A Wedding at the Orange Blossom Inn (21 page)

I
t was another picture-perfect day in Charm.

The sky was pale blue, quietly complementing the acres of vibrant green farmland as far as the eye could see. Spring lambs had arrived. They were frolicking in the fields, their eager bleats echoing through the valley. The morning air was not too chilly or too damp. Instead, a hint of warmth teased, bringing with it as much hope as the crocus buds that peeked through the dark dirt of the numerous clay pots decorating cleanly swept front porches.

It was the type of morning that encouraged a person to go out walking, to smile. The type of day that reminded one and all that God was present and did, indeed, bestow gifts.

In short, it was the type of day that used to give Darletta Kurtz hope. A day like this should have made her happy, revitalized her. It should have made her want to pull out a pencil and one of her many notebooks and record the images she saw and list activities she wanted to do.

It was the kind of day she used to love and maybe, just maybe, take for granted.

But now, as she rested her elbows on the worn wooden countertop that had no doubt supported generations of postal workers before her, Darla could only silently acknowledge that another day had come. It was sure to feel as endless as the one before it, and would no doubt be exactly like the rest of the week.

It was another day to get through. A way to pass ten hours of expected productivity before she could retreat to her bedroom and collapse on her bed. Only then would she feel any sense of peace. Because only then would she be able to wait for oblivion. She'd close her eyes, fall into a peaceful slumber, and, hopefully, forget her reality for eight hours.

It had been ninety-nine days since her father died. Tomorrow would bring the one hundredth. It was a benchmark she'd never intended to look forward to. Wearily, she wondered if anyone else in Charm was anticipating the milestone as well.

Undoubtedly some were.

After all, her father hadn't been the only man to die in the December fire at Kinsinger Lumber Mill. No, he was one of five. And though it wasn't as if she'd ever forget that fact, there were many in Charm who took care to remind her constantly.

Just then, Mary Troyer pushed open the door to the post office. Darla braced herself.

“You have a lot of nerve, Darletta Kurtz, getting a job here,” Mary said as she slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter. “It's bad enough that your family stayed in town. Most folks would have left in shame after what your father did. Yet, here you are, thriving.”

Each word hurt, as Mary no doubt intended for them to. Darla thought she would have been used to the verbal abuse by now, but it still felt as jarring as it had the first time. Mary's son Bryan had died in the same accident as Darla's father, and she took every opportunity to make sure everyone in town was aware of her pain.

Just as she had two days before, Darla did her best to keep her voice even and her expression impassive. “What is it you'll be needing today, Mary?”

Mary's cheeks puffed up before replying. “One book of stamps. The flags.”

Quickly she gave Mary the stamps and her change, taking care to set the money on the counter so their fingers wouldn't have to touch. “Here you go.” Then—though she would have rather said something, anything else—she added the words she'd heard her boss say dozens of times: “
Danke
for coming in.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “
That
is all you're gonna say?”

It was obvious that Mary was itching for a fight. But no way was Darla going to give it to her. She'd learned at least a couple of things in the ninety-nine days since the accident at the mill.

And even though she might be wishing Mary to perdition in her darkest moments, she knew it was always best to turn the other cheek. “There's nothing to say. Your mind is made up to be angry with me.”

“My ‘mind' has nothing to do with the facts. Everyone in Charm knows that your father caused the fire at the mill. That fire killed my Bryan, Clyde Fisher, Paul Beachy, and Stephen Kinsinger.”

Standing as straight as her five-foot-two-inch frame allowed her to do, Darla added quietly, “You forgot John Kurtz, Mary. My father died too, you know.”

“All of us are struggling with our losses. Struggling to make ends meet with our men gone. But here you are almost every morning, standing behind this counter with a smile on your face.”

Though Mary wasn't the first person to say such a thing to her—she wasn't even the
twenty-first
—Darla still didn't understand why she should bear the weight of her father's guilt.

Especially since it had been proven that it hadn't been just her father's negligence that had started the fire in the Dumpster. A variety of circumstances had taken place, which, when combined, had created a powerful explosion.

A rag, dampened by a flammable liquid, had been tossed into a Dumpster filled with wood scraps and hot metal that had been left heating over the course of the day. In no time at all, the rag had burst into flames, igniting the pine kindling. Before anyone was truly aware of the fire, the Dumpster had exploded, causing the nearby wood stacks in the back warehouse to catch fire, too. Though the emergency sprinklers had come on and the fire department and ambulances had been called, five people had died and scores of others had been injured.

Without a doubt, it had been the worst disaster to ever occur at Kinsinger Lumber Mill, and everyone who'd been there was marked by the terrible tragedy.

After the accident, fire marshals had investigated and declared that it had been caused by a series of unlikely events: a rare sunny day in December, hot metal in the Dumpster, and a pile of pine that someone had discarded instead of turning into wood shavings—all set ablaze by one rag.

But no one person was to blame.

Furthermore, when Stephen Kinsinger's son Lukas had taken over the mill, he'd publicly forgiven her father. However, the speech had done little to change the general feeling of anger and hurt that pervaded their village. It seemed that everyone needed a scapegoat. And her father had given them one.

Now, because John Kurtz was no longer walking God's earth, more than a couple of people had transferred their pain and anger onto Darla and the rest of her family.

And after ninety-nine days of it, Darla was pretty tired.

Which was why, even though her words would likely fall on deaf ears, she stood up a little straighter and glared. “I'm merely doing my job, Mary.”

