Love Redeemed (16 page)

The bus's engine growled and the brakes squeaked as they lurched forward. Michael rubbed his forehead, trying to abate the ache that
accompanied him everywhere.
New start. New start.
The rumble of the engine sang the words inside his head.
New start. New start.

Lydia wouldn't receive a new start.

The lyrics of the song changed.
Lydia's dead. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

He opened his eyes.

“Would you like a peanut butter sandwich?” The lady popped open the basket lid. “I made a bunch in case the bus breaks down or we get lost. I like to be prepared. I'd rather have chicken salad, but you can't have chicken salad unless you have a cooler and a cooler is too bulky to lug around. I'm going to Denver and it's a long ride. I have to change buses in two or three places. I can't be lugging an ice chest around.”

His stomach rocked. “No, thank you. Maybe later.”

She patted his hand again. “That's fine. That's just fine. You take a little nap. You look tuckered out. I won't let anyone bother you, and I'll wake you if there's anything interesting to see.”

Somehow, he thought she would. He settled in and closed his eyes. The rumble of the engine and the rocking motion soothed him. He sank into the darkness.

The hot sun burned his face. Sweat trickled down his cheeks, creating rivulets like tears on his chin and his neck. No, no, it wasn't sweat. It was water. The smell of mud and rotting fish filled his nostrils. He was in the water, swimming, swimming. Trying to reach her. Yellow hair floated on the water, the purple dress spread out behind her, floating. He swam harder, but she floated away, further and further away.

He tried to inhale and water filled his nose. Sputtering, he opened his mouth, struggling for air. Water poured in, gagging him. He flailed his arms, beating against the water, bent on making it to the surface. His arms were weak. His legs flapped, useless against the current. Come on, come on. His lungs were bursting but still he fought against the waves.

“Hey, hey!” The voice quavered with alarm. “Son, wake up! You're having a nightmare. It's just a bad dream. Come on back, sweetie, come on back.”

Michael bolted upright, gasping for air. Even the stale air of the bus, stinking of bodies in close quarters, was better than nothing, better
than the horrible strangling thirst for oxygen when none came. The woman's dry, papery hand covered his clammy fingers and squeezed. He opened his eyes. The lady let go, but her sagging cheeks shook with concern.

“Sorry, sorry.” He tried to rein in his breathing, but it continued to come out in huffs as if he'd been running up a hill. “I…it was…”

“A bad dream. There, there.” The woman whipped a bottle of water from her basket and held it out with a slight flourish. “Take this. I wish I had lemonade. You're so flushed, you might have a fever.”

“No, I'm fine.” He took the bottle of water anyway. His mouth was so dry that his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, a fact that seemed infinitely unreasonable considering the amount of water his nightmare self had consumed in the terrible fight to claw his way out of the lake. “Thank you for the water.”

“No need to thank me. I have more.” She inclined her head toward the window. “We're almost to the first stop.”

“First stop?”

He leaned forward to see around her. The countryside had disappeared into the city. Streets clogged with cars. Buildings so close you couldn't see daylight between them. Signs. Huge signs, small signs, signs on top of signs. And concrete. Lots of concrete. Everywhere he looked he saw people. “This is Springfield?”

“It is.” She smiled airily. “It's a lovely town. My cousin Doris lives here. I'm not stopping to see her, though. I sent her a Christmas card and she didn't send me one back so I figure I don't owe her a visit. I—”

“I've been asleep an hour?”

She glanced at a slim silver watch on an arm covered with wrinkles and brown age spots. “Just about. Poor thing, you were exhausted. And it's no wonder, the way you toss and turn and mumble in your sleep. Who's Lydia? And who's Phoebe?”

He drank from the water bottle. He'd slept the entire time instead of spending these precious moments figuring out what to do next. When he made the plan to leave home, it only encompassed the packing of the bag, the walk to the barn, the short talk with his daed, and hitching a ride to the bus station in New Hope. His daed hadn't even
tried to stop him. He said he saw it coming. His tone said he welcomed it.
Come back when you've got it all figured out. Your room will be waiting.

