Bygones (12 page)

H
enry waited for J.D. Koeppler to move fully into the room, to return Beth’s greeting. But the man stood as if rooted to the tile floor, glaring at his daughter.

Marie stood slowly, her palms on the tabletop as though she needed its support. She licked her lips and blinked several times. “H–hello. . . Dad.” Her glance flitted toward her daughter, then returned to J.D. “I’d like you to meet your granddaughter, Beth.”

J.D. gave a single nod, his face impassive. Henry considered grabbing the man’s shirtfront and propelling him across the floor with a command to say something. But J.D. was known for his stubbornness—any pushing would only make him resist more. The tension in the room increased with every second that ticked by, and a silent prayer filled his heart.
Please, Lord, let someone speak. Let someone reach out
.

But the prayer went unheeded. Instead, it appeared that everyone had turned to stone, resembling a tableau—
Family at Impasse
. Beth stood with her head at an arrogant angle, her narrowed gaze aimed somewhere to the left. Marie seemed to hold her breath, her wideeyed gaze on her father’s face. And J.D. stared back, his carriage stiff.

Beth shifted, an odd grin creasing her face. She approached the doorway, swaying her blue-jean-covered hips in a way that emanated defiance, and held out her hand. “How nice to finally meet you. It’s been. . .what? Twenty-one years? Yes, that seems to be about right, give or take a month or two. I believe I was all of two weeks old when you saw me last.” She released a brittle laugh. “Of course, I have no memory of that, and since you’ve made no effort to be a part of my life, well. . .” She raised her shoulders in a shrug that lifted the hem of her shirt, showing her belly button and a tiny silver ring.

Marie jerked to life as J.D.’s frown deepened. She rushed forward a few feet, her hands clasped at her waist. “Beth, please. . .” Her whisper carried over the sounds coming from the radio in the kitchen.

Beth swung her gaze in her mother’s direction and held her hands out. “Did I say something untrue? This
is
the man who refused to help you raise me after my dad died, isn’t he?”

J.D. finally took a step forward, his eyes blazing beneath his bushy, gray brows. “If I had helped raise you, you would have more respect for your elders.” Wheeling on Marie, he gestured to Beth with one hand. “Haven’t you given your daughter any training?”

Marie opened her mouth, but Beth jumped in. “My mother has given me plenty of training. She’s taught me to always do my best at whatever I do, to be truthful at all times, and to treat others the way I want to be treated.” The girl crossed her arms and tipped her chin up, sending a saucy look in J.D.’s direction. “Seems to me you forgot that third one when Mom came to you needing help twenty years ago.”

Marie put her hand on Beth’s arm. “Honey, this isn’t the time—”

Beth pulled away. “Then when is the time, Mom? Look at him!” Beth pointed to J.D., her finger mere inches beneath the man’s firmly clamped jaw. “Look at his face. He doesn’t want us any more now than he did then.”

Henry glanced at grandfather, daughter, and granddaughter. Three different emotions displayed on three faces. Stoicism on the eldest’s, resentful anger on the youngest’s, and what could only be defined as deep hurt on that of the one caught in the middle.

Marie’s throat convulsed as if she fought tears, and Beth snorted. Crossing her arms again, she glared at her grandfather. “Well, don’t worry,
Grandfather
. We’re not here to stay, so you won’t have to put up with our unwanted presence for long. As soon as our time is up and I’ve got the money from the sale of the house and this café in my pocket, we’ll be out of your life. And I guarantee we’ll never bother to darken your doorstep again.”

The girl charged for the doorway, forcing J.D. to move aside or be run down. She paused at the back counter just long enough to snatch a little silver telephone from its cord, then stormed to the back door. There, she spun briefly to send one more glare in J.D.’s direction. “I’m going back to my house to put a big
X
on the calendar.” Her lips twisted into a snide leer. “One day down. Eighty-nine to go.” Then she slammed out the door.

Marie started after her. “I’d better show her the way back.”

Henry caught her arm. “It’s a small town. She’ll find it. And it will do her good to walk off some of that anger.”

Tears welled in Marie’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “You don’t understand. That isn’t anger. I know it seems like it, but underneath it’s. . .” She looked at J.D. Recrimination flashed in her eyes. “It’s a lifelong hurt. From being rejected.”

J.D. raised his chin. His eyes narrowed into slits. “
You
rejected
us
.”

Marie’s jaw dropped. “What? Dad, I didn’t reject you.”

“You chose that truck driver over your family!”

“I fell in love!”

J.D. reared back at the volume of her statement. Henry’s heart launched into his throat.

Marie took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was under control. “I fell in love with Jep. I wanted to spend my life with him.”

Henry shifted backward, a feeble attempt to separate himself from Marie’s earnest words.

“I didn’t leave with him to get away from you. I just. . .left.”

In an instant, a scene from the day of Marie’s departure flashed through Henry’s mind. A rumbling semi, a man waiting behind the wheel, and Marie beside the open door, confusion on her face.

“Yes, you left. You left your family, your home, and your faith.” J.D.’s growling accusation dispelled the memory.

Marie shook her head. A tear slid down her cheek, and she dashed it away with a swipe of her hand. “I didn’t. Not at first. I went to a meetinghouse; I honored my beliefs. Yes, I lived somewhere other than Sommerfeld—I was with my husband. But you know all that because I wrote to you. I tried to include you in my life. I didn’t
leave
anything until you made me.” Sadness underscored her weary tone. “Not until after Jep died and Beth was born and I asked for your help. And you refused to give it. You gave me no choice but to leave, Dad.”

