longer hers, either. So why tell Beth it wasn’t bad?

  More kindly, she added, “It’s only three months, honey. Think of it as. . .an adventure.” She smoothed Beth’s hair away from her face. “Who knows, maybe someday you’ll write a book about all this.”

  Beth laughed, pressing her fists beneath her chin. “Who would believe it?”

  “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

  Another laugh. “Oh, yeah.”

  Marie sighed. “Close your eyes, honey. Get some sleep.”

  Beth’s eyes slipped closed. They lay in silence for several minutes before Beth’s voice came again. “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for coming with me.”

  Marie smiled and gave Beth’s hair another stroke. “You’re welcome.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be doing this alone.”

  “Well, no worries. You’re not alone.”

  Although Beth finally drifted to sleep, Marie lay awake, gazing out the window at the starry sky, her words to her daughter echoing through her heart. “No worries. You’re not alone.”

  SEVEN

  Marie carried in a box of groceries and set it on the cluttered counter. Looking at the boxes already there, she realized she had been responsible for bringing in each one. Aggravation rose. Was Beth on her cell phone. . .again?

  Hands on hips, she bellowed, “Beth!”

  “In here.”

  Marie followed the voice and found her daughter in the dining room, lying under the table, flat on her back. Bending forward and propping her hands on her knees, she peered at her. “What in the world are you doing?”

  Beth’s ponytail lay across the floor in tangled disarray. “Checking out this table. It’s solid wood, Mom. I can’t even find any nails—just pegs. It’s amazing!”

  Marie squatted down between two chairs to peek at the underside of the table. “Do you see a brand anywhere—symbols burned into the wood?”

  Beth twisted her head, her gaze seeking. Her face lit up. “Yeah! Right there!” She pointed. “It looks like a K with an O at the bottom right-hand edge.” Looking at her mom, she wrinkled her brow. “What does that mean?”

  “It means your great-grandfather and great-great-uncle constructed it.” Marie straightened and got out of the way as Beth scrambled from her hideaway. “My mother was an Ortmann. Her father joined forces with my father’s uncle to open a furniture-making shop.” Marie headed through the kitchen, Beth on her heels. “I would imagine if you went door to door around here, you’d find quite a few pieces with that brand.”

  “When did they start their business?” Beth followed Marie outside to the trailer.

  Marie handed a box to her daughter and scowled thoughtfully. “Hmm. Grandpa Ortmann was born in 1907, I believe, and he started the business in his early twenties. . .so maybe the late 1920s?” It felt good to share a bit of family history with Beth. She picked up a box and turned toward the house.

  Beth plodded up the back porch stairs and through the utility porch door, which Marie had propped open. “Then that table would be more than seventy years old.” Beth’s tone turned calculating. “Definitely antique, and certainly unique. I need to do some exploring on the Internet to figure out its value.”

  Marie put her box on the kitchen table, staring at her daughter. “You’re planning to sell it?”

  Beth gawked over the top of the box she held. “Well, yeah. I mean, that’s why I’m here, remember? To claim all this stuff, sell it, and open my antique shop.” With a light laugh, she added, “Duh!”

  “Don’t get sassy.” Marie spun on her heel and headed outside again.

  Beth trotted up beside her. “What are you getting so huffy about?”

  Marie stopped and whirled on Beth. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Beth was right—what was she getting huffy about? The only reason they were here was to meet the condition of Aunt Lisbeth’s will, lay claim to everything, sell it for whatever Beth could gain, and get out. Why was she feeling territorial? She sighed and touched Beth’s cheek.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t sleep very well l
ast night, and I’m tired and cranky. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

  Beth’s smile returned. “That’s okay. I understand.” She moved to the end of the trailer, her ponytail swinging. “This afternoon, while I get my computer set up and figure out how to connect to the Internet, you can nap.” Then she spun around, her face set in a frown. “I just realized. . .no electricity and no phone line, so no way to connect.” She released a disgruntled uh. “This really stinks!”

  Marie put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. “There’s a phone line at the café and all the electricity you could need. We’ll rig it up over there, okay?”

