The Days of Redemption (3 page)

“Since she's an
Englischer
, she couldn't be your twin. Ain't so, Mamm?” He chuckled, raising his eyes to share a smile with his mother. Then stilled.

His mother looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. Her face was pale, twin splotches of color decorating her cheeks. And her eyes . . .

They were the exact ones in the photograph.

Suddenly, he knew. “Mother, this is you, isn't it? This is you in a cap and gown. At your high school graduation.”

His mother averted her eyes.

Elsie gasped. “Mommi? What were you doing, dressed up like an
Englischer
?”

Though his mother said nothing, Peter realized he didn't need an explanation. The item in his hands was clear enough. Slowly, he got to his feet, his knees creaking with the effort. “Your grandmother wasn't dressed up as an
Englischer,
Elsie,” he said quietly. “For some reason, she wasn't Amish here. She was English.”

Bitterness coursed through him as he thought of the many, many times she'd belittled all of them because they weren't perfect enough. Weren't devout enough. Didn't obey the Ordnung to the letter.

The way her criticisms had driven his siblings Jacob and Aden and Sara away.

The way her perfection had made his other brother, Sam, try too hard, had made his youngest sister, Lorene, feel terrible about herself.

The way her iron will had even pulled apart his God-given easygoing nature, causing him to do things he shouldn't.

And she'd done all of this on top of a heap of lies.

He thought of all the times she'd even been critical of his sweet wife, Marie. The way she'd criticized meals and housekeeping and sewing.

Appalled, he stared at his mother. Really looked at her, as if for the very first time. “Talk to me, Mamm. Were you raised English?”

“Yes.”

“Were you ever going to tell us the truth?”

For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still. The dust particles in the air froze. Then Lovina Keim's face turned colder. “
Nee
.” Slowly, she walked to the narrow, steep steps and began descending.

Still holding the photograph in his hands, Peter let her walk down by herself.

“Daed, what does this mean?” Elsie asked.

It meant everything. But of course, he could withhold the truth as well as his mother.

“I don't know,” he whispered. “Let's go downstairs, too, Elsie.”

Slipping the photograph under his arm, he helped guide Elsie down the stairs.

When she was in her room, and he was sure the rest of the house was silent, he strode to his bedroom, opened up the door to his bedside table, and pushed aside the neat stack of books.

Behind the well-worn hardbacks, he found what he was looking for.

And though it wouldn't solve his problems, it would help him not care. Even if it was just for a little while.

It seemed that two years could, in some ways, feel like a lifetime. After their lengthy hug, Ed stepped back and took a closer look at his father.

When he was growing up, most folks said he was a carbon copy of his dad. They both were blessed with hair so dark it seemed inky black and deep blue and gold eyes. The unusual combination had been a source of pride for Ed growing up. More than one girl had commented on his looks.

But he'd always been happier to know that he was following in his father's footsteps. There was no better man in the world. Now, after two years' absence, he realized that he was looking at his future.

Yes, Atle Swartz still favored blue shirts, black trousers, and black suspenders. He still had his gray beard, too.

Of course.

But other things were different. His father looked smaller and frailer than Ed remembered. Whereas Ed used to have to struggle to carry as much hay as his father, now his
daed
looked like he wouldn't even be able to push a wheelbarrow. His body looked half its former size. His father's hands, once so strong and perpetually suntanned, now looked heavily blue-veined and pale. Especially here, under the fluorescent lights of the card room.

“Seeing you does my heart good, Edward,” he said.

Feeling tears prick his eyes, Ed grabbed a chair and sat across from him, so close their knees were touching. “It's been too long, Daed.” He ached to say he was sorry for his absence, but he wasn't sure if that was true. He'd missed his father, but his heart had been full of the joy he'd received from the people of Nicaragua. Doing mission work had changed him in many good ways. And because of that, he couldn't ever think of his time in Central America as a mistake.

“It has been too long,” he agreed, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I am
verra
pleased to see you. And shocked, too!”

“But it's a good surprise, yes?”

“It's good . . . but confusing, too.” His eyes narrowing, his
daed
looked him up and down. Just like he was checking for new flaws. “You must tell me what you are doing here.”

“I'm seeing you, of course.”

“Don't tease.” Pointing to a sheet of notebook paper on the table, his father said, “I received your letter this morning. You gave no indication that you were on your way home. I think you could have done that, son.” He paused, looking him over yet again. “Unless . . . something bad happened?”

“Nothing bad happened.” Eager to push off any more charges of misbehavior, Ed picked up the note, saw the date, and grinned. “This letter is dated three weeks ago. I've written you at least two more letters since then.”

“But surely you could have remembered to let me know you'd soon be heading this way . . .”

Knowing his father had no concept of how disorganized life at a mission post could be, Ed tried to explain things as well as possible. “Daed, when I wrote this, I didn't know I would have to leave so soon.”

“You had to leave quickly?” Worry flashed through his cloudy eyes. “What happened?”

Aware that several other residents of the retirement home had crowded around, Ed took time to weigh his words before answering. “Nothing terribly exciting. The folks at the home office took another look at the staffing at all of their sites. Some locations needed more people, other sites had too many. They had to make some cuts, so a few people were sent to Africa, others home.”

“That doesn't sound like any way to run a company.”

Knowing better than to try to explain the delicate balance CAMA—the Christian Aid Ministry Association— had to ensure was kept in each country, and the amount of work it took to provide for the many people they served, Ed shrugged and went for the simplest of explanations. “The people in charge were told that they had too many Americans in the compound. Next thing I knew, they were telling me I was on the list to leave.”

