Love Redeemed (11 page)

“I would like to know.” Silas's voice held steady. Katie clung to that. Silas would lead the way through this. “Is it a little girl?”

The park ranger nodded. “Blonde. Blue eyes.” His jaw twitched. “Purple dress. No shoes. About four or five.”

To her surprise, Katie's knees buckled. She intended to stand tall next to her husband. If God had taken Lydia home, it was her time to go. Katie's arms flailed. She fought to right herself, but her bones had turned to water and no longer held her upright. Silas's hand jerked from hers and caught her arm in an iron grip.

“Nee.”

The man from the Corps sidled closer to the park ranger. He leaned toward the other man. “Let him ID her.” His voice was low and urgent. “This is insane. They're here. Don't torture them like this.”

The park ranger nodded. Any emotion in his face slid away and his features became shuttered, neutral. “Sir, if you would follow me. Don't touch anything. You won't be able to touch her. You understand?”

His expression wooden, Silas nodded. He let go of Katie. The world tilted and she went into a free fall, falling, falling, falling. Yet, she still stood on trembling knees, muscles so weak she swayed from side to side to keep her balance.

“Stay here.”

Katie nodded, no more capable of walking than a newborn. She heard rather than saw Thomas and Luke drawing closer. Their boots thudded on the grass, dry and crackling in the August heat. They didn't speak, but their breathing sounded loud in her ears. They probably thought she should've stayed in the van. That this was the business of men. She disagreed. This was the business of a mother. Still, she took solace in their presence. They would know what to do next. She only had to be here now, present.

She watched through the trees as Silas and the two other men marched single file down the path, weaving in and out of the oak and hickory trees. She kept her gaze on Silas's blue shirt as he halted on the rocky shoreline. She heard no sound. He didn't cry out or scream. Still, she knew. His broad shoulders sagged. His knees bent as if he would kneel, but the park ranger laid his hand on his chest, stopping him. Silas thrust both his hands out, but the other man stepped between
Silas and the purple swatch of material that lay on the banks, water lapping around it.

Her husband turned and trudged up the path, his boots slipping and sliding on the carpet of leaves. The closer he came, the harder it became for Katie to breathe. Darkness seeped in, blotting out the sun. The humid air stifled her. No birds sang. No cicadas buzzed. The frogs stopped talking, as if their silence honored the dead. The stillness lay so heavy on her she thought it might bury her.

Every step brought him closer. Every step brought the sure knowledge their little Lydia had gone on home ahead of them.

Katie lifted her chin and met Silas's gaze. His red-rimmed eyes were dim with grief. He nodded.

“What happened? Did she…what happened to her?”

“It looks like she fell in somewhere along the shore where the bank was too steep for her to climb back out. The current eventually carried her here.” The park ranger spoke before Silas could. “It probably happened not long after she disappeared from the campgrounds. Otherwise, she would've heard the rescue teams calling for her.”

“I want to see her.” Katie bit her lip, fighting to keep the anguish from boiling up and out in a scream that would go on and on.
Be still, and know that I am God.
The soft words came to her, calming her still beating heart. How could her heart continue to beat when her child's did not? “Can I see her?”

His lips pressed together so tightly white lines formed around his mouth, Silas shook his head and held out his hand. “Nee. It's best you don't. We'll go back to the camp now.”

“I'll not leave her down there alone.”

Silas's grip tightened. “She's not here anymore. You know that.”

She did know that. If she could only wrap her mind around the notion that her little Lydia, with the giggle in her voice and the skip in her walk, had gone on to be with the Lord. God had given them the gift of this child for only a short while.

Silas knew best. Emma and Thomas would go to the funeral home for them. Katie would sew a nice white dress for her. And a fresh prayer
kapp. Emma and Leah would braid her hair and wind it around her small head. Luke and Thomas would see to the arrangements for Lydia to be brought to the house after the funeral home was done. Arrangements would be made.

Katie took her husband's hand and together they started toward the van. First, the kinner had to be told.

