Love Redeemed (19 page)

At that moment, she didn't sound nearly as sweet as she normally did.

“I may have missed one or two.” Bertha picked up a pair of orange shears. “If you want it done right, you probably should hand me a written list.”

“I figured as much.” Her expression serene, Irene handed a semi-crumpled piece of paper to the other woman. “People busy minding other people's business tend to miss their own.”

Phoebe smiled a real smile, the first one in many days. Irene nodded at her. “Phoebe, why don't you go get me a big spool of each color of thread. Do you mind? I can take care of business here.”

Indeed she could. Phoebe thanked God for putting a good woman in her path. One who understood what she had gone through—was still going through. It was the first prayer she'd offered in many days that didn't involve begging or whining or seeking forgiveness.

Simply,
thank you
.

Chapter 15

T
uesday morning dawned with clear skies and a cool, fresh breeze that Phoebe knew would dissipate by afternoon, allowing the warmth of September to linger a little longer. She thought of the children in school. She should be there with them. She had a responsibility to help Deborah, at least until they hired a new teacher. She wasn't a coward. She would follow Irene's lead and learn to take each day one at a time until she could learn to live with what she'd done. But today, she had a fence to mend. If it could be mended.

The walk to Michael's house took more than hour, but she didn't mind. She kept a steady pace, the bag of cookies she'd made the night before tucked under one arm. She'd given Irene's cookies to her brothers—she wanted to bake her own for Michael. Fresh and made with her loving touch. It gave her time to think about what she would say to him. Each step on the dusty road kicked up plumes of dirt that layered the top of her feet until they looked gray. She counted the steps for a while to avoid thinking about anything else. Then she began to count the ways she was blessed. Doing as Irene had done. Letting go of the bad things and hanging on to the good.

Like Michael. Michael was good. He'd made a mistake and so had she. She needed to mend the rift with him. If they were meant to be together the death of her sister should bring them closer together, not
rip them apart. They should lean on each other and learn from their mistakes. Learn to slow down and step together, following the path laid out for them by their parents and the bishop. One step at a time.

For the first time in a long time, she could breathe. She saw a future for herself. She saw Michael in it. If Irene could survive the loss of her baby and her home through her own clumsiness, Phoebe could survive Lydia's death through her own selfish, thoughtless act. At the steps that led to the Daughertys' front porch, she paused. She inhaled air scented with honeysuckle that trailed its way along the railing.
Gott, help me.
Since her talk with Irene, she'd attempted a prayer or two. They sounded feeble in her inner ear. She couldn't get past a few words without feeling like a wayward child trying to justify her behavior in the eyes of her daed.

Gott, help me.

“Phoebe! Oh, Phoebe, I'm so glad you came.” Edna Daugherty pushed open the screen door and trotted out on to the porch. A short woman shaped like a plump pear, she had given Michael his dark blue eyes and dimpled smile. Everything else came from his daed. “Come in, come in.”

Phoebe tried to smile in return. She held up the bag. “I brought Michael some cookies.”

Edna's smile slid from her face. She wiped her hands on her apron. “I'm baking pies. Why don't you come in and sit a spell in the kitchen? I could use the company.”

“Is Michael gone already? I hoped if I came early enough I'd catch him before he took off into the fields.”

“Tobias is planting the last of the winter wheat.” Edna smoothed her peach-stained apron with both hands. “Seth and Robert are helping him.”

“But not Michael?”

“Not Michael.” Edna picked up a tabby cat that wound itself around her feet. She eased onto the porch step and plopped the cat on her lap. “Sit.”

Something in Edna's expression made Phoebe want to turn and run. Instead, she did as she was told. “Where's Michael?”

Edna ran her water-wrinkled hands along the tabby's back. He
purred with a vengeance. His warm, wet nose pushed at Phoebe's arm as if encouraging her to join in. “Where's Michael? Is he all right?”

“I thought Daniel would tell you—or Rachel. Michael left.” Edna sighed. “I can't believe they didn't tell you.”

Phoebe couldn't believe it either. Rachel had seen Daniel at the prayer service and in class. She'd never said a word. It couldn't be. “Left?”

