Love Redeemed (30 page)

“Have you ever noticed God places people in your path when you most need them?”

The image of the lady on the bus with her basket of sandwiches and her words of advice about his heart floated in front of him. “I've noticed.”

“Don't be a stranger then.”

Don't be a stranger. He lived in a big city full of strangers. They were everywhere. And he liked it that way. Michael strode down the stairs and angled across the sidewalk to the street. He didn't look back. He didn't need a new community. Did he? Did he like going home alone every night to a single room that was never quite dark enough to sleep in because of the neon lights that flashed across the parking lot? Did he like lying on the bed listening to the garbage trucks hoist the huge bins and dump the contents at five in the morning? Did he like eating cold sandwiches and soup out of a can?

He didn't need Sophie's friendship. So why did the thought of not seeing her anymore sear his heart with such painful intensity? Were his feelings more than that? He slammed to a halt, examining the feelings that welled up at the thought. No. Sophie didn't evoke the feelings he'd once had for Phoebe. She reminded him of his sisters. She was…comfortable. They could joke and banter and tease each other. Her presence in his life for the past several weeks had meant someone with whom he could talk and laugh. Be himself. A friend.

No one could replace Phoebe. The thought gave him no comfort. Phoebe might as well be in another country, another world, such was the distance between them. Come to think of it, she was in another world. He'd traveled to a distant alien place. She was right where she'd always been.

Was she waiting for him? Did she ever think of that one moment
they'd shared before chaos had descended and death had ripped them apart? Did she ever think of that kiss?

Try as he might he couldn't forget that kiss. Or her sweet voice. The way she cocked her head when she thought about something. The way she looked at him as if she'd been waiting for him her whole life.

They'd shared one brief moment and it had meant everything to him. Had been everything he'd imagined it would be.

And somehow, it had all been wrong.

Pursued by his thoughts, Michael started walking again, this time faster. Faster and faster. An old green car with rust on the passenger side door pulled up next to the curb in front of the Weaver house. He stuck his hands in his pockets and kept walking. Four teenage boys tumbled out, laughing and talking, carrying bags from the convenience store Michael had passed on his way to the house. He glanced their way and ducked his head. Three were made from the same mold as Sophie. The same hair, eyes, fair skin. The Weaver kinner took after their mother. Except they had their daed's height and wiry frame.

Something about the fourth boy reminded him of someone he knew. Daniel, or maybe his brother Hiram. The haircut spoke volumes. Another Plain man.

“Hey, are you Michael?” the oldest boy called out to him. “Are you Sophie's friend?”

He slowed. Much as he wanted to, he couldn't ignore Sophie's brother. He'd been brought up better than that. He stopped. “I am.”

“Did Pops scare you away already?”

“I'm not scared. I…I just remembered something I needed to do.”

“Come on, man, don't let him freak you out.” He laughed. He sounded a lot like Sophie. “I'm Leo and that's my dufus little brother Robert—we call him Bobby—and my other brother John, and this other guy with the goofy grin on his face is our friend Tim.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Sophie talks about you all the time.” Leo bent over and crawled into the backseat of the car, then reemerged, a baseball mitt and ball in his hand. “After dinner we're headed over to the park across the way for a pickup game. You should come.”

Michael hunched his shoulders. A baseball. The most normal thing he'd seen in the months he'd been here. Without thinking, he yanked one hand from his pocket and took the glove Leo held out to him. “It's been a while. I probably stink at it.”

“It's like riding a bike.”

He wouldn't know. His district didn't ride bikes. He smoothed the leather. It smelled like long Sunday afternoons outdoors in the summer heat and sweet tea and sneakers and sweat and his mudder's brownies. He tried to return it to Leo, but the other man held up both hands. “It's yours for the day.”

“I don't know.”

“Come on. A bunch of guys from the high school are gonna be there. With you we'll have enough for our side.” Bobby held up two bags. “But first we have to eat. We brought the ice cream. Rocky Road for Pops and strawberry for Mama. Knowing Sophie, she'll have some of both.”

