The Search (29 page)

“Get that mutt out of here,” Simon yelled. “He smells like he was on the wrong end of a fight with a polecat!”

“This is Mammi’s dog, Simon,” Bess said. “His name is Boomer. He’s been out mourning for Mammi. But now he’s back. We’ll give him a bath and he’ll be as good as new.”

“Fat chance of that,” Simon muttered.

“If you wouldn’t mind keeping Simon company for a few minutes,” Lainey told Bess after they gave Boomer a bath, “I’ve got some laundry hanging that I need to take down.” She picked up an empty laundry basket and went to the backyard. Having a house of one’s own took getting used to, Lainey had quickly realized. There was always some little thing to be done. It wasn’t a big house, but there were plenty of chores.

She took her time taking the dry clothes off the line. Hanging laundry was something she found she enjoyed doing. Pinning clothes up and letting the sun permeate them with its warmth was so much better than sitting in a dark Laundromat guarding a machine. Bess had told her once that working is a form of prayer. At first, Lainey had trouble understanding that. But now, she could see it. She thought it meant the kind of work that came from caring for others.

When Lainey came back inside, she found Bess helping Simon drink from a glass of water. It was touching to see Bess, this child who had grown up with another life and another father, reaching out to this man. When Bess tossed that bell out the front door, it was like Lainey was watching some other girl entirely. Bess was so confident and clear about how to handle Simon. She handled him better than Lainey ever did. In fact, it just occurred to Lainey, she handled him the way Bertha used to. Bertha never stood for any of Simon’s bluster.

Lainey tiptoed to the bedroom to fold the clothes. When she came back out, she found Simon had drifted off, and Bess was curled up in a corner of the couch, sound asleep. Boomer was on the foot of Simon’s bed, snoring.

Later that week, Bess stood on the porch at Rose Hill Farm and waved goodbye to Andy Yoder after he had dropped off a bushel of ripe apples from his family’s orchard. Before turning onto the road, Andy looked back and yanked off his straw hat. He stood on the wagon seat, holding the horse’s reins in one hand, waving his hat in a big arc with the other.

The thing about Andy Yoder, Bess was finding, was that you just couldn’t put him off. He was cheerful and funny and full of life, and totally convinced that she loved him. Which of course she didn’t. It wasn’t that she was immune to Andy’s charms; it felt nice to be admired. He told her today that he thought she looked like an angel: smooth skin with large, bright eyes and a mouth shaped like a bow. He stared at her mouth when he said it, and it made her stomach do a flip-flop. Andy was like that: chock-full of sweet words and lingering gazes and always willing to share every thought.

But as fun as Andy was, Bess knew her heart belonged to Billy. Each day, they worked in the rose fields or in the greenhouse and talked about all kinds of things. Conversation was so easy between them, even their good-natured arguments. Sometimes, when he was in a professorial mood, she couldn’t understand half of what he said. Her thoughts often wandered to imagining that this would be their life: the two of them living side by side, day by day, for always.

Esther Swartzentruber told her at church that Billy was spending a lot of time with Betsy Mast, but Bess knew it couldn’t be so. Not after that week when she had the surgery and he had kissed her, ever so gently, and had been worried for her. Not after he had comforted her when her grandmother died. Even Mammi had said Billy Lapp was no fool. Surely, Esther was just spreading rumors.

Bess reached down and hoisted the basket of apples onto her hip. Mammi also used to say that a rumor was “something with truth on the trail,” and a flicker of fear ran through her.

Billy Lapp wiped his brow. He had worked a few hours at Rose Hill Farm, teaching Jonah about Bertha’s rose business, then spent another hour replacing shingles on Lainey O’Toole’s roof. He still needed to get home and help his brothers with the oat shocks. Threshing day was tomorrow, and they needed to knock the shocks down to ready the rows for pitching. Billy had done some research to calculate the best time to harvest the oats. He’d recommended this week to schedule their farm for the community’s threshing rotation, and for the first time ever, his father had listened to him. The weather cooperated, and this oat harvest looked to be one of the best they’d had in years. Just this morning, his father was discussing tomorrow’s pitching and had given him a nod of approval in front of everyone. That was no small thing.

