Bygones (24 page)

H
enry sat at his usual table in Lisbeth’s Café, an untouched plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him. He was the only Sommerfeld resident in the café. Every other customer was an out-of-towner. Each morning over the past two weeks, he’d noticed fewer and fewer townspeople coming into the café, but this was the first time absolutely no Sommerfeld residents started their day with one of Deborah’s fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.

As the month marched toward the Thanksgiving holiday, the tension in town increased. Talk had started about foregoing Sunday afternoon visits so everyone could go home and watch their properties. Henry wasn’t in favor of this—the tradition of Sunday visits was something that went back through generations, and he feared if it stopped for a short time, it might permanently drop away. These kinds of changes had led to congregation splits in the past.

Although he’d been very young, he still remembered the upheaval of the last split, when the decision was made to allow church members to have electricity and drive automobiles. Some of those who were in fierce opposition to making use of the worldly conveniences joined a community in southeast Kansas. His own parents and Lisbeth, like a few other families in the community, hadn’t adopted
the changes, but had left it to individual conscience rather than condemning those who elected to make use of the technologies.

But now, with burglaries continuing to take place every week, the murmurs were rising, the cry for protection heard from several corners of the community. Henry feared what might happen if the thief was not caught soon.

Marie bustled past, plates in hand. She flicked a glance in his direction but didn’t smile. His heart ached. She looked haggard, the lines around her eyes pronounced, the bounce gone from her step. Although she had continued to attend service at the meetinghouse, which thrilled him, he wondered when she would finally grow weary of the members holding themselves aloof and stop coming.

She headed back into the kitchen, and he stared at the doorway for long minutes, wishing Lisbeth were there. Lisbeth, in her wisdom, might have ideas on how to bring everyone together, to eliminate the fears and find the truth.

Truth
. Henry lowered his gaze to the tabletop. What was the truth? Marie had been adamant when she’d come to his shop two weeks ago seeking answers. He wanted to think as she did, that her daughter had nothing to do with the disappearance of those belongings. Yet part of him couldn’t help but wonder about the coincidence. Beth had asked about purchasing certain items, the owners declined, and the items disappeared.

The town had already tried and convicted Beth. He knew that’s why people were staying away from the café—they didn’t want to support a person they viewed as immoral.
Lisbeth, this isn’t what you had in mind when you established the conditions of your will, was it?
How could Marie even think about staying in Sommerfeld permanently with everyone thinking ill of her and her daughter? He pushed his plate away, his appetite ruined by his thoughts.

Dear Lord, why did this have to happen now, when Marie was turning
back to You and her faith?

Marie came around the corner with a bin on her hip. Normally Trina bussed tables, but Deborah had been making her stay home the past few days. She gave the excuse that, with the dwindling clientele, she wasn’t needed, but Henry suspected it had more to do with trying to keep her from having any contact with Beth and Marie.

Another heartache.

Marie paused beside his table, frowning at the untouched plate. “Was something wrong with the food?”

Henry shook his head. “No. Just not hungry.”

She sighed, glancing at the nearly empty room. “That seems to be going around.”

Henry peeked over his shoulder. The few customers appeared to be eating, not needing attention. He pointed to the chair across from him. “Want to sit down for a minute?”

She tipped her head, and the hint of a smile curved her lips. “On one condition—you don’t mention the word
thief
.”

The sadness in her eyes stabbed his heart. He smiled and nodded toward the chair. “Agreed.”

She sat, plunking the bin on the corner of the table. She looked at him, quiet and waiting, and he found himself tongue-tied. With her hair pulled back, the errant curls held in place by a kerchief tied around her head, and her blue-eyed gaze pinned expectantly on his face, she had the same effect on him that she’d had at fifteen. The silence grew lengthy, uncomfortable. She squirmed.

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” he blurted before she could get up and move away.

Marie blinked, her long lashes sweeping up and down. She took in a breath and gave a graceful shrug. “Joanna has asked me to join her family, but I’m not sure I will.”

Henry scowled. She shouldn’t be alone. “Why not?”

“Well. . .” She linked her fingers together and rested them on the edge of the table, then seemed to examine her thumbs. “If Joanna has her own dinner, that means she won’t be with my parents. The only reason she’s doing this is because she knows Beth and I aren’t welcome at the farm. I don’t want her to separate herself from the family because of me.”

The sadness in her tone tugged at Henry’s heart. Here she was, in the community, so close to her family, and yet so far from them. He wished he could build a bridge that would bring them together. He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. Her gaze bounced up, meeting his.

He felt heat building in his cheeks, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Joanna wouldn’t do it if she didn’t want to.”

“I know, but. . .” She paused, shifting her gaze to the side for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “I don’t want people to have to choose sides.” She looked at him again, one eyebrow quirked. “There’s no sense in stirring up trouble when our time here is so short.”

Henry jerked his hand back, then regretted his hasty action when he saw her expression cloud. He cleared his throat. “Regardless of the length of your stay, any reconciliations will be beneficial to your family, don’t you think?”

Another hesitant shrug communicated her apprehensions. “One can hope, I suppose. I’d like to think that, after Beth and I return to Cheyenne, I’ll stay in touch with my family. But it will be up to them.”

Henry nodded, and silence fell between them. Once more, he wished for Lisbeth’s presence. She would have been an excellent mediator between Marie and her family, he was sure. His skills in that department were lacking—he didn’t have an inkling how to bring things to right.

“Well,” Marie said, but she was cut short by the call of one of the customers requesting a refill on coffee. Henry watched her bounce to her feet and dash to the table that held the coffeepots and carry one to the table. From there, she made the rounds, avoiding his table.