The four started toward the house as if he'd agreed to the whole thing. Michael tucked the glove under one arm and rubbed the ball with his thumbs. Leo looked back. “Mom's mashed potatoes and gravy are out of this world. You snooze you lose around here. We can demolish a plate of fried chicken in about one point eight seconds.”

Michael hastened to catch up. Homemade fried chicken. Homemade gravy. His stomach rumbled. It couldn't hurt. With the whole bunch of them there, James Weaver couldn't focus on Michael and his problems. He'd have his own sons and their company to consider.

“I'm Timothy Shrock.” The friend paused and held the screen door for Michael to enter. “I'm from LaPlata. What about you?”

“Mostly Bliss Creek, Kansas. Moved down by New Hope about a year or so ago.”

“I heard about the new district.” Timothy followed Michael in. “I guess it didn't work out for you.”

“I don't know yet.”

The other man nodded. “I know what you mean.”

James Weaver's perpetual smile broadened when he saw Michael pause in the doorway to the dining room. “Come on in, son. He who hesitates goes to bed hungry around here.”

Michael let out his breath. He hadn't realized he'd been holding it. “So I've heard.”

The Weavers took their places at the table with much chattering and shoving of chairs. Michael ended up between Sophie and her mother. He sneaked a glance around. No one touched their forks. No bowls passed. Sophie held out her hand just as her mother did the same. Everyone joined hands.

Sophie's hand was warm and soft. She gripped his fingers with a surprising force. He closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing but his Heavenly Father.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

The same refrain as always. The words seemed to drown any others he might offer.

“Heavenly Father, thank You so much for the blessings You bestow on us.” James surprised Michael by praying aloud, his voice deep and steady. “Thank You for this bountiful feast and for the women who prepared it for us. Lord, I thank You for each one of my children. I thank You for our guests. And Lord, I ask You to give our guest Michael the comfort he seeks, the forgiveness he seeks, and the answers he needs.”

Heat burned Michael's face. His throat ached. Sophie's grip increased. So did her mother's. Sitting between them was like having the sweet, warm aroma of bread baking wafting around him in the dead of winter. He kept his eyes closed and his head down. If the others did the same they wouldn't see the blush of emotion and embarrassment on his face.

“Lord, we ask that Your will be done in all that we do. Show us, guide us, direct us on the path You would have us take. Thy will be done in all things. Guide Timothy and Michael in their travels and help them to find their way home, wherever that place is.

“All this we pray in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”

A chorus of
amens
joined James's. Michael could only whisper his.
Let it be so, Gott. Let it be so.

Chapter 28

P
hoebe shook out another pair of Elam's pants and hung them on the line, shoving clothespins into the waistband. Pants and shirts covered most of the line, yet her basket seemed to be a bottomless pit. The sun's angle told her she'd better get the rest of the laundry hung up or it wouldn't be dry before the day's warmth dissipated. The fall days were so much shorter now. Elam was working in the fields with her other brothers, leaving her alone with the girls, but Mudder and Daed should be back from the doctor's appointment anytime now. Mudder hadn't said why they were going. Something about the look on her face kept Phoebe from asking.

Trying to ignore the queasy worry in her stomach, she focused on throwing the last pair of Daed's pants over the line. She needed to check on the ham in the oven and peel the potatoes and carrots. Hannah should help with that.

Leaving the flapping clothes behind, she trudged around the corner of the house to the front yard. Hannah knelt in Mudder's flower garden, pulling weeds as Sarah played in the dirt next to her. She looked almost content among the autumn blooming asters with their blue and purple petals, the sweet fragrance floating around her. The pink, yellow, and purple mums Mudder had planted were still blooming too. They seemed to like the shorter October days with the brisk, cool breeze in the evening. Plum, crab apple, and cherry trees guarded the flowers,
their rainbow of colors waiting for spring to bloom. Her family was so blessed to have chosen this farm as their new home.

“How's it going?” Phoebe swung the empty basket, thinking she would love to stay out here instead of going back inside to work on supper and get the last of the laundry from the laundry room. “Need any help?”

A smudge of dirt on her pale cheek, Hannah looked up. It took her a minute to respond as if she'd been deep in thought far away. “Nee.”

