Faithful to Laura (22 page)

But she really didn’t. They both had to know that. She’d never been in his position. No one had. “Once Cora leaves I’ll give it some more thought.”

“Not just thought.” She took his hand. “This isn’t just about deciding to live in the Yankee world or ours. It’s a decision about God. You can’t make a choice without knowing what His will is for you.”

He swallowed. “How am I supposed to figure that out?”

“Prayer.” She squeezed his hand. “Lots of prayer. For wisdom in discovering what He plans for you.”

Prayer. He should have known she’d say that. It seemed to be the Amish answer for everything. But he rarely felt God’s presence, much less thought God really listened to the pitiful attempts he made at prayer. Still, Sawyer nodded, desperate to give his mother some comfort.

His mother ran her hand over the smooth wood table and continued. “Once we accept that God is in control of our lives, then we can work on understanding His will.”

“So you’re saying it’s God’s will that my parents’ lied to me?” Sawyer fought to keep the edge out of his voice.

She paused. “I don’t believe that God is ever the author of sin or deception,” she said. “But God uses many ways to reach us. Even other people’s bad choices.” Her gaze met Sawyer’s. “Often we don’t understand why something happens. But you can’t pick and choose. You have to accept what happens and trust in God’s mercy and love. It’s not easy to do.” She gripped her fingers together. “I’m struggling with it right now.”

Sawyer leaned back in his chair. As little as a few days ago he would have dismissed his mother’s words as more Amish rhetoric. But he sensed the wisdom in what she was saying. And she was right—he didn’t like it.

But was that a reason not to believe? Not to trust the Lord?

“Are you sure you don’t want a sandwich?” Anna stood.

“That’s what your
daed
had for supper.”

“Maybe later. And I’ll fix it.” He rose and went to his mother.

Kissed her cheek. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Go on to bed.”

“But what if Cora comes downstairs? She’ll want something to eat—”

“And she won’t be happy with anything you give her.”

Anna nodded. “True. She seemed less than thrilled with the bedroom upstairs. Said something about her bathroom being bigger than the whole room.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes. He couldn’t wait for this woman to leave his parents alone . . . and to get out of his life.

The next morning Leona made her way slowly up the gravel and dirt driveway to the Ottos’ house. She hadn’t been over here in a long time. Distance had grown between her and the Ottos.

She knew why, but hadn’t felt it was her place to get involved. Norman and Carol were both hurting. When Emma and Adam’s attempts to help them failed, Leona couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Norman and Carol didn’t seem to be able to find their way out of the abyss alone.

She bypassed the house and kept walking through the backyard to the pasture. Her hip started to ache. Cold weather always intensified the arthritis, and the air was thick with the dampness of last night’s rain. She ignored the aches, like she ignored every other pain shooting through her body. Over the years she faced a choice—accept the pain and deal with it, or let it take over her life. The only One she would allow control of her life was the Lord. Everyone and everything else, including the vestiges of old age, were kept captive by Him.

She saw Norman standing by the white fence, watching his cattle graze on the last of the grass in the pasture. She had expected to find him here. He was never far from his herd, from the land. He was a good farmer. A good deacon. A good man who somehow lost his way.

He turned before she arrived, as if he knew she was coming. He faced her, leaning back against the fence. Crossed his arms over his chest. “Leona.”

“Norman.” She stood beside him, gripping her cane in one hand and the wood fence with the other. “Fine herd you’ve got this year.”

“
Ya
. Will bring a
gut
price at the market.”

“I’m sure they will. Where do you sell them?”

“Bloomfield, usually. They’ll be ready in the spring.” He turned and looked at her. “You’re not here to talk about my cows.”

“
Nee
. I’m not.”

Norman sighed. “You know, don’t you?”

Leona nodded. “Mary told me just before she died.”

His face turned gray. “What . . .” He swallowed. “What did she say?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” He glanced at Leona, peering at her from beneath the brim of his straw hat. His beard lifted slightly in the chill breeze. “Whatever she said, it was enough.”

“Emma’s worried you’ll never accept her as a daughter-in-law.”

Norman shook his head. “That’s not true, Leona.”

“Then why can’t you be happy for Adam and Emma?” Leona shifted her weight to her cane. “Is it because you’re unhappy in your own marriage?”

He sucked in a breath. “
Mei
marriage is fine.”

“We all know it isn’t. Including your
sohn
and
mei grossdochter
.”

Norman turned and faced the field again. She saw how much he and Adam resembled each other. Same sandy-brown hair, although Norman’s was threaded with gray. Hazel eyes that could be both kind and piercing, depending on the man’s mood. A long, angular face.

But father and son were not only similar in looks. They both had the same stubbornness and pride. Yet while Adam was making steps to release those sins to the Lord, Norman continued to cling to them like a lifeline. Why couldn’t he see that hanging on only made him sink further down?

