Inescapable (6 page)

Mother sighed. “My father died, and Mother had nowhere to go. So we stayed, and I married your father. But your grandmother never stopped trying to teach me the reality of who Christ really is. Her words of love still ring in my heart.”

“They ring in mine too,” I said softly. “I have to say that I'm surprised to hear you say these things. But I'm also happy to know that you don't agree with the meanspirited teachings that have caused so much pain in this town. Have you ever voiced your opinion to Father?”

“I have no intention of speaking my mind,” she said with a sigh. “Especially now. If I anger him, he certainly will not allow you to stay. He is a man obsessed, Lizzie. That is why he does not take care of his duties at home or at work. I dare not cause more antagonism by challenging him about his view of our town's spiritual path. It would only destroy the uneasy peace that still exists in our home.”

In all the years I'd lived in this house, she'd never stood up to my father. Not when he spoke hurtful words to me, not when he punished me for breaking one of his many rules by locking me in my room without dinner, and not even when he spanked me for things I hadn't done. It still hurt inside, remembering how she stood by in silence, never challenging him. Never standing up for me. I wanted to ask her why, but I wouldn't. Not because of any nobility in my own soul, but because I sensed her emotional fragility. No matter what I'd been through, I couldn't hurt her. The pain she'd already suffered through Father's lack of compassion had already pushed her to the limits of her strength—yet somehow she'd endured. I wouldn't be the one to push her over the edge.

“I understand.” I glanced nervously toward the front door, wondering if I'd heard the knob rattle. Why was I still so afraid of him? I tried to remind myself that I was a full-grown adult and a mother myself. “What do you think Father will do when he comes home and finds me here?”

“I do not know. He is so bitter and resentful these days. I must admit that I am afraid.”

“You don't need to be afraid for me—or for Charity. Father can't do anything to hurt me now. Nor would I allow him to harm Charity. I'm not a child anymore, Mother.” I searched her face, seeing the fear etched there. “I won't allow him to hurt you either.”

Her eyes widened. “He has never struck me, Daughter. And the discipline he applied to you was never violent. Your father believed it was entirely scriptural.”

It took effort for me to swallow the anger that rose inside me. My father's discipline was never administered with love or concern for me. I fought to bring my emotions under control. I grasped my mother's hand with both of mine. “I'm out of options, Mother. Please try to convince him.” I hoped she'd never think to ask me why I hadn't stayed in Kansas City and simply found another job. I didn't want to tell her about my stalker, nor did I want her to know about the charges of theft. Although I tried to convince myself that she would never believe I'd robbed the shelter, I couldn't be sure. She had to know I'd taken her money when I'd left town. Would she believe I'd also taken money from my employer? Even if she didn't, I had no desire to worry her.

She gently pulled her hand away and rose from the table. She took a pencil from a holder near the cookie tin and quickly scribbled a note on a piece of paper. “Take this message to Cora Menlo at the café. Tell her you need a place to pass the time for a while. I will remain here and wait for your father. Let me tell him of your return before he finds out another way. After that, I hope he will allow you and Charity to move back in with us.” Her fingers shook as she handed the paper to me. “You must leave now, though. Hurry, before he arrives.”

I got up and helped Charity down from her chair. When she begged for another cookie, my mother wrapped a couple of them up to take with us. We hurried to the door, quickly pulling our coats on. Before we stepped outside, Mother hugged us both so hard Charity said, “Grandma, you're loving me too much.”

Even though my mother and I couldn't keep back our tears at having to say good-bye again, we both laughed at her comment.

“Go quickly,” Mother said. “I will come to you when I have an answer from your father.” She kissed my cheek. “And pray, darling girl. Pray very hard.”

