Brush of Angel's Wings (41 page)

“You could have come back. You could have made a little effort.”

“Regrets pile up until you feel it's too late to go back and fix the things you broke.” He shrugged. “I guess I thought I had been too stupid too many times. I am . . . I've always been . . . ashamed.” He looked Jordan straight in the eyes, a profound sadness in them. “I don't know if you can, and I wouldn't blame you if you couldn't. But . . . could you . . .” His voice trembled. “Would you consider forgiving me?”

Jordan never expected to hear those words from his father. He didn't know what to do with them. He turned them over, like they did the ground before planting, the fresh soil ready to take something and make it grow. “Yes. I forgive you.”

Clint dropped his head into his open palms and cried.

Jordan waited, letting the feeling of newness flow through him. Forgiving his father released the heaviness of bitterness and resentment that he had clung to for far too long. His spirit felt lighter.

Clint took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, then blew his nose. He pulled some bills from his wallet and handed them to Jordan.

“What's this for?”

“You might need some money.”

Jordan looked down at the money, fanning the bills, stunned by the amount. He tried to formulate his thoughts as he stared at the hundred-dollar bills in his hand. “I'm not going to the casino. I'm going back to the room. I don't need—” He looked up. Clint was gone, easily disappearing in the crowd.

Jordan folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket. Thinking Clint had ducked into the men's room, Jordan entered the first one he could find. “Clint?”

No answer.

Jordan turned and nearly trampled an elderly man. “I'm sorry.” He hadn't heard him come in.

“Do you know where you're headed, son?”

“I apologize. I wasn't looking where I was going.”

The man's eyes flickered. The wrinkles around the corners of his mouth deepened as his smile widened.

Caught up in the man's unique eyes, Jordan barely noticed the man had thrust a pamphlet into his hand.

“Don't lose your way home, son,” he said.

Jordan glanced at the cover of the leaflet.
Roman's Road
. When he looked up to thank the man, he was gone. Jordan left the men's room and looked both ways down the hallway but didn't see the man. He passed pillars and statues of Roman gods on his way to the elevator. After pushing the seventh-floor button, he started reading.
“The wages of sin is death .
. .
”

Chapter Thirty

R
achel leaned over the kitchen sink to peer out the window at Timothy's shop. If she'd known the bishop planned a visit, she would've waited to prepare supper. The two of them hadn't come out of the workshop in over an hour. She suspected Timothy was asking for guidance to deal with his grief. Bishop Lapp had spent time visiting with
Mamm
and
Daed
a few nights ago. Initially Rachel thought his visit had something to do with the teacher's position. He wouldn't offer her the position if it placed a hardship on the family.

She moved away from the window, found a fork, and opened the oven to probe the corned beef. The meat had cooked too long. The mushy cabbage resembled sludge. Rachel hauled the roasting pan out of the stove and plunked it on top of a cooling rack. She had better make some biscuits; it might be the only food they ate. At least Timothy would have the option of eating a peanut butter sandwich.

Using a memorized recipe, she quickly gathered the ingredients and prepared the dough. She floured the table and rolled out a layer of dough.

“Rachel,” Timothy said.

She jumped and pressed her hand against her chest. Flour dust fell like snow.

“I'm sorry.”

“I didn't hear you.” She swept her dress, but her floured hands created more of a powdery mess on the forest green fabric.

“This is a bad time.” Timothy turned around, his shoulders sagging and his footsteps shuffing.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

He stopped. His shoulders lifted with a deep breath, then fell. His face paled and he broke eye contact with her to clear his throat.

Rachel rubbed her hands on her apron and opened the cupboard. “Let me get you a glass of water. You don't look
gut
.”

“Will you marry me?”

Her breath caught in her chest. The glass slipped through her grasp, hit the counter, and shattered on the floor. For a frozen instant, she stared at the shards of glass.

“I know this is . . . unexpected. Probably too soon.”

“I'll get the broom.” She backed away from the mess, grabbed the straw broom from the corner of the kitchen, and quickly swept the glass pieces into a pile. Extending the broom under the table and dragging it over the floor, she swept the slivered pieces that had strayed. Timothy hadn't moved.

His hand clasped the broom handle.

“You're standing in the glass,” she said.

He was close enough that she felt his warm breath on her cheek. He slid his hand down the broom handle, grazing hers. “I know it's abrupt to marry again so soon after—”

“Why?”

“Ella needs a mother,” he said, his voice as stiff as an iron rod. Timothy dropped his hand from hers and backed up a few steps. After Rachel didn't—couldn't—answer, he scratched his bearded jaw. “I don't know of another solution.”

Solution?
She inhaled so sharply her lungs hurt.
He thinks marriage is a solution?

“Ella responds to you. And—”

“Timothy,” she said harshly. His mouth opened and she interrupted him by raising her hand. “It hasn't even been two months since Sadie passed on,” she blurted.

“I know, Rachel. I count the days. The hours.” His voice broke and he stopped to clear his throat. “I constantly relive the sight of her prayer
kapp
dangling from the surgeon's hand.”