When he had it all figured out.

The bus took the next corner wide and pulled into an enormous parking lot filled with buses. “Springfield. Springfield,” the driver bellowed. The airbrakes honked, the engine belched, and the bus came to a halt. He pushed on the lever and the door popped open. He stood. “Springfield, folks. Those of you who are getting off for good, thanks for riding with us. The rest of y'all take twenty. Be back here at ten-thirty on the dot or get left behind. I suggest you eat and use the facilities.”

The passengers began to file off.

“Isn't this your stop?” The woman rested both hands on her basket. She didn't seem to be in any hurry. “You said Springfield.”

Fear paralyzed his legs, but he nodded. “It is.”

“Anybody waiting out there for you?” He shook his head. “I didn't think so.”

She opened her basket and doled out a sandwich made with white bread and wrapped in plastic along with a shiny red apple. “It's easier to think with food. Take it.”

He took it.

“No one may be waiting out there for you, son.” She smiled, showing off a set of dentures. “But you're never alone. I suspect you have folks waiting back in New Hope. I don't know what you're looking for, but you won't find it in the big city.” She touched one bony finger to his chest. “It's in there, honey. It's in there.”

Then she stood. “May I pass?”

With haste, he stood and scrambled out of her way. “May I carry your basket for you?”

“No need. I might find another wayward soul who needs a sandwich.” She waved with her free hand. “Remember, sweetie, look in your heart for what you need and you'll always find God waiting there for you.”

He grabbed his duffel bag and followed her. He wanted to believe her. Oh, how he wanted to believe her.

Chapter 13

P
hoebe pulled her chair closer to the window, leaned her arms on the frame, and stared at the brown stubble where the corn had been. Despite the open window, the air in the room stifled her. Fall should arrive any day now. She lowered her head and leaned her forehead against the wood, wishing it were covered with snow blown in by a gusty northern winter wind. Anything to make the time pass, to blur the memories, to tap down the hurt.

“Phoebe? Phoebe!”

Rachel's voice called to her. Reluctantly, Phoebe leaned out the window and looked down at her friend. “Hey.”

Smiling, Rachel shielded her eyes with one hand and waved with the other. “Can I come up?”

“It's too hot up here.”

“Come down then. There's a nice breeze down by the creek. We'll take a walk.”

“Why?”

If Rachel thought the question rude, she gave no sign. “Because I don't like to shout.” No doubt. Rachel was almost as soft-spoken as Molly. When they were younger, the two could hardly get a word in edgewise when Phoebe hogged the conversation. “And I want to talk to you.”

Feeling as if she had five-pound stones strapped to her feet, Phoebe
clomped down the stairs and out to the yard. “I'm not really in the mood to talk.”

Rachel grabbed her arm and hung on. “Then just walk with me. Like we used to do.”

They used to take long walks after the chores were done, exploring this new farm so far from Bliss Creek and Kansas and everything familiar. They'd find new places to sit and daydream about boys and marriage and having babies of their own.

“I don't feel very good.” Phoebe swallowed against the ever-present knot in her throat and the bitter taste it left in her mouth. “I should go back upstairs.”

“Come on, we haven't visited in ages.” Rachel tugged at Phoebe's elbow. “It'll do you good to get out of the house. All this moping around isn't good for you.”

Phoebe allowed herself to be drawn toward the path that led to the pond. Truth be told, she was sick of her room and sick of the view from the window, sick of feeling sick. “You sound like Mudder.”

“She's right.” Rachel set a brisk pace as if she were eager to get somewhere. “Exercise clears the mind.”

“Who told you that?” Phoebe scrambled to keep up with her long-legged friend. “You sound like a doctor or something.”

“Deborah read it in a book.”

The sisters had been talking about her. “Of course she did. Is she mad at me?”

“Mad at you? Whatever for?”

“Because I haven't been helping her get ready for school. You had the work frolic and I didn't even go.” Phoebe wrapped her arms around her middle. “I know she thinks I'll be the new teacher when she leaves and I don't want to do it.”

