Bygones (34 page)

Pain rose from his chest, closing off his voice box. Spinning on his heel, he stomped toward the opening.

Marie flew up beside him, her slender fingers wrapping around his forearm. “Henry! Please. . .it isn’t what you think.”

He stopped, his body stiff, and glowered down at her. Her fingers, tight on his sleeve, burned him, yet he didn’t try to shake loose. “Then tell me. Tell me how you came to be sitting here on Sunday morning while the rest of the fellowship—the fellowship you joined—sits in the meetinghouse in worship.”

She blinked rapidly, her breath coming in spurts of white fog, but she remained silent.

Lifting his hand, Henry peeled her unresisting, cold fingers from his sleeve and took a step away from her. The depth of her deception created an ache in his heart so crushing he knew it would never completely heal. “It looks like your father was right. You didn’t come here for the relationships—you came for whatever you could gain.”

The knowledge weighed him down, the truth striking like the slash of a knife, searing his soul with anguish. “You said you’d do anything for your daughter. I guess. . .” His gaze swept across the items once more before returning to her. He forced his words past a knot of
agony that refused to be swallowed. “I guess the world is too deeply ingrained in you after all.”

He waited for her to speak, to explain, to defend herself. But she stood silent before him, tears trailing down her pale cheeks, her fingers twisting together. When several minutes passed and still no words of explanation spilled forth, he shook his head and stared at the spot of ground between his black boots.

“I’ll go to the meetinghouse and let people know where they can find their belongings. You. . .” He tried once more, unsuccessfully, to dislodge the painful lump blocking his throat. “Go back to the house. I won’t say anything except that I found the stolen goods.”

“Oh, Henry, you can’t—”

He held up his hand, his head still low. “I’m not protecting you. I’m protecting Lisbeth’s memory. I won’t have this shame attached to her in any way.” Lifting his head, he met her gaze. “You leave with Beth when the time period of the will’s stipulation is over.” The words came out in a hoarse whisper, burning in his belly like an ulcer. “I’ll stay silent about your actions only if you promise to take your worldliness away from Sommerfeld and never bring it back again.”

She gasped, clasping her hands to her throat.

He waited, but she didn’t answer. He thundered, “Will you promise?”

Still no words came, but she shrank away from him and gave a quick nod, her eyes glittering with tears.

“Now go to Lisbeth’s.” He made a deliberately insulting sweep from her toes to her head. “And remove that cap. You make a travesty of it.”

A sob broke from Marie, stabbing all the way through Henry’s chest. But he remained rooted in place as she dashed past him. He heard her engine start, heard the crunch of gravel, heard the car
drive away. He waited until he heard nothing except the beating of his own heart.

Yes, it still beat despite his certainty that Marie’s deception had split it in two. With a sigh, he straightened his shoulders, ran his hands down his face, and returned to his vehicle. He had a happy message to deliver to the congregation, and somehow on the drive he must find the ability to smile through his heartbreak.

Marie burst through the back door, stumbled down the hallway to her room, and fell across Lisbeth’s bed. How could a heart that ached this badly still manage to pump blood?

The look on Henry’s face. The tone of his voice. The emotional withdrawal. Marie hadn’t experienced such a depth of pain since the day she learned of Jep’s death. On that day she’d lost something precious, too. Something irreplaceable. Something that could never be restored.

Until that moment—that horrible moment when Henry’s face reflected both the anger of accusation and the hurt of betrayal—she hadn’t realized how important his friendship had become in her brief time back in Sommerfeld. But now she’d lost him as surely as she had lost Jep.

“Oh, God, what should I do?” She wanted to pray, but no words would come. She merely groaned, the sounds of her distress stifled by Lisbeth’s pillow. She thought her chest might explode with the force of her sobs, but holding them back was worse.

Her face buried and eyes closed, she gasped in surprise when hands closed on her shoulders. Someone pulled, rolling her to her side, and she opened her eyes to find Beth kneeling on the bed.

“Mom? What happened?”

Her daughter’s concerned voice and worried face brought a new
rush of tears. Beth reached for her, and Marie found herself being cradled the way she had held Beth when she was little and was afraid or hurt. She clung, sobbing against Beth’s shoulder, all of the pain and frustration of the past several weeks seeking release.

Beth rubbed her back, murmuring in her ear. In her daughter’s sympathetic embrace Marie finally brought her crying under control. Pulling back, she reached for a box of tissues on the corner of the bedside table and noisily blew her nose. Beth, still on her knees, watched with her brow furrowed.

Marie took in several shuddering breaths and sank against the pillows, closing her eyes. Her head pounded painfully, and her eyes felt raw. She brought up her hand and pulled the cap from her head, dropping it in her lap. When she opened her eyes and glimpsed the rumpled ribbons lying across the skirt of her simple dress, she remembered Henry’s command that she remove the cap.

