Daybreak: The Days of Redemption Series, Book One (12 page)

Then he’d reached out and squeezed her hand. Just once.

Lovina glanced down at her hand, now red and rough and lined with age and years of hard work. For a brief moment, all she saw was smooth, creamy skin and neatly filed nails. Her hand had looked so small in his. It had looked perfect.

She’d run to the phone the minute he’d left and called up all her best girlfriends. They’d giggled and squealed and oohed when she’d described how his hand had felt on hers.

And not a one of them had thought she was crazy when she’d admitted that she wasn’t going to wash it for days. . . .

“Mamm?”

With a start, she saw Peter standing in the doorway. Bringing in with him the present.

Clenching her hand, she hid it under her apron, as if it might give away her thoughts. Abruptly, she got to her feet. “What do you want?”

His look of concern vanished to barely concealed irritation. “I told Marie I’d ask if you wanted to help with the tablecloths today.”

Ever since Marie and Peter had moved into the main house, she’d continued to help iron and lay out the tablecloths. No one else did it right. Even though it was only Monday, Lovina felt sure that her daughter-in-law was running around in a panic. Getting a
haus
ready to host church was a lot of work.

But after twenty years of ironing tablecloths, she didn’t feel like doing it.

“Marie can do the tablecloths this time. I’m going to stay here.”

After studying her for a long moment, Peter turned on his heel and walked out. Not bothering to ask if she was all right, or why she’d changed her mind after years of being the one in charge of the proper care of their tables.

Actually, she realized with some dismay, he was acting just the way she’d taught him to act. The way she’d taught all her children to be. Dutiful. Respectful.

When the door closed, she leaned back in her chair and sighed. She’d made a great many mistakes in her life. She’d been too critical with her children. Too formal with her husband. Too distant with her grandchildren.

But those mistakes were nothing compared to the mistakes she’d made her senior year in high school.

Just as nothing had been as sweet as her first dance with Jack.

Closing her eyes, she coaxed her brain to turn back to that wonderful, carefree time. Back when she’d rolled her hair in pin curls and then fastened the hard-won ringlets back with bows.

Thought about the white gloves and the strapless pink dress. About her red lipstick and the blue eye shadow.

And how she’d felt when she’d slow-danced in Jack’s arms. And even though later that night everything had fallen apart, that dance had been so special.

Magical. So much so that hardly anything had matched it since. As she remembered the music that played and the way her satin dress had felt against her nylon-covered calves, she smiled.

She rarely gave in to weakness and let herself think back to those days.

But today? Today she was going to live in the past.

There was a message waiting on Edward’s home phone when he glanced at it after walking back from Daybreak.

“Edward! This is James Cross,” the familiar voice boomed in his ear. “I hope you’re having a good time being back in Berlin, and are enjoying your visit with your father.” He paused. “Listen, something’s come up and I wanted to talk to you about it. How does your schedule look next Tuesday? Can you stop by the office? I’d like to speak to you in person, if I may. Let me know. Oh, and let me know if you’d like someone to pick you up. We’d be glad to arrange that.” Mr. Cross closed the message with both the office and his cell phone number.

Well, that was unexpected.

Since Ed had the office phone number already memorized, he called there first. “Edward Swartz here,” he told the assistant who answered. “Is Mr. Cross available?”

“Hi, Ed. This is Michele. Mr. Cross isn’t in, but he did want me to ask what time you can come in next Tuesday. Do you have a time that’s convenient for you?”

“How about nine in the morning?”

“Nine will work for him. I’ve penciled that in. Do you need a ride?”

“Thanks. That would be great.”

“All right then.” Ed heard Michele click a couple of keys on her computer. “Are you still at the same address?”

“I am.”

“Okay. Looks like Jared Schilling can pick you up at eight fifty next Tuesday morning. Will that work?”

Mr. Schilling was one of the directors. “That will be fine with me,” he said dryly.

“I think we’re all set. See you—”

“Hey,” he said quickly, before Michele hung up. “Do you know what this is all about?”

