Secret, The (36 page)
“Hungry?”
He nodded up at her as his daughter moved to the doorway.
Ach, she radiates goodness
. “You’re a fine nurse, Gracie.”
She smiled again; he had used Lettie’s nickname for her, and she’d noticed. “Do you want pie or cookies and ice cream for dessert?”
“I’ll eat whatever you bring.” He turned back to the window. The birdbath Lettie had chosen for the side yard was nearly invisible in the graying twilight.
Leaning closer to the window, he saw his own reflection on the pane, faint yet recognizable. And he felt a sudden wave of relief come over him. He was going to be all right.
As she began to take down her hair, Lettie was struck by the thought that she simply could not wait any longer. She’d napped soundly that afternoon, falling into a sleep fraught with dreams. So many dreams of her family, especially her children. An urgency stirred within her as she’d awakened—she must get word to them that she was safe.
Quickly winding her hair back into a makeshift bun, she pinned it up and hurried downstairs to the common area, where a telephone was available for the guests. She’d brought along a card with prepaid minutes and had used it only once since leaving home.
Martin Puckett urged me to call for any reason
, Lettie remembered, not wanting to contact Marian Riehl on her barn phone . . . afraid her neighbor friend might take the opportunity to scold her. She couldn’t bear that now.
Going to the chair near the fireplace, she reached for the receiver.
Martin heard the phone ring and was glad Janet answered, leaving him to watch his news show. His feet propped up on the ottoman, he leaned back in his lounge chair and enjoyed a bowl of popcorn Janet had made the old-fashioned way—in a pan, on the stove.
“Martin,” she called, her voice strained. “It’s Lettie Byler. Sounds like she’s crying.”
“Well, good night . . . What’s this?” He reached for the portable phone on the lamp table. “Hello?”
“Ach, Martin, I hate to call you so late and all. I’m truly sorry.”
“This is fine . . . just fine.” He paused, not wanting to sound too relieved to hear from her. “Are you all right?”
“I . . . just . . .” She sniffled, then spoke again. “Would it be too much trouble to ask you to get a message to my family—’specially to Judah?”
“No trouble, Lettie. What would you like me to say?”
Janet had come into the TV room and stood in the doorway, facing him with a quizzical expression.
“Could ya just tell him I’m safe?” Lettie asked.
“Anything else?” Martin asked. She sounded as tense now as she had at the train station, and he waited for more. Something solid to go on—where she was staying, perhaps . . . when she planned to return.
“Tell my husband I’ll be in contact later.”
He was baffled by her still-distant tone. “I’ll deliver your message first thing tomorrow.”
“Denki, Martin. Again, I hope I didn’t disturb your evening.”
“You take care now.”
She said good-bye and hung up.
He switched off the phone. “She’s all right.”
“Sure didn’t sound like it.” Janet frowned. “Why would she call here?”
“Her family has no house phone, you must remember.”
His wife nodded as if it hadn’t occurred to her.
“When I took her to the train station, I suggested she call here if she needed help.” He added, “It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Well, of course.” Janet sat on the ottoman and touched his knee. “You’re a good man, Martin.”
He reached for the remote. “She must be visiting someone.”
“She didn’t say?”
“Well, when she left she had a list of phone numbers and said someone was meeting her.” He was glad to see the assurance return to Janet’s eyes. She’d had no reason to ever be uneasy.
Tomorrow he must deliver Lettie’s message to Judah—and explain why she’d contacted him instead of any of her people.
Grace had seen Martin Puckett pull into the drive numerous times before, so she didn’t think anything of it when he arrived after she’d finished hanging out the Monday washing. She assumed Adam needed transportation, because she had not phoned Martin, and Dat was in no shape to go anywhere.
Martin got out of the van and came around to the side door.
“Goodness, this is service,” she said, welcoming him inside.
“I won’t stay but a minute.” He stepped into the kitchen but glanced back at the door. “I see your sign. Is someone ill?”
She explained that Dat had been sick but was improving. “He’s still not takin’ visitors, though . . . and he’ll be sorry to miss you.”
Martin’s concerned look caused her to offer him a seat at the table and some cookies, which he declined. “I came to bring you news from your mother,” he said, continuing on without waiting for a response. “She wants your father to know she’s all right.”
Grace tried but could not speak.
“Will you relay the message?” She nodded and he explained that he and his wife had received a call last night. “I don’t know where she was calling from—the number was blocked.”
Grace managed to thank him. “I’ll tell Dat you dropped by.”
Mamma says she’s all right. But where?
Irritation grew within her—why hadn’t her mother said where she was? Did she always have to be so mysterious?
Grace could think of only one way to quell her intense anger. Only one.
While her hearty vegetable soup simmered on low, Grace saw her chance to leave for a walk. The morning was warming up—already the fifth day of May. A light breeze swayed the tops of trees, and the windmills in the distance moved steadily. She was glad for the fresh air on her face after rushing around to get breakfast and then assisting Mammi Adah with some piecework for a quilt after cleaning her father’s bedroom and doing laundry.
