A Love Made New (25 page)

S
ol rubbed a sheet of fine-grade sandpaper against the side of a log cabin birdhouse. These were becoming his most popular and requested types of houses, with the painted ones coming in second. He glanced at the front door and frowned. Irene should have been here by now. He tried not to worry. She wasn't his responsibility.
But I want her to be.
He couldn't deny how he felt about her anymore. He cared for her, more than he thought possible. After their talk on Monday they had fallen into an easy working relationship, even though he couldn't help but sneak glances at her when she wasn't looking.

Or maybe she had noticed. Maybe he'd made her uncomfortable without knowing it. Maybe she'd changed her mind about working for him. Maybe she knew she was better off without him in her life . . .

Nee!
He put his hands over his ears, as if he could hear his negative thoughts out loud. His mind was going down that path of negativity, of self-pity, of doubting that he was a changed man.
How could he be a part of Irene's life if he couldn't get out of the mental hole he kept digging? He picked up the sandpaper and started scouring the wood. Moments later he slowed, realizing he was ruining the birdhouse. He tossed down the sandpaper at the same time he heard the door to the workshop open. When he turned, he saw Irene standing there. Relief flowed through him, quickly replaced by concern.

It only took a second to notice the tears in her eyes and her red nose. “Irene,” he said, opening the door wider. “What's wrong?”

“I don't know what to do,” she said, her voice thick. She paused, looking around as if she were lost. “I didn't know who to turn to. Andrew has Joanna and I . . . I had to see you.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. He gestured for her to come inside. He shut the door and faced her, genuinely worried.

“I'm sorry. I know I'm late for work.” She was wearing a coat, but her arms were hugging her body as if she were freezing inside.

“Forget about work.” Sol searched for a chair, found one, and pulled it over. He pointed to it. “Sit down and tell me what's going on.”

Irene sat, but she didn't speak, which was unlike her. He knelt in front of her. “Irene, please. Talk to me.”

“It's
Mamm
. Something happened yesterday, and I don't know what to do.”

“Whatever it is I'll help you through it.”

“I've never seen her like this.” She lifted her head and looked at Sol, her eyes liquid with tears. “
Mamm
has always been
mei
rock. She's always been there, being both mother and father to me and Andrew. She had to be.”

Sol nodded, remembering what she had told him about her father. “Is Naomi sick? Is she hurt?”

Irene shook her head. “She's not sick, not like you think.” Irene started to cry. “
Mei daed
. . .”

“What happened to
yer daed
?”

“I don't know. I don't know anything about
mei
father, nothing since he left. I didn't even know he and
Mamm
were writing to each other all these years until I learned the truth about why he left. But now he's cut off communication, and she's devastated. She hasn't left her room since she came home yesterday. She won't talk to me or Andrew. I don't know what to do to help her.”

Sol wasn't sure what to do either. His mother was still stoic, still sure that his father would come back. And despite his conversation with Aden the day they'd hosted the church service, he was starting to hope she was right, at least for her sake. Because he couldn't imagine his own mother's reaction if his father never returned.

“I feel so helpless,” she said, crying freely now.

He felt helpless too. She'd been a light in his life since she started working for him. She never asked for anything in return except a fair wage for her work. But she had done so much more for him. She had listened to him. She hadn't judged him. She gave him a chance. She believed in him. And now she was in need and he was at a loss.

He looked down at his hand holding hers, then he took her other hand. “Irene, let me pray for you. Let's pray for you and
yer mamm
.”

Irene nodded and he bowed his head and started to pray. He faltered at first, unsure what to say, not used to praying out loud and especially at a crucial moment like this. But after a minute the words started to flow. He didn't know where they came from. He prayed for Irene and her father, for Naomi, his mother, his brother, the Schrock sisters, and finally for his own
father. It was only after he had brought his father before God in prayer that he realized he had strayed from his original purpose. He quickly ended the prayer and looked up. “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she whispered.

“For going on and on. For praying for
mei familye
when I should have focused
mei
prayer on
yers
.”

“Sol,” she said. “Every word was from
yer
heart. I could tell. You had a connection with God during that prayer. I know he heard you. Don't be sorry.” She touched his cheek, then she was holding his face in her hands. “
Danki
,” she said, then kissed him on the cheek. Her eyes widened, as if she was surprised by the move. Then she released his face. She wiped her tears on the back of her hand. “I feel better. Is it okay if I call off work today? I should probably get home and check on
Mamm
.”

“Of course. The birdhouses aren't going anywhere.”

She gave him a watery smile. “
Danki
.”

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“
Ya.
I am. I needed that.” She looked up at him. “I needed you.” She paused, catching his gaze for a moment. Then she turned around and left.

You need me . . . but not as much as I need you.
Although he was still concerned about her and Naomi, he couldn't help but smile. He had been able to help and comfort her after all.

