The Days of Redemption (18 page)

“Elsie, that would be because you need to go!” What she didn't add but ached to was that they needed to ask more questions, check into more options. Maybe even take a bus to the famous Cleveland Clinic instead of relying on local doctors. Someone had to help her. Late at night, when she allowed her fears to get the best of her, Viola worried that their chosen way of life had interfered with the best possible medical care for her sister. Perhaps if they'd had greater access to other folks, or to more magazines or to television shows, her parents would have fought Elsie's deteriorating condition more aggressively.

But this was not a feeling Elsie shared. “I have a feeling that it won't matter how many doctors I go to. None of them are going to be able to tell me anything new.”

“You don't know that for sure.”

“But I do, sister,” Elsie said gently. Almost as if she was worrying about hurting Viola with her news. “See, years ago, Dr. Kopple told me that I was going blind. I've come to terms with that.”

“I haven't.”

“That's because you are used to pecking at everyone like a hen, forcing everyone to listen to you. You, dear twin, are a woman who likes getting her way.”

“You make me sound pretty selfish.”

“Not selfish, just headstrong,” Elsie corrected. “And I don't think that there's anything wrong with that. All of us need someone in our lives like you. Having someone question and prod and push can be a blessing.” She shrugged. “However, in this instance it wouldn't do any good.”

Feeling embarrassed, Viola knew it was time to change topics. “I don't have to clean. Instead, I could start piecing you a new dress?”

“
Nee.
Mommi is doing that for me today. And I know Mamm wants the insides of some of the cabinets to be cleaned out and organized today.”

“In the kitchen?” Viola said hopefully.

“No, in the hall and bathrooms.”

Viola wrinkled her nose. She hated cleaning out bathroom cabinets. She didn't like contorting herself on the bathroom floor in order to change the liners on the bottom of the cabinets. “I'm glad I wore my gray dress. It's going to be a long day.”

Elsie chuckled. “It could be worse. Mamm asked if I'd rather pluck chickens in the barn.”

“I hate that even more.”

“Me, too,” Elsie said with a small smile as she started walking down the hall. “I told Mamm that Roman can do that chore.”

“He hates plucking chickens even more than we do!”

“I know, but I told Mamm that with my eyes, cleaning out cabinets would be much better for me,” she said with a knowing smile.

For the first time that morning, Viola laughed.

Though it was barely two o'clock, Peter felt as if it had already been the longest day he'd had in weeks. It was the snow's doing, of course. If it hadn't been snowing, he would have taken care of the horses, then hitched up the buggy and gone into town. He'd had a meeting scheduled with the banker.

But that of course had to be canceled. So, he'd put on his warmest coat, grabbed his gloves and snow shovel, and then gotten busy.

The fresh blanket of snow meant more chores than usual for him and Roman. Paths to the main house, barn, and
dawdi house
needed to be shoveled. Animals needed to be checked on and moved inside the barn. After he'd wrung the necks of two hens, he'd left Roman with the ugly task of plucking them while he went inside for a bit of hot coffee.

When he walked into the kitchen, he found Marie on her hands and knees, a fierce expression on her face.

“Marie, what in the world is going on?”

She rocked back on her heels. “Oh, Peter, I'm so glad to see you! We have a mouse.”

Marie could take care of just about anything, except mice. She was by turns scared of them and the fiercest of hunters. One squeak could send her squealing like a teenage girl. She'd never failed to amuse him with her squeamishness around them, either. “Marie, you should've come to get me. I would've taken care of it for you.”

His comment didn't appease her in the slightest. “If I'd gotten up to find you, I would've lost sight of the mouse.” Leaning down again, she frowned. “Though I'm afraid this one got away. Peter, we need to put out more traps.”

“All right,” he soothed.

“The sooner the better, too. This one gave me a fright when I opened the cabinet.”

There was only one thing to do, of course. Help her locate it. “Let me get a flashlight, then I'll help you mouse hunt.”

