The Harvest of Grace (27 page)

Trevor grabbed the bag of milk replacer and put it inside a huge wooden barrel. He put the lid on it and tapped it down, ensuring no mice could get to it. He seemed to be buying time so he could gather the strength to finish the story.

“One day while I was fixing a light fixture in another family’s apartment, a toddler wandered into the room. He grabbed hold of my ladder, smiling up at me, and I didn’t think nothing about it.” Trevor wiped tears from his eyes. “Next thing I knew, my metal toolbox fell off the top rung of the ladder and hit that little boy on the head. He died almost immediately.”

“And you couldn’t cope with the guilt.”

Trevor shook his head. “It destroyed me. I always knew I was of no account as a drunk. But when I saw that I was of no account when sober and doing my best, I lost all will to fight. Poor Melinda did everything to reach me and give me strength.”

Tears ran down Trevor’s face. He put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “Whatever you do, stay sober. All those years of drinking made everything a thousand times worse, and the people I loved paid the highest price.” Trevor let go of him and walked out the back of the barn into the pasture.

Aaron whispered a prayer, asking God for the ability to hold on to Trevor’s words. Surely the tragedy of Trevor’s story would strengthen his own resolve to remain sober. Addiction didn’t bow to logic. It didn’t yield to a man’s dreams. It never surrendered to anything easily, including the will. For him, it took a combination of tools: determination, patience, and, most of all, the ability to surrender to God while fighting his own instincts.

What Trevor had just given him, the viewpoint from the bottom, and what the Better Path gave him, the truth of his condition and a community of support, were about all an addict could hope for. And he was grateful for every bit of help.

Twenty-Four

Sylvia looked out the side window of Robbie’s car and then at the invitation in her hand. Michael sat up front, talking to Robbie. Dora and she had said little since the ride began more than an hour ago.

According to the time specified for family and friends to arrive, they were a little late. Trevor had picked up Aaron about four hours ago. But she’d had to find a missing cow and her calf while Michael milked the herd, and then she had to shower and get ready.

“This is the Better Path?” Michael asked.

Robbie pointed to a shingle hanging from one side of the porch.

“It’s a house,” Dora said.

“Appears so.”

Three horses with carriages were tied to nearby hitching posts. Sylvia was sure the sight of Old Order Amish buggies made Michael regret his decision to come. He didn’t want other Plain folk to see him going into a place like the Better Path.

“I have to go into Harrisburg and run some errands for Ephraim,” Robbie said. “I should be back about the time you’re ready to leave here and go to the appliance store.”

“We appreciate your driving us,” Michael said.

“Ephraim’s needed me to get to Harrisburg for nearly a month. It’s working out just fine.”

Sylvia got out of the car and climbed the wooden steps to the porch, trusting that the reluctant Michael and Dora Blank would follow her. The house looked historic, but it wasn’t in need of paint or fixing up. The sign on the glass part of the door invited folks to enter, so she did.

She walked into a large room with wooden floors, a huge staircase, and lots of doors off to the sides. The room was filled with people holding small paper plates of food and clear plastic cups filled with ice water or soft drinks. The air-conditioned room felt marvelous. Nothing like a sweltering summer to make one appreciate places with electricity.

She held the door open for Michael and Dora as they trailed in.

She noticed photos of Mennonites hanging on the wall, and she could tell with one glance which sect each person belonged to. Outsiders often thought all Plain people dressed alike, but every Amish and Mennonite group had its own style of dress and head covering.

A young Mennonite woman walked toward them. “Hi.” She smiled, welcoming them as if she was glad to see them regardless of who they were or why they’d come. “May I help you?”

“We’re looking for Aaron Blank,” Sylvia said.

“Well, you’re in the right place.” She motioned to a room off to the right. “I was just chatting with him. I’m Hannah Waddell.”

“I’m Sylvia Fisher, and these are Aaron’s parents, Michael and Dora.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Hannah shook hands with each of them, then raised a finger, took a step back, and said, “Paul?”

She’d not said it loudly, but a man several feet away immediately looked at her. She smiled at him. He excused himself from the person he was talking with and headed straight for her.

“Paul, these are Aaron’s parents, Michael and Dora, and a friend, Sylvia Fisher.”

Paul shook Michael’s hand, then Dora’s, welcoming them. When he came to Sylvia, she said, “I don’t think he’d say I’m a friend.”

Michael frowned. “I thought you two were getting along.”

Sylvia didn’t know what to say to that. Aaron didn’t snipe at her as much as at first, but they were in a tug of war over the farm’s future. It was possible that Michael didn’t realize he was the rope.

Paul glanced at Hannah, a warm smile passing between them before he returned his attention to the newcomers. “We’re really glad you’re here. Let’s find Aaron and let him know. Then maybe we can all chat for a bit.”

“I didn’t come to talk,” Michael said.

“What did bring you here?” Paul asked.

“Sylvia, mostly.”

Paul shifted. “Aaron’s quite a man, but the more support he has, the better he’ll be at fighting the good fight.”

A baffled look covered Michael’s face, but he said nothing. Sylvia let Michael and Dora follow directly behind Paul, then fell into step after them. They walked into a room where there were twelve chairs arranged in a circle. Aaron was one of a half-dozen men sitting and talking.

“This is our group counseling room,” Paul said. “Men and women come here to share their experiences—temptations, failures, and victories. Right now they’re just visiting.” Paul moved toward Aaron, with Michael and Dora right behind him. He touched Aaron on the shoulder.

