Bygones (20 page)

B
eth waved good-bye to Kyra and the others before sliding into the car and starting the engine. She released a huge breath of relief. The evening was over, and she’d survived. Actually, she mused, once she got over the initial embarrassment, it hadn’t been so bad. Awkward, yes—especially in McDonald’s, where people kept staring at the oddly dressed Mennonites—but not awful.

Beth angled the vehicle onto First Street, shaking her head. How did Kyra stand all that gawking every time she ventured out? It wasn’t as if Beth wasn’t accustomed to people looking at her. She realized she was attractive, and she dressed in a way that showcased her attributes, essentially inviting second glances. But tonight, the way people gaped and whispered behind their hands. . . Those stares weren’t out of admiration, but morbid curiosity. She hadn’t liked it at all.

She made the turn onto Cottonwood, and the headlights illuminated a dark-clothed pedestrian. Beth recognized the gray hoodie—Mom. She came to a stop and rolled down the window. “What are you doing wandering the streets this late?”

Mom popped the door open and slid into the seat, even though the house was only a few yards ahead. “I went for a walk and ended
up at the cemetery.”

“At night?” Beth stared at her mother.

Mom leaned her head against the headrest. “Whew! I’m worn out. That was more of a hike than I expected at the end of a day.”

Beth shook her head and pulled forward, turning into the driveway of the house. “Honestly, Mom! Walking to a cemetery at night? You would never have done that at home.”

Her mother laughed softly. “Of course not. The cemetery is miles away. Everything here is within walking distance.” She angled her head to smile at Beth. “How was the skating?”

Beth popped the car into park, jerked off the ignition, and scowled. “The skating part was fine, believe it or not. I had fun once I figured out how to turn corners without waving my arms all over the place and looking like an idiot. But how did you stand all those people staring at you? I felt like part of a circus freak show!”

Mom sighed, shifting sideways in the seat to face Beth. “You get used to it. Or you learn to ignore it.”

“Well, I hated it. If I were a Mennonite, I’d change the dress code.”

Mom burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny!”

Mom’s chortles continued. “Oh, honey, I’m not laughing at you. But if you could have seen your face. . .”

Despite herself, a smile twitched at Beth’s cheek. It was good to hear Mom laugh, to see her happy. Being here had been tough on her—Beth had seen evidence of that in how she often stared off into space or stood alone in the corner of the café’s kitchen, her head low. But as soon as their three months’ stay here was done and she had the money in hand, she’d make it all worthwhile for her mom.

Reaching across the console, she gave her mother’s hand a
loving squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go put another
X
on the calendar—celebrate another day closer to being able to go home.”

Marie rolled over, teased awake by the song of a cardinal from the spirea bushes outside the window. She lay, eyes closed, listening to the cheerful tune, and suddenly a hymn replaced the bird’s song.
“Faith of our fathers, living still. . .”

Her eyes popped open as the hymn filled her heart, seeming to echo through her soul. A strange tug brought her out of bed, to the window, to peer across the landscape of stubbly fields to the barely visible gray line of highway. Last night Beth had been eager to follow that highway back to Cheyenne. But, oddly, the
X
on the calendar had filled Marie with an unexplainable sadness.

“Faith of our fathers, holy faith. . .”

Last night’s sadness returned, wrapping around her heart like a band. Her gaze fell to the box tucked in the corner—the one holding Aunt Lisbeth’s clothes, the outer trappings that told of her inward beliefs. Beliefs Marie had held so long ago.

“I want your faith, Aunt Lisbeth,” she whispered aloud, finally acknowledging the root of the tug on her heart. But how to regain it? With a pang, Marie realized she didn’t know the answer to that question. Sinking onto the edge of the bed, she covered her face with her hands as loneliness smacked again—a loneliness that had haunted her for too many years.

In the past, she’d managed to push past the loneliness with busyness. Being a single mother, she’d poured herself into her daughter. As the only breadwinner, she’d poured herself into her work. But here, with Beth pursuing her own dreams, and hours of freedom away from the café, she had no escape. It engulfed her, increasing her longing for something—someone—to fill the void.

“Aunt Lisbeth, I wish you were here to advise me.” She uttered the words on a note of anguish. And immediately an answer came:
Look to the Son
.

Of course. Aunt Lisbeth had always said the answer to any problem lay in God’s handbook, the Bible. Marie knew where her Bible was—on the bookshelf back in her apartment in Cheyenne, no doubt covered with a layer of dust from lack of use. But surely Aunt Lisbeth’s was here somewhere. Marie sat up, her gaze bouncing from the bureau to the chest in the corner to her aunt’s desk to the closet and finally to the stand beside the bed.

