Love Redeemed (22 page)

Silas's gaze went to Emma. “Scratched my hand on a nail. I came up to get a bandage. I saw the buggy in front and wondered…”

“Emma stopped to pick up some clothing.” She hadn't told Silas that today would be the day when their daughter's few belongings would be given to others. She saw no need to speak of it. It was expected. Others could use them. She had a lock of Lydia's hair and she didn't even need that. Lydia's face was imprinted on her heart. She saw it in Phoebe, Hannah, and Sarah every day. “We're done up here. I'll get the bandages.”

Silas's lips tightened. He cleared his throat. “How are you, Emma?”

“Fine, thank you.”

Lydia's church shoes dangling from one hand, Katie trotted down the stairs. Emma followed behind her, the pile of clothing in her arms. As she squeezed past Silas, he grabbed a dress from the top of the pile. His big hands, dirty, the back side spotted with dried blood, crushed the material against his chest. Katie stopped in the middle of the room. She didn't want to look at his face.

Emma spoke first, her voice gentle, respectful. “Would you like to keep that one?”

“Nee.” Silas shook his head. His voice sounded hoarse, like he was coming down with a cold. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

He thrust the dress, now stained with dirt and blood, at Emma. “Best put it to use.” He whirled and stomped from the room.

“The bandage—”

The screen door slammed.

Emma smoothed the dress with her free hand. “Don't worry about it. I'll wash it. I have plenty of laundry to do.”

“I don't know what's gotten into him.” Katie dropped into the rocking chair. “That's the third time this week he's scratched or cut himself while working. He's never been a clumsy man.”

“He's distracted.” Emma settled into the other rocking chair, the clothes in her lap. “Have you talked to him at all about how you're feeling?”

“What do you mean?”

“You feel guilty. I'm sure he does too. It's only natural when something like this happens to want to blame someone. You blame yourself for not being stricter with Phoebe. I'm sure he blames himself for not protecting his child.”

“He wanted to rein Phoebe in. I told him to trust in Gott and let her go. It was her rumspringa. She hadn't really done anything the rest of them didn't do. She's so smart. I thought she would do the right thing. I was complacent. Arrogant. I thought my daughter was better than she was…”

“We walk a thin line. We turn a blind eye during the rumspringa because we want our young folks to know what they'll be missing—if you can call it that—when they commit to our way of life. Where do we draw that line?”

Katie had been trying to answer that question for weeks. “When they endanger themselves or someone else?”

“Josiah almost killed himself, but when I look back on it, I'm not sure there was anything we could've done differently. He had to see for himself. He had to make the decision to commit to the Ordnung and be baptized. No one can do it for them. You know that.”

“The difference is Lydia didn't almost die. She did die.” Katie heard the wobble in her voice and shut her mouth. She had to stop doing this. All this talking did no good. What was done was done. She stood. “I best get the oven going. The bread dough will have risen by now.”

Emma rose as well. “You did everything you could.”

Katie nodded, but she didn't speak. She didn't dare. If she opened her mouth, she would embarrass them both by wailing.

Chapter 18

P
hoebe trudged up the dirt road that led to the schoolhouse. She couldn't put it off any longer. She needed to earn money. She needed to contribute at home. But the closer she came to the building, the slower her step. She'd begun the walk with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner on her way to execution. Last year, she'd thoroughly enjoyed being Deborah Daugherty's aide. Getting to spend all day with her best friend's older sister, telling kinner what to do, and playing games at recess. It couldn't really be called working. It was too much fun. And parents paid her to do it. Now the sight of Lillie, Mary, William, Eli, Joseph, Abram, Joanna, and all the other kinner engaged in an impromptu game of kickball set her legs trembling. She slowed some more, breathing in the smell of leaves decaying on a cool day. Fall had finally made an appearance.

Today is the first day of your new life. A life dedicated to helping kinner be good scholars. To following the rules. To being good. To making Mudder and Daed and God happy.

