The Days of Redemption (19 page)

Only when he was out of the building did she dare exhale.

Missy, one of her best girlfriends at the store, giggled. Frank, who'd been leaning against the back wall, watching unabashedly, coughed.

Lorene felt her lips curve up so high, she didn't know if she'd ever be able to stop smiling.

Not even when a lady suddenly appeared and plopped down a basket filled almost to the brim with cartons of cheese, crackers, and candies. “I'm ready, miss.”

Lorene forced herself to concentrate on work. Not on the way John's eyes had looked greener than ever, thanks to his forest green shirt. “Were you waiting on me? I'm sorry. I'll ring you up as quickly as I can.”

“Oh, don't fret, dear. I was in love once, too.”

As her cheeks burned, and Missy giggled a little more loudly, Lorene dared to wonder if her time for love had finally come. After all this time.

Still holding the bottle of liquor, and fortified with Elsie by her side, Viola did her best to overcome her shock. What was happening to her family?

And what was happening to her parents? Never before had she seen them be anything but cordial to each other. Now she walked in on them kissing on the kitchen floor?

And that was nothing compared to the bottle of liquor she and Elsie had uncovered. It had to be their father's. More than once, she, Roman, and Elsie had noticed him behaving strangely. Roman had even commented on it one night. They'd put it off to his being tired, and especially stressed because of Mommi's secrets.

But all the while, Viola had suspected that something else was going on. Of course, suspecting something and seeing the evidence were two different things.

When both her mother and father merely stared at her in silence, she felt her temper go flying. “Are either of you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“I am not about to talk to you when you're using that tone of voice. You will stop it now, Viola,” her mother ordered.

Viola recognized her mother's tone of voice, too. She was most displeased. And, Viola suspected, not just with her. Viola also realized that she was causing her father a great deal of discomfort. But even as her father's skin turned ghostly pale, she pushed for answers. She was tired of constantly pretending that everything was all right.

“Daed? Is this bottle yours? Have you been drinking?”

“Girls,” he replied, “you will put that bottle down now and leave us.”

Automatically, Elsie backed away.

Viola, on the other hand, wasn't quite so ready to end the conversation. Goodness, but her father was acting just like her grandmother—keeping secrets! “But I want to—”

“But nothing,” her mother countered. “You two should learn to stay out of things that are none of your business.”

“Not our business? We were cleaning out bathroom cabinets. It's not our fault Daed picked such a poor hiding place.”

Her father turned away. Whether it was in shame or anger, Viola didn't know. But she did know that she'd certainly just gone too far. She bit her lip to keep from saying another word.

Luckily, Elsie, ever the peacemaker, spoke. “Mamm, if Daed is drinking, it is our business. We are members of this family, too. And we live here.”

“Leave us,” Mamm repeated, a little more loudly. “This is not your concern.”

Viola knew the right thing to do was to obey her parents. But she couldn't believe them. They were frustrated by her grandparents keeping secrets, yet here they were doing the same thing. Maybe all of these secrets coming to light had made her be more obstinate than usual.

Or maybe she was still coming to terms with the fact that for most of her life she'd been a little too full of herself, thinking she was part of a group of people who had much to be proud about. Whatever the reason, she placed the bottle on the countertop, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I know if we walk away you will never bring this up again. We'll simply push it under the rug. But we mustn't. If Daed is drinking, it's a big problem, and it's all of our concern.”

“I agree,” Elsie said. “I'm sure Roman would, too.”

“As do I,” their grandmother said from the shadows of the hall.

Her father visibly flinched. “Mamm, I didn't know you were here.”

In a voice as cold as ice, she said, “You know, I had wondered a time or two what was wrong with you. You seemed sluggish. Now I understand. You've let alcohol in this godly house. Into your body. I am terribly ashamed of you, Peter. I don't know what I am going to tell your father.”

Viola heard Elsie inhale sharply. Their grandmother's words seemed especially out of place, given that they all knew she'd been keeping some whoppers of secrets to herself.

But even more amazing was their father's reaction. Before their eyes, his cheeks flushed and he stood taller. His back became straight and strong. And the look he shot at his mother was as dark and angry as Viola had ever seen it.

“I no longer care if you are ashamed of me or not.”

“You should. I am your mother.”

“Indeed you are. But I am not a boy, and I have not been one for a very long time. There is nothing here for you to be involved with. Please go back to your own home.”

“Your father and I built this house when we moved here from Pennsylvania. We borrowed money from the bank and worked night and day on this farm in order to pay back those loans. It's as much our house as yours.”

They'd had to borrow money from the bank instead of family like most Amish? Viola barely had a chance to share a look with Elsie when their father replied.

“Yes, but you no longer live here. Mother, your place is in the back. Especially right now.”

“Your brother Jacob wouldn't speak to me like this.”

“Jacob also wouldn't live with you. He's out in Indiana! Neither would Sam. Or Aden. Or Sara. Matter of fact, no one wanted to live here in this big drafty
haus
with way too many bad memories.”

Hurt flashed across her face, but her tone was sharp. “Then why did you?”

“Duty.” He said the word like it was a curse word. Like it was something he couldn't ever push aside, no matter what.

If he'd meant to hurt Mommi, Viola saw that he'd done a good job of it. She paled.

But she didn't back away.

As the tension in the room thickened, their mother grabbed their father's arm. “Peter, stop. Stop saying such hateful things.”

He shrugged off her grip. “They're only hateful if they're not true, Marie. And you know as well as I that I speak the truth.”