Naomi heard a soft knock at her bedroom door. She didn't get up to answer it, instead turning over in her bed and bringing her quilt up to her chin. She didn't want to see Irene or Joanna or Andrew, all of whom had tried talking to her over the past two days. Why couldn't they leave her alone? Deep inside she knew
they were trying to help, to encourage her, but her heart was too broken to receive it. All she could think about was Bartholomew. As long as they had letters, they had a connection. But now that thin thread had been snapped, and she had no idea when or if she'd ever hear from him again. And while she tried to have faith, tried to believe in him and in God not allowing them to be apart forever, she couldn't grasp it. Not right now.

She thought about the last time she'd seen him, six years ago. A good memory, one she thought of often over the years. The last time they'd embraced. Kissed. Were able to reaffirm their love during those few stolen moments. Now even that was tainted. Would that be the last time she'd ever see him?

The knock sounded again, a little more insistent this time. “
Geh
away,” she said, clutching the edge of the quilt. Her wedding quilt, a gift from her best friend, who was still in Florida. They had lost contact over the years, which had been necessary for Naomi and the children to remain safe. She had made new friends in Birch Creek. The sacrifice had been worth it. All of it had, because she had always believed that eventually she and Bartholomew would be together. But what if it all had been in vain? What if all her belief had been for nothing?

What if she would always be alone?

“Naomi?”

She turned slightly at the tentative female voice. Rhoda? What was she doing here? Naomi cleared the tears from her throat. “I'm not feeling well, Rhoda. I'm not in the mood for company.”

A pause. “Naomi, I'm not leaving until you and I talk.”

Naomi frowned. Rhoda sounded more forceful than she'd ever heard her. Naomi stood, smoothed back her hair, and opened the bedroom door a crack. “I'm not presentable,” she said.

“That doesn't matter. Not between friends.” Rhoda smiled, and Naomi saw genuine concern and softness there. “Please, Naomi. Let me in.”

Resigned, tears still spilling over her cheeks, she opened the door. She walked to her bed and sat down. Rhoda sat in the rocker in the corner of the bedroom. It was the same one Naomi had rocked Irene and Andrew in when they were babies. Rhoda didn't say anything for a long time, just rocked back and forth as Naomi wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried not to cry anymore. But it was as if her heart and eyes were leaking, that the dam she'd kept patched together for so long had burst into pieces.

Finally Rhoda said, “How can I pray for you?”

Naomi looked into Rhoda's eyes. She didn't see any prying or judgment. Just compassion and the simple offer to pray. Naomi was grateful for it all. But she was also at a loss. “I . . . don't know.”

Rhoda went to her and sat beside her on the bed. She took Naomi's hand. “Then I'll just sit here with you.”

Naomi looked at her. “How did you know to come over here?”

“I saw Irene this morning when she came to work with Sol.” Before Naomi could say anything, Rhoda added, “She looked upset.”

Guilt nagged at Naomi, but it didn't penetrate her sorrow. Right now she didn't have the strength to comfort her daughter. “Is she still with Sol?”

“She came home. She's the one who let me in.”

“So she told you what happened.”

“
Nee.
I'm here because when I saw Irene leave work early, I felt a nudge . . . here.” She put her hand over her heart. “I wasn't sure what was wrong, but God was telling me to come see you.”

Naomi squeezed Rhoda's hand. Here was the only other person in the community who understood Naomi's pain, even if their circumstances were different. They both had lost their husbands. Neither of them knew when they would return. Both of them had to hold on to faith—and also, Naomi now knew, they had to hold on to each other. “I can't explain,” she said, her voice cracking. “But I need strength. Mine has run out.”

“Because you've had to be strong for so long.” Rhoda's eyes softened. “Because you've spent years holding in the pain.”

Naomi nodded, and for some reason she was sure Rhoda wasn't talking only about Naomi's situation. “
Ya.
That's exactly right.”

“Then we'll pray for strength. But not our own. Strength only God can give.”

Both women closed their eyes and prayed. Naomi didn't feel her strength come back. But she did feel a small sense of peace.
My promises are true. My promises are real
. God's promises could overcome her doubt. She realized that's what she needed more than strength. She needed to be reminded that God was here, that he hadn't left her or Bartholomew. That they would get through this like they had gotten through everything else. Now wasn't the time to cave in or bend to doubt. It was time to lean on God.

Rhoda released her hand and Naomi opened her eyes. Rhoda smiled a tiny bit. “You look better already.”

Naomi chuckled. “I feel better . . . a bit.”

Rhoda paused, glancing down at her lap. “How do you do it?”

“What do you mean?”

Rhoda looked up. “How do you get through each day . . . hour . . .” She looked down again. “I think about Emmanuel
almost every minute. Wondering where he is, when he's coming back.” She gripped Naomi's hand. “But what if he doesn't? What if I never see him again? How can I
geh
on?”

“You hang on to hope. It's all you have.” She straightened, realization dawning. She hadn't lost hope. She'd faltered for a short while, let doubt and insecurity creep in and take over. But now she had regained her footing. And even though it may be twelve more years—or twenty, or thirty—before she saw her husband again, she would cling to that hope as tight as she could. “Hope and faith, Rhoda. That's what has sustained me . . . and it will sustain you.”