The initial shock on Aaron’s face soon turned into a smile. He stood. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

Dora hugged him, whispering something Sylvia couldn’t hear.

Michael backed away, clearly indicating that he didn’t want to be embraced. He nodded at Sylvia. “This was her idea.”

Aaron’s eyes met hers. “Why?”

She glanced at his parents before shrugging.

“Why don’t you help yourself to some food and look around?” Paul said. “Then we’ll all go someplace where we can talk more privately.”

Hannah directed Michael and Dora to a table spread with snacks, but Sylvia hung back. Paul was talking to Aaron, and when he turned to face her, she smiled briefly and went to the far end of the room. She looked out the window. This was someone’s farm at one time, and the rolling hills and pastures were gorgeous.

“I don’t understand you,” Aaron said, startling her. “If fences are mended between my parents and me, that will make it easier to convince them to move.”

“Some things are bigger than you and me and that farm.”

“Why, Sylvia Fisher, I do believe you’ve committed blasphemy.” Standing there grinning, he—with his broad, powerful shoulders—demanded her attention. “Would you like a tour?”

She didn’t regret coming or pushing Dora and Michael to do so, but she felt confused by the emotions Aaron unearthed. “No, thanks. I’m fine right here.”

He took her by the hand. “Kumm.”

The warmth and power and gentleness of his grip confused her even more. When they were outside, she pulled her hand free. They walked the grounds, and he showed her what he called the dorm rooms. Then they toured the stables before taking a seat at a picnic table.

“If it won’t bother you,” Aaron said, “I’d like to ask Mamm and Daed to go by the appliance store while they’re this close.”

“That was Michael’s plan from the start.”

“He said as much?”

“Ya, but I wouldn’t put too much stock in it. We’re in the area, so it makes sense.”

“I take it that going there wasn’t your idea.”

“I bet it smells of rubber and grease and diesel fuel.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll feel sick at my stomach before we’re through.”

“This from a girl who drinks her coffee while milking cows.”

“It’s true. I’ll feel closed in, like I can’t breathe.”

“Good grief. There are windows.”

He seemed to think she was kidding. But being in a store often gave her a headache. Maybe it was the dyes or fumes that emanated from the items. “I’m not saying my reaction isn’t weird, but I always feel that way in a store. Nauseated and suffocated.”

He laughed. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

Michael and Dora came outside, each with a plate and drink in hand. Michael sat next to Aaron. “This place isn’t at all what I thought it would be. I expected something like a hospital but a lot dirtier.”

“I wrote about the Better Path in my letters, describing it. It’s a clinic that does its best to meet the needs of the Plain community—mental and physical.”

“And the problem you deal with—is it mental or physical?”

“It’s sort of both. Alcohol is habit-forming both physically and psychologically. I’m sure Paul can explain it better.”

“But you knew it was wrong when you began.”

“I didn’t get into it or out of it because it was
wrong
. Black-and-white reasoning may work for you, but it doesn’t for me. Drinking brought relief, but I had to get out because the escape turned into a nightmare.”

“So what happens when you want relief again?”

“I’ll take a vacation.”

Michael set his sandwich on his plate. “Be serious, Aaron.”

“I hit bottom, Daed. And while I was there, I found God. There’s power between Him and me, and I rely on that. Even so, I can’t promise I’ll never mess up. I can assure you that if I do, I won’t waste any time getting help.”

“I’m supposed to trust that’s enough?”

“No. I can’t live up to your expectations. But you’re supposed to trust that God is enough. That no matter what else happens, He’s sufficient to forgive and strengthen.”

“I guess when we go to talk to Paul, I’ll be blamed for lots of stuff.”

“That’s not what we do here.” Aaron grabbed a potato chip from his mother’s plate and munched on it. “Not long after I began rehab, I saw myself through God’s eyes, or at least a little of how He sees me, and the power of His love compared with the ugliness of who I’d become changed me. Then I saw what I’d done to you and Mamm through your eyes, and I came home to try to make amends. That’s what Paul will do—help you see me from a different perspective than your usual disappointment and anger.”

“I don’t—” Michael’s growl was interrupted when Paul came to the table.

“Would you rather meet out here or in my office?” Paul asked. “It won’t be long—maybe fifteen, thirty minutes.”

Everyone looked to Michael for an answer, but he said nothing.

Sylvia stood. “Either way, this chat needs to be between Aaron and his parents.”

“She’s right.” Michael stood. “In your office.”

Sylvia glanced at Aaron, who gave her a slight smile before the four of them left.

Michael was talking about what had brought Aaron here. That was good. She wanted to be glad only for Aaron’s sake, but somehow whatever mattered to him mattered to her too.

Her interest didn’t stop at the normal kindness extended from one human to another. She cared for him. She liked who he was and who he’d chosen to be.

And it had her rattled.

Twenty-Five

Cara sat on the couch reading
The Hiding Place
. It had been her constant companion for days, and whenever she had a few minutes, she read more of it. She’d never loved a book this much. She read and prayed and then read some more. This Corrie ten Boom had a handle on how to walk in forgiveness, and Cara had benefitted from reading her story.

“Hey, Mom.” Lori ran into the living room and held out the familiar gray blue hardback of
Shoo-Fly Girl
. “Time for you to read to me! We’re almost to the end of the book.”