“I hope you weren't in trouble.” His father's gaze searched his own, the same way he used to look him over when Ed would come home from school early.

Luckily, he had a lot of practice deflecting his concern. “Daed, stop looking so worried! And why would you think I'd be in trouble? I was on the list because I'd been there the longest. Sending me home was their way of rewarding me for my hard work.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

Ed didn't know if it did or not—all he knew was that he hadn't needed any kind of reward. Long ago, he'd learned to put his needs far behind the needs of the people he'd been serving. No matter how much he was inconvenienced or shuffled around, it wouldn't hold a candle to the difficulties the people he was serving went through each day. The people he'd come to care for. He loved his mission work, but he had to admit, it was nice to be back in Ohio. At the moment, he was grateful for the cold air and was looking forward to a comfortable bed.

And nothing was better than sitting with his father. “Daed, honestly, I was glad they asked me to leave. I'd been there almost two years. I was ready to come home for a spell.”

“And I am glad you're here, too. Now, how long will you be staying?”

“At least six months.”

Some of the light in his father's eyes faded. “And then you'll be off to somewhere else?”

“That's the plan.”

“Ah.”

That one word cut through him like a knife. And with that cut, Ed felt the guilt that sometimes threatened to swallow him whole in the middle of the night. Since his
mamm
had passed away almost three years ago, it had been only him and his
daed
. Now it was hardly even that. Though they'd had countless conversations about his calling to mission work, Ed hadn't left the country without a certain amount of remorse.

No matter what his
daed
said to the contrary, Ed couldn't help but wonder if moving his father to the retirement home before he'd left was the right choice.

But there would be time enough to go over plans in the next few days and weeks. And for sure, time enough to rehash his father's living arrangements. “What's new with you here?”

“Oh, nothing much. I've been beating Jacob Showalter here in cards almost every day, and I heard from your cousins in Indiana—two of them have new babies. And we have a new worker here . . . Viola Keim.”

Hearing her name was jarring, like a barrel of dishwater had just been tossed on his head. “I saw Viola when I arrived.”

His father's gaze softened. “She's a right pretty thing, ain't so?”

He would have liked to say he hadn't noticed. But he had. Few women could carry brown eyes and brown hair so well.

It was a shame she was so full of herself. “She is pretty.” For what that was worth. Pleasing looks were well and good, but if they didn't match a sweet personality, he didn't think they counted for much. “Who else have you been visiting with?”

But his father wasn't about to be sidetracked. “That Viola is a dear girl. I've been reading her your letters. Every one.”

“Every one?”

“Oh,
jah.
Sometimes, multiple times.”

Ed felt his cheeks heat. He'd written some of those letters late at night, when he was so tired and exhausted that he'd given in to temptation and written more about his feelings of loneliness or frustration or difficulties than he usually would. He'd often treated the letters like journal entries—so much so that he'd often considered not sending them to his father for fear that it all would be too much for him to handle.

Realizing that all of his private feelings had been read out loud was embarrassing. He recalled one letter where all he wrote about was how he wanted a truly hot shower!

“Daed . . . I hadn't intended for you to share the letters.”

“But you had to know I would.”

“I guess I did,” he said weakly. Now that he was sitting here with his father, he realized he'd naively assumed his father would feel as protective of the letters as Ed had.

But most of all, he'd not imagined that he'd be sharing every bumbling word he'd written. And not to beautiful volunteers!

“Oh, Viola enjoyed them. I know she did. Why, I think she could be interested in you. You should see if she wants to go walking or something.”

Ed was pretty sure that the only place Viola would want to walk was away from him! “Daed, I don't think so.”

“But she's your age. She'll make someone a fine
frau,
mark my words.”

It was time to nip this in the bud. “Daed, I didn't come here to go courting. I want to spend time with you.”

“Well, that should take up one or two hours a day. What are you going to do with the rest of your time?”

He laughed, though it was uncomfortable. “I thought we could do some things together. Maybe go on a trip.” As his guilt crept forward he added, “Maybe you want to live at home while I'm back? I'd enjoy that.”

“You want me to sit by myself in that big
haus
while the two of us try to put together some terrible meals?”

Put that way, it did sound kind of ridiculous. “I can cook. Some.” Actually, he'd gotten pretty good at making rice and beans.

His father scowled. “I have no intention of eating your cooking.”

“I don't cook that badly.”

“I'm sure it wouldn't compare to the food here.”

He didn't know why his feelings were hurt, but the criticism did sting. “Hey, now, Daed—”

“Besides, this is my home now.” Patting the thick cushion of his chair, he cast Ed a self-satisfied smile. “It took me a bit to get settled in, but now that I am, I'm in no hurry to go anywhere. Surely you can understand that?”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

While he'd been gone, Ed had been thankful for the retirement home. He was glad his father had friends, and was in a place where so many eyes could watch out for him. But he'd never believed that his father would think of it as his living preference. “So, have you been to the house recently?”

“Nope. I haven't been by there in months. I've been paying someone to look after it.”

That surprised him. What also surprised Ed was his own uneasiness about being back home and staying there by himself. He knew it would feel emptier than ever without his father there.

And he'd be forced to deal with all the memories of his mother, too.

“Daed, how about we go by there this afternoon? We could take a look around, pick up some groceries. Maybe even make soup and sandwiches like we used to.”

His father's brow wrinkled. “I don't think so. We're going to have sundaes at four.”

Now he was getting irritated. Honestly, his father was acting as if he'd intruded upon his life! “I can take you out for ice cream.”

“It's near on thirty degrees out, son. Why would I want to leave the comfort of the fireplace if I don't have to?”