Bygones Read online

  Henry glanced between the two before completing his statement. “Once or twice a month, the young unmarried people of our community rent the skating rink in Newton and spend the evening there. Maybe you’d like to join them. You could get to know your cousins that way.”

  Beth opened her mouth. Marie shot a warning look in her direction. The girl closed her mouth for a moment, her eyes sparking, then gave Henry a sweet smile. “I’ll give that some thought.”

  “Butter the bread, Beth. The eggs are done.” Marie scooped eggs onto plates and put them on the table. “Henry, would you like me to fix you an egg, too?”

  “No, thanks.” Henry backed up to get out of Beth’s way as she bustled across the kitchen with a loaf of bread and a butter knife in her hand. He reached into the ice chest and pulled out the butter tub.

  “Thanks.” Beth took the butter and sat at the table.

  Henry remained near the doorway, waiting until Marie sat next to Beth. They didn’t pray before they picked up their forks. He cleared his throat. “Tell you what, while you eat, I’ll empty the rest of your trailer.”

  Marie half stood, holding her hand toward him. “You don’t need to do that.”

  He waved at her. “It’s not a problem. There doesn’t seem to be much left. Sit for a while. You’ve earned it.” He hurried out the door before she could offer another argument.

  Most of the boxes left in the trailer were labeled either MOM or BETH. Those with MOM, he stacked outside Lisbeth’s bedroom; those with Beth outside the sewing room. The few with no label he left on the utility porch. With each journey between trailer and house, his frustration with Marie’s family grew. Why hadn’t any of them shown up to help?

  Based on J.D.’s scowling response when he’d been informed his long-lost daughter was on her way, Henry wasn’t surprised that Marie’s father wasn’t here. But neither her brother, Art, nor her sister, Joanna, had responded negatively. In fact, he was sure Joanna’s eyes had lit with happy expectation. So where were they?

  He put the last box on the utility porch, then returned to the trailer to close it. After snapping the latch into place, he turned and found Marie standing a few feet away. The morning sun slanted across her face, highlighting her creamy complexion and bringing out the strands of gold in her tousled nutmeg curls. She looked tired.

  “Do you have to take the trailer back today?” he asked, to keep from asking something more personal.

  “Yes. By noon to avoid another day’s rent. But I only have to take it Newton, so I have time yet.”

  He nodded, then lowered his gaze. They stood silently for a few minutes. He shifted his foot, digging his toe into the dirt. Head still down, he said, “I can unpack some boxes for you if you’d like.”

  “No. No, you’ve done plenty.”

  He glanced at her. She met his gaze directly. A shy smile played on the edges of her lips. “Did you fix up that bed for Beth?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was very thoughtful. Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t so much. Just a cot and some bedding I found in Lisbeth’s linen closet.”

  “The quilt—”

  “—was on top of the stack,” he said, watching the toe of his boot make an indention in the dirt. “I hope it was all right.”

  A slight sigh sounded. He sensed disappointment, and he thought he understood the reason for it. She needed remembrances from someone. But it was better if they didn’t come from him. She needed her family.

  Backing up a step, he waved at his car. “I’d better get out of your way so you can get this trailer out of here.”

  “Thank you again, Henry. For everything.”

  He read gratitude in her fervent gaze. Swallowing, he nodded. “You’re welcome. Oh!” Digging in his pocket, he retrieved a key ring and held it out to her. “This is for the café. The key with a number one on it unlocks the front door, two unlocks the back door, and three is for the storage closet inside.”

  She took the ring and fingered each key in turn, seeming to examine the numbers etched into the metal. Eyes downcast, she said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Have a good day, Marie. And welcome home.”

  Her cheeks flooded with pink, and she ran her hand through her curls. He was sure he saw a glint of tears before she blinked and the shimmer disappeared. “Thanks. You have a good day, too.”

  She turned and headed back toward the porch, her shoulders slumped. Henry slid behind the steering wheel and shook his head. Before he went to his shop, he had another errand to run.

