Still Life in Shadows (38 page)

Kiki wanted to hug him, but she knew she had to keep cool. So she blurted, “Does that mean you’ll make the pirate ship out of the wood?”
Say yes, say yes, please, for Pete’s sake!

“Sure,” said Gideon. “I can do that.”

When the audience clapped again, Kiki thought her smile would stick with her forever. From memory, she heard Principal Peppers’ voice with the question he’d asked her months ago.
Are you happy here?
As she looked out over the audience, at the very back, she saw the principal standing along the wall. She wondered how long he’d been there, his arms crossed against his aqua-colored Hawaiian shirt. She thought about telling him that she was happy, but her teacher was telling her to sit down. Other kids needed to take turns to talk about their role models. Clutching the keepsake that rattled with the wood and her collection of arrowheads, Kiki stepped away from the mic. As a fellow classmate took her spot and introduced his role model, Kiki sat down.

Dr. Conner had said that good things could happen, she just needed to be patient. She looked around the auditorium and thought of how nice it would be if the choir from her church could be here to sing a few verses of “Amazing Grace.” That would be a sweet sound. But for now, she’d just have to let the words play inside her head.

Angie leaned over to smile at her. Kiki smiled back. Today was a good, good day.

G
ideon hopped out of his truck with a light heart after hearing Kiki’s speech in front of a full auditorium. She’s incredible, he thought. When he’d dropped Mari off at the tearoom, he confessed that it had actually been a blessing that Kiki had ridden through his wet cement all those months ago. That was the beginning … the beginning that led up to this moment.

Catching sight of three budding purple crocuses across the street in front of the hardware store, he stopped to admire their beauty against the starkness of the surrounding barren ground. As a kid, Moriah had always said that the first one to spot a budding flower was the winner. Although Gideon never knew what prize the winner received in Moriah’s game, he now felt like he’d won.

“God,” he whispered and inhaled the chilly February morning, “she has brought me back to You.” The realization made him feel changed, different. This was even more monumental than the first time he drove a car or kissed an English girl. Compelled by some unseen force, he crossed the road to get a better view of the flowers.

The early spring buds sat low to the ground, bits of cedar mulch surrounding them. He observed their petals, the way the sun caught them in its pale light and the way the shadow spread over them when the sun sank behind a cloud. His intent gaze stopped as he studied the blossom in the middle. This flower was bent on one side—no, more than bent, two of its tender petals were limp, sagging, a darker shade of purple, obviously bruised from something.

“That’s me,” he said, feeling an association with the small flower.
“That’s me. God, do You see my heart in that flower?” He raised his face to the sky and felt as though God was letting him know that it was okay to be wounded, to be bruised—that yes, one could still grow and thrive. In every blossoming flower, God left His mark, a sign that there was promise and hope in each new spring. In the snow, he had experienced the forgiveness of God. In this moment, he felt he could be the forgiving one that Kiki claimed he was. If God had given him the grace to forgive an autistic girl for ruining his cement, He could also supply the grace to forgive in even larger situations. He wondered what his heart would look like without the burden of bitterness for his father. Would it be able to flourish and be as attractive as even this bruised crocus?

Customers were approaching the hardware store, and he knew he needed to leave the flowerbead to get over to the auto shop.

“Finally, you’re back!” Ormond greeted him as he walked through the front door. “The phone’s been ringin’ off the wall. I can’t get no work done.”

Gideon hurried toward the clanging phone and picked up the receiver. “Hello, Russell Brothers Auto Repair.”

He heard silence followed by short breaths.

The hesitancy on the other end would always be familiar to Gideon. He imagined some young boy or girl crouched over a cell phone at a remote gas station, a lumpy duffel bag at his or her feet. “Yes?” He drew the receiver closer to his ear.

“Is this the Getaway Savior?” The voice was strained.