  “Whew!” Beth brightened again. “Thank goodness the café is halfway modernized.” Grabbing a box, she moved toward the house. “Speaking of the café, I’m hungry. Can we find something to eat?”

  Marie followed Beth into the kitchen. “Let’s get some of this stuff put away so we have moving-around room, and we’ll have some cold cereal. We’ll have to do simple meals until I can remember how to operate Aunt Lisbeth’s stove.”

  The sound of a knock made both women spin toward the utility porch. Marie’s heart leaped into her throat. They’d come! Her family was here! She raced through the utility porch to the back door to find Henry Braun in the open doorway. Her hopes plummeted once more.

  “Henry.”

  He took off his hat and offered a smile, apparently unaffected by her flat greeting. “Good morning, Marie. I see you’re hard at work.”

  She took in his neat appearance—crisp twill trousers and dark blue shirt tucked in at the waist, clean-shaven chin, and hair combed smoothly into place. She ran a quivering hand over her tousled waves, aware of how disheveled she must look in faded jeans and an old sweatshirt. As heat filled her face, she decided it was good it wasn’t her father at the door—he’d surely disown her a second time if he saw her like this.

  A worried frown creased Henry’s forehead. “Are you all right?”

  Ducking her head, she released a rueful chuckle. “I’m fine. I just. . .” Shaking her head, she pushed aside the jumble of emotions her disappointment had inspired, met his gaze, and forced a smile. “Come on in. I can’t offer you coffee or anything. . . .”

  Henry remained in the doorway between the kitchen and utility porch. “That’s fine. I’ve had my breakfast.”

  “Well, we haven’t,” Beth said, transferring cans of vegetables from a box to an upper cabinet. “And we won’t be able to eat decently until Mom figures out the stove.”

  “It’s powered by propane.” Henry took a step into the room. “I’m sure there’s still some in the tank. Do you want me to get the stove started for you?”

  “That would be great. . .if we have something here to cook.” Marie looked at Beth. “Have we brought in the ice chest?”

  “I haven’t.”

  Henry turned and headed for the back door. “I’ll bring it in.”

  Marie hurried after him. “You don’t have to do that.”

  He didn’t look back as he tromped down the porch stairs. His broad shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. “It’s not a problem. I came by to see if you needed anything. Carrying in an ice chest is a simple thing to do.”

  Marie stood at the tail of the trailer while Henry ducked and stepped inside. He took hold of the ice chest and dragged it to the opening. Back outside, he stood upright and grinned at her. “That’s heavy. Did you put your refrigerator in there, too?”

  Marie slapped a hand to her face. “Refrigerator! Is Aunt Lisbeth’s still—”

  “In the basement,” Henry said. “And it operates on a generator, same as always.”

  “Beth will love that. She’s so fond of the basement.” Marie grabbed one end of the ice chest and Henry took the other. She grunted as they lifted it.

  They struggled up the stairs and into the house. Henry turned backward to get through the doorways. In the kitchen, his gaze bounced from the tabletop to the counter; both were scattered with boxes.

  “Let’s just set it on the floor,” Marie suggested.

  “Are you sure you don’t want it downstairs, by the refrigerator?”

  Marie lowered her end. “I’m not carrying that heavy thing down the basement stairs. And neither are you. I’d rather make several trips.”

  Henry released his end with a nod. “I can help you.”

  They both straightened, their gazes connecting. Marie felt a blush building again and wished she felt less self-conscious. She wouldn’t feel comfortable until he left. “That’s all right. I’m sure you have things to do.”

  She was right—Henry did have things to do. Albrecht’s tractor still didn’t sound quite right when he fired up the engine, and Henry’s fingers itched to fiddle with the carburetor until the engine purred. But, he reasoned, Mr. Albrecht could wait another day or so. Who else would help Marie?

  He had been so certain when he pulled into the yard he would find other vehicles here—family members come to assist in unloading the women’s things and getting them settled. Her parents and siblings knew she was back. He’d made sure he told all of them after she called on Saturday. So where were they? Indignation built in his chest at their standoffish behavior. Had J.D. Koeppler forgotten the parable of the prodigal son? Where was Marie’s hug of welcome, the fatted calf?

