Reflection (51 page)

Katy groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “I'm a fool,” she said.

“It doesn't matter, Katy,” he said. “The physical side of my relationship with Rachel is almost immaterial. My connection to her goes way beyond that. It's a stronger bond than I've ever had with anyone, except maybe Luke.”

“I resent her,” Katy said irritably. “I always have. Even when we were teenagers. I knew even then that you adored her. And I do remember that time you were asking about the other day. That time after the basketball game. But I'm ashamed of it. I'd just started public school then, and I was trying so hard to fit in, which I never actually did, I guess. But I was trying, nevertheless, and if I'd aligned myself with you in that instance I thought I'd be dead socially forever. I'm sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said, though his words sounded hollow. He could forgive her the most recent transgression, but for some reason her role in that incident would always haunt him. “Rachel was the catalyst for all this,” he said, “but she's not the cause. There's a difference.”

“She's definitely going to Rwanda?”

“Zaire. Yes.”

“Are you upset that she's leaving?”

“No. It's going to be very good for her, and it will be good for me to have the time on my own. I need to think and pray.” He sighed. “And, I guess, to look for a new place to live…and a new job.”

She shifted away from him on the couch and pounded her fist on her thigh, her first show of anger. He imagined there was more where that came from. “How can you possibly give this all up?” she asked.

“I have to, or I'll be of no use to anyone.”

“I'm so
angry
with you,” she said. “And with myself. We should never have let things get out of hand this way.
I'm
not ready to give everything up, Michael.”

“I won't go on living a lie,” he said. “The lie might please you and it might please the church, but it doesn't please God. That much I'm sure of.”

She lowered her head, taking in a few long breaths. When she raised her eyes to him again, they were red. “I'm afraid,” she said softly. “Of the unknown. Of all we have to go through.”

“Katy,” he smiled at her, “do you realize that tonight is probably the first time you've ever talked to me about how you feel about anything?”

“I know,” she said. “But it's too late, isn't it?”

“Yes,” he agreed, taking her hand. “It's way too late.”

MICHAEL FOUND ALL FIVE
of the elders waiting for him in the smaller of the church meeting rooms. Lewis Klock looked up when he walked through the door, then nodded at the one empty chair in the circle, next to Celine.

Celine gave him a questioning smile as he took the seat.

Michael looked around the circle. He couldn't bear the mixture of hope and worry that lined Lewis's face, or Jim Rausch's troubled frown. Samuel Morgan and Ed Flynn, sitting rigid as statues, were even less comforting to behold, and Celine rubbed an imaginary spot on her skirt with the tip of her index finger.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice,” Michael began. “I felt that it was important for me to address this issue without delay.”

Lewis, Celine, and Jim nodded, but Ed and Samuel maintained their stoic reserve. Ed folded his hands neatly on his knees.

“I need your prayers, brothers and sister.” Michael wanted to get directly to the point. “Katy and I have decided to end our marriage.”

Lewis let out his breath and leaned back in his seat, a resigned look on his face.

Celine touched Michael's hand. “Oh, Michael,” she said, “I'm sorry.”

Ed clucked his disgust. “'He must not be a recent convert, or he may become conceited and fall under the same judgment as the devil,'” he quoted.

“Michael,” Jim leaned toward him. “Is this a mutual decision between you and Katy?”

Michael looked at the ceiling as though he might find the answer in the acoustic tiles. “Katy and I both recognize that our marriage is not a good one,” he said slowly. “I know we've given the appearance of being a happy and contented couple, but that's all it's been—an appearance. It was too painful and too frightening to admit to the problems, so I guess we kept them hidden, from ourselves as well as from others. Katy would be willing to stay in our marriage for the sake of our son and the church.” He shook his head. “But I can't do that. I can't continue to preach honesty and openness when all the while I'm living a lie.”

“Wasn't fair to you that they ordained you,” Ed said. “You grew up with worldly values. A zebra can't change his stripes.”

Michael willed the elder's patronizing comments to roll off his back.

“Where exactly does Rachel Huber fit into all of this?” Samuel asked.

He'd known the question was coming. The answer was easy. “Rachel's responsible for changing many things in Reflection recently,” he said, “but she's not responsible for ending my marriage. I fully admit to you that I love her deeply, that I would like eventually to have a loving and permanent relationship with her. Her presence has forced me to take a hard look at my marriage, to recognize that it is an empty shell.”

“Convenient,” Ed muttered.

Michael ignored him. “Even if Rachel were to go back to San Antonio and swear she would never see me again, I would still end my marriage.”

Lewis sat up straight, the kindness in his wise old eyes a sudden refuge of warmth in the room. “I'm sorry about your decision, Michael,” he said gently, “and I know you're aware that such a decision carries enormous consequences.”

“Yes,” he said.

“You were right to bring this to us right away,” Lewis continued. “I'll take care of Sunday's sermon. Will you come and address the congregation during the sharing period?”

Michael nodded, but for the first time since the meeting had begun, his throat threatened to close up on him. He would be in the pews on Sunday. Lewis would be in the pulpit.

Lewis studied him for another moment before bowing his head. “Let us pray,” he said as they lowered their heads. “Heavenly father, Michael needs your love and guidance right now, and we need your wisdom to know how to handle this situation. Please show us your will in this matter, and give our entire congregation strength and tolerance. Amen.”

“Amen.” Michael whispered his response, and Lewis looked at him again.

“The elders will need to meet privately for a while, Michael,” he said. “We must pray together and ask God to help us in our decision.”

Michael rose from his seat. He knew what their decision would be. He was ready for it. “I'll be at home this evening,” he said. “You can reach me there.”