The word didn't make sense to Phoebe. The Michael who'd kissed her that day at Stockton Lake wouldn't go without saying goodbye. He'd finally made the first move because he saw something in her. Saw something for them. Maybe he went to Bliss Creek to visit his cousins. A visit to help heal. To get away for a bit until he could face his future here.

“I'm sorry.” Edna's voice caught in her throat. “You've been through so much already. I hate to be the one to tell you. He's been gone a few days now.”

“Gone?”

“He packed a bag and hopped a bus in town. He told Tobias he had to leave. He needed a fresh start.”

“A fresh start.” She couldn't help herself. She kept parroting Edna's words, unable to form her own. “Packed a bag.”

“He said he'd write when he got settled in Springfield.”

Springfield. An hour's drive away by car.

“Come inside. Let me get you a glass of water.” Edna dumped the cat onto the grass with an unceremonious plop. He gave her a reproachful look and stalked away, his tail swishing. She stood. “You look parched from the walk over here. It may be cooler, but it's still humid.”

“I should go.” Phoebe stood. She swayed, and Edna grabbed her arm. “I need to get back.”

“Nee, you're not walking back. You look green. You look like you haven't eaten in a week. You sit down and I'll bring you a glass of water and a sandwich. Richard can give you a ride home.”

Phoebe sat with a thump and asked the only question her mind could pop out. “Richard's here?”

“Jah. He came over from Peter's early to help cut some hay. He just went into the barn a few minutes ago.”

Richard had shown an interest in her. His move to ask her to take
a ride with him might very well have been the nudge Michael needed to get moving himself. Before it was too late.

For all the good it had done Michael and her.

Edna pattered up the steps and swept into the house. She reappeared with a tall glass of water and a plate with a ham and cheese sandwich on it. She offered them to Phoebe, but Phoebe couldn't raise her arms to accept the food. After a moment, Edna deposited the glass and plate on the step next to Phoebe, shooed the cat away, and disappeared again, this time toward the barn. She returned a few minutes later with Richard in tow.

Richard shoved his hat back on a sweaty forehead and nodded. “Phoebe. It's been a while.”

Edna brushed her hands together as if ridding herself of the entire situation. “Richard will take you home. After you eat the sandwich.”

“Nee, nee. It's not necessary.” She picked up the plate and held it out. “I'm afraid I can't eat this. Maybe Richard…”

“You've gone from green to white as the sheets on my clothesline, girl, and you look so skinny you're practically a skeleton.” Edna cocked her head toward Richard, who examined her like a man about to approach a wild horse. “Bring the buggy up here. Take her home. I'd do it myself but I have the grandbabies today. I'll square it with your onkel—you'll be back in two shakes.”

Phoebe's vision blurred. Her stomach heaved. The plate clattered from her hands and the sandwich tumbled into the grass at her feet. The cat pounced on a piece of ham and trotted away, tail high in the air as if it had captured a trophy.
Two shakes. I'll be back in two shakes.
The exact words she'd used with Hannah. What had she been thinking coming here? As if all could be made right. Michael knew. He knew. That's why he left. Nothing would be the same again.

She leaned her head forward, trying to catch her breath, and closed her eyes.
In and out. In and out.

A hand rubbed her back in a soothing circular motion. “It's all right. Richard will take you home so you can rest.”

“I don't want to rest.” She looked up at Edna. “I want to talk to Michael.”

Her face lined with sadness, Edna sank onto the steps as if her legs no longer held her. “Michael wanted to talk to you too, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. But he will, I know he will. He'll come back and he'll talk to you and you'll be baptized, both of you.”

“He tried to talk to me and I turned him away. Now he's gone.”

“He'll be back. He just needs a little time.”

She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself more than Phoebe. Baptism. Of course, that would be Michael's parents' first concern. His salvation was at stake. Not just their life together. Their happiness. She should see that.

Phoebe did see that. She swallowed against the hard knot in her throat and stood. To her relief, her legs didn't betray her. They held. “You're right. I should go.”