  EIGHT

  Beth looked up when her mom returned to the kitchen. Wordlessly, Mom dropped a silver key ring next to Beth’s plate, the keys sending out a subtle ting as they hit the table. Beth picked them up and turned in her chair to follow her mother’s progress to the sink, where she washed her hands.

  “What are these for?”

  “The café. Front door, back door, and storage closet.”

  Beth smirked, dangling the ring from one finger. “Oh. So they don’t keep the café’s keys under the doormat?”

  Mom offered a weak smile in response. Drying her hands on her pant legs, she faced Beth. “I’ve got to take the trailer to the rental place in Newton. I can drop you off at the café with your computer so you can get started trying to connect to the Internet. No guarantees you’ll find anyone who will provide service here, but I’d think at least one of the dial-up companies would be able to help you.”

  Beth rose slowly, holding out her hand to indicate the unpacked boxes. “Don’t you want me to stay here and get this mess cleaned up?”

  Mom shrugged. “We can do that this evening. I know you feel cut off from the outside world. Wouldn’t having Internet connection help?”

  Beth bounced across the floor and gave her mother a hug. “You’re the best, Mom! Thanks.”

  Mom returned the hug, then set Beth aside. “Yeah, well, you’ll be rethinking that this evening when I’m cracking the whip to get all this stuff put away.”

  Beth laughed and followed her down the hallway to the bathroom. Mom picked up her hairbrush from the edge of the oldfashioned porcelain sink and ran it through her locks, creating some semblance of order.

  “Seems kind of silly to get it all put away when we won’t be here that long,” said Beth.

  Mom sent a brief scowl in Beth’s direction. “I will not live out of boxes—not even for three months. While we’re here, we might as well make things as homey as possible.”

  Beth shrugged. “Whatever. Should I change before going to the café? Do you think anyone will be offended by my stunning attire?” She struck a pose in her long-sleeved T-shirt and trim-fitting blue jeans.

  Mom quirked her brow, her lips twitching. “I doubt anyone will stop in. It’s never been open on Mondays. Besides, you should do whatever feels comfortable.”

  Beth tugged at the hem of her shirt. “This is comfortable.”

  “Okay, then.” Mom moved past her to her bedroom and came out again, purse in hand. “Grab your laptop.”

  “And my boom box!”

  Mom shook her head, chuckling. “Let’s go.”

  An hour later Beth had put the café’s telephone to good use by arranging service with an Internet provider that was delighted to finally have someone from Sommerfeld as a customer. They guaranteed she’d be up and running by the middle of the week. Her cell phone was recharging, and her boom box provided background noise. Her telephone calls done, she puttered around the café, becoming acquainted with her new property.

  Everything was so plain. Walls painted white, with not even a wallpaper border or paneling to break the monotony. White square tiles bearing gray speckles covered the floor. The wide glass windows that stretched across the front of the café at least wore curtains—blue gingham café-style, with little gold plastic loops attaching them to the gold metal rods that divided the windows in half. She stepped onto the front walk to check out the front of the café in the sunlight, but
the curious looks from passersby sent her scuttling back inside.

  Perched on the edge of the black vinyl seat of one of the highbacked wood booths that lined both sides of the eating area, Beth kept her back to the window. Fifties-style tables and chairs filled the center of the room. Leaning forward, she skimmed her fingertips over the sheeny surface of one table, thinking of a diner back in Cheyenne that had similar tables. In that restaurant, with LPs and music-industry memorabilia decorating the walls, the tables had seemed retro. Here they just seemed out-of-date.

  “I suppose,” she mused aloud, “someone might consider these trendy. Maybe I should cull a few for my boutique.”

  The back screen door slammed.

  Beth jumped up. “Mom, I’m glad you’re back,” she said, charging toward the doorway that led to the kitchen. “Guess what? I got—”

  She came to a halt when she spotted a teenage girl in the kitchen. Her pulled-back hair covered with a little white cap and the yellow gingham dress that hung just below her knees marked her as Mennonite. Beth nearly giggled when she spotted the girl’s white athletic socks and leather sneakers. The footwear seemed out of place with the rest of the outfit. Of course, despite her shoes, she fit the whole town better than Beth ever would.