She'd been repeating these maxims over and over with each step that brought her closer to the school. Her new life. Dedicated to helping with the teaching of kinner. Her way of making up for what she'd done. She would be a good helper. She would be responsible and careful and a good example for each child.

“Hey, Phoebe, wanna play?” Joseph darted across the road, a dirty white ball clutched in his arms. “Come on, we got room for one more.”

The thought of smacking a ball around with her foot sounded delightful. Pounding around, pulse racing, laughing, tumbling to the ground in the grass. Fun. It would be fun. She couldn't really remember what fun felt like.

“Oh, come on, you like kickball. You're the best. You kick hard.” Joseph tossed the ball her direction and she caught it automatically. For a second, she was twelve and dashing from the home plate to first base, her legs pumping, Molly and Rachel shouting from the sidelines, Michael laughing and chasing the ball rolling past him in the grass.

She swallowed and tossed the ball back to Joseph. “No, but thanks. I want to help Deborah get things ready for the day.”

“We already did all that.” Luke's son's expression was scornful. “We got here early. What's with you and Hannah? She doesn't want to play either.”

He jerked his head toward the steps that led to the small porch in front of the squat, rectangular school, glowing with a fresh coat of paint applied by the men a few weeks earlier. Hannah sat, her lunchbox in her lap and her hands resting on top of it. She didn't move. She didn't even seem to breathe. She had been long gone by the time Phoebe trotted into the kitchen for a quick bite of breakfast. According to Mudder, she hadn't said a word before picking up the lunchbox and closing the back door behind her.

“I'd better see if she's all right.” Phoebe smiled at Joseph. He really did look like his daed, only much shorter. “She's having a hard time.”

“Because of Lydia?” Joseph's tone held curiosity. “My daed says she's with Gott.”

Phoebe could only nod.

“My daed says the Lord gives and the Lord takes away.” Joseph's freckled nose wrinkled. “So be prepared. That's what he says. I figure it must be awful nice up there in heaven with God so why be sad?”

“Your daed is right.” Phoebe chose her words with the same care she gave to threading a needle, least they prick her. “And so are you. It's just hard sometimes when you miss a person.”

“I guess I would miss William.” Joseph looked thoughtful—as thoughtful as an eight-year-old with a soccer ball in his hands could look. “But I don't know about the twins—they're always bugging us.”

“You'd be surprised.” Phoebe almost smiled at his earnest attempt to be honest. “Little sisters are special.”

She had to stop then. The lump in her throat reappeared at the most inopportune moments.

“Joseph, come on, we wanna play before the bell rings!” Lillie yelled from the open field. Phoebe could've hugged the little girl for interrupting this painful conversation. “You have the ball, come on.”

His concern over death and little sisters and heaven gone in a split second, he grinned and sped away. Phoebe forced herself to move on, to march to the front door, blocked by her sister. She paused in front of her. When Hannah didn't look up, she sank onto the step and perched next to her. “Are you all right?”

Hannah's eyes, blue as the morning sky overhead, didn't blink. She seemed to be studying the trees beyond the field where the other kinner played. Phoebe touched her arm. “Hannah?”

The girl shrugged away from her touch, but she didn't speak.

Her sister had never been a silly, happy-go-lucky kind of girl, but she'd been easy to be around, quick with a smile, a good girl. Now she had folded into herself and disappeared into a dark room where no one was allowed entry. “Please talk to me. Say something. Tell me you're mad at me. Tell me you can't forgive me. Just say something.”

Hannah's expression didn't change. Her eyes remained distant and vacant.

The vacant part—that was the part that broke Phoebe's heart. She had done this. Hannah had lost her joy, her sense of serenity, her peace, because of Phoebe. Stricken with the knowledge that Hannah might never be the same, she stood. “I'm going inside to help Deborah.” Her voice quivered and she breathed to steady it. “If you need anything, I'll be right inside.”

Feeling like an old woman, she climbed the steps. Inside, the air was warm and stifling. Deborah, a taller, older version of her sister Rachel, stood at a window, both hands on the frame, her face red with exertion and frustration. “I think they painted these windows shut. I can't get them open.”