He’d said she made a travesty of it. A mockery. A pretense. He thought she put it on just to fool people into thinking she wanted to restore her fellowship. To trick people while she stole from them. Henry, her dear childhood friend, believed she was capable of such horrendous acts. And if Henry, who should know her, thought this, surely the town. . .

She would have to follow his demand and leave. She had no choice. Tears welled again, and she covered her face with both hands.

Beth tugged her hands down. “Mom, what in the world happened?” Beth’s cold distorted her words and made her voice raspy, yet the concern carried through. “Did they kick you out of church or something?”

Marie shook her head violently.

“Then what is it?”

Different explanations paraded through Marie’s mind, but none
could be shared without divulging secrets. She turned her face away, pressing her trembling chin to her shoulder.

Beth took Marie’s hand between hers and squeezed. “Please tell me why you’re crying. You’re scaring me, Mom.”

When Beth’s voice broke, Marie’s eyes flew wide. The purpose was to avoid hurting Beth, not worry her. When she saw the tears shimmering in her daughter’s eyes, she reached out and stroked Beth’s cheek.

Finally she forced a few words past the sorrow that tightened her throat. “I’ll be okay. It’s just. . .” Squeezing her eyes closed, she once more envisioned Henry’s accusing glare, heard his command that she remove her cap, that she leave.

She shook her head, determined to dislodge the memories, and the movement loosened her hair from the pins. Locks tumbled against her cheeks, and she smoothed them away from her face, her gaze dropping to her lap. The cap still lay there, and suddenly another picture filled her head—Henry, wearing a smile of approval while tears winked in his eyes when he’d seen her in the cap. Pain stabbed anew, and she groaned out one word: “Henry. . .”

Beth leaped off the bed, her brows forming a sharp V. “Henry hurt you? How? What did he do?”

Marie couldn’t speak, regret closing off her voice box.

Beth slowly moved toward the bedroom door, her gaze on Marie. Her expression remained hard, angry. But when she spoke, her voice held nothing but kindness. “Do you want some tea? Some of that spearmint kind from the café that you like so much?”

Tea wouldn’t fix anything, but she sensed Beth’s need to do something to help. So she nodded wordlessly.

Beth paused in the doorway. “You stay here, Mom. I’ll be back with that tea. Just rest, okay?”

Marie nodded, and Beth slipped away. When she heard the
click
of the back door latch, she rolled over, hugged the bear that Beth had crafted from Lisbeth’s quilt, and once more allowed the tears to flow. Henry’s words continued to echo through her mind.

“Take your worldliness away from Sommerfeld and never bring it back again.”

Beth turned the car onto First Street. Her stuffy head throbbed from her cold, but it couldn’t compete with the pain in her chest. Seeing Mom that upset. . .it hurt. A lot. And Mom had said Henry was the one who had hurt her.

She clamped her gloved fingers around the cold steering wheel and clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. Who did he think he was, making Mom cry? She drove straight across Main Street rather than turning toward the café. The tea could wait. Her talk with Henry couldn’t.

Henry put the plate holding a cold ham sandwich on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat. He sighed deeply, staring at the food. Although breakfast had passed hours ago, he wasn’t really hungry. Food wouldn’t fill the void he felt.

Loneliness overwhelmed him, as heavy and enveloping as one of the lap robes from his boyhood days. Grandmother had always made their lap robes several layers thick to block the cold wind that rushed through their buggy during winter rides. He’d never liked sitting beneath one—he preferred frigid air to the feeling of suffocation from having to crouch under that heavy square of layered cloth. But right now there was no escape from the smothering layers of loneliness.

At least the citizens of Sommerfeld were rejoicing. He had
managed to deliver the message to the congregation: “The lost has been found.” In their excitement, no one had asked more than where to find their belongings. While people bubbled with relief, he had quietly slipped away and come home. Yes, for the citizens of Sommerfeld the lost had been found.

He had used those same words when speaking of Marie to J.D. Koeppler. Now he realized nothing had been found. For him, everything had been lost. He fingered the top slice of bread on the sandwich. Maybe he should just wrap the sandwich in aluminum foil and put it in the refrigerator. The lump in his throat would surely prevent him from swallowing.

Before he could decide what to do, a pounding on his front door intruded. Frowning, Henry rose and crossed to the door. He peeked out the window and drew back sharply in surprise when he recognized Beth Quinn on his porch. When he opened the door, a gust of chilly air rushed in, followed quickly by Beth. She charged past him into the middle of the room, faced him with her hands on her hips, and attacked.

“Mister, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Her words were colder than the December wind. Henry closed both the storm and interior doors, then stood in the misshapen rectangle of sunlight filtering through the door’s window. “Good afternoon, Miss Quinn.”

At his droll greeting, her gaze narrowed. “This isn’t a social call and you know it. What did you do to my mom?”

Raising his chin, he spoke in a flat tone. “I did nothing to your mother.”

Beth shook her head, her uncombed hair wild. “You must have done something. She’s more upset than I’ve ever seen her, and all she said was your name.”