Bygones (36 page)

Which could only mean one thing. At some point, a man wearing athletic shoes and a hat meant to look Mennonite had been in this barn.

An idea took shape in Henry’s mind. He tapped his leg with the straw hat, his thoughts racing. From Lisbeth’s letter-sharing, he knew
Marie had no man in her life who would assist her in any endeavors, whether wholesome or unwholesome. However, Beth did—and that man had an equal stake in the business she wanted to open.

Maybe. . .just maybe he had forced Marie into helping him. Perhaps he had threatened her into silence.

Hope tried to blossom, but he squelched it. No more speculations. He needed truth. Tossing the hat into the backseat of his car, he headed to town.

With a heavy heart, Marie slipped the dress she’d sewn only last week onto a hanger. She placed the hanger on the closet rod, then lifted the sleeve, admiring the color. She’d chosen deep green because once Henry Braun, with his face glowing pink, had said green brought out the red in her hair. How foolish. She released the sleeve and closed the door with a snap.

Smoothing her hands along the hips of her blue jeans, a rueful chuckle found its way from her chest. Who would have thought that, after such a short time, blue jeans could feel foreign? Yet they did. She reached for the closet door handle, fully intending to put on the dress again, but she snatched her fingers back before they closed around the tarnished brass knob. No longer would she wear the Mennonite trappings.

But I’ll still wear God in my heart
.

The thought brought a rush of comfort. Moving to the window, she peered outside. Dusk had fallen, painting the surroundings with a rosy hue. Across the street, lights glowed in windows. Families were sitting down to their evening meal of lunch meat, cheese, crackers, and pickles. Always a simple evening meal on Sundays.

Marie’s mind replayed other Sundays and their evening meals, some from her childhood, others more recently with Joanna’s family.

She shook her head, forcing the memories aside. It was best she start separating herself now. Less than three weeks remained before Beth could sell everything, and then they would return to Cheyenne. To their old life.

No Sommerfeld, no café, no Joanna and Deborah and Trina, no simple meetinghouse, no Henry.

A lump filled her throat. If she didn’t think of something else, she would cry again, and that would only upset her daughter more. Worn out from her cold and her excursion to Henry’s, Beth now slept. Determined not to wake her with another noisy crying jag, Marie searched her mind for something to do. Her gaze fell on Aunt Lisbeth’s small desk, and an idea struck. A shopping list for Christmas items would surely occupy her mind and cheer her at the same time. If it were going to be the last one in Sommerfeld, she wanted it to be special.

Crossing to the desk, she pulled open a drawer and searched for paper. A tablet of white lined paper came into view, along with a half-empty box of envelopes. She lifted both out and sat at the desk, placing the items in front of her. Then she pulled out the center drawer and withdrew a pen. She gave the pen’s push button a
click
and flipped back the cover on the tablet.

Her heart leaped into her throat. Writing went halfway down the page, obviously penned by Aunt Lisbeth. The first line read,
“My dearest Marie. . .”

Beth rolled over, and the cot let out a now-familiar squeak of complaint, bringing her awake. Yawning, she slipped her hands outside the covers, stretched, then balled her hands into fists and rubbed her eyes. Opening her eyes, she found the room blanketed in darkness. Apparently the sun had slipped behind the horizon while
she napped. What time was it?

By squinting at her wind-up alarm clock—the one she’d purchased for her stint in this house with no electricity—she managed to make out the position of the black hands. Seven thirty. Her stomach growled, confirming the hour. But she didn’t get up.

Instead, she slipped her hands beneath her head and stared at the white-painted plaster ceiling, which appeared gray in the absence of light. She wiggled, trying to reposition herself on the lumpy mattress provided by Henry Braun.

Henry Braun. . 
.

A picture appeared in her mind of his face when she’d stormed into his house that afternoon. She sure had surprised him. But that was only fair—he’d surprised her, too, by turning on Mom that way. After everything he’d done to help them out, too. It made her mad all over again to think about it. And confused.

Rolling to her side, she pulled the covers to her chin and stared across the room. At least she had accomplished one thing. Mom wouldn’t be staying in Sommerfeld now. They’d go back to Cheyenne together after Christmas. Somehow the thought didn’t cheer her the way it once would have.

Tears stung Beth’s eyes as she realized her mother had seemed happier here than she ever had in Cheyenne. Mom had never been one to wallow in despair or complain—that wasn’t her way—but here, in Sommerfeld, she exuded an element of deep contentment. Despite the conflict with her parents, despite the lack of enthusiastic welcome by the community, her mother had found something here that gave her joy.