Mary's blue eyes flashed with anger. “And what do you have to say about Aaron? He is still at the mill.”

Clenching her hands, Darla fought to remain calm. Her relationship with Aaron was both confusing and difficult. “I canna speak for my
bruder
,” she said quietly.

“Everyone says he is becoming a problem. Men have heard him fault the mill for your father's poor judgment.”

“Any problem Aaron might have at work is between him and his managers,” she said as the door opened and several more customers entered. “Now, do you need anything else?” she asked, anxious to get to work.

“I do not. You know I only came in here to give you a piece of my mind.”

“And you've done that, Mary,” one of the men who'd just entered called out.

Finally looking away from Mary, Darla saw Lukas Kinsinger. She knew him well. Very well. Until recently, they'd been close friends. Now? She wasn't quite sure what they were.

Mary turned to face him. “Lukas!” she exclaimed in a sickly sweet voice. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“That seems to be obvious. I've been here long enough to learn that you've been berating Darla yet again,” Lukas Kinsinger replied. “I must say that I'm shocked.”

Mary stepped toward Lukas, who was standing with his arms folded over his chest. “Shocked?”

“I knew Bryan well, Mary. He would have been mighty upset to hear his
mamm
speaking so viciously to a woman who has never done one thing against you.”

Darla blinked, suddenly feeling on the verge of tears. It was good that at least part of their friendship remained intact.

“Do not speak to me of my Bryan,” Mary said. “He knew I was proud of him. He was a perfect man.”

“Forgiveness is a virtue,” Lukas said. “You should try it. It's helped me with my grief.”

“I'll forgive when I feel that justice has been served,” Mary retorted. But when Lukas said nothing, merely stared at her coolly, she darted outside.

With Lukas's gaze now centered on her, Darla smiled.

She was about to speak when the front door opened again. Lukas stood against the wall patiently while she helped two customers who had been waiting behind Mary and the newcomer. When the room was at last empty but for the two of them, she walked around the counter.

“Lukas.”

“Hello, Darla.” His light blue-gray eyes remained serious though his lips curved into the slightest of smiles. “How are you today?”

“I am well,
danke
,” she lied. There was no way she was going to tell him just how difficult she was finding her life to be at the moment. He didn't need her burdens, especially since he, also, was mourning the loss of his father. That had to be mighty hard, given that he'd already lost his
mamm
years ago. “What are you doing here?”

“Rebecca told me you got this job here two weeks ago. I wanted to see how it was going.”

Well, that sure came out of the blue. Her new job wasn't worth him taking note of. At least, she didn't think it was. “I am learning a lot,” she said, trying to dwell on the positive. “It's a blessing, I think.”

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. The thick-soled work boots he wore made him tower above her more than he usually did. “It didn't sound like this job was a blessing when I walked in the door. Mary said some pretty harsh things. Does that happen a lot?”

“Does Mary come in to give me grief?
Jah
.”

“I'm sorry about that. I'll talk to her for you.”

He was now standing close enough to see that he had nicked his neck while shaving that morning.
“Danke,
but I'd rather you didn't, Lukas. Mary's anger with me isn't your problem.”

“I think it is. She's upset about the mill accident. Since I now run the mill, she'll listen to me.”

Darla had no doubt that Mary would listen to Lukas. But then where would that leave Darla? She would still be seen as weak and helpless and that wouldn't do. “Mary is upset and grieving. Sooner or later she'll let go of her anger.” Well, she hoped so.

Lukas tilted his head to one side, studying her. “What about you? Are you still grieving and upset?”

She didn't know how to answer that. They'd once been good friends—best friends. She should be able to converse with him easily. But ever since the accident, it felt like there was too much between them to ever speak easily again.

Lukas knew how close she'd been to her father. He'd meant the world to her. Surely, then, Lukas had to know how difficult life was now that her father's reputation was tainted. Couldn't he imagine how hard it was for her just to get through each day?

The accident that had killed both their fathers and three other men had created a chasm in their relationship that seemed impossible to bridge. Her brother Aaron was upset that pretty much everyone—even Lukas's brother Levi—considered their father the main cause of the accident.

Then, of course, there was the latest disaster: Darla's mother, after grieving and living in denial for weeks, had left their family almost two months ago. Now Darla and her six siblings hadn't just lost their father—they'd lost both parents.

But there was no way she was going to share her sob story in the middle of her workday.

“I'm doing about as well as can be expected,” she murmured, thinking of their preacher's last visit. He'd prayed with her and spoken of forgiveness. She hoped one day soon that his advice would ease her heart. Seeing as how no other customers had come in, she forced herself to continue their stilted conversation. Sooner or later things between them would ease . . . if they both tried their best. “And you, Lukas? How are you today?”

“Pretty
gut
this morning.”

“Truly? What happened?”

The smile that had been playing on his lips transformed into a full grin. “The lambs are out.”

“I heard them this morning. The Millers have a lively bunch this year.” She almost smiled back at him. Darla remembered how, even as a little boy, Lukas had loved the arrival of the spring lambs. Her
daed
used to ask him over just so Lukas could hold a newborn lamb from time to time.

One time he'd even spent the night at their house just so he could help her
daed
with the newborn lambs at daybreak. She'd been twelve to his thirteen and after seeing him dressed in only an old T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, she'd blushed for hours. Ack, but she'd had such a crush on him!