Dat had declared he was strong enough to wander out to the barn, with Adam and Joe keeping close watch. It did her good to see the color returning to his cheeks. They’d all had a bad scare.
One Mamma might never know about
, she thought, resentment rising.
The road was as empty now as at that dark hour when she’d run after Mamma . . . ignored, despite her pleas. Grace looked all around her, assuming she’d found the very spot.
Then, folding her hands, she bowed her head and voiced the prayer she’d contemplated since seeing Dat fall at the feet of the brethren, shattered by his own grief.
“I’m here, Lord, because I’m weary of my bitterness. And I want to ask forgiveness.” She paused. “No, that ain’t quite right. . . .”
She struggled against every bit of frustration pent up inside her. “I want to forgive my Mamma,” she said, lifting her eyes. In her mind, she saw again her mother hustling away from her with the bulky suitcase, filled with nearly every bit of clothing she owned. “I’m askin’ you to carry away my anger, Lord. And the resentment I feel every time I think of that awful moment.”
She was weeping now, unable to stop. “I’m sorry for the ugly feelings I’ve kept inside me, nurturin’ them.” Stopping her prayer, she went to lean against the sheep fence. “Oh, Mamma, I don’t understand why you had to go. But with God’s help, I won’t tend this bitter root in me any longer.”
She wiped her wet face on the handkerchief she’d tucked into the sleeve of her dress and sighed as she glanced back at Dat’s big house in the distance.
She was surprised, but she already felt ever so much lighter.
Forgiven.
She thought of the hummingbird drawing Becky had slipped beneath the side door yesterday. A thoughtful thing for her friend to do, knowing Grace was sitting nearly round the clock at Dat’s bedside. Mandy had brought the drawing upstairs to her, not speaking, only pointing to Becky’s lovely handiwork.
Made just for her with those pretty birthday pencils Grace had given her friend.
No wonder Mamma loves hummingbirds. They’re unfettered
and free.
She thought again of her own struggles. Only through daily and deliberate forgiveness could she, too, find freedom.
Just as
Mamma taught me . . .
She turned toward home. As much as she understood about forgiveness, Grace knew it would take time for healing to come.
She was nearing the turnoff into the driveway when she noticed Henry and his sister Priscilla riding together in the market wagon. The minute Priscilla spotted her, she began waving excitedly. Grace waved back, pleased to see them.
Henry, however, sat as straight as a stick, both hands on the reins, offering merely a half smile as they approached.
She instantly felt glum.
Why can’t he be more like his sister?
she wondered as they passed by.
Isn’t he happy to see me?
Mamma had once told her, “
Dat loves us, even though he
doesn’t say it.”
“Like Henry?” Grace blurted aloud now, recalling the way he’d asked her to marry him, not saying he loved her even then.
In that painful moment, the disappointments of the past months caught up with her. Was this the reason she’d awakened the morning after Henry proposed with so little joy about their coming union? Had she subconsciously known she was headed for a cheerless marriage . . . like Mamma’s?
For sure and for certain, she’d made excuses for herself—for Henry, too, initially thinking her ho-hum feelings stemmed from her disillusionment over Mamma’s leaving. But she knew there was far more to it. And seeing Henry just now and the way he’d looked right through her triggered an onslaught of suppressed feelings.
Somehow she’d managed to overlook his shy nature from the first date on, hoping that in time he might open his heart. Plenty of men were like that, including Dat. Yet the way she felt right now, it was hard to think of living out her years with a husband like her father.
Hard . . . if not impossible.
Grace stubbed her toe as she turned into the driveway. In all truth, she found not a speck of pleasure in the thought of being engaged to Henry Stahl. If anything, she was panicked by it.
W
ashday in Ohio fell on the same day as back home, though here Lettie had no access to a wringer-washer or a clothesline. For that reason, she offered to pay Tracie Gordon for the use of the inn’s automatic washer and dryer.
“I wouldn’t think of charging you,” the younger woman said. “You just help yourself whenever you’re ready. There’s an iron and ironing board in there, too, if you need them.”
Lettie had assumed the facilities would be in use to wash the inn’s soiled linens and towels. But later, while sorting her own clothes, she discovered from the housekeeper that she was the only weekday guest. The tidy little laundry room was all hers.
Once her washing was folded and pressed, she returned to her room and smoothed down her hair at the middle part. Then she bathed and chose a clean dress and matching apron.
She’d felt queasy all morning—a bad case of nerves. Samuel, being a recent widower, might be too grief stricken to welcome a visit from her. She had no way of knowing how things might turn out between them. They’d cared so deeply for each other. But that was long ago.
Lettie hoped her second car trip down to Fredericksburg would not be in vain. The drivers here were as expensive as in Lancaster County, but that wasn’t the only reason she hoped she might find Samuel Graber at home this time.
