An Uncommon Grace (25 page)

Grace turned out the lights and made herself as comfortable as possible. She wanted to wait up for Becky, to make certain she got home safe.

A half hour later, she heard her sister’s car pulling into the driveway. Becky came through the door, not turning on any lights, feeling her way along the wall and toward the stairs.

“Hi,” Grace said from the recesses of the couch.

Becky jumped and gave a little squeal. “You scared me!”

Grace turned on the lamp beside the couch.

Becky gasped when she got a good look at Grace. “Now that really is scary. What happened to your face?”

“I wrapped my car around a tree.”

“Are you okay?” Becky dropped onto the couch opposite Grace. “You look awful.”

“I’m alive—and so are Levi and his brothers and sister.” She told her the whole story.

“Is there anything I can do?” Becky asked.

“It would be heaven to soak in Grandma’s big old clawfoot bathtub upstairs.”

Becky jumped up. “I’ll go start the water running.”

Grace gritted her teeth and managed to get up off the couch again. She limped over to the stairwell, grasped the banister, and began to pull herself up step by step. Everything hurt. Everything ached. She wanted to soak in that tub for about a month. She hurt so badly that she broke out into a cold sweat just trying to get her bruised body up to her room. Perhaps she should have asked the sheriff to drive her to the ER.

After all that effort, she managed to make it up only four steps. The long stairwell seemed to stretch on for miles. It would take her forever to go to the top. She was just starting to consider giving up and simply going to bed on the couch when Becky appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I don’t think I can make it up there alone.”

Becky hurried down. “Put your arm around my shoulders and I’ll help.”

When they got to the top of the staircase, Becky prepared an Epsom salts–infused bath and stayed with her until Grace was soaking in it. She set a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol beside her on a chair.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Becky asked.

“I’ll be fine. Nothing’s broken, just very bruised.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight instead of you,” Becky said. “You’re in no shape to help Grandma if she calls out.”

“You have school in the morning.”

“So? If Grandma has a bad night, I’ll sleep during first period study hall.” She grinned. “It won’t be the first time and it probably won’t be the last.”

In the morning, Grace was too sore, at first, even to get out of bed—but after a great deal of willpower, a hot shower, and a little more Tylenol, she was able to go downstairs and fix
herself some toast and juice. Little by little, she began to feel better.

Becky wandered in from the living room.

“How did Grandma do last night?” Grace asked.

“She was up a lot. Nothing major, just couldn’t seem to settle down until about four o’clock. My guess is that she’ll be asleep for a while.”

“Thanks for taking care of her for me. I should be able to handle it tonight.”

“It’s a beautiful day,” Becky said. “Do you think you’ll be taking your jog?”

“Do I look like I’m up for a jog?”

Becky laughed. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m going to need to get around today and deal with my car situation. I’ll have to use Grandma’s car. Could you take the school bus?”

Becky wasn’t enthusiastic, but she agreed. After she hurried off to catch the bus, Grace eased herself out of the chair. If she still felt this bad tomorrow, she really would go get some X-rays.

With her grandmother still asleep, she went out to the back porch to enjoy the early morning. She glanced over at the little shoe box Becky had fixed for the kitten to sleep in. She decided that having a little kitten to pet was entirely too nice not to take advantage of.

“How are you doing, little one?” she crooned as she lifted it from its box. “Do you mind if I borrow you for a while? You sure did land on your feet when you came to this place.”

She couldn’t help but think, as she relaxed in the swing, looking out over the beautiful, misty countryside, that in many ways she, too, had landed on her feet in coming here. In spite of all that had transpired, Holmes County, Ohio, was about as close to heaven as Grace thought was possible on this earth.

S
ix weeks after the killing, there was still some conjecture among the Swartzentruber congregation about who had killed Abraham Shetler, but for the most part, Levi’s people did not dwell on such things. Levi decided it was probably because the Amish had endured too much over the centuries not to have learned the wisdom of accepting harsh reality and then moving on. Instead of pondering whether or not justice would be served, they worked. Always they worked. There were fields to plant, livestock to care for, children to tend, and quilts to sew.

Life went on. And those like Levi and his family, who had experienced great loss, were expected to do exactly what everyone else did in the Amish community who faced hard things—endure.

It would be a waste of time, in their minds, for Levi to attempt to investigate on his own, because there was no recourse even if he did discover who had violated his family. The Amish did not go to court. They did not seek vengeance. They did not retaliate.

Instead, they scratched out a living with horses and hand tools . . . and they went to church.

If the law officials never found out who it was, even if the
murderer went unpunished, Levi knew that he and his family would go on just as they always had.

In many ways it was best. Ignoring the evil in the world helped a man focus on what was truly important: getting the best yield of corn, weaving his baskets just a little tighter than others, and taking the time to rub linseed oil once again into his mother’s wooden floors.

When everyday life was a study in weather patterns and survival, there was not much time left over for vengeance.

After processing the milk from this morning, he planned to get ahead on cutting out the wooden bottoms and lids that they used in the larger baskets. These could hold two or three quilts apiece and were favorites among the tourists.

It was raining again. He had never experienced such a wet spring. His cousin Timothy had walked from the third farm over to keep him company. Two sets of hands made his work that much faster. Tomorrow, he would go help Timothy clean out his gutters—and so would continue the back-and-forth that made it possible for them both to make a living without having to hire help.

They were making great progress, and the stack of wooden lids was nearly high enough to begin the sanding and staining, when he glanced out the workshop window and saw a familiar buggy and horse trot up his driveway.

He was surprised to see the bishop so early in the morning. Whatever Ezra Weaver had come for must have great importance. As the bishop’s buggy got closer, he saw that Zillah was with him. Could it be an early social call to see his mother?