“I think Mr. Cross would rather be the person to talk to you about this.”

“Can you at least tell me if I’m in trouble?”

Michele chuckled softly. “You’re not in trouble, Ed. Don’t worry about that.”

“All right. Thanks. I’ll see you next week.” When he hung up, he couldn’t help but wonder what reason they could have for meeting with him. There might be some questions about the mission in Nicaragua. Or they could be asking if he could do some office work while he was living in Berlin.

But at the edge of his mind was the slim possibility that they wanted to talk about another job for him. What if they wanted to send him out again sooner than later?

What if it was to someplace even farther away, such as one of the mission sites in Africa?

Before he came home, he would have accepted any appointment without hesitation. He would have believed that God had put the opportunity in front of him, and that he needed to be mindful of that.

But now he wasn’t so sure.

Perhaps God had placed him back in Berlin for a very special reason. To be with his father, to rescue Gretta, to find his home again . . . and to meet Viola.

Was he willing to say goodbye to so much just as he was finally learning to say hello to it all?

chapter eleven

“Lovina doesn’t want to iron the tablecloths?” Marie asked, dismay rich in her voice.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Why not? What in the world is she doing?”

Peter thought about sharing the truth. About how he’d found his mother sitting at her kitchen table, staring at her hands like they were new attachments to her body. But twenty-some-odd years of marriage had brought him wisdom. If he shared that, it would only heighten the tension between his wife and his mother. “She looks a bit under the weather. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was taking a nap right now.”

“Your mother is napping in the middle of the afternoon?” Looking concerned, she dropped the tablecloths onto the couch and looked at the door that led to the
dawdi haus
with apprehension. “Do you think I should go visit her?”

That was the thing about Marie. She didn’t like barging in on his mother, not after living with her for more than twenty years.

But if it was the right thing to do, she would do it, always. That was simply the kind of person she was.

They both knew his mother wasn’t the type of woman to appreciate Marie prying into her personal business. And experience told him that his mother was in just enough of a mood to say something regrettable to his wife. “
Nee!
I mean, no. I think we should let her take her rest. You know I didn’t get much information. She could be feeling under the weather for any variety of reasons. We don’t want to embarrass her.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

He patted his wife’s shoulder. “I know I am. Let’s leave her alone for now.” He picked up one of the tablecloths. “I could help you, if you want. I have time to iron.”

She snatched the white cloth from his hands. “I think not. You’ll only make things worse.”

He’d been hoping she’d say that. In their twenty years of marriage, he’d yet to pick up an iron, and he was hoping to keep things that way.

The next morning, Peter joined Roman at the woodpile in the back of the barn.

Ax already in hand, Roman straightened when he approached. “Daed? What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d help you chop wood.” At his son’s look of dismay, Peter interjected a touch of humor in his tone. “I think the exercise might do these old muscles of mine some good.”

Roman pressed his right hand to the back of his neck—the telltale sign that he was irritated.

But, as he was apt to do, he kept his silence.

Breaking up the tension, Peter pointed to the stump a few yards to Roman’s left. “I’ll work over there, out of your way.”

After staring at the stump for a moment, his son shrugged. “All right, Daed.” He turned then, stretched his arms a bit, then swung the ax in a smooth arc over his shoulder.

The log it connected with split easily with a crisp
crack.

Almost immediately, Roman reached for another piece of wood, placed it on the stump, and swung again.

Peter’s process went far slower. It had been years since he’d split logs, and the lack of practice showed. His muscles were screaming after only five swings of the ax.

But still he continued.

After another ten minutes, Peter was longing for a hot shower.

He decided to break the silence. “Roman, I came out here to see if you wanted to talk about anything.”

Roman’s rhythm never slowed. “I don’t.”

Peter set his ax down. “You sure? I know there’s been lots going on.”

“Mighty sure.” Crack went the ax again. Finally, his boy stopped and stood up straight. “It’s all been said, don’tcha think?”

Roman’s statement wasn’t much of a surprise. His son seemed to be happiest keeping a bit of distance from them all. But in this case, he was also right. “I suppose it has all been said,” he murmured quietly.