“Let me try. Maybe we could use a knife to loosen the paint.”

“Good idea.” Deborah scurried to the cabinet next to the stove they
would use to heat the room this winter. “I think I have one I brought to peel my orange.”

Sure enough. She began to pry at the frame again, sweat trickling down her temples. “Guess what? Abel's here.”

“Abel? He made it!” Phoebe tried to hustle up some enthusiasm. Deborah deserved that. She had so longed to see her beau, who'd remained in Bliss Creek when their families made the move to New Hope. “For how long?”

“A week or two. Can you keep a secret?”

“You know I can.”

“He's asked Thomas to talk to my parents.”

“He's asking to marry you?”

“He wants us to get married in November and move me back to Bliss Creek.” She wiped at her face with her sleeve, a broad grin stretched across her face. “And I'm recommending to Luke that you take over teaching here.”

The ringing in her ears made Deborah's voice sound muffled and far away in Phoebe's ears. She strained to hear. To understand. “Me, the teacher?”

“You're a great teacher. You're smart. You're energetic. The kinner like you and they obey you. You're just right for the job.”

Leave her in charge of twenty or more kinner after what she'd done? It would never work. Luke would never allow it. And she wouldn't take the chance.

“I can't. I just can't.” She whirled, tripped over a chair leg, righted herself, and dashed through the door.

“Phoebe, wait!”

She pounded down the steps past Hannah, who still hadn't moved, past the kinner playing kickball, and down the dirt road. She could hear Deborah calling her name but she kept going. The thought of being solely responsible for those children sent a feverish chill through her. Her body ached down to the marrow in her bones. She couldn't take a chance. No one should ever take a chance like that.

Not on her.

Chapter 19

T
he sound of her mudder's voice filtered through the quiet and Phoebe sat up on her bed. Mudder didn't usually yell from the bottom of the stairs. Her joints must be aching. She'd looked tired at the noonday meal. Phoebe swung her legs over the side of the bed and straightened her kapp. A cool breeze wafted through the curtains in her window. The shadows of tree branches and leaves danced against them. She didn't want to leave her room. She felt cozy. She'd done all her chores, swept and mopped the floors, washed the dishes, dusted, mowed the grass—which was more dirt than grass now—and swept the porch. It was at least another hour before they started supper.

“Phoebe, come down here.”

The insistence in Mudder's voice propelled Phoebe out the door and to the top of the stairs. She paused, staring down at the men who stood in the front room. Luke, Thomas, and her daed. Had the officials of their church convened to pass judgment on her? Had they come to censure her after all this time? Would she be punished? She might feel better if they did. Maybe her sense of guilt would diminish if she had a punishment. Her chest tight with dread, she trod down the stairs. Finally, she arrived at the bottom. “What is it?”

“We want to talk with you about some things. Sit.” As bishop, Luke took the lead. “Let's have a seat.”

Mudder had arranged some of the chairs from the table across from
the rocking chairs. She didn't sit, however, but disappeared into the kitchen. Phoebe's pulse jumped. She wanted her mudder to stay with her, but she knew better than to say anything.
Just do what you're told. Be good. Be good. Be good.

When everyone had settled in, Luke began. “You haven't been attending the baptism classes. Nor the prayer service. Have you changed your mind about being baptized this year?”

Phoebe avoided her daed's gaze. He asked her each Sunday if she were ready to go. Each time she said no. He didn't force her. He didn't even look disappointed in her. She didn't know what that meant, only that it was better not to ask.

“I…I hadn't…I'm not sure…I'm not…” She struggled for the right word and finally settled on the only one that seemed right. “Worthy.”

“No one is worthy.” Luke stroked a beard that had two or three threads of silver in it now. Phoebe hadn't noticed them before. Luke wasn't that much older than her oldest brother Jesse. Yet here he sat dispensing wisdom. “I would think recent events would make you all the more determined to complete this important step in your spiritual life.”

“It's been a lot to sort out.”