Summer of Secrets (6 page)

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Authors: Charlotte Hubbard

Tags: #Restaurants, #Christian Fiction, #Amish, #Betrothal, #Love Stories, #Religious, #General, #Triplets, #Fiction, #Amish & Mennonite, #Christian, #Romance

BOOK: Summer of Secrets
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“Ya s’pose he sees Lettie’s takin’ off as ... God workin’ things out?” Rachel asked quietly. “That sort of thing’s not s’posed to happen if a woman really loves her man—and if he really loves her. Ain’t so?”
“Now
there’s
a question best left to God.” Mamma’s tone suggested they might’ve veered from the Gospel into gossip. “Keep goin’, Rhoda. You’re a fine reader, child. Ya don’t just rush over it, mouthin’ the words, like some folks.”
Rhoda nodded and focused on the dark, dense print again. “‘If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from Him, that he who loveth God love his brother also.’”
She sighed, looking out into the night where the insects sang their summer song. “The Word only mentions menfolk and brothers, but it would work the same for a sister, I’m thinkin’. So ... she who loveth God loves her sister, also?”
“Ya just said a mouthful, honey-girl.”
In the porch chair on the other side of the lamp’s glow, Rachel shifted until her face was lit by the lamp. “Like God decidin’ what we need to hear,” she repeated in a faraway voice.
For just the slightest moment, Rhoda had a vision of Tiffany—their Rebecca—in a kapp. Clean faced and smiling ever so gently.
Chapter 7
 
