The Search (33 page)

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.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t explain you. You’re not even Amish, yet you’re able to give Simon something I—who lived my whole life in the Amish church—can’t.” He turned to her. “Why?”

Lainey lifted her head to the sky. “For a long time, I felt abandoned. And so lonely. I still do, at times. I think it will always be my Achilles heel. But a few years ago, I went to a church service and the pastor happened to be preaching on the difference between divine forgiveness and human forgiveness. I knew I couldn’t forgive others without God’s help. He said that we fail in the work of grace and love when there is too much of us and not enough of God. That thought stayed with me. Too much of me and not enough of God. Once I understood that and asked for God’s help, I was able to forgive Simon and stop condemning him.” They sat together there for a long time before Lainey added, “I learned how to love from watching your mother. I know she could scare a body half to death, but a person knew she could fail and still be loved. I think even Simon knew that about your mother. I think that’s why he never left Stoney Ridge. She might have been the only person who really loved him.”

Jonah tucked his chin. “Rebecca was always frightened by my mother.”

Jonah was bringing up Rebecca’s name more and more and it made Lainey glad. She wanted him to feel comfortable talking about her. She didn’t want him to feel as if he had to forget her.

He glanced at her. “You never were frightened by my mother, were you? Even as a young girl.”

“I always knew there was a tender heart inside that gruff exterior.”

Lainey smiled at him, and Jonah smiled back at her.

She reached out and jostled his knee. “Listen. Simon’s still telling the story.”

Sure enough, they could hear Simon’s voice through the window, carrying on as if they were still in the kitchen. Jonah gave a short laugh. “Are you seeing much improvement in him? Other than his talking voice is back in working order?”

“Little by little. He’s not needing as much sleep. He took a walk to the end of the road yesterday.”

Jonah tucked a curl behind her ear and stood to leave. “Good. Maybe there is an end in sight.”

And then what?
Lainey wondered, watching Jonah head out to the street toward Rose Hill Farm.

Caleb Zook made a point of stopping by to see Simon every Sunday afternoon. Lainey was amazed. Caleb had no responsibility for Simon since he had been shunned. But Jonah said Caleb was like that. He said Caleb had always managed to be sincere about his faith without becoming legalistic. It wasn’t that rules were optional to Caleb. She noticed that he didn’t entirely ignore Simon’s shunning: he didn’t sit at their table for a meal with Simon. Once she offered a plate of cookies to the two of them while they were talking in the living room, but Caleb politely turned her down. Jonah told her later that Caleb shouldn’t be offered food from the same plate that had been handed to Simon. And Caleb didn’t touch Simon, not even a handshake. But he still showed genuine concern and interest in him. He seemed to believe that there was something to redeem in Simon.

All men of God should be like Caleb Zook, Lainey thought more than once.

“Do you really believe Simon can change?” Lainey asked him one Sunday as she walked with him out to his buggy after he had paid a call on Simon. “Or are you just saying that because you’re the bishop and that’s what you’re supposed to think?”

Caleb laughed at her candor. “Simon always was chock-full of brag and fight.” He put on his hat. “But, yes, I think he can change if he wants to. God wants all men to come to him.”

Lainey wanted to ask him more but waited to see if he was in a hurry to leave. When he didn’t get in the buggy right away, she blurted out, “What made Simon the way he is?” It was a question Lainey had often wondered and wished she had asked Bertha. She did ask Jonah once, but he had no idea. As long as he could remember, Simon was just thought of as the black sheep.

Caleb leaned against the buggy, one long leg crossed over the other, his arms crossed against his chest, that black hat still shadowing his face. “I’m not sure there’s an easy answer to that question. I don’t think there’s one event. But I do recall my mother saying that Simon’s mother died bringing him into the world, and his father was a hard man to please.” He stopped as a thought seemed to come to him. “A little like Billy’s father. Always wondered if that might be why Bertha took such an interest in Billy.” He stared down the road for a moment, then turned back to Lainey. “Simon was the last child and only boy in a string of females, and life seemed to be a little more difficult for him—learning in school, getting along with others, learning a trade. He grew up being told he couldn’t do anything right. Maybe there came a point when he believed it. It became a way of life for him. A habit. Maybe it was easier to just go ahead and disappoint people in advance. Maybe that’s how he has felt about God.” He unknotted the buggy reins from the fence. “He’s softening, though. Little by little. Bertha would say, ‘En Baam fallt net uff der eracht Hack.’
One stroke fells not an oak.
”