“
Danke,
Peter.”

She looked so relieved, he smiled to himself. Even after all this time, when she looked at him that way, her eyes wide and languid, she made him feel like he was ten feet tall.

Kneeling beside her, he shone the light into the cupboard. Pulled out a container of sugar, and a carton of salt. And was just about to pull out another carton when a shrill squeak erupted, barely a half a second before the interloper appeared. It squeaked again. Loudly.

Startled, he jumped. Beside him, Marie gave a cry of dismay.

And then another mouse appeared, and he had nothing more than a silver flashlight in his hands. What to do?

“Two!” Marie exclaimed. “Oh, but this is terrible!” she squealed when both mice started scurrying to them. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed her rolling pin, leaned back down, did a twist, then slammed it down hard onto the bottom of the cabinet.

A tiny puff of flour appeared.

Amazingly, he killed both in that one fatal blow.

Still holding the rolling pin, he looked at his wife proudly. “Marie, your mouse problem is solved.”

“But you ruined my rolling pin in the process!”

He laughed. “It can be washed, dear. Now, hand me some paper towels and I'll dispose of the bodies.”

After another moment of staring at the pin in shock, she started giggling. And then her giggles turned to bright laughter. Making the dreary, snowy day seem like the best day in years.

He set the tainted rolling pin down on the ground and held her in his arms as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Peter! I can't believe you clubbed the mice!”

“I couldn't help myself. And I'm right proud of myself, too! I still have good reflexes.”

“Indeed! We could hire you out, you and my rolling pin!”

He started laughing, too, finally sitting on the floor next to Marie and wrapping an arm around her. “I haven't laughed so much in ages.”

She wiped her eyes. “Me, either.”

“I think you need a kitten, though. A good mouser.”

Sweet hope entered her eyes.“You'd get me a kitten?”

“Of course, Marie. I'll ask around in town. We'll find you a kitten.”

“It would be fun, to have a little kitten for a bit, don't you think? The kids are so old . . .”

“Ah, Marie. You need something little to cuddle, don't you?”

“Maybe.” Her gaze soft, she smiled into his eyes. Looking at him with so much love that his heart felt lighter than it had in months.

All at once, he was reminded of when they were courting. He'd used to take her driving in his courting buggy. And when the streets were empty, they'd
clip clop
along quietly, and he'd hold her hand.

And think about kissing her. After weeks went by, he did, indeed, kiss her. Sweet, chaste kisses, promising a lifetime of so much more. It had all been so special.

Looking at her now, seeing the love shining in her eyes, he leaned closer, tempted by the promise of her smile. By the sweet memories when their lives weren't so full of responsibilities.

As if she'd read his mind, Marie blinked, then lifted her head, offering him her lips, right there on the kitchen floor. Just as if they both weren't fortysomething, with three grown children.

For a moment, they were only Marie and Peter, and he still thought he was the luckiest man in the world to have her.

He kissed her lightly. Kissed her again. Smiled to himself when her hand reached around his neck and pulled him closer.

“Mamm? Daed? Oh, my gosh, what are you two doing?” Viola's voice called out, her voice hard.

They broke apart. For a moment Peter was tempted to say that it was fairly obvious . . . but then something in her tone caught his attention. With effort, he climbed to his feet. “What is it, daughter?”

She strode forward, her expression pinched. “Elsie and I need to show you something.”

Marie stood up and brushed out her dress. “Is it a mouse, dear?”

“Not a mouse. It is something much worse.”

He shared a look with Marie. “What did you find?”

“Elsie and I found a bottle of vodka. Under the sink in the bathroom.”

As the words sank in, he felt his world spin a bit. He'd been so captivated by Marie, he'd completely forgotten about that stashed bottle.

How could he have been so foolhardy?

Beside him, Marie's body turned to stone. And he knew at that moment that it was going to be a very long time before they'd be kissing again.

Before she'd look at him with such love again.