“We'll pray for God's will.” Edna stood as well. “God's will be done.”

As far as Phoebe could tell, God's will involved her being miserable and alone. Her own fault, she saw that clearly. What she couldn't divine was what God expected her to do about it.

The clip-clop of horse hooves and the squeak of buggy wheels forced her to turn. She squinted against the sun and Richard's tanned face bobbed in front of her.

“You all right? Let me help you up.”

He held out a mammoth hand with a long scar across the back. He had dirt under his fingernails and calluses on his palms. A hard worker. She shook her head. “I'm fine.”

She tottered around him and climbed into the buggy.

To her relief, he said nothing more. He simply climbed back aboard, pushed his hat back on his head, and called “giddy-up” to the horse.

The silence stretched until they reached the narrow road that led home.

“What's that in your lap?” His voice had the soft tone of a man trying to calm a child.

She looked down, surprised to discover she still clutched the bag of cookies she carried.

“Cookies.”

“I like cookies.” His voice softened some more. “Are you thinking
about sharing with a poor hungry man who's fixing to miss the noonday meal giving a girl a ride home?”

“Share?”

He smiled, his teeth white and even against the dark tan of his face, glistening with sweat. He had that smell of fresh dirt and sweat and sun that she associated with all the men in the community. Familiar, comfortable. He held the reins loosely, his burly frame relaxed against the seat, the picture of calm. “It seems like it's been an awful long time since breakfast.”

“Jah.” Glad to have someplace else to look, she worked at the knots with numb fingers that didn't seem to want to do her bidding. Aware of his sidelong glances, she managed to open the bag. Some of the cookies had broken into two or three chunks. “They're a little worse for wear.”

“I don't mind. They don't have to look pretty to taste good.” He plucked a chunk of gingersnap from the bag and popped it in his mouth. “
Gut
. That tastes
gut
. Did you make them?”

“Jah.”

“You do make a good gingersnap. Just the right amount of ginger and snap.”

He had one of those deep, hearty laughs that shook everyone around him—just like her daed. The buggy rocked along, its creaking wheels the only sound for several minutes.

“You don't talk much, I guess.”

Anyone who knew her at all would argue she never let anyone else get a word in edgewise. “Not anymore.”

“You came to talk to Edna, I guess.”

“Nee.”

“Come on, throw me a bone.” He laughed again. “I'm just trying to make polite conversation to pass the time.”

“Eat another cookie.”

“You don't have to ask me twice.” He plucked another big chunk from the bag, this time peanut butter, and deposited the entire piece in his mouth. A satisfied look on his face, he chewed in silence for another good half mile. “Now what?”

“What?”

“You just gonna keep stuffing my mouth with cookies to keep from talking to me?”

“Will that work?”

He pulled up on the reins so the buggy stopped in the middle of the road. Phoebe looked around. Nothing. “What are you doing? We're stopped in the middle of the road.”

“I know you're sad. It might help to talk to me.”

“It won't help.”

“Then let's talk about something else.”

“Are you always this forward?”

“Only when I'm asked to do someone a favor in the middle of my workday, the day I committed to helping my onkel by bringing in hay. Only when the object of that favor doesn't seem to appreciate it or me.”

“You shouldn't do favors because you expect something in return. You should do them because it's the right thing to do.”

“Now we're talking.” He snapped the reins and the buggy jolted forward. “So are things any better? Starting to get back to normal?”

“They'll never get back to normal.”

“They will. One of these days you'll stop staring out at those empty fields like you're drowning in a sea of sorrow.”

Drowning in a sea of sorrow. She shook her head. “It's nice of you to ask, but I'm fine.” Maybe not fine, but talking with Irene had helped. For the first time since Lydia's death, she'd opened her eyes in the morning without experiencing that dreadful sinking sensation that came with the slow surfacing of the memories. The shuddering, sick feeling as she thought of filling the hours of this day until she could lie down again and sink into the oblivion of sleep. That new optimism had been premature. She saw that now in light of what Edna had told her. Michael, with all his show of interest, his declaration, his kiss, had fled and left her to trudge into this new, dark future alone.