A Simple Charity (41 page)

It warmed her to see how Zed had helped the boy find joy in daily tasks. “There’ll be plenty of work for you to do in the next few months.” The lot would need to be cleared, the debris hauled off. Beyond that, Fanny expected the land to sit for a good fifty years or so. There was no way their family could scrape together the money to rebuild in her lifetime. At least Will’s birdhouse had survived, a reminder of the dream that had almost become a reality.

“Mamm?” Will rubbed the knees of his pants. “Are we going to be poor now?”

It was a thoughtful question for a boy who’d just seen part of his home destroyed by fire. “We have family and food and a roof over our heads. That’s enough, isn’t it? A man is only poor when he wants more than he has.”

Outside the schoolhouse, she held the horse and watched as he bounded up onto the wooden porch. It was good for Will to stick to his routine. How she wished for routine in her own life, instead of the topsy-turvy day ahead.

When Fanny arrived at home, she had to brace herself to face the sight of the singed pile of rubble. The center was now nothing more than the charred ash she shoveled out of the woodstove.

There was a horse and buggy outside the house. Inside, Bishop Samuel sat at the kitchen table, talking with Elsie.

“Good morning,” Fanny said, even though the morning wasn’t so good at all. As a girl she had learned that a cheerful outlook could bring sunshine to a dreary day.

“Caleb went off to borrow some shovels,” Elsie said.

Most likely he would return with plenty of shovels and volunteers. That was one of the blessings of the Amish way. Community was not a place, but a group of familiar faces and helping hands.

“Sit down, Fanny.” The bishop’s eyes were cool as gray river stones behind his spectacles. “Elsie is going to give us a few minutes, ya?”

Elsie nodded and headed upstairs as Fanny took a seat.

“There is something we must talk about.” Samuel let out a heavy breath. “Something I overheard, though I don’t go for gossip. This came right from the horse’s mouth.”

Fanny froze, a startled creature in the woods. “So you have heard the talk about Zed and me.” Shame flamed on her cheeks as she stared down at the table. What could she say to him … a man? A man of high authority. Oh, she had to tell him the truth, of course. Honesty was the only road worth traveling. “I don’t know what they’re saying now, but I confess, part of it is true. I fancy Zed,
and … and I took a liking to him while I was still mourning Thomas.”

Samuel’s bushy brows rose above his glasses. “What’s this?”

“It’s true.” She smoothed the skirt of her dress, tugging on the black fabric. “I meant no disrespect to Tom; I cared for him deeply. This attachment for Zed, it crept up slowly, day by day. Working here, he’s almost become a part of our family.”

He grunted. “And what are his intentions?”

I won’t give up on you
. How she had clung to those words, day after day. She stared down at her hands. “He wanted to marry me. But we can’t, with the gossip and all.”

The bishop pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and squinted at her as if she were a very unusual bird. “I think marriage would be a very good thing for the two of you.”

It was Fanny’s turn to squint. Had she heard him correctly? “Then … then, it would be all right? We could marry?” Although Amish weddings were traditionally held in November, widowed folk were permitted to marry any time of year in smaller, quieter celebrations that required less planning.

“I hope you do, but I don’t know this gossip you’re talking about.”

“It started when—”

“Nay, don’t say it.” He held up a hand. “There’s nothing to be gained by stirring the pot. Gossip is a sin. Don’t I preach that a few times a year?”

She nodded. “I have heard you speak about it. More than once.”

“And yet, it goes on.” Samuel sat back with a sigh. “I must pray that Gott will help me get His message across more clearly. Some church leaders think that a little bit of gossip helps keep members on the straight and narrow, but it’s a danger. A little bit of pride changed the angels into devils. A little bit of sin …” He shook his head. “It is already too much.”

The booming thunder of tension began to drain from her, and
she found herself settling into the chair, lulled by the bishop’s gravelly, soft voice.

“The Bible says that without wood, a fire goes out, and without gossip, a quarrel will die down.” Samuel tapped the table with one finger. “Have you ever thought that if Zed and you become husband and wife, it takes the wood from the fire? No more fuel for the gossipers.”

“I never thought of it that way,” she admitted. Such a wise man, Bishop Samuel. He had a way of showing how Gott’s plan was the pattern for even the most personal matters.

Fanny ran her hand over the scarred table. Could it be that simple? That the way to end the nuisance of gossip was the one thing she had been denying herself? She smiled, feeling a heavy cloak lift from her heart. To have Zed back, just a heartbeat away, a part of her daily life … such a joy. Together, they would find their way down even the bumpiest road.

“Now, put the talk of gossip aside and let me tell you why I came back. Last night, when I was just outside putting on my hat and coat, I heard you say that the fire proves it is Gott’s will for the center to be closed.” He wagged a finger at her. “This is not what the Bible teaches us. When soldiers chased Gott’s people across the desert, did they give up? Nay. When Joseph’s brothers were cruel to him, did he lie in a ditch and let them break his spirit?”

“He did not.” Fanny liked the way Bishop Samuel added up Bible stories and extracted meaning from them, like a cook squeezing every last drop from a lemon.

“That’s right. It’s one thing to surrender to Gott’s ways in matters that are beyond our control. When death comes, we must accept the loss. But when there is a problem we can fix, we must give ourselves up to the needs of the community.” He paused, his gray eyes magnified by the lenses of his spectacles. “So. Sometimes Gott puts things in our path to challenge us. Like the fire. Gott has no
quarrel with giving women a place to have their babes. It must be rebuilt.”