Out by the county highway on Sunday afternoon, Miriam waved at the familiar van pulling onto the shoulder. She opened the back door to put her picnic hamper on the floor, and then hoisted herself into the front passenger seat. “
Gut
afternoon, Sheila! And how are ya this fine day?”
“Doing well, thanks.” The stocky woman behind the wheel smiled and adjusted her sunglasses. She wore brown slacks and a beige short-sleeved sweater, simple yet becoming for a woman her age. “I found that obituary we talked about, and I confess to being
very
curious about where we’re headed today. That is, if you care to share!”
Miriam fastened her seat belt, wondering how much to reveal. Over the years this kind, careful woman had traveled many miles with her—over the roads, as well as into the uncharted territory known as widowhood—and she trusted Sheila Dougherty nearly as much as she did Naomi. “Well, I might be askin’ ya to go inside with me, to keep me from losin’ my nerve. So ... you found out where Tiffany lives?”
Sheila nodded as she looked right and left before making a U-turn onto the road. “The funeral notice was for a Janet Oliveri, and her husband Bob—and Tiffany—are listed as survivors. Had to check the phone directory for an address, but it’s just up the road in Morning Star, as you told me on the phone.”
“
Jah
, that matches what she told us, even if we don’t understand it.” Miriam took a deep breath and released it to quiet her jangling nerves. Was she really on her way to meet the man who’d raised her Rebecca? And maybe to see her daughter again? She felt all twitchy and had to make herself sit still.
“The family suggested donations and memorials be made to the hospice in New Haven, or to the American Cancer Society,” her driver went on in a somber voice. “So I’m guessing this Janet might’ve had a nasty time of it, like my Rick did.”
“Sorry to hear that, but it helps us understand the situation. Poor Tiffany. Awful hard to watch that happenin’ to someone ya love.” Miriam shifted in her seat belt, feeling the waves of curiosity Sheila was too polite to express. They rode in silence for a couple of minutes, past the familiar places of folks she knew ... Henry Zook’s market, closed on this Lord’s day ... Holsteins grazing at the Hostetler dairy farm ... the turnoff that led to the Brenneman shop. “Seems we all take our turns at dealin’ with tragedy, ain’t so? But—well, I had my very own miracle served up at the Sweet Seasons, this Thursday past. Would ya believe it, Sheila? That Tiffany ya read about is the little daughter I thought we’d lost in the flood, back in 1993. Except she’s not so little any more.”
The floodgates opened once again. While Miriam shared her excitement at finding Rebecca, along with the shock of seeing this Tiffany Oliveri decked out in so much black dye and clothing, she smiled and cried a little and answered Sheila’s surprised questions. “
Jah
, it’s a blessin’, all right,” she agreed as she dabbed at her eyes. “And I hope Rhoda and Rachel will come to see it that way real soon. I ... over the years, I couldn’t seem to find the right words to tell them about their lost sister, and Jesse urged me to just leave it be. So I’ve got some fences to mend.”
“But what a story! What a joy, to have your long-lost daughter restored to you!” Sheila blotted her eyes on her sleeve and sniffled loudly. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard in a long while. So you’re taking a hamper of food to them today? To get better acquainted and to meet Mr. Oliveri?”
“That’s the plan,
jah
. Hope it won’t blow up in my face, for stickin’ my nose into their business.”
“But it’s your business, too, Miriam. And the fact that Mrs. Oliveri saved the dress Rebecca was wearing, the same as you saved Rachel’s and Rhoda’s, tells me you two women have been on the same wavelength all along, without even knowing each other. That’s just—well, it
is
a miracle, Miriam. And I’m really honored that you’re sharing it with
me
.”
“
Denki
, Sheila. Can’t thank ya enough for sayin’ it that way.” She nipped her lip as they came to the turnoff for Morning Star. “I just hope Bob Oliveri is half as understandin’ as you’ve been.”
Sheila steered off the county road and then entered Morning Star, a well-kept little community where a mix of Amish and Mennonites lived amongst the Englishers who ran most of the local businesses on Main Street. As the van ventured farther into town, past the car dealership, a Laundromat, and the post office, Miriam reminded herself to breathe ... to keep Mr. Oliveri’s concerns foremost in her mind so she didn’t run off at the mouth with her own questions and concerns—if he was even home, that is.
She gazed nervously ahead as Sheila turned down a street of modest older homes. “Probably woulda been the polite thing to call ahead, to be sure he didn’t mind me comin’. But I ... wasn’t sure I could stand it if he said no. Even so, Tiffany might not want to see me again.”
Her driver reached over to squeeze her arm, smiling kindly. “Who could refuse
you
, Miriam Lantz? Not only are you bringing a hamper of your wonderful food, but you’re the kindest woman I know. I’m guessing this fellow will be relieved you broke the ice. Quite happy to talk to you.”
“About earlier days, anyway. I’m guessin’ the Tiffany who showed up at the café with her black hair standin’ on end and eye makeup that could pass for road tar isn’t the same sweet child he snatched from the river.” Miriam’s smile faltered as they pulled into a driveway at the end of the street. “I’ve been so blessed, havin’ Rhoda and Rachel helpin’ me all their lives. Especially after Jesse’s passin’.”
“And they’ll stand by you no matter what comes of this surprise reunion, too.” Sheila turned off the ignition, encouraging her with a smile. “Shall I wait here? Or come to the door with you?”
“I—I’ll knock. But would ya mind terribly comin’ inside if they’re home?” she asked in a wavering voice. “Just seems more proper, and maybe more comfortable for them. Tiffany—my Rebecca—gawked at our Plain dresses and kapps as much as we tried not to stare at her black clothes and metal jewelry.”
“It’ll all work out fine, Miriam.”
Be in my mind and in my heart, dear God. You know how I want this to go well for all of us
. Miriam carried the basket of food to the front door, noting how the petunias in the hanging baskets could use a good drink ... probably one of many things Bob Oliveri was at a loss about, now that his wife was gone. She held her breath and pressed the doorbell. It occurred to her that in her black mourning clothes, second nature to her now, she wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine—
