Love Redeemed (27 page)

“No. No.”

“What did the waitress say to you as I was walking in?”

“What do you mean?”

“She said something that embarrassed you or made you mad. Your face was red.”

“It was nothing.”

“Come on.” She hopped a little skip and he realized he'd increased his pace and it was hard for her to keep up. He slowed down. “We're friends, right, and friends talk to each other.”

Aside from work, she was as close to a friend as he had in this town. Still, they hadn't known each other long. Not like Daniel and Molly and Rachel. And Phoebe. “She said…she said I needed a girl.”

“Ah ha!” Sophie giggled. “And then I walked in.”

“And then you walked in.” He smacked the button at the crosswalk, hoping to get the light to change and the pedestrian walk sign to come on. “She was just being Crystal. She's like that. She jokes around.”

“It made you uncomfortable because I'm not like your girlfriend or anything. I'm just a friend.”

“You're a friend.” For some reason it became important for her to understand he considered her a friend. If she decided to not spontaneously appear now and then, his life would be the less for it. The realization surprised him. “A friend I value.”

“Thank you. That's nice of you to say. I feel the same way.” She perked up considerably. “You know what, I'm not really that hungry. Let's go buy you some clothes first.”

“I've got clothes.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, her expression full of only partially concealed distaste. “You're wearing carpenters pants that are a size too big and a little bit too short. Who taught you to shop?”

“No one. Mudder made my pants.” He gritted his teeth. No matter how he tried, his family butted into his thoughts. “I never shopped for clothes before.”

“I never would've guessed.” She grabbed his arm and tugged at it. Something in his face must have shown his discomfort, and she let go and put up both hands palms out as if in surrender. “There's a Goodwill store not far from here that has secondhand jeans that are really
great. I have friends who shop there all the time. You need a jacket too. Come on.”

“I don't like shopping very much.”

“Figured as much.” She raised her head as if studying the sky for rain. “We could go to a movie.”

He caught her sideways glance. She was up to something. “I don't think so.”

“You've never been to a movie?”

“No.” The light changed and he looked both ways. Around here, a green light was no guarantee that someone wouldn't decide to barrel through the intersection. Together, they started forward. “Why?”

“Do you turn on the TV when you're in your room at night?”

“No.”

“You don't belong here.”

She liked to do that. Make these definitive statements as if he would know what she meant by them. He made the obligatory response. “What do you mean?”

“You still belong to your community. You try to follow the Ordnung where it's possible. You do it out of respect for God.”

He'd tried the TV once, when he first arrived. The incessant babble made him want to put his hands over his ears. The irony of how he'd so wanted to watch TV when he was younger—before his rumspringa kicked in—wasn't lost on him now.
Careful what you wish for.
His mudder used to say that.
You might get it.
“I don't have any interest in watching TV, that's all.”

“You won't be happy until you go home.”

“You're wrong.” He could never be happy at home. He'd seen to that.

“Don't be sad. We'll get in a little retail therapy.”

There she went again. Sounding like the Englisch women who chitter-chattered all day long in the restaurant, talking about their hair color and the shoe sale at Payless and TV reality shows. “What?”

“That's what my English friends call shopping.”

“I don't much like shopping.”

“You said that already.”

“I did.”

She grinned. “So we'll get it over quickly. And on Saturday I'm going to take you home to meet my papa and mama and my brothers. I call them the bothers. Because they really bother me.”

He slowed. One step forward, two steps back. “Why would you take me home? Do you take all your friends home to meet your parents?”

“Only the ones who need a good home-cooked meal.”

“I eat fine.”

“It's not the food you need; it's the company.”

Something in her tone warned him. “Did you tell your parents something about me?”

“I always tell my parents about everyone I come across. It's part of my…it's what I do.”

“What you do?”

“Have you ever heard of friend evangelism?”

“No. We don't do evangelism.”

“I know you don't, but do you know what it means?”

“Jah. Yes.”

“That's what I do. It's my calling.”

“You're eighteen and you have a calling?”

“Yeah, I do, and so does my papa. He helps runaways find their way home. He helps people who are lost.”

“I'm not lost.”

“Not physically. But something happened to you. Something bad. You don't want to tell me about it and I get that. It's fine. But my papa is a real good listener.”

“I'm really tired. I should go home.”

“Look, you don't have to meet them until Saturday. We'll just buy some pants for you and then we'll eat tacos, okay?”

He wavered. He did look pretty funny in his baggy, too short pants. He'd wanted to get it over with that day—his first foray into clothes shopping. The dressing room had been bright with a fluorescent light and warped mirrors that made him look like a patient suffering from a bad disease. He didn't like seeing himself in a mirror. He didn't like taking his pants off in a public place. He didn't like putting them back on to go back out through the aisles to find something that fit. So he'd
said
close enough
and bought these pants and raced for the door, vowing never to shop again.

“Fine. If we can leave the visit with your family for another time.”

“Fine. As long as you sincerely mean that.”

“That I'll visit?”

“Yes.”

“I sincerely mean it.”

She looked so happy he had to hide his guilt. He hadn't said when.

And it wouldn't be any time soon.

Chapter 25

P
hoebe trudged up the new dirt road the men had graded before building the house a few weeks earlier. Rachel and Daniel's fathers stood next to a sawhorse looking at a rough, hand-drawn plan of the house they were helping to build for their children. It was late afternoon, nearly suppertime, but they were still hard at work. It didn't surprise her. Even though the days were short now and daylight precious, they were hardworking men. Rachel's father looked up first. He didn't seem surprised to see her. “Looking for Daniel?”