“Have you done anything else wrong lately?” Timothy teased. “Something bad enough to cause Bishop Weaver to leave the comfort of his home this rainy morning?”

“Perhaps the bishop is coming to see you,” Levi shot back. “With Zillah along, it could be anything. That girl would
tattle on the rain for making too much noise on her rooftop.”

The bishop drew his horse to a stop in front of the workshop.

Levi stepped outside to see what the bishop wanted, but he stayed beneath the eaves so as not to get wet.

The bishop’s face was grim and Zillah wouldn’t meet his eyes, which was ominous. He searched his mind for something that his family or he might have done wrong, but his conscience was clear. He had confessed everything and made amends in front of the church. His poor mother certainly had not done anything except try to recuperate and care for the children.

The bishop got out of the buggy and went around to the other side, where he helped his daughter down. Levi wondered about this. Zillah was healthy enough to spring out of the buggy by herself and always had as far as he had seen.

“Come in out of the rain.” Levi held the door open for them.

As they entered, even though there were always a few chairs scattered about for visitors, neither Zillah nor her father sat down.

The bishop did not bother to even glance at Timothy. Instead, he focused his formidable gaze on Levi.

Zillah still would not meet his eyes, even though she was standing only a few feet away. This definitely did not bode well.

Timothy, sensing trouble, sidled closer to the open workshop door. It was obvious that he wanted to bolt but didn’t want to leave Levi to face the bishop alone.

“How can I help you?” Levi asked. The bishop’s behavior was very odd, even for him. But on his most pessimistic day, he would never have guessed what was coming next.

“You and Zillah are to be wed in three weeks’ time,” the bishop stated.

Levi was stunned. Timothy made a small “oof” sound, as though someone had hit him in the stomach.

Bishop Weaver put one hand up as though to ward off any questions or comments Levi might have.

“That will give us time to make the announcement next Sunday. The marriage will take place the following Thursday.”

“Why?” Levi felt as befuddled as a newborn colt.

“You know why!” The bishop sounded as though he were spewing venom.

“I do not know why!” Levi said. “Marrying your daughter is the last thing I would ever want to do.”

He saw pain flash through the bishop’s eyes, and then they simmered with anger.

“You should have thought of that before you got her with child!”

He was even more dumbfounded. “Zillah is with child?”

“She is.”

“But I did not get her with child.”

“She has already told me what happened. The two of you bundled the one night she was here, and it got out of hand. Things like that happen sometimes between young people. It can be confessed and forgiven.”

Levi glanced at Timothy, whose mouth was hanging open.

“We did not bundle,” Levi said.

“I know for a fact that you did,” the bishop argued. “You as much as told me so yourself. You said that you rid yourself of those books because she had seen them and chastised you for them, like the proper bishop’s daughter she is. Zillah was in your
Kammer
—your bedroom. You cannot deny it.”

“She was in my room, and she wanted to bundle, but I refused.”

If Levi thought the bishop was angry before, he had been mistaken. The bishop’s eyes positively blazed at this comment.

Zillah glanced up at him from beneath her demure black bonnet. “Oh, Levi,” she said. “You cannot abandon me now—not after all the things you said to me about how we would spend the rest of our lives together.”

Her lie made him clench his teeth in frustration. He had always known Zillah was manipulative, but he never dreamed she would go to these lengths to get back at him.

“Your daughter is lying, Bishop.”

The bishop’s fists clenched. Levi saw that it was everything the man could do not to punch him in the face. He was certain that if they were not a nonviolent people, he would be stretched out on the ground by now.

His guess was that Zillah really was pregnant. He could not imagine an Amish girl putting herself through this kind of humiliation if she wasn’t. It occurred to him that this might have happened with someone who would not marry her, and she had decided to use it to snare someone who would.

In fact, perhaps that was what had been behind her request to bundle with him. Perhaps she had been desperately trying to trick someone who would be a good provider for her and the baby.

But he was not the child’s father. That was a fact. He was simply the man she was trying to maneuver, through her father, into marrying her. First babies that took less than nine months to arrive were not unheard of, nor spoken much about, but it was most definitely expected that the boy and girl would get married as soon as possible.

He had no way to convince the bishop that he had not been intimate with his daughter except his own word. And that word was now pitted against hers.

“I will not allow my daughter to be disgraced because of your slick ways,” the bishop said. “I have had my eye on you
for some time, and I have seen how restless you are. I was not surprised when you admitted that you owned forbidden books, or when you admitted to purchasing a pocket telephone. You confessed these wrongdoings not only to me but the rest of the church. Do you think that they are going to take your word over my daughter’s now?”

“I don’t know what the church will believe or not believe. I only know the truth. The truth is that I am not the child’s father.”

“I think you should give this up now, Levi, before you humiliate yourself any further.” The bishop attempted to make his voice sound reasonable. “We will publish your wedding announcement this coming Sunday. Her mother and I will somehow get a wedding together, which will take place two Thursdays from now. It is May, and not the time for weddings, but you have given us no choice in choosing a date.”

“But I did not do anything!”

“That is what you say, but my daughter tells me differently. You should pray that God will reconcile your heart to being a good and faithful husband to the innocent girl you sinned against.”

Levi did not know what to do. There was no way on earth he was going to shackle himself for life to Zillah.

How did one prove a negative?

He had heard that in the promiscuous
Englisch
world there was a test they could do to determine whether or not a child belonged to a man. He had no idea how to go about having it done. His guess was that he would have to wait until the child was born to obtain a piece of paper that would prove that he was not the father.

Nine months was a long time to wait to be exonerated.

He knew he was capable of loving a child that was not his own, but he was not capable of living with Zillah day in and day out for the rest of his life. And it would be for the rest of his life. Amish did not divorce. It would be like receiving a lifetime prison sentence.