He knew what his breakfast cost without needing a check. Shifting his weight to one hip, he tugged his billfold from his back pocket, removed a five-dollar bill, and slid it under the edge of his plate.

Out on the sidewalk, he drew in great breaths of the cool air, attempting to clear his cluttered mind. Turning toward his shop, he processed his thoughts.

Henry knew Marie’s family was more important to her than the community, but less important than Beth. If the girl decided to make Sommerfeld her home, Marie would no doubt settle in, as well. If that happened, surely her entire family would eventually come to accept her.

Turning the key in the lock of his door, Henry released a snort. Beth wouldn’t stay. Not after the way everyone had pointed fingers. If she were guilty, she would have to take her stolen goods and go. He flipped on the light switch, then sank onto a metal stool beside his work counter. The situation seemed hopeless.

No, nothing was ever hopeless. He knew that. Ducking his head, he closed his eyes, a prayer rising in his chest.
She’s back, Lord, and she’s seeking You. Please let this mess be fixed to the betterment of all
. He recognized the underlying selfishness of his request, knowing much of his motivation was his long-held love for her. He wanted her here, with him. But he also wanted her happy. He knew she couldn’t be happy until all of the relationships were restored.

Slapping his knees, he rose and reached for his toolbox. Sitting here worrying about Marie wouldn’t get Lucas Schrag’s oil leak repaired. He’d have to leave Marie in God’s hands.

Beth put another piece of gravy-drenched turkey in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. She might as well have been eating sawdust. Despite the lace tablecloth and candles, the array of foods and polished silverware, despite Joanna’s tremendous effort to make this first Thanksgiving together in more than twenty years a festive event, it was a flop.

Tension hung so heavy it was palpable, making it hard to swallow. A glimmer of tears shone in Mom’s eyes, and at times in Joanna’s, too. Beth felt a stab of sympathy, but there wasn’t much room for sympathy with the amount of anger she held.

Her uncle Leo and his wife and kids had come to Joanna’s for this meal, but neither Art nor Conrad were there. They’d chosen to go the farm, to have Thanksgiving with Beth’s grandparents. From the whispers she’d overheard in the kitchen, an aunt and uncle she had yet to meet, who lived in neighboring communities, were also at the farmhouse. They’d been invited to come by Joanna’s to see Mom but had refused.

Little wonder Mom battled tears. Beth understood her mother’s heartache, but she also resented it. Hadn’t Mom figured out by now these people weren’t worth tears? The two of them had always made it just fine on their own. When Grandma Quinn passed away and Grandpa moved to Florida, Mom had wondered how they’d get by alone, but they’d managed. To Beth, that proved they didn’t need anybody except each other.

They especially didn’t need this town full of righteous blame finders.

She’d observed the way customers reacted to Mom in the café. From her spot in the corner, hunched over her computer, she’d seethed with frustration when Mom’s friendly overtures were ignored. And
now that Mom was going to that church, it was even worse! Beth’s solution was to spend less time at the café and more time away from the town. But Mom was stuck. Beth stifled a frustrated snort. She wished she’d never come to Sommerfeld. It was all a huge mistake.

On her left, her cousin Kyra asked quietly, “Would you pass the pickled beets, please?”

Beth handed them over, her gaze meeting Kyra’s briefly. Beth couldn’t help but feel a prick of guilt for lumping Kyra and her family in with the rest of the community. Joanna and her husband and children hadn’t pushed Mom or her aside. Beth appreciated that, but it wasn’t enough. Mom needed all or nothing. There was no way she’d ever have it all, so. . .

Beth shoved her chair back and stood. Every person seated around the table stopped in midbite and stared at her. “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well. Will you excuse me, please?” Without waiting for a response, she charged through the kitchen to the back door. As she expected, Mom came around the corner a moment later, her brow creased in worry.

“Honey, are you okay?”

Beth shook her head. “No. And neither are you.” Taking her mother’s hand, she implored, “Let’s go back to the house.”

Mom’s face puckered in concern. “Are you feeling that bad?”

Beth huffed. “I’m not sick, Mom, unless you count sick of this town and these people. We should never have come. I’m sorry I dragged you here. I—” She shook her head and gave her mother’s hand a tug. “Let’s just go.”

“In the middle of dinner?” Mom slipped her hand free. “Sweetheart, Joanna went to a lot of trouble for us. She and Leo and their families chose to be here for us. I can’t leave.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, honey, I can’t.” Mom lowered her voice to a whisper, but
her tone was firm. “I will not walk away from a dinner that was set up just so we could spend some time with family this holiday.”

Beth stared at her mother, ire rising higher by the minute. Couldn’t Mom see that staying only created more problems? More heartache? She had to get her mom out of here. She grabbed her jacket off the hook and jammed her arms into the sleeves. “Well, I’ve had enough family for one day. I’m leaving.”

Mom wrung her hands. For a moment Beth hesitated. She hated to see her mother so torn. But this family had cut her off a long time ago. And they would abandon her again when it came time to leave. Having the money from the café and house would enable Beth to repay her mom in some way for all the sacrifices she’d made over the years. But surely the gift wouldn’t be worth the heartache she was experiencing now. It was better to make the break now, before her mother got in too deep.

Mom touched her arm. “Will you be okay at home by yourself?” Home? Since when was Lisbeth’s house
home
? Beth’s heart twisted. She forced a sarcastic tone. “I’ll be fine. All by myself on Thanksgiving.”

Mom shook her head, her eyes sad. “Honey, it’s your choice to leave. You can stay here with us.”

Beth turned away, her chin quivering. “Us” used to mean her and Mom. She closed her eyes for a moment, gaining control of her emotions. When she felt she could speak without her voice breaking, she looked at her mother. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll call Mitch. I know he’ll have time for me today.”