“You’re overstepping your bounds, Leona.”

“I am. But you’ve never known that to stop me before.” She touched his arm. “When will you make this right?”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re the only one who can, Norman. It’s up to you to make your
familye
whole again. Isn’t that what you want, now that Adam’s returned?”

“Of course it is.” He closed his eyes. “Mary said she’d never speak about what happened between us. Not with anyone.”

“She was dying of cancer. She was in extreme pain near the end. But that wasn’t the only way she suffered.”

Leona winced at the memory. Her
sohn’s
death had been quick. Mary’s had dragged on. “The doctors gave her medicine for the pain. Most of the time she didn’t make sense. But there were moments of clarity. She needed reassurance that she had been forgiven.”

He gripped the fence rail. Stared down at the ground. “Weak. I was weak, Leona. After James died—” He lifted his head. “I knew she was lonely. Trouble was, so was I. Doesn’t make it right, though.”

“That’s why we need mercy.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

Leona shook her head. “None of us do, Norman. If we deserved it, it wouldn’t be mercy. You know this as well as I do. You’re a deacon—”

“And I should have known better!” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I let everyone down. God,
mei fraa
. . .” His voice shattered on the last word.

“Then make it right. Talk to Carol. Tell her what happened.”

He looked at Leona. His eyes were red. Shiny. “What if she doesn’t forgive me? How can I live with that?”

“How can you live with this secret?”

Norman shook his head. “You know, I told Adam the same thing. I can’t seem to take
mei
own advice.” His shoulders hunched, as if a heavy weight had slammed upon them.

Compassion filled Leona’s heart. She could see why Norman couldn’t move on, why he couldn’t take responsibility for his actions and the state of his marriage. It wasn’t easy. It might, in fact, be the hardest thing he’d ever done. But until he did it, he would continue to be at odds with his wife, his son, and soon, Emma.

“Norman, stop giving your guilt the upper hand. When are you going to accept God’s forgiveness?”

Tears welled up in his eyes. “How can He forgive me for what I’ve done?”

“When did you become the authority on who and what and when God will forgive? You know the scriptures. God grants mercy to those who repent. Who truly repent with their heart and soul. But if you don’t accept it, how can He give it?”

He choked on a sob and turned to Leona. “I don’t know. All I know is I love my wife.”

She gripped his hand. “Then
geh
to her. Show her. Fix what’s broken between you. Let God mend both your hearts.”

C
HAPTER
18

Cora squinted against the sunlight streaming through the window. Just as quickly the sun disappeared behind the clouds, casting the room in gray light. She reached for the lamp on the end table. She didn’t find one.

Then she remembered where she was.
In the nineteenth century
.

She sat up, fully expecting the headache that plagued her last night to return. Instead, she actually felt refreshed. The single bed she slept in didn’t look like much, but the mattress was soft, the way she liked it. The sheets and blankets smelled fresh and clean. She hadn’t slept that well in a long time. She’d even forgotten to take her Valium.

But the refreshed feeling disappeared as she became fully awake. She picked up her phone and checked her voice mail. Nothing. She thought about calling Kenneth and asking him to be on the next flight here. Maybe with legal muscle behind her, Sawyer wouldn’t be so stubborn.

She set the phone down. Sawyer wouldn’t be impressed with her high-priced attorney. Nor would threats make him change his mind. She’d have to find another way to convince him to leave. She could see that he was attached to this place. If she didn’t pry him free of the strange grip these people had over him, she’d never be able to direct him to reach his full potential. And that certainly wasn’t painting crude rocking horses for a living.

Cora slipped on a light pink cashmere sweater and slim gray wool pants. For a moment she considered a bath, but she’d catch her death of cold. Was there any heat in this house? No lights, no heat. How did these people live under such barbaric conditions? This life definitely wasn’t suitable for her grandson.

She freshened up in the upstairs bathroom—at least she found a battery-operated lamp on the counter—and went downstairs. Oddly, her heartbeat quickened as she headed toward the kitchen. She had missed her chance to talk to Sawyer last night. Maybe she could see him this morning.

When she entered the kitchen, she found it empty. An ancient, battered coffeepot sat on the stove. She walked over to it and touched the side. It was still hot.

She hadn’t seen a stovetop percolator in years. It took her back to her mother’s kitchen, and the heavy scent of the dark roast coffee her mother liked. Black. Unlike the hazelnut coffee Cora preferred.

Not that she made her own coffee at home. That was Manuela’s job.

But the Bylers didn’t have a maid. Given the primitive conditions they lived in, she was surprised they had running water.

A white coffee mug sat by the stove. Next to it was a small bowl with sugar, a tiny white pitcher that presumably held milk or cream, and two huge cinnamon rolls on a plate covered with cellophane. She ignored the cinnamon rolls. She preferred wheat toast, no butter.