Bygones

K
IM
V
OGEL
S
AWYER

© 2007 by Kim Vogel Sawyer

ISBN 978-1-60742-014-9

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture quotations marked
NIV
are taken from the H
OLY
B
IBLE
, N
EW
I
NTERNATIONAL
V
ERSION
^®
.
NIV
^®
. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

Cover photography by Matt Swaggart
Cover design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group

For more information about Kim Vogel Sawyer, please access the author’s Web site at the following Internet address:
www.KimVogelSawyer.com

Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683
www.barbourbooks.com

Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

Printed in the United States of America.

D
EDICATION

For Connor and Ethan,
my precious grandsons.
You come from a long line of faithful saints.
May you carry that heritage into future generations.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

Were it not for the support and understanding of my family, words would never appear on the computer screen. So thank you,
Don and my daughters
, for allowing me the time to write.

My parents,
Ralph and Helen Vogel
, deserve recognition for letting me sneak off with Daddy’s typewriter, peck out my stories, and dream. Little did they realize the childish dreams would one day come true.

A special thank-you goes to
Mrs. Erma Raber
for taking the time to visit with me about her childhood.

I am deeply grateful to my critique group members—
Eileen, Margie, Ramona, Staci, Crystal, and Donna
—for their invaluable suggestions and unending encouragement.

So many people in my church support me through prayer—
Kathy, Ernie, Ginny, Brother Ray, Don and Ann
. . . . May God bless you as richly as you have blessed me.

Three fellow writers are instrumental in bringing me to a belief in myself:
Susan Downs, Deborah Raney, and Tracie Peterson
—thank you.

To
Becky Germany and the staff at Barbour
—thank you for the opportunity to work with you. You are a blessing in my life.

Finally, and most importantly, praise be to
God
for being ever present, ever loving, and ever able to carry me through life’s pathway. May any praise or glory be reflected directly back to You.

But now in Christ Jesus
you who once were far away have been brought
near through the blood of Christ.
E
PHESIANS
2:13
NIV

H
enry Braun paused outside Jimmy’s Dinner Stop and pressed his hand to his abdomen. Beneath his neatly tucked shirt his stomach churned. He couldn’t decide if it was nervousness or excitement that had his belly jumping like a trout on a line. Either way, it didn’t matter.

He hadn’t seen Marie in more than twenty years. In his jacket pocket he carried a snapshot of her—one she’d enclosed in a Christmas card to her aunt Lisbeth three or four years back. But he didn’t need it to remember her. A man never forgot his first love.

His hand trembled slightly as it connected with the smudged silver door handle of the café. As he tugged open the door, a wave of stale tobacco-scented air washed across him. Stepping inside, he allowed the door to drift shut behind him. He removed his hat, held it against his stomach with both hands, and stood silently, taking in the busy scene.

Nearly every booth and table was filled with noisy patrons, most of them men, probably truckers like Jep Quinn. Two waitresses, wearing pale blue knee-length dresses and white aprons, bustled between tables, pouring coffee from tall plastic containers and bantering with customers. Although both women appeared to be
middle-aged, he picked out Marie right away. That nutmeg hair of hers, even cropped short into mussy curls, was unmistakable.

He remained beside a tall counter that held a cash register, waiting for someone to show him to a table. Curious gazes turned in his direction, and one man jabbed another with his elbow, pointing rudely before making a comment that brought a laugh from the other members of his group. Henry was accustomed to this treatment when he stepped out into the world. He averted his gaze and maintained his stoic expression.

After several minutes of waiting, the unfamiliar waitress waved a hand at him and hollered, “Hey, honey! There’s a spot over here. C’mon in!”

Henry pointed to his chest, his eyebrows high, making certain she meant him. When she smiled and quirked her fingers at him, he moved forward on legs still stiff from the long drive. He slid into the empty booth.

“You new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

The woman’s bright smile, meant to put him at ease he was sure, made him feel like recoiling instead. But it would be impolite not to reply, so he said in an even tone, “I’m just passing through.”

She gave a nod and a wink. “Well, welcome to Cheyenne. Enjoy your stay.” Slopping coffee into a thick mug and whacking a menu on the table in front of him, she added, “Just look that over, honey, and I’ll be right back to take your order.”

He raised a finger to delay her. “I don’t wish to order a meal, I only want to—” But she took off, and his request died on his lips. Leaving the coffee and menu untouched, he followed Marie with his gaze. How comfortable she appeared as she moved among the tables, smiling, sometimes teasing, laughing. . . . He had been so certain when she climbed into Jep Quinn’s semi she would quickly realize her mistake and return to Sommerfeld. To him. Now he felt foolish.
Marie had obviously found her niche in the outside world.

Disappointment struck him, and he pondered its cause. Had he expected to find her cowering in a corner somewhere, overwhelmed and repentant? No. He had read the letters she’d sent to her aunt Lisbeth over the years. He came here knowing Marie had adopted the worldly lifestyle. The disappointment was personal.

His fingers twitched on the tabletop. Why hadn’t she recognized him at once, as he had her?

“Hey, Marie, got a live one in booth thirteen.”

Marie balanced three plates on one arm and grabbed a basket of rolls with her free hand. Sally was fond of pointing out the most handsome men who entered the roadside café, figuring Marie needed a man in her life. Marie didn’t second the opinion. But she sent her friend a brief grin. “Oh, yeah?”