The Days of Redemption (16 page)

Ed raised his brows. “Daed, you decided all of that after observing them only for just a few minutes?”

“Son, you were only fifteen back then, and far more interested in your problems than anyone else's. But I vividly remember that man fretting something awful when the two of them broke things off. He was as brokenhearted as I've ever seen.”

“I guess I was unaware of their drama,” Edward mused. “Ten years ago, I had just finished school and was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.”

“Ten years ago, you were concerned with far more than just work,” his
daed
said with a chuckle. “I seem to remember you far more interested in running around.” He stretched his hands, grimacing as if his joints were paining him. “But as for John, well, he grew up in a sad house. There was a lot of pain there. Though he never said much, I have a feeling that there were forces involved that were out of his control.”

“I know what you're speaking of,” Viola said. “My, uh, grandmother didn't favor their relationship.”

“It wasn't just Lorene's family that had put up obstacles. His father wasn't completely ready for John to fall in love and get married, either.” After a pause, he added, “I happen to think the Lord has plans for all of us, all in His own time, too. Perhaps one day your aunt and John Miller will understand why they needed to stay apart for a while.”

Ed nodded. “I hear what you're saying, but sometimes it's hard to always follow His will.” Looking at Viola, he shrugged. “Even as a missionary, I still wonder about the Lord's plans for us all. Every once in a while, I see things that make me question His will.”

Privately, Viola had wondered about that quite a bit. She'd never understood why she had been blessed with perfect health while her twin had been given an eye disease.

“God don't offer us an easy life, Edward,” his father said. “Just a good one. For some reason, you are being called to serve far away from home. You've thrived, and I've accepted that.”

“But don't you miss each other?” The moment Viola asked the question, she ached to take it back.

Mr. Swartz looked at her in surprise. “But of course I miss him. He's my only child. But just because something hurts, it don't mean that it shouldn't happen.” Folding his hands primly on his lap, he eyed her over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. “Jesus himself taught us that, Girly.”

She had no idea what to say to that. But she knew there was truth in the old man's statement.

“You always make me mighty glad I work here, Mr. Swartz. You've given me a lot to think about today.”

“We don't have to think so much, you know,” Ed said quietly. “Not all the time, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

He pushed a Scrabble game toward her. “Do you have time for a quick game? How about all we think about is scoring points?”

“I think that is a fine idea.” Pleased that all of the big issues were being pushed aside for the time being, Viola picked up a pen. “I'll be scorekeeper.”

Atle rolled his eyes. “You're always scorekeeper.”

“I'm better at it than you.” She waited a beat, and winked at Ed. “Besides, you always cheat.”

“Modesty ain't your strong point, Viola. Your willful tongue ain't, either.”

“I know, sir. I'm working on it. It's a gift I hope God will explain to me one day.” When she cast a glance in Ed's direction, she saw that he smiled.

Well, they'd survived yet another church hosting. When Lovina was younger, she'd bounced back from all the work a little bit easier.

Now? Even on Monday she was already ready for a nap.

Lovina lay down on the neatly made bed and closed her eyes. She knew every Amish family felt the same pressure she did to present their house in the best possible way.

But sometimes she felt as if the stress of the preparations far outweighed the benefits of communing together in each other's homes.

She heard the door open. “Lovina, are you asleep?” Aaron asked.

She remained still with her eyes closed. She probably wasn't fooling him for a second, but she didn't want to talk. All she wanted to do was lie down and remember other times. Some memories were happy. Others?

Not so much.

Such as when she and Aaron had hosted church for the very first time.

She'd only recently joined the church, though she and Aaron had been married for over a year. But she'd viewed hosting church as a milestone in their life together. After all, it was the first time that many in their community would see them together as a couple. It was also the first time she had hosted such a large number of people. She'd had nightmares of running out of food.

As she'd expected, the day of the service she was a nervous wreck. She'd been baking cookies since sunrise, and every other batch seemed either burned or too doughy. Or the wrong size.

Looking back, Lovina realized she'd been striving for perfection when none was needed. No one needed perfect cookies, just as others would have helped with the baking, if only she'd been confident enough to admit that she couldn't do it all.

But she'd been the exact opposite of confident. She'd been so insecure in her abilities that every wrongdoing had seemed magnified. Sure that every flaw would make Aaron realize that he'd made a terribly wrong decision when he'd asked her to marry him.

She'd ended up putting only three dozen cookies on the tray. And she'd had trouble with the other dishes, too. Her egg salad was too mustardy, causing her to throw out a whole batch. Her relish didn't taste fresh enough. She'd overcooked the noodles for the macaroni salad.

After the service, everyone lined up to get the food . . . and, indeed, they'd run out.

“Lovina, where's the rest of it?” Aaron had asked, his voice holding a thick note of worry.

“This is everything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Stung by his look of dismay, her tone had turned defensive. Clipped.

He scratched his beard. “But we bought enough. I know we did, I asked the Brennamens how much they made of everything and wrote it down for you.”

“This wasn't your fault, Aaron.”

He motioned to the rather small bowl of macaroni salad. “I thought I bought three boxes of pasta. I'm no cook, but I know three boxes make more than this. Did you make it all?”

She couldn't do it any longer. “I made it,” she said, her voice catching. “I made it all, but not everything was good enough,” she said. “So I threw it out.” Now tears filled her eyes.

Immediately, his confused expression turned to worry. “Lovina, what are we going to do?”

“I don't know,” she'd said simply.

But what she'd wished more than anything was for him to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close to him for a hug.

She'd yearned for him to talk to her, right then and there. Tell her that she did everything just fine. That everyone made mistakes.

To tell her that she didn't need to be a perfect Amish wife, that all she needed to be was herself.