Her hands reached toward the drawer in the little bedside stand. Holding her breath, she eased the drawer open, and her heart leaped with relief. There it waited, its faded black cover with the gold letters—H
OLY
B
IBLE
—inviting Marie’s entrance.

She slipped it from the drawer, cradling it between both palms, and carried it to the front room. She tugged Aunt Lisbeth’s rocker until it faced the east window, then sat. For a moment she hesitated—where should she begin?
“Faith of our fathers, holy faith. . .”

With a deep breath, she rested the book’s spine against her lap and let it fall open. Psalm Twenty-three, all underlined in blue ink, came into view. Marie leaned over the Bible and read.

Dimly aware of her surroundings—the shifting shadow across the hardwood floor, the creaking of Beth’s cot, the occasional sounds of vehicles outside the house—she moved from Psalms to Isaiah to John, thumbing in search of places where her aunt had underlined passages or written notes in the margins. Then she sought favorite verses from her childhood, reading entire chapters, absorbing, renewing, accepting.

When someone called her name, she jerked, half surprised that the voice was feminine and not a deep, masculine, heavenly timbre. Looking up, she spotted Beth in the wide doorway between the front
room and the dining room. Her daughter’s brow furrowed as her gaze landed on the book.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.” Marie’s fingers twitched, eager to seek more passages. “If you’re hungry, there’s cereal and milk.” She hoped Beth understood the message:
Please take care of your own needs right now so I can take care of mine
.

“Yeah, okay. Want a bowl?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

Beth scratched her scalp with both hands, tousling her hair. “You okay?”

Marie smiled. “I’m fine, honey. And getting better by the minute. Enjoy your morning.”

“I’m going to run a bath, then.” Beth sent an odd look over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom.

Marie returned to her reading. She continued until the banging of pots and pans in the kitchen disturbed her focus enough that she had to set the Bible aside and investigate. Beth, a towel wrapped turban-style around her head, gave her mother a scowl. “Are you finally done?”

Marie ignored the sarcastic bite in Beth’s tone. “For now.” She glanced at pans on the stove. “What are you doing?”

Beth shrugged and pulled a fork from a drawer. “Fixing lunch. You obviously weren’t going to do it. I asked you twice.”

Marie stared at her daughter. “You did?”

“Yes.”

Marie lifted lids and discovered canned corn, potatoes, and pork chops. She turned to Beth in surprise. “Why so much food?”

Beth’s jaw dropped. “You invited Joanna and her family for lunch today.” She flapped her hand toward the living room. “Then you sat out there and didn’t bother to fix anything. They’ll be here in less
than half an hour. I haven’t even gotten dressed because I’ve been in here peeling potatoes.” Looking pointedly at Marie’s pajamas, she added, “What’s the matter with you this morning?”

Marie reached out to give Beth a hug. The girl remained stiff and unresponsive. “There’s nothing wrong with me, honey. In fact, I think I’m more right than I’ve been in quite a while. But we can talk about that later. I’ve got to take a bath.”

“A bath?” Beth put her hands on her hips. “What about all this?” She gestured toward the stove.

“You’re doing great.” Marie blew Beth a kiss as she scampered around the corner. “Just watch the pork chops—don’t want them to get too brown.”

The water spattering against the porcelain tub covered Beth’s grumbles.

Over the next two weeks, Marie started and ended each day with time in Aunt Lisbeth’s Bible. Prayer grew from the Bible reading, and by the end of the second week Marie found herself whispering little prayers over the course of the day, conversation with her heavenly Father springing naturally from an overflowing heart.

She wanted to share with Beth the changes taking place inside her, but her daughter resisted speaking of spiritual issues. Beth’s attitude seemed to grow more surly by the day, complaining about Mitch’s departure and the slow progress she’d made in securing items for her planned boutique. The highlight of her day was drawing a big, black
X
in the box on the calendar.

Joanna, however, had squealed with delight when Marie told her she was finding her way back to her childhood faith. “Oh, Marie! How? When?” Joanna wrapped her in a hug that stole her breath. “Oh, never mind—I don’t need the details. It’s enough just to see
the sparkle in your eyes.” Pulling back, she had cupped Marie’s face and beamed with tears glittering in her eyes. “Oh, Marie. . .welcome home.”

“Welcome home.”
As much as Marie had celebrated hearing those words from Joanna, she still held a deep longing to hear them from the lips of her father. When she’d mentioned that to Joanna, her sister’s face had clouded.