  Beth caught the hem of her shirt and pulled it over the waistband of her low-slung jeans. Meeting the girl’s gaze, she offered a self-conscious smile. “Hi. The café isn’t open.”

  The girl giggled, her brown eyes sparkling. “Oh, I know. I waited tables for Miss Koeppler before she died. And my mom and I have kept it going the last couple months. But I saw the lights on and figured someone must be in here, so I thought I’d come introduce myself. I’m Trina Muller.” She crinkled her nose. “Well, actually Katrina. But I’ve always preferred Trina. My grandpa calls me Katrinka.” The girl looked toward the radio as an inappropriate lyric blasted.

  Beth scuttled over and flicked the OFF button. “Sorry about that.” She grimaced.

  The girl shrugged. “You didn’t select the programming, did you? So don’t apologize.” She stepped closer to Beth, a warm smile lighting her face. “You must be Marie Koeppler’s daughter, but I don’t remember your name.”

  Beth slipped her fingertips into her jeans pockets and leaned against the counter, hunching her shoulders. “Mom named me Lisbeth after her aunt, but I’ve always gone by Beth.”

  “Ah.” The girl giggled again. She sure was a happy thing. “So you have a nickname, too.”

  “My boyfriend calls me Lissie,” Beth blurted out.

  Trina’s brown eyes nearly danced. “Did you know my uncle was your mom’s boyfriend before she left town?”

  This was intriguing. “Who’s your uncle?”

  “Henry Braun.”

  Beth’s jaw dropped. She straightened, her hands slipping from her pockets. “You mean the Henry who came to tell me about. . .?”

  Trina nodded. The little ribbons that dangled from her cap bounced with the movement. “He and Miss Koeppler—your greataunt Lisbeth—were very good friends. They both loved your mom a lot. Neither one ever seemed to get over her leaving with that truck driver and not coming back after he died.”

  That truck driver has a name, Beth’s thoughts defended. Jep Quinn. She folded her arms across her chest, her heart pounding. “She would have come back if it weren’t for my grandfather.”

  Trina lost a bit of her sparkle. “Oh, I know. My uncle Henry always hoped—”

  The screen door slammed again. A tall woman in Mennonite attire stepped across the threshold. Trina looked over her shoulder, and her face flamed pink. She linked her fingers together and pressed them to her ribcage, a smile quivering on her lips. “Hi, Mama.”

  “It’s like Grand Central Station around here,” Beth muttered. Hadn’t Mom said this place would be empty on Monday?

  The woman stormed in, her chin held high, her gaze pinned on Trina. Without so much as a glance in Beth’s direction, she let loose a tirade that made Beth’s ears burn. “Katrina Deborah Muller, you were to go directly to the grocer and home again. I can see from your empty hands that you never even made it to the grocer. What are you doing in here talking to. . .” She waved a hand in Beth’s direction, still without looking at her.

  Some deviltry made Beth reach out and shake that waving hand. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lisbeth Quinn, but you can call me Beth.”

  The woman jerked her hand free. A brief upthrust of her lips masqueraded as a smile. “I am Deborah Muller.” She spun back to her daughter. “To the grocer’s, Trina, and then home. We’ll discuss this more thoroughly later.”

  Trina scurried toward the door.

  “Good-bye, Katrinka,” Beth called. “It was very nice meeting you.” She emphasized the last word enough to give Trina’s grumpy mother a not-so-subtle message.

  Trina sent a quick, impish grin over her shoulder before slipping through the door.

  Her mother started to follow but then turned back. “Will you and your mother be handling the café starting tomorrow, or do you prefer to have some help?”

  Beth wanted to snap back that she and her mother would be just fine, thank you very much, but she managed to think before she spoke. “If you and Trina are willing to continue for a few more days—to give Mom and me time to settle in and learn the ropes—it would be very helpful.” She didn’t add a thank-you.

  Deborah Muller nodded brusquely. “Very well. The café opens at 6:00 a.m. I am always here by five. I’ll see you then.” She zipped out the door before Beth could reply.

