Sarasota Dreams (2 page)

“Excellent idea.”

“If you ever wanna talk about anything, I’m a good listener.” He touched her arm. “I promise not to judge your past.”

Mary swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

Abe stood and brushed most of the sand off his backside. A small amount of the wet sand still clung to his trousers. “I best be getting back to the farm before the sun goes down.”

She lifted a hand for a brief wave, then waited until he was out of sight before getting up. Her midshin-length skirt held more sand than Abe’s trousers, but it never bothered her until Grandma fussed at her for tracking it into their tiny rented home in the Pinecraft community. She shoved her feet into the tan clogs she’d worn to work. The sand was still gritty on her feet, and it irritated her until she left the beach, took them off, and carefully brushed the tops and bottoms of her feet. She clapped her shoes together and put them back on. Other people darted past her, some of them openly staring and others trying hard not to. She’d gotten used to being noticed for wearing plain clothes, but when she’d first arrived in Sarasota, she felt awkward. Some of the Mennonites set themselves apart from the Amish by wearing brighter colors. Grandma still clung to her Amish roots, but Mary didn’t mind. Her brown skirt and off-white blouse helped keep her from being noticed, which was just fine with her. Her
kapp
covered about half her head and tended to fall to one side in spite of the pins she used to secure it.

As Mary walked to the bus stop, she thought about Abe’s offer of lending an ear. She’d been in Sarasota for a little more than nine years, and to this day, no one had discussed her past—at least not with her. Abe had come close a few times, but he never pressed for information, and she never offered it. They’d never actually talked much beyond the teasing and gentle jousting that he always started.

She’d always thought her teenage crush on Abe would fade, but sitting next to him on the beach proved that wasn’t the case. If things had been simpler, Mary might have given in to her feelings. The anniversary of her mother’s violent death continued to remind her she’d never be like other Mennonites, who’d all led godly lives since birth.

When Mary first arrived in Sarasota, she remembered the fear of facing Grandma and Grandpa after hearing all the stories from Mama about how they’d shunned her when she got pregnant out of wedlock. Her story shifted slightly with each telling, but the pain in Mama’s voice was evident every time; that part never changed. Even if Mama embellished her story, Mary couldn’t doubt there was a foundation of truth to what she said had happened.

As difficult as Mama had made their lives, Mary still missed her. Mama was loving and kind to Mary. She said she’d do anything to make things better, but she’d gotten herself into so much trouble, she didn’t know how to dig her way out. Mary had to guess what Mama was talking about, but it wasn’t too difficult to put the pieces together. The love was there, but without guidance or a parenting role model, Mama made some terrible mistakes—including one that had cost her life. Mary leaned against a light pole and squeezed her eyes shut as the memory of that awful night pounded through her head.

The wind shifted slightly, bringing her back to the moment. Mary blinked as the bus pulled to the curb, the fumes surrounding her and making her cough.

“Hey, lady, are you getting on or not?” The bus driver leaned toward her as he waited with his hand on the door crank.

“Oh … sure.” Mary gathered her skirt up and climbed onto the bus. She found a seat near the front and plopped down then stared out the window. Mary was on her way to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, just like nine years ago, only now she knew her place. Her memories had always transported her somewhere she didn’t want to go, and sometimes she couldn’t keep the demons away. If Mama had told her more about her father, she might have had someone else to turn to. The times Mary had asked about him brought such sadness to Mama, she eventually gave up and created an image in her own mind of who he might be. When she was little, she pictured a prince riding in on a stallion, but as she got older, his image darkened, and he became a brooding man similar to those in Mama’s life.

Mary had been puzzled the first time she met the people Mama said had shunned her. They’d both embraced her and told her she was one of them now—and she had nothing to worry about as long as she followed God’s Word and His calling to be a good Mennonite girl. There were a few people who weren’t as open, but Grandpa reminded her that no one was perfect. Occasionally Grandma would mutter something about having another chance at raising a daughter—only this time they wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

Abe arrived at the old family farm in time to send his hired workers home and finish putting away some of the tools for the day. His grandfather had resisted the transition from farming celery to dairy farming and growing citrus, but after Grandpop passed away, Abe had managed to make the changes when he returned from college, where he got his business degree. Dad was pleased with Abe’s work, and he retired from farming after Mom died. He had moved into the Pinecraft community in town so he could live among other Conservative Mennonites.

A grin played on Abe’s lips as he reflected on the last time he’d visited Dad in town. He’d been on the shuffleboard court and didn’t seem to want to be interrupted. If Abe didn’t know better, he’d think Dad preferred his new life over what he’d done the first almost fifty years of his life. Although Dad had once loved farming, the combination of all the heavy lifting and the hot Florida sun had taken its toll on him. Abe still did some of the farmwork, but he’d managed to put what he’d learned about business management into practice and hired some workers to do most of the manual labor. Abe’s job was to manage the farm and find ways for it to sustain itself and the people who depended on it. After a shaky year, the farm was in good enough financial shape to pay everyone, including Dad, a nice wage after expenses.