The door opened and a pudgy, balding man of fifty-something blinked in the sudden daylight. “Yes? I—if you’re handing out religious tracts, I don’t want any!” He was ready to close the door before Miriam found her voice.
“Please, I know this must seem strange to ya,” she blurted out, “but when Tiffany came to our café in Willow Ridge this week, I—I just had to meet ya! And I hope this food will—” As she held out her basket, Miriam’s heart fluttered so frantically she could barely breathe. “How can I possibly thank ya for pullin’ my little girl from the river eighteen years ago? I—I thought I’d never see my Rebecca again, and her comin’ back is nothin’ short of a miracle!”
The man’s mouth dropped open. He blinked rapidly, and then glanced at the van in the driveway before focusing on Miriam again. “You’ll have to excuse me if I seem—I lost my wife last week—”
“And I’m so sorry about her passin’. Lost my husband a couple years ago, and I’m still not all the way over it.” Miriam caught herself running at the mouth and paused for a moment. “And if I’m intrudin’ by comin’ here, I’ll just leave ya this food—”
“—and when Tiffany stormed out of the house with that little dress she found, I was afraid she might do something—” He swallowed hard and made a futile swipe at his thin hair. “I’m Bob Oliveri, by the way. Won’t you come in—?”
“Miriam Lantz. Thank you ever so much, sir!” Eagerly she beckoned Sheila, and then stepped into the house as he held the door for her. “I can’t tell ya how overjoyed I was to see her—to know she survived—even if she wasn’t, well,
pleased
to find out she has Amish roots. And she has two sisters who look exactly like her—if ya don’t count the clothes!”
He shook his head as he quickly cleared the sofa. “I’ve never understood why Tiff ruins her pretty looks with all that black getup. Goth, they call it. I hope she didn’t say or do anything offensive. Tiffany—Rebecca, you called her?—always had a mind of her own, but when Janet was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor a couple years ago, it was like our ... the delightful daughter we’d always known turned into an alien creature who seemed determined to self-destruct.”
“
Jah
, kids go through that.” Miriam tried not to stare at the dirty dishes on the coffee table, until an arrangement of photographs on the wall drew her eye immediately. “Oh my,” she breathed, her hand fluttering to her mouth. “She ... except for the hairstyle and the clothes, she’s the image of Rachel and Rhoda, ain’t so, Sheila?”
The presence of her driver settled her. Miriam gazed eagerly at photos taken during her Rebecca’s school days ... several alone, and some with Mr. Oliveri and his wife. They made such a ... nice-looking family. Happy. Like they belonged together.
“I’d know her anywhere,” Sheila agreed, shaking her head in amazement. “This whole story is giving me goose bumps, it’s so wonderful.”
“And I’ve forgotten my manners! Mr. Oliveri, this is Sheila Dougherty, who was kind enough to drive me here today. You see, we Amish have no cars—no photographs, either, as we believe such graven images go against the way God wants us to focus on Him alone. But I can tell ya ... I’m thankful for these wonderful-
gut
pictures. I can see you were a—a close-knit family, and I’m so glad for that.”
She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue Sheila pressed into her hand. For a moment the three of them stood gazing at the wall of smiling faces, allowing the images to settle their nerves. Bob Oliveri let out a long sigh and began to point at them. “This was when Tiffany played T-ball in grade school. Quite a little athlete she was, too!” he said proudly. “And this was her dog, Ozzie. Just a mutt, but we were devastated when we had to put him down a few years ago.”
“
Jah
, I can understand that.” Miriam couldn’t stop gazing at her daughter’s face: the hairstyles changed and she wore a little striped uniform, or a checkered dress with a large white collar, or later a red cap and gown at her graduation, but those eyes ... those dimples and that smile spoke volumes that only a mother’s heart could hear. “I gotta tell ya, though, it threw me for a loop when she told us ya lived in Morning Star. Last I saw of her, she was caught up in the current, racing downriver—”
“We lived south of New Haven then.” Bob’s face tightened and for a moment he seemed unable to speak. “Couldn’t believe my eyes when I went chasing after Ozzie that day. He was just a puppy and scared of such a storm—”
“
Jah
, it was an awful day! Blew up so sudden-like, I grabbed the girls and hurried up the muddy riverbank—”
“—and there on a big tree trunk was a little girl in a pink dress!” he said in a rush. His pale face flushed with his excitement as he relived that fateful moment. “I grabbed a leafy branch and hauled her in, and—well, Janet said it was a sign from God! We ... we’d lost a little girl about a month before and ...”
When he hung his head, Miriam gently grasped his hand. “I know all about how hard that is,” she whispered. “Thought it was my fault when Rebecca broke away from me that day. Blamed myself that I was near the river, lookin’ for their
dat
. When our friends and family searched in all the towns downriver from Willow Ridge, and came back without her, well ... we assumed the worst.”
The man beside her pressed his lips into a tight line. “What we did probably sounds ... unthinkable to you, ma’am. But we loved her so much—so immediately—we didn’t try to find where she might’ve come from. The timing was too perfect to be coincidence. Janet had just gotten a new job a little ways north of here, so we moved away from New Haven. A fresh start as a new family, you see.”
Why didn’t they contact the local authorities? Say they’d found a child washed away by the river?
she thought harshly. But then she blinked back more tears.
My side of the story no doubt sounds just as unbelievable to him. We Amish keep our problems to ourselves. The bishop insisted we not notify the police, either ...
Miriam held her breath. Bob Oliveri was not only a man who’d lost his mate and, long ago, a baby daughter; he was a man who’d apparently kept a secret even more complicated than her own. She nodded mutely to encourage him. If she interrupted with questions, he might never finish what felt like a confession welling up from a troubled soul. “We all gotta move on,” she murmured. “Hard as that is sometimes.”
With a grateful nod, he blew his nose in his damp handkerchief. “Please understand, we didn’t act as we did to hurt
you
, Mrs. Lantz,” he continued in a strained voice. “But because this little girl was so like our own lost lamb, we called her by the same name ...”

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