Billy hopped down from the roof and packed up his tools. Then he told Lainey he was heading home, and she handed him a slab of blueberry peach pie she had just pulled from the oven. It was a recipe of her mother’s, she said, and she was trying to improve it.

Billy looked up at the sky and was relieved to see the clouds didn’t look as threatening as they had an hour ago. If they worked fast, they might be able to get the north field finished before it got too dark. And wouldn’t his dad be pleased with that?

He took a bite of Lainey’s blueberry peach pie, then another. It was delicious, that pie. It struck him that Bertha had done the same thing with her roses: took something old and made it new. Maybe that’s what life was all about—taking the lot you were given and making it better, he thought, finishing off the rest of that pie slab in two bites as he hurried down the road.

The nurse had been right about the roller coaster of emotions Simon would experience, yet that was nothing new to anyone who had dealings with him. At times, Lainey could see that he was making an effort to be pleasant. Or at least, not unpleasant. And then, hours later, it was as if he used up all of the niceness he had, which wasn’t in great supply to begin with. He would slip back to constant complaining, mostly about her cooking. Lainey could brush off most of Simon’s insults but not those about her cooking. That area was off-limits. She told him that he was welcome to cook for himself.

He gave her a hard look. “You’re in no position to be giving me lectures.”

There was a moment’s silence.

Lainey thought of what Bess would say. She pulled up a highback chair and sat next to him. “The truth of it is that I am in a position to be giving you a lecture. The way I see it, you have two choices. You can stay here, but only if you stop complaining about every little thing. Or . . .”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Or you are free to leave.” Lainey was firm.

She had him there. He had no place to go.

He glared angrily at her. “Women are the devil.” He said it at least three times a day.

And yet it was Jonah who had the most difficulty tolerating Simon. He dropped by the cottage often, to help Lainey with house repairs or to take her on an errand to town. But he was cool to Simon and had little patience for him. If Simon dared make a vague complaint against Lainey, Jonah would put up a hand to cut him off. In turn, Simon acted cautious around Jonah, as if he knew not to cross him.

As Simon’s health improved, he liked to talk. While Lainey worked in the kitchen, he would tell her stories about all of the near riches he’d had in his business dealings. Since she was in the other room and working on her pies, she was able to only half listen. But Jonah didn’t want to hear the stories, even if he was working on a house repair in another room and Simon was in the front room. He never said a word, but he would quietly get up and go outside.

One afternoon, Lainey followed Jonah outside to the vegetable garden. He had given her some spinach seedlings to get in the ground, but she hadn’t had a chance yet. He picked up a hoe and raked a neat furrow. She put a hand on his shoulder and he stopped digging.

“I just can’t listen to him, Lainey. This chasing after rainbows and borrowing money from people—never paying anyone back. Simon’s spent a lifetime living on the near brink of disaster. It just sickens me to think this would have been the life my Bess would have had.”

“But she didn’t,” Lainey said quietly. “She grew up with you. The life she’s had with you is the only life she’s ever known.”

He finished marking the row. “I can’t seem to find a way to tell Bess. I can’t see what good would be served if she were to know Simon was her father.”

“Is that what you’re concerned about? Whether it would be good for Bess to know?”

“I don’t want her to be hurt. Or confused.”

Lainey sat down on the back step and patted the step in silent invitation for Jonah to sit beside her. He lay the hoe on the ground and sat down. “I’m not sure it’s up to us to decide whether truth is good for us or not. Truth is just . . . truth. I guess it’s how we respond to it that makes it good or bad.”

Jonah looked away. “Lainey, why are you doing this?” He took off his black hat and raked a hand through his hair. “I have an easier time forgiving the truck driver—a stranger—who caused the accident that killed Rebecca and our baby, than I do Simon, for abandoning you and Bess like he did.”

Lainey didn’t answer for a while. “That truck driver was remorseful. Forgiveness comes a little easier when a person asks to be forgiven.”