Since sharing in the birth of Elijah and Bethel's son, Hannah had been less morose, but she still didn't talk much and she hadn't returned to her former good-natured self. They'd all been changed, Phoebe reminded herself. She didn't laugh as much as she used to. She didn't rush from the house for the Sunday night singings either. Nee. Don't. No thinking of Michael.

She'd not heard a word from Daniel about her proposal that he go to Springfield to talk to Michael. Not a word. Maybe his daed had forbidden him to go. Tomorrow she'd try to talk to him again. Or maybe she should go herself, if she could convince Daed to let her. Or simply go on her own.

Nee. What if something happened while she was off chasing her dream? She would continue to try to get through each day without making another mistake and leave the rest up to Daniel and God.

“I can take Sarah in with me, if you'd rather.”

“Nee.” She spoke with more force this time. Hannah scooted on her knees closer to the toddler. “She's fine with me.”

“I'll start supper then.”

“I'll be in to help as soon as I finish this row.” She brushed dirt from her hands. “I want it to look nice when Mudder and Daed get back.”

“It will.”

Hannah went back to her work as if no longer interested in speaking to Phoebe. Containing a sigh, Phoebe ran up the steps and into the house, intent on getting that last load of laundry.

A scream cut through the air before she reached the laundry room off the kitchen. Hannah? Sarah!

She whirled and dashed back outside, down the steps, and hurtled toward the garden. “Hannah!”

Hannah lifted a screaming, writhing Sarah to her chest. “Help me! Help!”

“What is it? What happened?” Phoebe dashed across the grass to the garden. “What's the matter with her?”

“Bee sting!” Hannah yelled. “It got her on the leg, I think. She won't stop thrashing around. I can't see.”

The possibilities and the remedies raced through Phoebe's head as she grabbed the little girl's bare leg, struggling to avoid getting kicked in the face. “Let me see!”

A huge red welt covered Sarah's small, chubby thigh. The leg had begun to swell in only seconds. So had her toes. “Stop crying, sweet pea. It's okay; it's all right,” she cooed. “It's okay. It's just a sting.”

“Look, look at her face!” The horror in Hannah's voice brought Phoebe's gaze to the smaller girl's face. “It's swelling!”

Indeed it was. The lips were already twice their normal size and her blue eyes sank behind swollen red eyelids. Even her ears were swelling. Phoebe had seen this before—her Onkel John had had a reaction to a bee sting. He'd nearly died before the ambulance arrived and gave him a shot of something that had caused the swelling to disappear. “Take her.” Phoebe laid Sarah in Hannah's arms. “Run to the house. Get the medicine Mudder gave you for your head cold. Not the pills—the wet stuff. I'll get the buggy.”

“Are we going to town?”

“No time. Phone shack. Run!”

Hannah ran, Sarah still screaming, bouncing on her hip.

By the time she returned, Phoebe had Roscoe harnessed to the buggy. The screaming had subsided into wheezing, a realization that made Phoebe's heart rock, then sink. “Did you get it?” She boosted Hannah into the seat and climbed over her. “Did you give her the medicine?”

“I don't think she swallowed it. Most of it ran out because she was screaming.”

“Tip her back in your lap.” Phoebe grabbed the bottle of Benadryl and poured a trickle into the baby's open mouth. Her hand shook so badly that most of the pink liquid ended up on the girl's neck and dress, but some made its way into her mouth. Sarah gurgled, huffed, and wheezed, but she swallowed. She stared up at Phoebe, her eyes almost completely obscured by her swollen eyelids.

Phoebe thrust the bottle at Hannah and grabbed the reins. “Hang on.”

“Why not town?”

“Phone shack's closer. They can get to us faster than we can get to them.”

“Who?”

“The ambulance.”

Within minutes they were at the entrance to the Shirack farm where the squat, white shack stood on the side of the road. Phoebe heaved a breath and tried to think as she climbed down. 9-1-1. 9-1-1. What to say? The address. Would they know where to come? Her fingers shook so hard she kept missing the buttons. Finally, she connected. The operator's calm voice, so far away yet so near, assured her the ambulance driver would know just where to go.