Sarasota Dreams (9 page)

No one had ever told her she was beautiful. She was momentarily paralyzed and speechless. Abe continued staring down at her face, his gaze traveling from her eyes to her mouth then back to her eyes.

A shiver washed over her as her mother’s words popped into her mind.
Never believe a man who flatters you, Mary. It just means he wants something
. She shuddered.

Abe tilted his head. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head. “No, but I need to get back.”

“What just happened, Mary?”

“Nothing.” How could she explain the turmoil inside her—the sensation of wanting to be with Abe but not trusting his intentions? As much as she wanted him to kiss her and hold her close, her mother’s voice continued to play in her head.

He stood staring at the ground for a few seconds before he offered a hand. “C’mon, I’ll walk you home.”

“I think I’d rather walk home by myself.”

“But—” Abe stopped himself then frowned. “Okay, but I don’t understand. You are a very confusing woman.”

“I’m sorry.” She turned away from him and started half-walking, half-running toward her grandparents’ house with a heavy heart.

“I don’t give up easily,” he called out. “You’ll see me again soon, Mary Penner.”

She broke into a full run until she was nearly a block away. Then she stopped, sucked in a breath, and looked around at the tiny houses that surrounded her. Pinecraft was home now, but she felt isolated, even in familiar territory. Memories of her childhood continued to flood her mind. The first thing she remembered was when she was very small—maybe three or four years old. Her mother had just handed her over to a woman who took in children while their parents worked the night shift.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Mama had said in her usual weary tone. Mary watched her mother walk away, shoulders sagging as the weight of her life dragged her down. Even now, nearly twenty years later, she remembered feeling an overwhelming sadness and despondency.

As Mary slowly trudged home to her grandparents’ house, more images and scenes popped into her head. Through the years, Mama had a variety of jobs, but she’d discovered the highest-paying ones were in bars, which had turned out to be a disaster for both of them.

When Mary turned twelve, Mama announced that she trusted Mary to stay home alone. “Just stay inside and don’t answer the door. You’ll be asleep while I’m gone, so everything should be okay.”

But everything wasn’t okay. Mary always had a tough time falling asleep in the tiny one-bedroom apartment they’d managed to keep for almost a year. They’d been booted out of all their other homes because her mother couldn’t afford the rent when it came due.

Vivid scenes of men coming and going made Mary sick to her stomach. She suspected she missed quite a bit while she was in school, and she was thankful for it. As it was, she saw more than a child should see in a lifetime. But the one scene that she’d dreaded remembering came crashing through her mind, and she couldn’t stop it. It was the night when her life completely changed.

Mama had left for work a little after nine and told her to go on to bed—said that she’d be back when Mary got up. As always, Mary lay in bed with the covers pulled to her chin, shivering from fear of darkness, waiting for sleep to come … to overtake her and pull her from the conscious nightmare she’d suffered ever since Mama had taken that job at the bar down the street. Mary didn’t know what Mama did, and she didn’t want to know.

She’d started to feel the wooziness that preceded drifting off to sleep when she heard the loud banging on the door. At first she didn’t want to answer it, but a low voice from the hallway let out the code word she and Mama had established. So she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and made her way to the door. She left the chain latched as she opened the door a few inches. The man handed her an envelope through the tiny opening, then took off running.

After he was out of sight, she closed the door and fastened the dead bolt then turned on the light in the living room. The outside of the envelope had the words
In case of emergency, deliver to my daughter, Mary
scrawled across the front. Mary ripped it open and pulled out the pink-lined paper. The note was in her mother’s handwriting. With shaky fingers, she read that she was to call Big Jim at the phone number beneath his name.

The details of that night remained a blur. All she remembered was calling Big Jim and learning her mother had been killed. It had something to do with a drug bust and her mama being an informant. She didn’t believe him, so she dropped the phone and ran to the bar to find her mother. Instead she found Big Jim in his office that reeked of cigar smoke and stale beer. Big Jim gave Mary some money, bought her a bus ticket, and told her he’d sent word to Elizabeth’s parents letting them know their fourteen-year-old granddaughter was on her way. He added that he’d tried to warn her mother that she was in dangerous territory by agreeing to help the police, but she thought the money the police promised her would help make a better life for her and Mary.

“Go home and get your things. I’ll pick you up and take you to the bus station,” Big Jim said before pausing and turning. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something your mother wanted me to give you.” Big Jim’s son, Jimbo, sat on the floor in the corner of his dad’s small office, glaring at Mary with beady eyes and a scowl. She shivered at the memory.

Big Jim had handed her a small box and instructed her not to open it until she was safely with her grandparents. He even made her promise. As she nodded her promise, she couldn’t help but notice the smirk that had formed on Jimbo’s face. She shuddered at some of the memories she had of that horrible boy.

To this day, she still hadn’t opened the box. She’d lived this long not knowing what it was. Why would she want to do anything that would bring back such horrible memories? But they were still in her head. And that tiny box lay on the floor in the corner of her closet, serving as a reminder that she had a past no one in Pinecraft would ever understand.

