Love Redeemed (13 page)

“Get over it?” Katie whispered the words. Like they would all get over it. “I suppose you're right.”

He gripped the banister and took another step toward her. “Come to bed, fraa.”

“A few more minutes.”

Despite the weariness in his face, he came to her. “A few more minutes.” His blue eyes liquid with emotion, he bent and brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Every day from now on would be a long one.

“I'll be right there.”

Katie waited until he climbed the stairs again. She waited until she heard the bedroom door close. She laid the sleeping baby in the playpen. Sarah stretched and sighed a contented, soft breath in her sleep, her round face a miniature of Lydia's.

The pain of that thought spiraled through Katie, leaving her woozy and breathless. She breathed in and out, in and out, until the darkness receded.

She lifted her apron to her mouth to muffle the sound. Quietly, carefully, she knelt on the floor, the wood hard under her aching knees. She grasped the edge of the playpen with one hand to steady herself, to anchor herself to something real, something solid, something sure.

Only then did she weep.

Chapter 10

P
hoebe hazarded a glance at her mudder. She sat ramrod straight on the bench, her gaze forward, her head slightly bent to the side as if she concentrated on Luke's sermon, which had picked up steam at the one-hour mark and now seemed to be winding down at the two-hour mark. His second funeral as bishop of this New Hope community and he was doing it up right. Exhorting them to remember the moment of reckoning could come at any time. They should all be ready. Be right with God. They should live their lives as a short journey through this world into God's kingdom.

Nothing in Mudder's face or her demeanor spoke of being a member of the bereaved family. With Hannah at her side and Sarah in her lap, she looked the picture of serenity. She hadn't shed a single tear. Phoebe sought to follow her example, but her throat ached so fiercely with the unshed tears that she couldn't swallow. She rubbed at it with both hands, but nothing would abate the pain. She tried to breathe, feeling faint from lack of air. If this went on much longer she would keel over in front of everyone, embarrassing Mudder and Daed.

As if they didn't already feel enough shame.

Wiggling to relieve the pain of sitting so long on the hard wooden bench, Phoebe tried to calm herself. She let her gaze rove the room, searching for relief of some kind, anything. It collided with Emily Glick. The girl stared at her with unabashed interest. So did Adah and
Rebecca and Mary and Lillie. They all knew. They knew what Phoebe had been doing when Lydia disappeared.
I'm going to do better. You'll see. All of you will see. I've changed. I'll be good.
She clamped her mouth shut tight, fearful she might have uttered the words aloud. Her sojourn into the storm had helped her see her way toward a new beginning, but no one around her recognized the change. They still saw the girl who'd lost her little sister.

Phoebe returned her gaze to where it belonged—to the front of the room and to Luke. To return to her parents' good graces, she must do what was proper. Listen to the sermon. Believe it. Live it. She tried to comprehend Luke's words, but they didn't mean anything to her. She couldn't understand them. Words from the Gospel of John about everlasting life. The word
reckoning
. Reckoning. What did that mean? All she understood was this: Lydia was dead. Lydia, whose body lay in a small, pine box in the next room, was dead. Dead. Not coming back. Not laughing. Not playing. Not learning to make a daisy stitch or a French knot or how to hem a dress or how to make friendship bread. Daed said she was with God, happy, safe, and loved.

Lydia had been happy and loved right here on earth.

She hadn't been safe here on earth and that was Phoebe's fault. At this time of reckoning, if it were to come now, would God ask her how she'd come to be in the woods while her little sister wandered away and drowned?

Phoebe sucked in air drenched with the odor of sweat, fearing she truly would fall over. She wanted to get out of this room so packed with family and friends. She needed cool air and cool water. She couldn't be cooped up here anymore with Lydia's small, still body. Mudder had insisted she help her and Emma with the dress and the hair and the prayer kapp. Until Phoebe had run to the kitchen and vomited in the dish tub. Then she'd been allowed to retreat to her room.

Sudden movement brought her from her reverie. Everyone knelt. Hastily, she joined them. The wood felt solid under her knees and the swaying in her head subsided. A tiny breeze wafted through the open windows, touching her burning face with a welcome breath of air. The
scent of honeysuckle floated in the air. The breath of God. She leaned into it.
Gott?

People began to scramble to their feet around her. She struggled to do the same. Her legs didn't want to hold her. Mudder's hand gripped her arm, her fingers warm and tight, and helped her up. Phoebe glanced at her face. Calm. Serene. At peace. How did she manage?

Luke began the benediction. Phoebe jerked her gaze to the front of the room. Luke's somber gaze fell on her. Phoebe wanted to look away. She didn't. She couldn't.

“Lydia Christner was four years old. She was the daughter of Silas and Katie Christner.”

That was it. The summing up of Lydia's life.

People began to mill about. “Take Sarah.” Her mudder handed the baby to Phoebe. She didn't hesitate, something that surprised Phoebe. Her mudder still trusted her to care for her baby sister. “Hannah and I will arrange food while your bruders move the benches. Don't go far. You're expected to be there for the viewing.”

Move the benches for the viewing. Phoebe's stomach lurched. She was glad Mudder didn't expect her to handle food. Not with Lydia's body on display for everyone to see. Besides, her brothers' fraas would be in the kitchen, and Bethel and Emma, all looking at her, watching her. She shifted Sarah's weight onto her hip and squeezed past a group of women who stood talking softly in the corner, their eyes red-rimmed.

She needed to get out. Frantic, she squeezed past another cluster of women and made a beeline for the front door. She couldn't face that pine box. So small and light. Daed and Jesse could carry it by themselves. She was almost to the door. Her hand reached for the knob.