“She's not mad.” Rachel shrugged. “Of course, she still believes you'll come around. She's so excited about Abel and getting married, she believes everything will work out in the end.”

“That's Deborah.”

“She's right, though. You would be a good teacher.”

Maybe, but she couldn't be trusted, not with children. “I shouldn't be given that kind of responsibility.”

Rachel wrinkled her nose and shook a finger at Phoebe. “Because you made one mistake.”

“One terrible mistake.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Not when kinner are involved.”

“Molly and I were talking about…well, we were talking about you after the prayer service this morning. How we missed your funny face keeping us awake. We missed you in baptism class too.” Rachel gave her a sheepish look. “Why didn't you come to class?”

Because her sin was so great, she was no longer sure she had a right to be baptized. It didn't matter that people kept saying she'd been forgiven. She didn't feel forgiven. She saw the way they looked at her when their paths crossed in town. She saw the way Mudder looked at her when she thought Phoebe wouldn't notice. She saw the way Hannah pushed food around on her plate but never actually took a bite. Her once round little sister now looked like a starving kitten. “I told you. I don't feel very good.”

Rachel halted in the shade of an oak tree. She scooped up a fallen leaf from a pile that heralded the coming of winter somewhere beyond the horizon and twirled it by its stem. “No one blames you.”

“They try very hard not to blame me. There's a difference.”

“They're good people.” Rachel studied the leaf in her hand as if it might do a trick any minute. “Why can't you come to the baptism class?”

“Because Lydia's dead and it's my fault.”

“Gott forgives you. Lydia is with Him now. She's happy. She's not suffering. She'll never feel pain or want for anything.”

“She'll never grow up or marry or have children either.” Phoebe had heard all these words before. “I prayed to Him for hours and hours and hours that day.”

“We all did.”

“She died. He didn't answer our prayers.”

Rachel let the leaf go. It plummeted to the ground. Phoebe trod on it. It crackled under her bare foot.

“My daed says Gott answers all prayers. Only we don't always get the answer we want. Gott knows better than we do what we need. Lydia is happy and safe and loved in His arms.”

That answer, spoken a hundred times in the days following Lydia's death, gave Phoebe the same cold comfort it did every time she heard it. “Instead of in Mudder's arms. Mudder suffers instead. Daed suffers. Hannah suffers.”

“They'll heal. So will you if you forgive yourself.” Rachel leaned her hand on the tree, her kind face troubled. “I'm just a girl. I don't know about these things, but I know someone who does. I want to take you to talk to her. Today. Now.”

“Who?”

“Irene.”

Daniel's mother. Phoebe couldn't remember any conversation she'd ever had with the quiet woman. A woman almost as soft-spoken as Rachel. “Your future mother-in-law? Why?”

“As a favor to me because I'm a worrywart and I worry about you.”

“I don't feel like visiting.” Why couldn't anyone understand this? “I told you, I don't feel good.”

“And you never will if you don't get out of the house and get back to living.” Once again Rachel grabbed Phoebe's arm and tugged, this time in the direction from which they'd just traveled. “We'll take my buggy.”

Half an hour later they pulled into the Knepps' neat-as-a-pin front yard. Relief filled Phoebe when she saw that no other buggies were parked there. No other visitors with whom she'd have to make small talk, knowing all the while they were thinking about what she'd done and wondering how she could live with her guilt. If their eyes weren't full of judgment or condemnation, they contained pity. Everywhere she looked, she saw pity. “I don't know if I can stomach company right now.”

“Irene's not company, she's Irene.” Rachel inclined her head toward the house. “Go on, then. I'll be back in an hour for you.”

“Back in an hour? You're not coming in?” Phoebe had met Daniel's
mother many times, but she'd never carried on a conversation with her, not once. She'd been to work frolics here, cannings, quiltings, and the like, but never to visit with Daniel's mother alone. “I'm not staying if you're not.”

“Go on. She's expecting you.”