Phoebe had to be told.

Silas halted when they reached the black asphalt. He cleared his throat. Cleared it again. His mouth opened but no words came out. Katie stopped and waited, her heart beating in her throat, gagging her, her stomach threatening a revolt. She wanted to keep walking, but Silas's grip held her. She wanted to keep walking and walking, never stop. Keep walking until they were home in New Hope where there were no lakes and Lydia would be pulling weeds in the garden or gathering eggs in the chicken coop like the good little girl she had been. Katie forced back the heaves and waited.

The park ranger waited too, his face lined with exhaustion and the knowledge that his best efforts hadn't brought their little girl back alive.

Luke stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with Silas. Thomas joined them. “We'll want to bury her body in New Hope.” Thomas gave voice to Silas's thoughts. “How soon can we have her?”

The park ranger's eyes were wet. “The coroner will need a day or so, sir. We'll get her home to her family as soon as we can. That's a promise.”

“She's already home,” Katie whispered. “The Lord took her home.”

The park ranger nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”

He turned as if to go.

“Mr. …I'm sorry. I don't remember your name.”

“Lee. Lee Grissom.”

“Mr. Grissom, thank you.”

Surprise washed across his face. “I'm sorry I couldn't…that we didn't…I'm sorry, ma'am.”

She swallowed against a wave of nausea. “You did your best. We thank you for that.”

He nodded.

Lydia had gone home. Praise Gott. She's home.

The words pinged around in Katie's head, all sharp, painful points like knives that inflicted raw wounds wherever they landed.

Praise Gott.

Chapter 9

A
ware of his father's height and breadth behind him, Michael stood in the Christner living room, his hat clutched in his hands. Silas rose and stood next to Katie in front of the dark, empty fireplace. Hannah sat curled in a hickory rocking chair, her sunburned face still and listless. Elam occupied the other rocking chair, his expression watchful, as if Michael might be there to cause some further damage of some kind. The baby fussed in the playpen in the corner, but none of them seemed to notice. A pole lantern flickered, the light casting shadows against their still faces.

Nothing about the Christner house had changed. It looked the same as his own, as every Plain home in New Hope, with their unadorned walls, dark furniture, and simple wooden floors covered with homemade rugs. It smelled the same. Fried chicken. Apple pie. The remnants of supper scarcely eaten. He'd been inside their home many times for Sunday socializing, holiday gatherings, and work frolics of all sorts. He'd sat at their table and eaten their food, all the while watching Phoebe's face as she served, ate, laughed, and chattered with her sisters and brothers. It was a house filled with family and faith and love and contentment. Now, everything seemed different. As if something had seeped out, leaving behind a growing black hole that threatened to engulf everything. He'd done this. He'd caused this fracture in their world.

From the noise emanating from the kitchen a gaggle of women were cleaning up after supper. Thomas stared out the window, one hand on the wooden frame. Luke sat at a table going over a list with some of the other men. Probably the death list—everyone who needed to be notified so they could come to the funeral. They'd call Bliss Creek in the morning. Word would go out and a load of family and friends would come to New Hope.

Might as well get this over with. He couldn't stand here forever, looking at all of them, not looking at him, contemplating in their heads the repercussions of an irresponsible, selfish man.

“I came to tell you…” The words came out in a croak. He gritted his teeth and cleared his throat. “I came to tell you how sorry I am. None of this would've happened if it weren't for me. I should never have come to the campsite while you were gone.”

Katie's dishwater-red hands plucked at the ribbons on her kapp, but her face remained serene. “The Lord gives and He takes away. It was Lydia's time to go home.”

She took a careful step forward, slowly, as if she needed to balance herself or she would fall. Then another. Before he could grasp what she intended to do, she squeezed his hand, once, and then let it drop. “Still, you are forgiven.”

Michael looked over Katie's shoulder at Silas. The man's gaze didn't waver, but Michael could see the battle waging in his eyes. Silas knew what he must do. It might be the hardest thing that had ever been asked of him. Michael couldn't have done it himself.