She raised her eyes and stared into his. Waited for him to do something, anything to show her that he loved her.

He opened his mouth. Looked like he was about to tell her everything she wanted. But then he turned around and walked away.

In front of the other ladies.

They'd looked at her with pity.

She'd been too insecure to realize that if she'd only smiled their way and asked them for help, they would have surrounded her with all their industry. That they would have run to her kitchen and whipped up something easily.

But because she hadn't reached out, they'd stayed where they were, warily watching her.

So she did the only thing she could. And that was to hold her head up and pretend that she wasn't upset.

If there was one thing she was good at, it was pretending that her heart never burned and her feelings never got hurt.

Hmm. It seemed that she had perfected something after all.

It was snowing heavily when Ed arrived at the Christian Aid Ministry Association office at nine
A.M.
the next morning.

“Thanks for picking me up, Jared,” he said when they got out of the man's rather spiffy black SUV.

“It was no problem. It would've been a difficult walk in the snow.” He looked to say more, but his cell phone buzzed.

With a small wave, Ed walked on, giving the other man his privacy, and allowing him a few precious seconds to get his bearings.

The rather plain, nondescript building always made him smile when he approached it. The CAMA headquarters didn't look special or especially grand. Inside, however, it was filled with people who made huge differences around the whole world.

Shivering a bit under the thin comfort of his wool coat, Ed was thankful for the blast of heat that greeted him. Once again, it struck him how different he was after just twenty-four months in Nicaragua. The coat he was wearing had long been a favorite. He'd had it for years, and it had kept him warm and comfortable through many a difficult winter.

Now, however, the coat's fabric felt little better than a sheet of cotton, and he felt the chill all the way deep into his bones. Not wanting Jared to have to wait for him, he'd stood on his front porch for ten minutes before he arrived. Now his body felt like it was regretting every minute of it.

Was he getting soft? Or perhaps, he was simply getting old enough to appreciate being warm and dry instead of chilled and damp? Maybe he shouldn't blame his
daed
for not wanting to leave the comforts of Daybreak.

He pondered these big questions while he wandered around the lobby of the Mission offices, waiting for the chairman, James Cross, to finish up a phone call and invite him into his office.

The waiting wasn't anything new. Mr. Cross was a busy man, and a good one. Like many others in the organization, he seemed to constantly be running five minutes late—the consequences of trying to do too much in too little time.

Usually, he never minded the delay. Usually, he would let the receptionist know he'd arrived, then have a seat for a bit until someone had time to meet with him. But the summons to the offices felt important. He couldn't put a finger on why he felt that way, but he had the strangest feeling that his life was about to change.

After two more minutes, Mr. Cross entered the lobby. “Good morning, Edward. I'd apologize for keeping you waiting, but Patricia here has reminded me time and again that my tardiness has become something of a habit.”

“I didn't mind.” He rubbed his arms a bit comically. “It gave me time to get warmed up. It seems I've gotten used to the warmer temperatures of Central America.”

Mr. Cross chuckled. He held out his hands. “Let me take your coat and hat for you. And coffee? Would you like some hot coffee?”

Feeling somewhat awkward, Ed handed over his coat and hat to the head of the organization. “
Danke
. And, um,
jah, kaffi
sounds
wunderbaar
.”

Mr. Cross hung up his things in a closet Edward had never noticed before. “Good, we'll get you a cup right away.” He patted him on the back. “And thanks again for agreeing to meet with us today. I know it was short notice.”

Ed shrugged. He worked for the organization. It was his duty to come when he was asked to. And a week's notice didn't seem too short to him. “Um, it was no problem, Mr. Cross.”

“James,” he corrected.

“James,” he repeated awkwardly. “And, uh, as you know, I live nearby.” Of course he would meet him at a moment's notice!

“Yes, it is our luck that you live right here in Berlin. Since you've been back you've been spending time with your father, right?” he asked over his shoulder as he led the way down a narrow carpeted hall to his office.

“Yes, I have,” he replied, though he was starting to realize that he hadn't come to Berlin just to pay his father a visit. No, instead, it was to reclaim his past and make peace with it.

“And how is he doing?”

“He is in good health,” Ed said slowly, enjoying the feeling of warmth that was slowly easing into his muscles. As they continued down the hall, the walls decorated with neatly framed photographs of missionaries in different parts of the world, he added, “My father seems to enjoy living at Daybreak very much.”

“Ah, yes. That's the retirement home on Market Street, isn't it?”

“That's the one.”

“It seems like a nice facility. Big.”

Thinking of the many rooms that he always had to go through in order to locate his father, Ed nodded. “It is that. There's always a lot going on there, too. Speakers and such.” Continuing awkwardly, he said, “I listened to a wildlife lecture with him last week.”

Pausing at the doorway, Mr. Cross said, “I'm very glad you told me that he's happy there. It makes me feel even better about calling you like I did.”

Edward followed him into his office, then stopped abruptly when he realized they weren't going to be meeting alone. At a small circular table sat three other people with folders and notebooks in front of them.

All three stopped talking and looked at him.

Feeling vaguely on display, he lifted a hand in an awkward greeting.

The chairman walked to his side and rested a palm on one of his shoulder blades. “Everyone, you remember Edward Swartz. Ed, this is Grace Adams and Michele Evans. And Jared Schilling, of course.”

Once introductions were over, Mr. Cross pointed to the sole empty chair. “Take a seat, Edward.”

Ed sat, but when he eyed the pens in everyone else's hands, he knew he had to speak up. Looking around the circular oak table, his impatience got the worst of him. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but what, exactly, is this meeting about? I had assumed it was going to be an update on my experience in Nicaragua.”