Roman nodded, then reached for another log.

Peter couldn’t bear the thought of lifting that ax again. Rubbing his shoulders, he shrugged. “Um, I think I’ve chopped enough wood for one day.”

Roman’s lips curved slightly. “You might be right about that.”

Peter chuckled to himself as he made his way back to the house. After putting away his ax, he went into the kitchen and washed up. Then, before Marie could ask why he’d been chopping wood, he held up her grocery list. “I’m going to go talk to Sam and take care of your shopping.”

“
Danke,
Peter.”

He harnessed Star and set out for town. Usually, Sam and his wife, Mary Beth, liked to eat lunch in town on Tuesdays. It gave them a chance to enjoy a meal together—a rare thing with three busy children. With any luck, he’d find them easily and they could have a few minutes to discuss what to do about their mother.

Besides the shocking news last week, he was starting to get the feeling that something wasn’t right with her.

When he pulled into the wide parking lot of the Farmstead Restaurant, he spied his older brother and his wife just entering the large building.

Ten minutes later, he had hitched Star up to the post, ordered a sandwich, and was sitting across from them in one of the booths in the cozy home-style restaurant.

“I wondered if we’d see you today,” Sam said. “How are things at home?”

“About what you’d expect,” he said dryly. “Between church and Mamm’s news, it’s chaotic.”

“Tell Marie that I’ve made apricot bars,” Mary Beth said. “Two batches of them.”

“I’m sure she’ll be most grateful.”

Sam leaned back. “Do you want to talk about our meeting the other night?”

Peter shuddered. “I’d say yes if I thought it would do any good. I’m still reeling about Lorene’s secret love for John Miller. You’re closer to her than I am. Did you have any idea all that happened?”

Sam shook his head. “None.”

“I saw her this morning,” Mary Beth said. “She still seems pretty broken up about it.”

“I wonder what really happened?”

Sam shrugged. “Who knows? It all happened years ago. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“We could go talk to John. . . .”

“And say what? I’m sure he’s moved on. He’s probably married by now.”

“He’s not,” Mary Beth said.

Peter turned to her in surprise. “You know him?”

“I know of him.”

“Well, all I care about is Mamm and Daed finally coming clean about how they got together. Until we get that settled, it feels like the whole family is going to fall apart,” Peter said, taking a large gulp of his water.

After a quick glance Mary Beth’s way, Sam said, “Perhaps we need to face the truth, Peter. There’s nothing we can do about the past. And there’s nothing we can do about our parents and their secrets. They obviously have reasons for keeping what happened a secret from their children. Maybe they should have their privacy.”

“But this is our family.”

“That’s true, but just because we’re related doesn’t mean we can’t have private lives.”

“I just have the feeling that our parents have only told us half the story.”

“They haven’t really told us anything! If there is more to the story, I hope I never find out about it!” his brother quipped. “Knowing Mamm grew up English has been quite enough.”

Peter wanted to be agreeable. And he certainly didn’t want to go borrowing any more trouble. But privately, he wasn’t sure that letting the past slide was the best course of action.

You have secrets, too, his conscience reminded him darkly.

He cleared his throat. “Um, now that I think about it, I do agree that it’s best to let the past lie. There’s no reason to shake things up more than they already are.”

“I’m glad we’re all in agreement,” Sam said with a satisfied smile. “Now, shall we pray, before our food arrives?”

“Of course,” Mary Beth said.

They all bowed their heads in silent prayer. When they raised their heads, there seemed to be a calmer feeling among them all.

Prayer always had a way of doing that, Peter realized. He needed to pray for strength and guidance more often.

But even with that in mind, Peter found himself thinking about Sam’s statement about their need for private lives.

He sure hoped a certain part of his life stayed private.

“Gretta, here we are again,” Ed said when he walked into the quiet house shortly after noon.

The little dog yipped a bit, circling his heels. After he knelt down to scratch behind her ears, she wagged her tail and followed him into the kitchen, looking expectant all the while.