“And this is what you choose?” J.D. flicked the short curls over Marie’s right ear with work-worn fingers, a contemptuous sneer on his face. “Shorn hair and an uncovered head? Clothing that—”

Henry held up both hands, unable to stay silent a moment longer. “Stop this! What are you accomplishing here?”

J.D. pointed at Henry. “You brought me here. You said I should go see my daughter. Well. . .” His gaze swept from Marie’s head to her feet and back again. “I’ve seen. I come here, out of the goodness of my heart, and all I receive is disrespectful backtalk and blame for her foolish choices.” He shook his head, releasing a snort that sounded very much like the one Beth had made. “This is not the
girl I raised. This is a woman of the world—a woman who intends to return to the world. And I have no reason to stay here.”

He spun on his heel and thumped to the back door. He slammed through without a backward glance.

Henry looked at Marie. He expected tears, but none came. Her face was white, her blue eyes wide, her chin quivering. But she held her emotions inside. His heart ached for her. “Marie, I’m sorry.”

She moved woodenly to the noisy box on the counter. She clicked something, and the raucous tune halted midscreech, abandoning them to an uncomfortable silence. Her shoulders slumped. For long seconds she remained beside the counter, head down. He stayed in his spot beside the dining room door, uncertain what to do.

With her back still to him, she finally spoke. “You have no need to apologize, Henry. You meant well, bringing him here. And I admit, when I saw him, I hoped. . .” She sighed, lifting her head as if examining the ceiling. Her nutmeg curls graced her tense shoulders. Turning slowly, she met his gaze. All sadness was erased from her expression. She simply looked resigned.

“I’d better go check on Beth. Thank you for. . .” She swallowed, giving a shake of her head. “Thank you.” Moving toward the door, she said, “Would you lock up when you leave?” She didn’t wait for his answer but slipped out the door. In a moment he heard her car’s engine fire up and then the rumble of tires on gravel as she pulled away.

Henry remained in the middle of the silent café, hands in pockets, heart aching. “Lisbeth, it isn’t working.”

Marie found Beth at Lisbeth’s house. As Henry had predicted, she’d found her way just fine. But judging from the way she was slamming clothes onto hangers and smacking them into the closet, the walk
had done nothing to drive out her hurt and anger.

Marie understood Beth’s pain. Her chest felt laid open, her heart lacerated and bleeding. She leaned against the doorframe of Lisbeth’s sewing room and crossed her arms. “Hey.”

Beth barely glanced at her mother. Her lips were pressed in a tight line. She whammed another hanger onto the wooden rod. “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have spoken to him like I did, because I won’t apologize.”

“You’re an adult, not a child. You can decide when you believe you owe someone an apology.”

“If anyone owes anyone an apology,
he
owes
us
one. Standing there looking at us as if we were scum.” She rolled a T-shirt into a wad and slam-dunked it in a dresser drawer. “Couldn’t even say hello after two decades of ignoring us. Who does he think he is anyway, some sort of god?”

Beth paused, hand raised to place another hanger in the closet, and released a huge sigh. Plunking the hanger into place, she turned to face her mother. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “Why does he hate me so much? What did I do to him?”

“Oh, honey.” Marie rushed forward, her arms outstretched. But Beth eluded her, sidestepping to reach into a box and pull out a sweater. Marie folded her arms across her middle, giving herself the hug she longed to give her daughter. “He doesn’t hate you, Beth. How could he? He doesn’t even know you.”

“And he doesn’t want to.” The harsh undertone returned. She held the sweater at arm’s length, frowning at it. “At least I have a few memories of Grandpa Quinn. Of course, after Grandma died and he moved to Florida, we didn’t see much of him. But he was around for a while anyway. It’s not like he
disowned
me.”

Beth’s flippant tone spoke clearly of the hurt she tried so valiantly to conceal with a facade of anger. Marie battled tears as she listened
to her daughter share her thoughts.

“But your father. . .and the people in this town. . . That’s a different story.” Beth popped the sweater onto a hanger but then just stood, holding it two-handed against her ribs. She sucked in her lips, her brow creased. Suddenly she whirled to face Marie. “It’s because Dad wasn’t Mennonite, isn’t it? I’m like a. . .a half-breed to them.”

Marie sank onto the cot, causing it to squeak with her weight. She ran her finger around the edge of the neatly appliquéd heart nearest her hip. In her mind’s eye, she saw Aunt Lisbeth’s veined hand guiding the needle through layers of cloth. A smile tugged at her lips. And then another hand flashed in her memory: her father’s hand reaching for her head to flick her curls. She flinched, pushing aside the thought.

“There’s so much. . .history. . .behind my father’s feelings, Beth. I’m not sure I can explain it in a way that will make any sense.”

Beth put the hanger in the closet, then sat on the floor crosslegged. Folding her hands in her lap, she turned her hardened gaze on her mother and barked a one-word command. “Try.”

Marie pursed her lips, organizing her thoughts. “I suppose the simplest explanation is this. Outsiders bring in new ideas that don’t match the teachings of the church. The church’s doctrine is very important. We are to be separate from the world—peculiar, even. When others look at us, we want them to see an outward difference that leads them to the heart, where Jesus resides.”

“I don’t like it when you say ‘us,’ like you’re a part of them, too.” Marie’s heart turned over at her daughter’s belligerent tone. “I say ‘us’ because it’s my heritage. Yours, too, even though you weren’t raised with it.” Beth’s frown didn’t encourage Marie to continue that line, but she added, “It isn’t the doctrine that’s wrong here, honey, but the extreme to which it’s carried by a few.”