Fanny ran her fingertips over a groove in the scarred kitchen table. It was hard to imagine another building in the charred, withered frame where the birthing center had once stood. “Watching it burn was like …” She kept touching the groove in the table. “It was the end of a dream. There’s no money to rebuild. Anna is retiring, and with a family of my own, I can’t be the only Amish midwife at the center. And I don’t have the heart or the strength to rebuild.”

“Mmm.” The growl wasn’t so sympathetic. “What about the heart of the community? What about the women and families who need help bringing their babies into the world? The center may have been a source of joy for you, but it’s not really about pleasing you, is it? Swallow your pride and thank Gott for the charity of our community. Your friends and neighbors will be there when you need them.”

“I’m grateful for everyone’s help. But to rebuild—I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Samuel leaned forward, his eyes intent. “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.”

Fanny gave a little gasp; that had been one of Tom’s favorite expressions.

“So you take the step,” said the bishop, “and then another, and like little Tommy, soon you will find that you are walking, and the path is clear.”

37

J
ack stared at the pay phone in the corridor of the rehab facility and wondered how it worked. He hadn’t used one of these things in a hundred years. A credit card.
Okay, then
.

He swiped his card and tapped in the number for Meg’s cell. No answer. Well, yeah. She would be in the clinic, getting her procedure done. Cell phone off.

After that he was at a loss. He didn’t know any other phone numbers by heart; they were all stored in his cell phone.

His mysteriously missing cell phone.
Yeah, thanks for that, Lisa
. He suspected that she’d tossed it out the car window or dumped it into a toilet at one of the rest stops they’d made on the way to Philly. He couldn’t be sure where she’d stashed it, but he knew that she’d taken it. She’d admitted as much to the psychologist doing the intake interview at Gladstone.

He tapped his fingers on the shelf under the pay phone. Next step, see if 411 still worked.

He got Kat’s number through information, and at least managed to reach her. “Jack, where’ve you been? Everyone’s been looking for you.”

“Everyone like who?”

“Meg. Lisa paid her a visit yesterday. I think it threw her, but things got worse when no one could reach you.”

Poor Meg. Lisa had pushed too far this time.

“And the sheriff’s office called. Apparently there was a big fire last night and they were hoping you could come in. Why aren’t you answering your cell phone?”

“It was stolen. By Lisa.”

“What’s going on, Bug?”

“Long story. Tell me about the fire.”

He winced over her description of the devastating fire at the birthing center. Tragedy had struck his town, and he’d been off chasing a disaster of his own. He heaved a sigh, laden with guilt. At least no one had been injured. He explained that he was at a pay phone and asked her to look up some numbers for him.

She gave him the information, then had to go. “Abigail sleeps so rarely, it’s my only time to eat and nap.”

“Thanks, sis. Later.” He hung up, then swiped his card again for a call to the bed-and-breakfast.

Tate answered, but he didn’t have any info on Meg’s procedure. “Hold on and I’ll get Zoey.”

As he waited, he stewed over the way Lisa had messed things up for him. Driving all the way out to Halfway. Telling people lies. Stealing things from him.

“I’m doing this for you,” she had insisted. “I love you, and I know you love me. You said you would always take care of me. You promised.”

“I was fifteen years old when I made that promise. I was a kid … we both were. But those days are over.”

“They don’t have to be,” she had pouted.

“Yeah. They do. I wish you no harm, Lisa, but it’s time for you to grow up and take responsibility for your actions. Put on your big-girl pants and stop blaming other people for your unhappiness. Nobody else can help you if you don’t help yourself.”

That little lecture had shut her up for a good twenty miles. Man, he’d thought he was through being her caretaker, but he’d gotten a bitter taste of the past when she’d shown up at his door, glazed and manipulative. Definitely in crisis.

“How did you find me?” he’d asked.

“Dear old Gran,” Lisa had said in a voice laced with sarcasm. “She’s so proud of you. Told me all about your job in Halfway, and your new girlfriend.”

That had steeled Jack’s protective instincts. “You need to stay away from me and the people I care about.”

Lisa had just laughed at that and pushed her way into his apartment. Furious, Jack had called her dad, who’d begged Jack to bring her back to Philly.

“She’s been going downhill for a few weeks now, and her mother and I, we’re at a loss. We’ve been trying to get her to return to Gladstone for rehab, but she refuses. If you can get her back to there, we’d really owe you, son. Her mother and I will meet you there to check her in. I think they open at eight-thirty.”

“And what am I supposed to do with her till then?” Jack had asked, trying to keep his voice low. He was using Lisa’s phone, talking in the men’s room. He’d slid her cell out of her purse while she was driving. Yeah, two could play at that game.

Although Jack had threatened to dump her at her parents’ place, he knew Lisa would freak if he went near that upscale neighborhood. So they drove, and ended up at an all-night diner.

At least Richard Engles and his wife had been good on their word. They’d been waiting at the clinic lobby, contrite and grateful.
Jack had told the Engleses, in no uncertain terms, that they needed to take care of their daughter. He warned them that if Lisa tried to contact him again, he would get an order of protection.

“It’s time for a clean break,” Jack had said. “That’s the only way we can both start over. The only way your daughter can start to make a life for herself.”