If anyone said good-bye to him as he left the room, he didn't hear them. He walked down the hall and up the stairs and was about to leave the church when he changed his mind. Instead, he walked into the sanctuary and sat down in one of the rear pews. He needed some time to himself—time to grieve all he was about to lose and to celebrate all he was about to gain.

FROM HER SEAT ON
the porch swing Rachel watched Michael's car pull into the driveway and come to a stop in front of the garden. She knew where he'd been, and as she walked down the porch steps to meet him, the tension that had been with her all afternoon threatened to break loose.

The muscles in his face were set and unsmiling, and he said nothing as he pulled her into an embrace. She held him tightly, aware that he was drawing strength from her and wanting to give him all she could.

After a long moment, they pulled apart.

“Do you want me to cancel the trip to Zaire?” she offered. “I feel like you need me around right now.”

“Yes, I need you,” he said, “but no, I don't want you to cancel your trip. I want you to go.” His eyes told her that he meant it.

“Tell me what happened,” she asked.

They walked up the stairs to the porch and sat down on the swing, and he told her in detail about his meeting with the elders.

“What do you think they'll do?” she asked.

“I know exactly what they'll do,” he said. “They'll notify the bishop, and my ordination will be pulled sometime this week, I would guess. Only I plan to step down voluntarily from my ministry tonight.” His voice was flat, but sure and steady, and Rachel knew his mind was made up.

“It seems like such an extreme response,” she said. “To lose a good minister.”

He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I can't be a good minister without the trust and confidence of my congregation,” he said. “I can still be a good Mennonite, though. I always will be. That's portable, like prayer. Something no one can ever take away from me.”

“What will you say to the congregation on Sunday?” She could imagine how painful that church service was going to be for him.

“I'll be brief,” he said. “I'll tell them that Katy and I are separating, and that I'm leaving the ministry. I'll say I'm sorry for any discomfort I've caused them over the past couple of months, and I'll ask everyone to continue to welcome Katy and Jason. Katy and Jace are going to need the support of their church community more than ever.”

Rachel swallowed a bitter retort. “It bothers me that you have to shoulder all the responsibility for the end of your marriage,” she said.

“The decision is mine.” Michael brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Regardless of anything Katy did.”

Rachel rested her head on his shoulder. “Will people blame me?” she asked.

“Does it matter?”

No. She knew it didn't. There would always be people who couldn't forgive her. But she had found her own peace.

Michael ran the back of his fingers softly across her shirt where it covered her breast. “I told Katy that the physical side of our relationship was insignificant,” he said with a smile in his voice. “I lied.”

She closed her eyes to let his touch fill her up. “Yeah.” She spoke quietly. “I think you did.”

“When you get back, I'll have my own place, and we can be freer.”

She loved the idea. “That will give me something to look forward to,” she said, then she snuggled closer to him. “I already miss you.” She did, but she had no regrets over her decision to leave. Being apart from Michael didn't scare her at all. Twenty-one years and thousands of miles had done nothing to diminish their bond. Time and distance couldn't harm it now, either.

“How do you say ‘soul mates' in Kinyarwanda?” she asked.

Michael stared at the ceiling of the porch. It took him a minute to respond. “
Inshuti
?” he suggested.

“Hmm.” She was not certain of the translation, but the word sounded soft and satisfying to her ears. “
Inshuti
,” she said, and she settled easily into the comfort of his arms.

Eight Months Later

THE CURTAIN-CALL BELLS WERE
ringing as Helen and Rachel left Hans's dressing room in the Kennedy Center. Helen slipped her arm through her granddaughter's for the walk down the corridor toward the concert hall. “He has such focus,” she said to Rachel. “Couldn't you see him pulling in while we were talking? Withdrawing from us as he's preparing to perform? I remember seeing him do that any number of times in the old days.”

“Yes,” Rachel agreed. “He looked as if he was trying to hold in his energy until he gets onstage.”

Helen smiled to herself. It was that energy, that unbridled, out-of—control side of Hans that had always attracted her, that attracted her still.

They turned to walk through the concert hall door to the right of the stage.

The orchestra was tuning up, the chaotic frenzy of sound exciting to Helen's ears.

“Michael's already there.” Rachel nodded toward the front row, and they walked toward him to take their seats. Michael hadn't joined them in Hans's dressing room because he wanted to call Jason before the concert. Helen knew he didn't like to let a day go by without some contact with his son.

It was May sixth, the debut performance of the slightly doctored cadenza for
Reflections
. She and Hans had spent several joy-filled months over the winter secluded in her house, collaborating on a new version of the third movement. They tried to remain true to Peter's vision of the piece as a whole, and they were able to create new variations on the theme from parts of the cipher so that, at least symbolically, the message Peter had embedded in the music would remain.

She'd talked to Hans about the anguish she'd experienced in letting the world know the truth about Peter.

“Don't you see?” Hans had responded. “Peter wanted all of this to happen. He knew the addendum to his will would force you to see me. He was granting us permission to finally be together.”

It was an aspect of Peter's intentions she had not considered. She wasn't certain Hans's interpretation was accurate, but the thought comforted her all the same.

Hans had been most fascinated by the music Helen had written since Peter's death, music she had created and tucked away. She'd had no outlet for it; Peter Huber could hardly have composed from the grave. But Hans was thrilled by the music, and he was making it his own. He was planning to play a couple of those compositions that evening as encores.

Michael leaned forward from his seat. “Feeling a little better than the last time we were here, Helen?” he asked.

“Lord, yes.” She felt fine, but she was still a little worried about Michael. He'd been depressed the past few months as the loss of his ministry caught up with him. But things were turning around for him now, and she felt confident he would be all right. Rachel didn't seem concerned in the least.

“He just needs to feel worthwhile again,” Rachel had said to her. “Everything will fall into place come September.”