The word
savior
made him pause. All these years of being called this, and he’d been fine with it. But today—today he could not let it go. He might be Kiki’s role model, but that was all.
There is only one real Savior without flaw, only one worthy of worship, only one who heals bruised hearts and fills them with peace and forgiveness.

“Um, uh, hello?”

Slowly, with feeling, Gideon said, “I’m no savior.”

“You can’t help me then?” Fear gripped the youth’s voice.

“Depends—if you want your car fixed, I can do that. Or if you want to start a new life among the English, I can help.”

“I—I’m Noah. I heard about you. I’m from Lancaster.”

Gideon knew Lancaster County. The people there produced some of the best apple butter of any Amish community. “Hello, Noah,” he said in his friendly tone. “This is Gideon Miller. What can I do for you?”

The End

Ashlyn’s Bread in a Can

½ cup whole wheat flour

½ cup cornmeal

½ cup rye flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 cup buttermilk

⅓ cup molasses

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon nutmeg

½ teaspoon cinnamon

1 cup raisins

Stir flours and cornmeal together in a large bowl. Add baking soda, salt, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Stir. Pour in buttermilk. Add molasses and mix well. Stir in raisins. Pour mixture into one greased 1-lb. coffee can and attach lid securely. Fill large cooking pot with boiling water so that it covers the can halfway when placed in pot. Put lid on pan. Steam bread for two hours. Remove can from water. Carefully run a knife around the inside of the can to loosen the bread from the sides and then invert the bread onto a cooling rack. Serve hot in rounds with butter.

Gideon’s Christmas Salad

1 ripe avocado, chopped

4 Roma tomatoes, diced

4 tablespoons onions, diced

1 minced garlic clove

6 oz. acini di pepe, cooked according to directions on box, drained

1 cup sour cream

2 drops Tabasco sauce

Salt and pepper to taste

1 teaspoon sugar

Gently mix cooked acini di pepe with salt and pepper. Add sugar and Tabasco. Fold in sour cream. Add avocado, tomatoes, onion, and garlic. Serve cold.

A
s I’ve stated before, no novel is ever written fully alone. Others supply tidbits, facts, and wisdom along the way that beckon to enter my pages. Perhaps the most fun contribution from others was when I held a Name-that-Character contest on my Facebook Author Page. I asked my readers to come up with names for two of my characters—a waitress at a tearoom and the daughter of the local sheriff. Thanks to Sallie Deaton, who gave the name
Della
to my waitress and to Charlotte Stevenson, who provided
Ashlyn
for the daughter.

I was able to glean from the following books to help in my research of the Amish lifestyle—
The Amish Way
and
Amish Grace
, both by Donald B. Kraybill, Steven M. Nolt, and David L. Weaver-Zercher; and
Plain Secrets
by Joe Mackall. My research included various websites as well as documentaries about Amish youth who have left their roots to relocate in English neighborhoods. My four years at Eastern Mennonite University gave me much insight into the close-knit families, peaceful faith, and loving communities of the Anabaptists.

An abundance of praise to my agent, Chip MacGregor of MacGregor Literary Agency.

Thank you to the team at River North for giving me the platform to write this novel.

Much appreciation goes to my editor, Rachel Overton, for her keen eye to detail.

I belong to a very special group of writers called the Serious Scribes, and I appreciate the women I meet with every month—Katharine, Jen, Kim, Diane, and Catherine.

To my children—Rachel, Benjamin, and Elizabeth—I’m amused by the ways you always seem surprised/baffled/embarrassed when someone out in public recognizes me and wants to actually hear more about my novels.

To Carl, much gratitude for your support and encouragement, especially when the path is bleak and I am tempted to take up the habit of biting my nails or consuming too much chocolate.

And, to all my readers—without you, life wouldn’t be as much fun. Thank you!

River North Fiction is here to provide quality fiction that will refresh and encourage you in your daily walk with God. We want to help readers know, love, and serve JESUS through the power of story.

Connect with us at
www.rivernorthfiction.com

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