Rachel's eyes brimmed with tears. “It is hard. I think of her nearly every moment of every day too.”

Timothy's eyes closed. After a moment, he opened them and said, “Rachel, I will always love Sadie. But in time . . .” He cupped his hand on her shoulder. “I know Jordan broke your heart.”

She lowered her head. Shards of glass she'd missed sparkled in the afternoon sun beaming through the window.

“Here you are marrying age with
nay bu
. You don't attend the singings.” He tipped her chin upward and gazed into her eyes. “Instead of being two lonely people, we can learn to love each other.”

“I don't—”

“Before you say anything, look at Matthew and Leah Stolzfus. They are getting along
gut
.”

“
Jah
, but after their spouses died, neither one could run a household alone with so many offspring. Combined they had sixteen children.”

“They're now having one of their own. Matthew's Leah told
mei
Sadie
nett
long ago.”

“
Jah
, I heard.”

“Rachel, I will take care of you. You won't be alone and Ella will have a mother.”

This was too much to think about.

“We've been friends these years, ain't so?”

Rachel nodded.

“And I believe you respect me.”

Rachel nodded again. All those times she'd told God she wanted a husband like Timothy came back to her. All the ways he loved her sister. His kindness. His integrity.

“Bishop Lapp gave his permission. I had a
gut
talk with him.”

She recalled Naomi's excitement after she and William met together with the bishop. She couldn't visualize the same excitement for herself. As much as she loved Timothy and respected him . . . But he was right. A number of couples in the community began out of practicality, not out of love.

Rachel cleared her throat. “Did the bishop mention the
schul
?”

“That job is for a
maydel, nett
a
fraa
.”

This was so unexpected. She didn't know how to sort her thoughts. “I need to pray about such important matters . . . and talk with
Mamm
and
Daed
.” She had promised Sadie she would help with the baby, never thinking it might include becoming Ella's mother.

“Okay. How long? I'd like to tell Bishop Lapp.”

Why was he rushing this lifelong commitment? “This is all so sudden.”

“We've known each other forever.” He released a long sigh. “Besides, Sadie had mentioned multiple times how she wished you could find a husband. I know she would've approved of you raising Ella.”

“I need to sweep again before your
mamm
arrives.” Rachel grabbed the broom leaning against the counter and swept under the table.

She ran it through her head again. Timothy certainly was a fine man. Someone she greatly admired. A
gut
husband to Sadie. Someone she always upheld as the kind of husband she would want. Still, the idea seemed drastic, too soon after Sadie's passing. Besides, could she marry someone she didn't love? Who didn't love her?

Timothy cleared his throat. “So you will consider the proposal?”

“You were right about Jordan.
Mei
heart is still mending.

And there's bound to be talk.”

“Let the
blabbermauls
say what they wish. We have the bishop's blessing.”

“This is . . . unexpected.” She stopped, unable to say more.

“We can make this work. Do you believe that?”

“We could.” The question was, did they want to? She squatted next to the pile, dustpan in hand, and gathered the glass particles.

The door opened and Timothy's mother entered the kitchen. She glanced at her son, then at Rachel. “Everything okay?”

“
Jah
,” Rachel said. “I dropped a glass, is all.” She emptied the contents into the trash can. “Ella should wake up sometime in the next hour. I made corned beef.” She glanced at the pan. “It will need reheating.” She took a few steps to the door before she spun to face them. “Maybe you shouldn't eat the meat. Some glass might have dropped in it.” She crinkled her nose. “I'm sorry.”

“I'll put something together,” Anna said.

Timothy looked at her pointedly. Was he asking her permission to share the proposal news with his
mamm
? She wouldn't give that permission. There was no need to involve anyone. She had to pray first.

Rachel grasped the door handle to her house and paused to inhale deeply. On the ride home she had rehearsed what she would say to her parents about Timothy's proposal. Now, standing on the porch, she felt foolish. If she were in love, the words would spill easily. Instead a dread cloaked her. Timothy might not care what people thought, but she would. Certainly her parents would also have concerns.

She went inside, feeling jittery and uncertain.
Mamm
,
Aenti
Esther, and
Aenti
Leah chatted in the sitting room as they pinned quilt layers together.

Rachel peered over
Mamm's
shoulder. “Log cabin,
jah
?”

Mamm
looked up and smiled. “
Jah
, want to help?”

Rachel glanced at her
aentis
. “In a little while.” She scanned the room. “Where's
Daed
?”

Concern swept her mother's face. “Is something wrong?”

Jah
, but she couldn't discuss it in front of her
aentis
.

“I need to talk to him. Do you think he's in the barn?” She bolted before they trapped her with questions she did not want to answer. If her
aentis
hadn't been visiting, she would have preferred talking with
Mamm
. Although Timothy's proposal had an odd-sounding business tone about it, and
Daed
had a
gut
business head.

Rachel jogged to the barn and yanked the door open.
“Daed?”