“Phoebe.”

She closed her eyes. Sarah let out a surprised, unhappy squawk, reminding Phoebe to loosen her grip on her sister.

“Phoebe.” A bare whisper this time. “I need to talk to you.”

Phoebe opened her eyes and looked into Michael's face. His eyes were red and sunken into dark circles. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

She glanced over her shoulder and then shook her head. “I can't. My daed…”

“I know. Mine too.” He slapped the hat on his head. “For one minute.”

“Whatever you have to say to me, say it to me here, in plain view.” She kept her voice to a whisper as she adjusted Sarah's weight on her hip, solid and warm, reminding Phoebe of her responsibilities and how sorely she'd failed in them because of this man. “Mudder asked me to take care of Sarah while she…while they…they get ready for the viewing. I'll not make this mistake again. Nor should you want to make it.”

“I don't.” He drew a shuddering breath and took a step toward her. Phoebe backed away. He looked as if she'd hit him with a horse whip. “I just wanted to make sure you're all right.”

“I'll be all right. I'll be fine.” If she said it enough, it might become so. Aware of the dozens of people crammed into the nearby room, she ducked past him, willing herself not to look back at his face etched with grief. The face she'd loved since she was a girl. “You need to stay away from me. I can't be…I can't, Michael.”

“I just wanted you to know how sorry I am.” His voice, low and hoarse and full of emotion, followed her toward the stairs. “I would do anything to make it right.”

She glanced back. “You can't make it right. Neither of us can. I have to take Sarah upstairs.”

His face filled with a despair she knew mirrored her own. She forced herself to turn her back on him. She would never forgive herself for that moment of weakness. Of selfishness. She wanted something so much she'd been willing to sacrifice others for it. She couldn't blame Michael for that. But she could learn from her mistakes and not make them again. After her excursion into the stormy night, she'd dragged herself, sodden and splattered with mud, into the house and up the stairs to her bed, vowing she would do everything she could to earn back her parents' and Hannah's trust. She couldn't trust herself with Michael. He made her weak in the knees and silly in the head.

She would start over. She would be good. She would follow the rules. She would be the daughter her parents wanted her to be. She ran
up the stairs and slipped into the room Lydia had once shared with her sisters. “Naptime, sweet thing.” She lowered Sarah into the crib and stood looking down at her. “I'll never let anything happen to you. I promise. I'll look out for you.”

Her voice cracked.

Sarah nestled into her favorite brown- and tan-checked blanket and closed her eyes, her thumb in her mouth. She fell asleep with the quick, easy way of an infant not yet troubled by the world around her.

Phoebe stood for a long time, watching the rise and fall of the little girl's chest. Peaceful, sweet slumber.

She had a second chance. She wouldn't squander it. If that meant being alone, so be it. She didn't deserve any more than that.

Greedily inhaling the fresh, clean scent of cut grass, Michael shoved his hat on his head and closed the door behind him, being careful not to slam it. He didn't want anything to impinge on the soft, respectful murmurings inside. On legs that felt as if they would buckle under him he trudged down the steps, intent on getting away from this. All of this. The staring eyes. The pitying glances. The judgment. If Phoebe could forgive him he could've dealt with it. But that was too much to ask. He'd figured as much, but he had to try. She looked so scared and so sad. All he wanted to do was stand between her and the brunt of the storm, but she didn't want that. Didn't want him. She blamed him. And rightly so.

Headed toward the buggies and the horses, he wound his way through the men who stood in small clusters, talking in low voices, waiting. The viewing wouldn't take long. Then the procession to the small cemetery. Lydia would join Daniel's
groossdaadi
, the only member of their community to pass since they'd arrived in New Hope. After the funeral, a meal would be served back at the house. His own mudder had been cooking since before dawn. She wanted to make sure there was enough food for the families who had traveled from Bliss Creek.

The thought of food made his stomach turn. He lurched forward.

“Leaving already?”

The sound of Thomas's voice staved off Michael's determined, headlong flight. Thomas leaned both elbows on the corral fence. He had a strand of hay between his long fingers, rolling it back and forth, his face pensive under his black prayer service hat.

“Nee.” Michael had come with his parents. He couldn't leave, much as he would've liked to do so. He'd thought to sit in the buggy and be alone, if only for a few precious moments. “Just stretching my legs and checking on the horse. Best be ready for the trip to the cemetery.”

“Me too.” Thomas turned around and leaned his back against the fence. “Warm in there. Not a breath of air.”

“Jah.”

Thomas straightened. “I thought I'd check on my horse too. He was favoring a leg this morning.”

“Ours seems to be in a bad mood, jumping and starting at everything on the road.” Michael worked to keep his tone as neutral as the other man's. “'Bout threw Mudder into the ditch yesterday when she went to the phone shack to see what time the women were coming to do the cooking.”

They walked side by side toward the road lined with buggies, black against the noonday sun. Their orange triangles glowed in the light, a series of warnings to slow down. Michael had never noticed how bright they were against the dark, gloomy black.
Slow down. Slow down.
“The horse is getting older. Daed will want to start looking at the auctions soon.”

“I'm getting older too. Glad my fraa isn't looking to replace me.” Thomas gave a dry chuckle and tossed aside the piece of hay. “Silas and Katie are good people.”

No one knew that better than Michael. “Jah.”

“If they say they've forgiven you, they have.” Thomas had never been one to talk much, but since he started giving the baptism lessons, his ways had changed—at least with the men and women in the class. At the moment, Michael would've preferred the old Thomas, the closed-lips one. “They don't lie.”