How had Mom identified it? She pressed her memory, straining to recall the exact words. They came in a rush—
“a fellowship with God.”
With the remembrance came a splash of regret. She and Mom had always shared everything. Big things like an apartment and a
car. Little things like toothpaste and shoes and banana splits. But this God fellowship thing belonged to Mom alone.

Beth felt left out.

When they returned to Cheyenne, God would surely go, too. She recalled her Sunday school teacher saying God was everywhere. He didn’t just live in Sommerfeld. Beth swallowed, her throat aching. Would she feel left out even in Cheyenne, when Mom took her fellowship with God home to Wyoming?

Then there was this thing about Mom being in a barn with a bunch of stolen goods. Why wouldn’t she tell Beth what she was doing there? Sure, Beth had kept a few secrets since they’d come to Sommerfeld—she’d had to if she didn’t want to ruin a good surprise. There was still one more she was saving for Christmas. But Mom had always been open with her. Holding back something as important as a reason that could exonerate her didn’t make sense.

Tossing aside the covers, Beth sat up. She groped under the edge of the cot for the fuzzy socks she had discarded before climbing under the quilt—the wood floors were cold in spite of the blast of warm air from the iron heater grates. Once her feet were covered, she headed for the hallway. She needed her mother. And some reassurance.

M
om?”

Marie lifted her gaze from the unfinished letter at the sound of her daughter’s voice.

“You’re crying again.”

She touched her face, startled to find tears. Wiping them away, she offered a tremulous smile. “Don’t worry. I’m okay. Look.” She held the tablet toward Beth. “I found a letter from Aunt Lisbeth.”

Beth squatted next to the chair and reached for the pad. She read the brief passage quickly, then looked at her mother again. “It’s not finished.”

“No.” Marie took back the pad, her gaze on Lisbeth’s neat, slating script. “I’m not sure what interrupted her, but I’m sure she intended to finish it and get it mailed.” Hugging the tablet to her chest, she closed her eyes for a moment. “Aunt Lisbeth never stopped loving me, Beth. Never. We didn’t have to be together for our relationship to continue. And that gives me such comfort right now.”

“Why?”

Beth’s gently worded query brought Marie’s eyes open. She looked at her daughter and forced words past a knot in her throat. “Because soon I’ll be away again—away from Joanna and Art and
the others—but somehow we’ll stay in touch. Through letters, just like Aunt Lisbeth and me.”

Beth took the pad and tapped one paragraph on the page. “This must have been written shortly after my graduation. She thanks you for a picture from my big day.”

Marie laughed softly, looping a strand of hair behind Beth’s ear. “I included her in all your big days—your first tooth, first haircut, first day of school, first ballet recital.” Suddenly something struck her. With a frown, she began opening and closing desk drawers.

“What are you doing?” Beth stepped back, clearing the way for Marie to open the drawers on the left side of the desk.

“Through the years I sent Aunt Lisbeth enough photographs to fill a small album. It just occurred to me I haven’t seen them anywhere.” Looking up at Beth, her heart fluttered. “She wouldn’t have discarded them. . .would she?”

Beth shook her head adamantly. “They’ve got to be in a box somewhere. Want me to look?”

Marie closed the last drawer and slumped back in the chair “No. That’s okay. When we get things ready for the auction”—pain stabbed with the comment—“we’ll probably come across them. Who knows where they might be right now?”

Beth hung her head. “Mom, about the auction. . .”

Her daughter’s shamefaced pose brought Marie to her feet. “Yes?” Meeting her mother’s gaze, Beth licked her lips. “I–I’ve sounded really selfish about all the stuff in this house. I wanted to make as much money as I could so I would be able to do something nice for you. You’ve always put me first, and just once I wanted to put you first and pay you back.”

Relief washed over Marie as the motivation for what she had perceived as money-grubbing became clear. Her heart swelled with love. “Oh, honey.”

“Now I think maybe I could pay you back the best by letting you keep the stuff from your aunt’s house. It means a lot to you, I know. So maybe we should just forget the auction.”

How much her daughter had matured over the past weeks. Marie embraced Beth, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “That is the best gift you’ve ever given me.”

Pulling away, Beth offered a wobbly grin. “Even better than that ceramic frog I made in third grade?”

Laughing, Marie hugged Beth again. “I loved your purple, sixlegged frog! I still have it tucked in the sock drawer of my dresser back home.”

At the word
home
, both women froze for a moment.

Looking into her mother’s eyes, Beth posed a quiet question. “Mom, do you want Sommerfeld to be your home now?”