  “I have nothing more important than helping you right now,” he insisted, offering a smile to let her know he meant it.

  “Have him show you how to start the stove,” Beth inserted, “or I’m heading down the highway until I find a McDonald’s.”

  Henry kept his smile aimed at Marie. “I’m afraid it would be a lengthy drive. Salina and Newton are the closest towns with fast food, and they’d both seem pretty far away when you’re hungry.” He stepped around Marie, heading for the stove. “Did you try to light a burner?”

  “Yes.” She leaned against the doorframe. “I do remember how to start a propane stove. When it wouldn’t light I just assumed it was out of propane.”

  He nodded. “I turned it off at the valve. I didn’t want propane leaking into the house.” With a heave, he tugged the stove forward a few inches. The feet screeched against the linoleum floor, and Beth covered her ears. He sent her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” Reaching behind, he found the valve and gave a few twists. Then he pushed the stove back into place. “Hand me a match, please.”

  Beth removed a match from the tin matchbox holder hanging above the sink and gave it to him. He twisted the knob to start the front left burner. A hiss let him know gas crept through the lines. He struck the match, held it to the burner, and was rewarded by a circle of blue flame.

  “Hurray!” Beth clapped her hands. “Okay, Mom, I’ll have eggs over easy and toast.”

  Marie and Henry exchanged grins. Marie said, “Then Henry had better start the oven.”

  “Oven?” Beth pulled her brows low. “For eggs and toast?”

  Henry’s lips twitched with amusement as Marie explained.

  “For the toast. I’ll have to put the bread under the broiler—we can’t plug in a toaster, you know.”

  The girl’s eyes rolled upward in a manner Henry had witnessed from his nieces. He turned his back and opened the ice chest, pretending to hunt for an egg carton, before he let loose the chuckle that pressed at his chest.

  “Isn’t there some way to get electricity here?” Beth pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. “I saw power lines in town, so somebody has power.”

  “Many of our residents have electricity,” Henry said. “None of our Amish neighbors do, but nearly all of the Mennonites have chosen to use it.”

  Marie lifted Lisbeth’s iron skillet from the drawer in the bottom of the stove and set it on the burner. Moving to dig through one of the boxes, she glanced at him. “Well, then, how hard would it be to have an electrical line run to the house for this former Mennonite’s use?”

  The words “former Mennonite” pinched Henry’s heart. He was glad Lisbeth didn’t hear it—i
t offered proof that Marie had fully released her childhood faith. He watched Marie pour a scant amount of oil into the pan and spread it around with a metal spatula. “The line to the house would be simple. Wiring the whole house to receive the current would be the hard part.”

  Marie grimaced, her lips pooching into an adorable pout. “Of course. How foolish of me.” She broke eggs into the skillet and a cheerful sizzle sounded. “I’m sorry, honey, but we’re going to have to put up with things the way they are. It hardly seems worth the expense and effort to wire the whole house for three months.”

  Henry ducked his head at Marie’s blithe words.

  “But won’t we get a better price for the house if it’s wired for electricity?” the girl argued.

  Marie sent her daughter a frown. “That’s an expense we don’t need right now, Beth. Let the next owners worry about it.”

  Beth sighed. “Oh, all right. But don’t plan on me hanging around here much. I’ll spend my days at the café, where at least I can access the Internet and listen to a radio.” Another sigh released. “No television for three months. Torture!”

  Marie laughed, but Henry thought it sounded strained. He looked at Beth. “I’m sure you’ll stay busy enough with the café that you won’t miss television too much. But if you need entertainment—”

  “Oh, please!” Beth held up both palms as if warding off a blow. “Don’t tell me there’s cow-milking and corn-shucking contests!”

  Marie spun around, her face flaming. “Beth!”

  The girl’s wide, blue eyes blinked in innocence. “What? It was just a joke.”

  Turning back to the stove, Marie flipped the eggs, but her lips remained set in a grim line.