Silas opened his mouth and then closed it. His nostrils flared as he breathed, the sound harsh and low in the silence. Even baby Sarah's wails had ceased. “I forgive you.”

Michael willed himself to stifle the tears.
Take it like a man.
He nodded. Silas nodded back, but he sank into a straight-back chair next to Hannah's rocker as if his legs no longer supported him. The girl's expression didn't change. She seemed unaware of the conversation going on around her.

Michael edged toward her. “Hannah, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have
asked Phoebe to leave you alone with the kinner. It's my fault. Can you forgive me?”

Nothing in her face indicated she'd heard him. Her eyes were glassy and distant, her mouth parted. She didn't look up. She didn't seem to look anywhere.

“Hannah's…It'll take some time.” This time Katie's voice quivered. “You understand.”

He crushed his hat between his hands and then tried to smooth it. He had dared to hope—a hope he shared with no one, but nurtured in the quiet times late at night when no one was around—that these folks might one day be his in-laws. Family. Now they would forever look at him and see a man responsible for the death of their child. They would forgive, but how could they ever forget?

The question twisted like a hunting knife in his gut. They couldn't. He couldn't. He could never forgive himself, and he could never forgive God. What kind of God let this happen? What kind of God gave him these feelings for a girl he'd known all his life, but let this wedge be driven forever between them?

The decision had been all his. Not God's. All his. God had allowed him to make decisions and he'd made the wrong choices. Now he had to live with them.

Phoebe. How must she be handling all this? Were they looking at her the same way? With a mixture of judgment and pity they probably didn't even realize they felt, so deep were they in their own misery. The thought of facing Phoebe after what he'd done to her, the position he'd put her in, was almost unbearable, but he owed her the same apology.
Take it like a man.
“I'd like to…to see Phoebe.”

His daed's boots made a scraping sound on the floor as he shifted his weight. Michael could almost hear his disapproval in the roughness of sole against wood. Simon and Martin both looked up from where they sat at the table. Jesse rose to his feet. Hannah's head jerked at the mention of her sister's name. Elam went to the bottom of the staircase and stopped as if standing guard. As if Michael might try to sneak past him. Katie retreated to a spot next to her husband's chair.

Silas's voice sank so low the words came out a grunt. “She's in her room. Gone to bed I expect.”

Supper barely done. The sun still hovering above the horizon. It seemed unlikely. “But I wanted…I just—”

“We'll leave you to rest.” Tobias intervened, a restraining hand on his son's shoulder. “Have you had word from the medical examiner yet?”

“Lydia…the body will arrive at the funeral home tomorrow.” Silas's voice sounded stronger now. This he knew how to do. “The boys will deliver the notices to everyone tomorrow as well. The funeral will be the day following.”

Tobias nodded. “We'll let folks down our way know. Don't get up, Silas. We know the way out.”

He guided Michael to the door with an iron grip. No one accompanied them to bid farewell. In the buggy, Daed snapped the reins without speaking. They jolted forward. Heat still billowed from the road in front of them and lightning crackled across the sky in the distance, its brief light revealing dark, low-hanging clouds. The smell of rain and damp dirt wafted in air heavy on Michael's shoulders.

“It'll be fine, with time.” Daed didn't take his gaze from the road. “Silas and Katie are good people.”

“Their words say one thing, their faces another.”

“The grief is fresh. They've lost a child.” His daed's voice lost some of its assurance. “We all face death, sooner or later. Even though we know God has written down the day and time each child is to return to Him, we don't expect our children to go first. Mind you, it's something to think about. You'd better finish up your baptism classes. A person doesn't know when his day of reckoning will come.”

“Lydia is with Gott now.” Michael gripped the railing in front of him so hard his fingers ached. The things he'd learned in baptism class seemed foreign now. He couldn't make heads or tails out of any of it. He couldn't commit himself to that which he couldn't fathom. No point in going back. “Are we to be glad of that? Joyful?”