  Five a.m.? Beth groaned. She stomped to the door and peeked out. The alley was empty. Good! Maybe that would be the last of the visitors. She smiled, remembering Trina’s grin. How old might the girl be—fifteen? Sixteen at most, probably. A little too young to become a friend, Beth decided, but good to talk to. . .if she would keep her comments about “that truck driver” to herself. And not mention Mom’s old boyfriend. Henry Braun and Mom. . . Beth closed her eyes for a moment, remembering Henry’s attentiveness and offers to help this morning. Mom had greeted him warmly and invited him in. . .which was more than Beth could remember her mother doing with any man in all of her growing-up years.

  A frightening thought straightened Beth’s spine. Surely Mom didn’t still harbor feelings for that Mennonite man. The idea left her vaguely unsettled, but she snorted and pushed the notion aside. Mom was here to help her, plain and simple. Beth puffed out a breath and shook her head. No sense getting worked up over nothing.

  The café seemed too quiet after the Mullers’ brief visit. She clicked the radio back on, turning up the volume loud enough so the dining room vibrated with the beat of the music. She grinned. That should keep anyone else from venturing in! Leaning on the counter that held the cash register, she plucked up a menu and examined the café’s offerings, humming with the music. When someone tapped her on the shoulder, she released a squawk and nearly threw the menu over her head.

  Mom’s laughter rang. “I wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on you if you didn’t have that noise cranked so loud.” She covered her ears with her hands. “Can you turn it down?”

  Beth zipped around the counter and slid the volume bar to the lowest level. “I’m so glad you’re back.” She gave her mother an impulsive hug. “It’s been lonely here, except for my intruders.” Briefly, she described her visits by Trina and Deborah. “That woman!” Beth huffed. “She acted like I had leprosy or something. I know we’ll need her help for a while—at least until we get the hang of things here—but I wanted to just drop-kick her out the back door.”

  Mom stretched her lips into a grimace. She sat on a stool next to a long, metal counter and sighed. “We’ll need to continue using Deborah, if she’ll stay. We won’t be able to run the café ourselves.”

  “Why not?” Beth slumped against the counter. It felt cold against her hip, and she shivered.

  “Honey, I can wait tables and order supplies. But I can’t do the cooking. I’ve never cooked in a r
estaurant before. And unless you want to learn how to do it. . .”

  “Oh, boy.” Beth heaved a huge sigh. “You mean I’m going to be with her every day?”

  Mom chuckled softly. “Deborah isn’t that bad. She’s just always been a little. . .bossy.”

  Beth raised one eyebrow and tipped her chin.

  Mom laughed. “Okay, a lot bossy, but we’ll need her expertise if you’re serious about keeping the café going. Or”—she lifted her shoulders—“we can close it and bide our time.”

  Beth sighed. “It’s tempting, but Mitch said a working café will bring in more cash. One that has sat closed will have to rebuild its customer base.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  Beth grinned. “Since when do you let me make such important decisions?”

  “Since you became the recipient of an extensive estate.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Beth grimaced, flipping her hands outward to indicate her surroundings. “Quite the estate.”

  Mom rose from the stool and turned a slow circle, her gaze wandering around the quiet kitchen. “Actually, honey, this is a precious gift. This was Aunt Lisbeth’s life. Essentially, she’s given you everything she valued.” Her tone turned wistful, her eyes misting. “It might not seem like much by the world’s standards, but to her. . .”

  Beth put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “It’s hard for you to be here, isn’t it?”

  Mom blinked rapidly and shook her head. “No. I have a lot of good memories from here. I spent nearly every day with Aunt Lisbeth from the time I left eighth grade until I married your dad. In fact”—she quirked a finger—“come with me.”

  Beth followed her mom to the dining room, to the table closest to the front door. Mom pressed both palms against the tabletop. “Right here is where your dad was sitting the first time I saw him.” She closed her eyes and arched her neck, smiling as she relived some important moment. “He caught my eye. . . .” Opening her eyes, she grinned at Beth. “Even though I knew better than to flirt, I was human enough to enjoy boy-watching. And your dad made boy-watching a pleasure.”