I picked Charity up and almost ran from the house, fear of my father's wrath filling me with a sense of alarm. Down the street, barely visible through the snow, I could see a buggy coming down the road. Knowing it could be one of my father's cronies giving him a ride home, I quickly started the car and pulled away from the house. I turned at the first corner, confident that even if Father had seen my car, he would have no reason to suspect his wayward daughter had returned. Then I drove back to town and pulled in next to the yellow car in front of Cora's Corner Café
.
The small restaurant seemed to be doing a brisk business. Buggies were lined up in front, their horses tied to the hitching post. Two trucks remained parked near the entrance door.

My emotions tumbled around crazily inside me. I was happy to see my mother again and thrilled she was glad to have me back. Yet I worried about her. How would my father react to her news? Maybe she was telling the truth—that he had never hit her. But I wasn't sure I believed her. Although I'd never seen him abuse her, I worried that if he was becoming angrier than he used to be, she could be in danger. As far as I knew, she'd always obeyed everything he said. Today, however, I'd seen a new fire in her. And even though she said she'd never confront my father's judgmental beliefs, the possibility worried me.

I got Charity out of the car, and we walked up the wooden steps to the café. I couldn't help but admire the difference the red paint had made to the old faded brick exterior. And the gleaming white paint on the door and the window trim set the color off beautifully.

Entering, we found the place nearly full. Tables and booths filled the room, and the wood floors gleamed. The walls were a mixture of wood paneling halfway up and red-and-white-checked wallpaper from the edge of the paneling to the ceiling. Quilts and painted plates hung on the walls, along with hand-stitched samplers. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace on one side of the room. Families in Old Order garb mixed in with farmers in overalls. Several women wore the lighter-colored dresses and white prayer coverings I'd noticed earlier.

The room was filled with the sound of folks talking and laughing together. However, several people stopped their conversation to turn and stare at me and Charity. I heard someone cry out, and Ruth Fisher rose from a nearby table. She hobbled toward me, one arm outstretched, the other holding onto her cane.

“Lizzie child, is it you?” she asked as she approached. She leaned her cane against the side of a table and put her hands on my shoulders. “My Lizzie,” she said with tears running down her weathered cheeks, “are you finally home?
Ach
, I have prayed so long.”

Ruth had been such a blessing to me as a child. I'd visit her house almost every Sunday afternoon between our morning and evening church services. She would bake soft white cookies topped with coconut in her ancient oven while she sang hymns in her native German tongue. Then we would eat her wonderful cookies and talk about the Lord. Her view of a loving God was just like my grandmother's, and so much different from Father's that I almost felt guilty listening to her. I never told anyone else what she said to me, fearing my father would find out and Ruth would get called before the elders. I didn't want her to get in trouble or risk losing the shelter her house had become.

“It's me, Ruth,” I said with a smile. “And yes, I'm home. At least for a while.”

“Bless my soul. And here is our Charity.” She smiled at my daughter. “
Ach,
she was such a beautiful baby, but oh my, she has only grown even more lovely,
ja
?”

Charity grinned at the attention and didn't stare at Ruth's Old Order garb. It seemed she was getting used to the different clothing styles in Kingdom.

“Thank you,” I said. “I'm so glad to see you, Ruth.”

“How long will you be here? You will certainly come soon to visit me, 
ja
?”

“I'm not sure yet how long I'll be in town,” I said, “but I will definitely come by before we leave.”

“You promise this, my Lizzie?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Ruth's daughter, Myra, came up and took her mother's arm. “We must get home, Mother,” she said, “before it gets worse outside.”

“
Ja, ja.
I am coming.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “You have made an old woman very happy today.”

Myra smiled at me. “It's wonderful to see you, Lizzie. Please do stop by and visit Mother. She's mentioned you almost every day since you left. It would thrill her to spend some time with you.”

I nodded. “Are you still living in the same house, Ruth?” At Ruth's age, I imagined she'd gone to live with her daughter by now.

“Of course I am, dear,” she said. “Myra no longer tries to talk me into moving into her home. She has given up.”

Myra shook her head and rolled her eyes. “My mother is nothing if not obstinate.”