Once the last of the equipment was put away in the new barn Abe had built, he brushed off his trousers and headed into the old house that he now lived in alone. The echo of the screen door slamming reminded him of how lonely it had gotten since Dad moved out. Both of his brothers had their own places—Jake on a neighboring farm and Luke in a swanky neighborhood in Sarasota. Jake was more like Abe; he had no desire to go crazy during
rumspringa
, the one-year running-around period some of the Mennonite families carried over from their Amish ancestors. However, once Luke got a taste of worldliness, he didn’t want to go back. While some families would have shunned their children, Dad never did that to Luke. Dad didn’t like Luke’s choices, and he’d taken every opportunity to let him know it, but he still embraced his wayward son. Abe reflected on Dad’s decision and determined he would have done the same thing.

Mary’s grandparents, according to the bits and pieces he’d heard, had made the traditional choice when their only daughter, Elizabeth, had gotten pregnant during her rumspringa. They’d shunned her. Although he’d just been born when it happened, he’d heard about it from the Conservative Mennonite children when Mary showed up at school. Parents used her and others who experienced something similar to remind their children how worldly allure wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Abe had heard about the Penners’ shame and how they mourned the loss of their daughter for years. In fact, until Mary came to live with them, they seemed like very bitter people. The only contact he’d had with them when he was a child had been when he went into their restaurant with his folks. He’d never seen a smile touch their lips before Mary arrived.

The very thought of Mary made him warm inside. The first time he’d seen her when she arrived at their tiny school had sent his heart racing. He laughed to himself as he remembered how difficult it had been for her to adjust to the Mennonite ways. She grumbled about everything—from the head covering she couldn’t seem to keep straight to the skirt that constantly got twisted between her legs. She questioned authority and balked at some of the conservative teachings in the early years. The few times she spoke, she went for shock value and blurted things the other Mennonite kids had never heard about before. But he suspected there was more truth than fiction in her words. Dad had told him he heard that a drug dealer killed her mother when he suspected she was about to turn him in.

It didn’t take Mary long to clam up and withdraw. Most of the other girls ignored her, and the boys were a little afraid to go near her. Abe wasn’t scared of much, including Mary, so he teased her every chance he got. Her reactions were more exciting than any of the other girls’ would have been, and he found her scrappiness intriguing. As a teenager, he didn’t know any other way of showing how much he liked her.

Abe shuddered at the thought of what Mary must have seen as a child. When he was at college and learned about the evils of the world, he’d developed a keen sense of the difference between right and wrong. Mary needed a friend, and he resolved to be just that. He’d thought about Mary during college, and when he met other girls, he couldn’t help but compare them to her.

He’d been stopping by Penner’s Restaurant when he came to town, and each time he saw Mary, he did whatever he could to get her attention. The chemistry between them was powerful—stronger than all the common sense in Sarasota. He couldn’t put together an intelligent sentence the first time she asked for his order. When she laughed at his feeble attempt, he relished the sound of her laughter. He’d had to go home and practice talking to her before going back the next day. This had gone on for more than a week before he was able to formulate a plan.

Abe had wanted to see Mary when he first came back from college, but there was so much work on the farm, he had wanted to square that away first. He’d been back from college about eight months when he first walked back into Penner’s Restaurant and spotted Mary. He was struck hard by how much she’d matured.

If things worked out, maybe he and Mary could be more than friends. He’d always thought her differences made her special.

“Mary? Is that you?” Grandma’s voice echoed through the tiny, sparsely furnished house. She appeared by the main room, her scowl dredging up a sense of shame in Mary. “Where did you go? Your grandpa said you left the restaurant early.”

“The beach.” Mary was on her way to the bedroom when Grandma stepped in front of her, arms folded, her heavy eyebrows arched. “Oh no, you don’t. I’ll not have you tracking sand in this house after all the time I spent cleaning up today. Back outside.” She jabbed a finger toward the door to drive her point harder.

Mary did as she was told. During the time she’d been with Grandma and Grandpa, she’d learned the ropes, but today her thoughts had shoved common sense to the back of her mind. She’d managed to shake off most of the sand, but Grandma took the broom to her skirt and loosened the grains that had gotten stuck in the seams and folds.

“Now go on inside and wash up and help me get dinner on the table. Your grandpa will be back soon, and I don’t want to make him wait.”

As soon as she stepped back inside, a sweet aroma wafted from Grandma’s kitchen. She turned to her grandmother. “Peanut butter pie?”

“Ya. That’s for dessert, and only if you do as you’re told.”

Mary sighed. She was twenty-three, yet she was still treated as a child. She’d offered to move out, but Grandma and Grandpa told her no, not under any circumstances. They said she needed them to look after her until she found a suitable husband to take care of her. Where they expected her to find someone who’d want to marry her was beyond Mary. Besides, after what she’d seen, she knew the only decent man under God’s sun was Grandpa.

Grandma’s expression remained stoic as she handed Mary a short stack of stoneware plates to set on the table. The two of them worked in silence, giving Mary’s mind another chance to wander. Even after all these years, Mary remembered how her mother hated a quiet room so much she’d turn on a television just to drown out the silence. The quiet didn’t bother Mary all that much, but she did rather enjoy hearing something besides the clatter of dishes, forks, and spoons. But her grandparents went along with the traditional Mennonite ways of not listening to music or watching TV. The only concessions they made were some of the conveniences that came with the house they rented.