Yes, just like that, the mood was broken. There was also a very good chance that he might never get it back.

Himler's Cheese Shop was practically a Berlin landmark. It had been around for generations, though only in the Alpine-looking building for thirty or forty years. Some were tempted to proclaim that the shop was merely a tourist attraction. And it was true, a great many tourists did choose to visit the store.

But it was more than that. Men and women made the cheese the same as they always had, in painstaking processes that created velvety Goudas and sharp cheddars. Locals stopped by often. And many more folks ordered various cheeses to be shipped across the country.

Lorene Keim had always enjoyed working there. She liked being a part of something bigger than herself, even if it was only a cheese shop in tiny Berlin, Ohio.

Even though the weather was snowy, she'd arrived at eight o'clock that morning. She'd enjoyed walking to the store in her thick boots over the snow-packed sidewalks. Hardly anyone had been on the roads, and the resulting silence, broken only by the shrill trill of a bright cardinal, had been music to her ears.

Soon after checking in with Frank, she'd gotten right to work. She helped fill a few orders, straightened the counters surrounding the checkout area, and counted the money for the opening balance of the cash register.

Then greeted and assisted the first arriving customers.

A tour bus from Cleveland hadn't let the heavy snow slow it down. It parked in the parking lot a full thirty minutes ahead of schedule. And when the bus doors opened, at least forty people piled out and trotted into the store.

Some took the tour of the cheese factory. Most, however, entertained themselves by sampling the many varieties of cheese the store had to offer and filling plastic grocery baskets. Two hours sped by as she rang up sales and answered questions, both about the cheese shop and being Amish.

When that group left, a few locals arrived, and kept them all busy enough so that the time didn't drag. So, it was a good day, with plenty to do . . . even if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

And then John came in.

She noticed other women—both Amish and English—pause in their conversations to take a first and second look at him. He truly was that handsome. If he noticed, he didn't give any indication of it. When a few folks stopped to say hello, he talked with them politely, but it was obvious to Lorene that he had come for only one reason, and that was to see her. Every few seconds he glanced her way.

She knew because she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from him for more than a few seconds at a time. The other girls who worked with her noticed and giggled.

Lorene's hands trembled a bit as she counted change for an elderly man from Columbus. She told herself it was merely nerves; she wasn't used to being the center of attention. And everyone, it seemed, was looking at her and her visitor.

Looking up, she was shocked to see him staring right back at her. His gaze was steady, unwavering.

Which, of course, made her suddenly feel sixteen again.

“John. This is a surprise.”

“It shouldn't be,” he murmured. “I told you I wanted to see you again.”

Goose bumps appeared on her arms. “Um . . . I know, but I didn't think you meant so soon,” she blurted before giving the gentleman his receipt. “Thank you. Come again.”

When the man walked away, Lorene prepared herself to ring up the next person's order. But no one was there—only John.

Quietly she mumbled, “John, I can't talk to you now.”

Perfect white teeth flashed. “I know. I merely stopped by to ask if you'd like to come over for supper. I'm making beef and barley soup.”

Supper. With John. At his house. Helpless anticipation coursed right through her.

Shaking it off, she asked, “You're cooking?”

“Don't sound so shocked,” he chided. “I live on my own, Lorene. Just because I'm a man, it doesn't mean I can't cut up meat and vegetables and add some broth.”

He was exactly right. And worse, she had a vague feeling that she was sounding a bit like her mother, who was the last person she wanted to sound like. “Supper sounds mighty nice. Especially since it's so snowy and cold out.”

“
Gut
. What time do you get off?”

“Four o'clock.”

“I'll be back then and walk you home, then to my
haus
.”

The idea of his coming back for her, and everyone seeing that, made her cheeks heat like they were on fire. “You don't need to go to so much trouble.”

“That's where you're wrong, Lorene. Good day.”

Wordlessly, she raised her hand in a poor example of a wave. But she didn't think he saw it. He was already walking out of the store, with at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching his broad back.