Ruth was renowned for her stubbornness, but those who knew her were aware that it was sparked by an indomitable spirit. Something she'd needed after losing her husband at an early age and having to support three children on her own. She came to Kingdom not long after he died because the church promised to help her and make certain her children were well cared for. Even though the original church was strict and watched over the old rules, they were true to their word. Ruth's family never went hungry, and her two boys and one daughter had everything they needed to live a comfortable life. The boys had moved out of state many years ago, but they had come back to visit whenever they could.

I hugged her one more time, and she and Myra left. The sound of chatter in the dining room, which had become subdued when Ruth called out my name, started up again with a vengeance. It wasn't hard to guess that Charity and I were probably the main topic of conversation.

I was leading Charity to a table across the room when someone grabbed my arm. I turned to find Abram and Miriam Zook standing behind us. I cringed, preparing myself for a sharp rebuke. Their reaction toward me after the community became aware I was pregnant still stung. Although the Zooks hadn't actually confronted me, they'd stopped speaking to me and even crossed the street when they saw me walking toward them on the sidewalk.

“Elizabeth,” Miriam said, squeezing my arm. “We are so glad to see you. Abram and I have kept you in our prayers all these years, hoping God would lead you back to us.” She put her arms around me. “We are so sorry for our behavior toward you. We should have supported you, should have been there to help you.” She let go of me and shook her head. “I am ashamed to say that we were afraid, my dear. Afraid of the elders. Of your father. Can you find it in your heart to forgive us?”

I nodded dumbly while Charity watched us, a bewildered look on her face. We didn't usually garner so much interest.

After the Zooks went back to their table, several other people approached us. Some of them just expressing joy that we were home. Two more people admitted to remorse for not being more supportive toward me. It was overwhelming. Finally everyone returned to their seats.

“Why, if it isn't Lizzie Lynn Engel!” a voice rang out. “What in the world are you doin' here?”

I turned to see Cora Menlo's round, smiling face. She wore a dark blue dress with yellow flowers and green leaves, and over her dress was a red apron. I wasn't sure there was a color she'd forgotten. But even more surprising was her complete lack of a head covering. Her hair had been cut short and curled around her plump face. To my further amazement, I realized she was wearing makeup. I could only suspect that she had fallen away from the church, like me. She toddled up to us, clutching an order pad in one hand.

“My . . . my mother told me to give you this.” I took Mother's note out of my pocket and handed it to her.

She read it quickly. “You poor little lamb,” she said when she'd finished. “You come over here with me.”

Charity and I followed her to a table in the corner, where she motioned for us to sit down.

“How about some dinner?” she asked. “What kind of food does this gorgeous little lady like?” She winked at Charity, who giggled.

“Cheeseburgers!” she said with glee.

Cora laughed. “I can fill that order. And how about you, Lizzie? Everything I'm servin' is on the menu board. Did you check it out when you came in?”

I shook my head. “I'm sorry. I didn't even see it.”

She clucked her tongue. “Seems I remember whenever we had church dinners you always gobbled up my fried chicken. How about some nice fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy?”

“That sounds wonderful,” I said gratefully. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, honey.” She glanced around the room. “I'll get it to you as fast as I can. Things are really hoppin' tonight, and my only waitress is too pregnant to help out anymore. How about startin' off with some nice hot coffee?”

“Please. But let me get it, Cora. You're too busy.”

She studied my face. “Honey, you look exhausted. You stay right where you are and let me take care of you. I sure appreciate the offer, though.” She grinned at Charity. “And a glass of milk for you, little miss?”

Charity shook her head. “Pop!” she declared with enthusiasm.

“Milk,” I responded firmly. “You've already had your pop limit for the day.”

Charity's bottom lip stuck out. “But I want pop.”

“You know what?” Cora said. “Your mama always was the prettiest girl in Kingdom, and I heard tell it's because she drank so much milk.”