Ben Knepp swiveled and looked back. He frowned. He showed no surprise either, but a flash of displeasure darkened his face. He wasn't happy to see her. Irene might practice forgiving and forgetting, but it seemed Daniel's daed had a longer memory.

“I need to speak with Daniel, jah.”

“He's working.” Ben went back to the plan.

“It'll only be a minute.”

Peter Daugherty jerked his head toward the half-finished wood frame structure and bowed his head close to Ben's. He understood grace a little more. Feeling dismissed, Phoebe lingered for a second. What was going on in Peter's head? His daughters, Deborah and Rachel, would marry one right after the other in the next month. Deborah would move back to Bliss Creek with Abel. Rachel would make her
home here with Daniel. Peter's house would be a little emptier, a little quieter. He still had four more children, four more times to help a son or daughter move on to the next stage of life. He might feel relief. Or a touch of pride—one he would never admit to. If it were her, she'd feel a little sad. If she ever had the chance to find out.

She found Daniel hanging drywall in the house he and Rachel would share come spring. They would spend the first few months of their marriage living with Daniel's parents until the house could be finished. A frolic a few weeks earlier had ended with the cellar dug, the frame up, and the roof completed. The interior they would complete over time. Phoebe found herself imagining what the rooms would look like after Rachel made the house a home. Her friends would be happy in this house.

A nail was stuck between Daniel's lips and his attention was centered on the drywall. He didn't look up when Phoebe slipped in the doorway.

“Daniel?”

He swung the hammer, missed the nail between his fingers, and hit his hand.
“Ach!”
He dropped the hammer and danced around, one hand cradled in the other. “Phoebe! What are you doing here?”

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you.”

“Don't be sneaking up on a man like that!”

“I said I was sorry.”

“What are you doing here?”

It had taken her over an hour to walk up to this house and now that she had arrived, Phoebe found her courage had made itself scarce. “This will be a nice home for you and Rachel.”

He shook his hand hard and rubbed the fingers. He had dirt under his nails. Despite the crisp October air, his shirt was drenched in sweat. He looked like the hard worker he was. “You saw it the day of the build.”

“I did.”

“So you thought you'd take another look?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He picked up the hammer and then laid it on a sawhorse next to the stack of drywall. “Me? Is this about Rachel?”

“Nee.”

He rummaged in a can of nails, his face suddenly pensive. “Is it about Michael?”

“It is.”

“It's about time.”

“What?”

“I kept thinking you'd give some sign you wanted him to come home.”

Phoebe turned to stare out the space that would eventually be a window. Right now it looked out over a meadow. They would need a barn and a corral. They had so much work ahead of them. Rachel couldn't wait to get started furnishing her new home. Every time they visited she talked about that part. Phoebe wanted to ask her what it was like to be this close to her dream. They'd dreamed of getting married, being fraas, and having babies since they were little girls. Now Rachel would have that.

“It's not that easy.” She faced Daniel. “He needs to come home, but not for me.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I know what he's going through.”

“So you've talked to him.”

Daniel stooped and picked up another sheet of drywall. He grunted and shoved it against the wood frame. “Not recently. Before. The day he left.”

“But not since. I thought you exchanged letters.”

“We have.”

“When?”

“I got another one last week.”

“And you didn't tell me.”

Daniel scrubbed his face with the back of his sleeve. “I didn't know if you wanted to know.”

Of course she wanted to know. “How is he? Where he is? What's he doing?”

“Maybe you should just read the letter.” Daniel bent over and scooped up a handful of nails. “Better than me trying to explain.”

“You have it with you?”

He shook his head. “Not at the moment. He's living and working in Springfield.”

A big town where a person could get lost. A town full of dangers and temptations. “Springfield.”

“Jah. He got a job.”

“What kind of job?”

“Washing dishes in a diner.” Daniel frowned, his opinion of this job evident in the wrinkle of his nose. “He's living in a motel.”

Washing dishes and living in a motel. They had no one to blame but themselves, but still, dismay burrowed itself between her shoulders, making her neck ache. “He can't be happy living like that.”

“Nobody said he was happy. Wasn't that the point of him going—to punish himself?”

“Or me.”

“Michael doesn't blame you. He blames himself.” Daniel wiped at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. A pulse beat in his temple as he gritted his teeth. He met Phoebe's gaze squarely. “Truth be told, you should both blame me.”

“What are you talking about?”

He straightened and faced her. “I'm the one who egged Michael on that day. Instead of going fishing, I wanted to take a walk with Rachel. I convinced him to do the same with you. I guess I thought I wouldn't feel so guilty if we both did it.”

“And now you blame yourself.”

Misery darkened his face. “Jah.”

“Michael had a choice. I had a choice.” Even as she said the words, Phoebe recognized the truth in them. Everyone wanted to blame themselves. Each one of them had to take responsibility for their actions. Hard as it seemed. “You might be slick with words, but no one made Michael do something he didn't want to do or thought was wrong. You're his best friend. You know that. If he came to me, it's because he wanted to do it.”

Her words rang in her ears. Because he wanted to do it. Michael wanted to see her enough to skip fishing, enough to break the rules, enough to incur his father's wrath. Her father's wrath. Michael cared for her.

Daniel's fingers gripped the hammer, his knuckles white. He cleared his throat. “You're right.”

Phoebe wished for a chair. Her legs didn't want to hold her anymore. “He has to come home.”

“Has something changed?”

“What do you mean?”

“He left because you couldn't stand to look at him. It reminded you of…what happened.”

“I never said that.” Nor had she told him she wanted him to stay. She'd distanced herself from him at the funeral. He hadn't tried again. With the passage of time, the hurt eased, the grief ebbed. With time, they could overcome this. “I never wanted him to leave his family or his community. He needs to be baptized. Even if we never…”