Frustrated and perplexed, Abe stood on the street, waiting for his ride. David had sounded surprised to hear from him so soon.

“I just dropped off the last family, so your timing was good.”

Abe opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it. Then he sighed.

“I don’t have to ask what happened,” David said as soon as Abe got into the car. “It’s written all over your face.” He shook his head. “Women.”

“Something happened to her,” Abe said. “She seemed fine to a point, but when I asked her …” He looked down at his hands steepled in his lap. “I asked her if I could kiss her, and she just … well, she acted frightened.”

“That’s where you went wrong, buddy. If you wanna kiss a girl, you don’t ask, you just do it. That way she can’t turn you down.”

“Mary is different.”

“Maybe so, but it looks to me like she wouldn’t mind if you kissed her, as long as it happens by surprise.”

Abe stared at David. “What makes you say that?”

David cast a quick smile in Abe’s direction. “I’ve seen how she looks at you. She likes you, Abe. In fact, she likes you very much.”

If Abe could be sure David was right, he’d be willing to take his advice. But David obviously didn’t know how bad Mary’s past experiences might have been, and he certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.

“Give it a shot, Abe. You like her, she likes you. What have you got to lose? She’s Mennonite. She won’t slap you, right?”

David had a point. “Ya, I don’t think she’ll slap me.”

“Now that we’ve got that settled, my wife wanted to know if you planned to have some of your delicious vegetables at the produce market on Saturday.”

“Ya, I always do. I’m not sure yet who will be working it.”

“If you’re in the same place, I’ll just tell her to go there. She said your citrus was better than anyone else’s.” David turned at the farm entrance. “I’d like my wife to meet you one of these days.”

“Why?”

David grinned. “She’s fascinated by the things I tell her about you.”

“I don’t know what would be so fascinating about me. My life is very plain and simple.”

“Plain, maybe,” David agreed before lifting an eyebrow. “But not simple.” He came to a stop and repeated, “Definitely not simple. You seem to have pretty much the same issues people who aren’t Mennonite have, only you have a different way of dealing with them.”

Abe opened the car door but paused before getting out. “Matters of the heart are never simple, are they?”

“You got that right.” David waved as Abe got out of the car.

“I’m not hungry, Grandma,” Mary said. “I think I’ll pass on supper tonight.”

Grandma gave her a sideways glance. “I don’t want you tossing and turning all night because your stomach starts rumbling.”

Mary patted her stomach. “I don’t think that’ll happen. I ate enough at the church to last the rest of the day.”

Instead of responding, Grandma turned back to preparing the food. Mary left the kitchen and went outside. As she stood in the front yard, she glanced around at the children playing in the yard a few houses down. Occasionally she thought about having her own family, and there were even times she longed for a husband and children. The women in the neighborhood seemed content in their marriages.

Mama’s words about men always wanting something rang through her mind constantly, but sometimes Mary wondered how true they were. It was obvious that Mama’s experiences had been different from these women’s. However, Mary also remembered what Mama had told her about being shunned by her own community, and there was never any doubt her mother had told her the truth—at least from her perspective. They hadn’t exactly been warm and welcoming to Mary in the beginning. A few people, like Shelley … and Abe … treated her well, but many of the others acted as though she had some disease they might catch if they so much as had a conversation with her. No one had been openly mean, but even now people seemed afraid to hold a conversation with her. She thought about what Abe had said—that her shame made her standoffish, which in turn kept people away.

She stood in the front yard and watched a couple of neighborhood children playing ball. The older boy was kind and considerate of the younger one’s lack of coordination. Seeing these boys playing made her think about all she’d missed as a child. She wondered if she’d ever be a mother, and if so, how she’d handle questions about her past.

Mary watched the boys until their mother called them inside. Then she headed back into her grandparents’ house. Grandma and Grandpa were in the kitchen reading their Bibles. The aroma of Grandma’s homemade vegetable soup still hung in the air.

“Join us, Mary,” Grandpa said, patting her place at the table. “We were just reading from the book of Luke.”

“Luke 21:34,” Grandma added. “You may read next if you like.”

Mary nodded as she pulled her Bible from the small shelf Grandpa had built next to the table. She flipped through the pages and began to read.

“Be careful or your hearts will be weighed down with carousing, drunkenness and the anxieties of life …”

As the words flowed from Mary’s lips, she could feel the intensity of how relevant they were to her life. She’d seen the results of what happened when people got caught up in sins of the flesh. What a bitter existence. The life she had now was one of simplicity and very little focus on worrying about things. At times like this, the peace that washed through her soul reminded her of how blessed she was.

She finished the verse and glanced up in time to see Grandma wipe a tear from her cheek. Grandpa’s foot lightly touched Mary’s beneath the table. As their gazes met, she saw how concerned he was for Grandma.

Mary started to get up, but Grandpa motioned for her to sit back down. “Your grandmother and I have been talking….” He glanced over at his wife, who nodded for him to continue. “What happened to us the day you arrived was both tragic and joyful. We lost one daughter—for the second time—and gained a granddaughter we always longed to see. But the most tragic thing that happened was losing our daughter the first time—back when she found something she preferred over what we offered her.”