Tears filled their mother's eyes. “I'm sorry, Lovina. Peter is not himself—”

Her eyes narrowed. “And we all know why, don't we?”

“No, I am very much myself, Marie,” Peter countered. “And after more than forty years of keeping my mouth shut, I think I have every right to speak my mind.” Still staring at his mother, he continued, his voice almost completely void of emotion.

“And so that is how we all came to be living here together. That is why you got stuck with me, Mamm,” he said with a trace of irony. “No one else could stand you any longer.”

Right before their eyes, their steely grandmother seemed to shrink. She turned on her heel and walked out. Seconds later, they heard the back door close quietly.

“Peter, whatever is wrong with you? You shouldn't talk that way to your mother. You should never have said such things.”

“Why not? It's what we've all been thinking.”

“That doesn't mean it's right.” As if she had forgotten that Viola and Elsie were standing right there, their mother pointed to the bottle of vodka, sitting on the kitchen counter like a symbol of all that had gone wrong in their family. “Drinking isn't right, either, Peter. And you hid it, too.”

“Other people drink.”

“But we don't. We don't drink and we don't smoke. We don't even drink wine for special occasions. It's not our way. But even more, you've been lying to me for quite some time.” Her voice now curiously empty, she said, “Quite some time.”

“You knew?”

She closed her eyes. “
Jah.
I knew. I'm as guilty as you, husband. I've been hoping if I pretended I didn't know what was happening, I wouldn't have to deal with it. Or worse, I could pretend it wasn't happening.”

“You are making too much of one liquor bottle.”

“We both know this isn't the only one, Peter.”

Furious, he turned and glared at his daughters. “What have you done? Viola, I put the blame for all of this firmly on your shoulders. Elsie would have never caused such a scene.”

“Me?” Viola felt her eyes burn.

“That's not fair, Daed,” Elsie said quietly. “One of us was bound to discover it. Either me or Viola or Roman. All we wanted was some answers.”

“You came here to cause pain, daughter.”

“
Nee!
” their mother fairly shouted. “It isn't Viola who brought this into our lives; she's only been the one strong enough to bring it out into the open.”

“And you don't think there would have been a better way to act? She marched in here in order to cause trouble.”

Her mother shook her head sadly. “Oh, Peter. Don't you understand? The problem isn't that you were found out. The problem is that you shouldn't have been drinking in the first place. And you shouldn't have been lying to us for months. When you brought that into our house, and hid it away, and drank in private and lied about it . . . you have gone against all of us. You need some help.”

His expression slack, their father looked from Elsie to Viola to their mother, then he turned and walked out the front door. Into the snow and cold without a coat on.

“Daed? Daed, don't go. We should talk about this,” Elsie called out.

Their
mamm
shook her head. “
Nee,
Elsie. Leave him be.”

Beside her, Elsie tensed. Viola reached for Elsie's hand, who clung to it like it was a lifeline. And truly, it did feel as if their whole world had gone crazy. No one had ever spoken to another that way. The anger and disappointment was so strong it felt almost tangible.

Watching their mother, standing so still and rigid, there seemed to be nothing else to say.

“Come on,” she whispered. Still holding her sister's hand, she led Elsie up the narrow stairs to their bedroom.

Usually, Elsie would have pulled her hand away, always shying away from any overt help. But this time she held Viola's hand as tightly in her own.

Perhaps she realized that this time it was Viola who needed support? Somehow, she'd managed to make everything worse.

Muscles in his arms and shoulders pumping, Ed shoveled his driveway in a daze. Though he appreciated the exercise, he knew nothing could tear his mind away from the meeting he'd had at CAMA.

All last night, he'd read through the binders and contemplated what he wanted in his life. And prayed and prayed for guidance.

But this morning, he still felt as confused as ever. Around him, snowflakes increased in size, floating in the wind, determined to cover his coat in a thick white blanket. It was beautiful.

And so different, he was sure, from Belize.

Yes, the weather was bitterly cold, but his whole body felt numb, both from the news and his reaction to it.

Looking down the street, he spied John Miller's old house. If John was still there, Ed knew he would've been tempted to knock on his door and ask for advice, but sharing his dilemma with John wasn't the right thing to do. He needed to talk to his father about the job offer before he spoke to anyone else.

But since the roads were too dangerous to go up to Daybreak, he was homebound. He needed to light a fire, brew a fresh pot of coffee, and reread every page in the binders, and then figure out just what exactly he was contemplating saying no to.

And what he might be saying yes to instead.

Aggravated by his thoughts, he put a little extra muscle into his chore and increased his pace. Sweat began to trickle down the middle of his back and the muscles in his arms began to burn.

The slight pain felt good.

When his driveway was as cleared as it was going to get with the snow still falling, he decided to clear off the sidewalk, too.

An hour later, when he finally leaned the shovel against the side of the house, he went inside and discovered little Gretta sprawled out on a carpet by the door. Spying him, she sleepily got to her feet, shook herself awake, and then trotted over, her tail wagging affectionately.

A lump grew in his throat as he knelt down to brush his hand down her soft red fur, then he let her go outside. As he expected, she did her business and was back inside lightning fast. Then he did exactly what he set out to do, and carefully arranged a fire, brewed a pot of coffee, and sat down with the binders in his lap.

With Gretta curled up in her bed beside him, he opened up the top binder, flipped past the cover page, and began reading.

Two hours later, he set them on the floor and closed his eyes. And then he began to pray.

Peter was sweeping out the tack room and berating himself for blaming his girls for his troubles when Marie came into the barn. He stilled, bracing himself for another round of pain. He knew Marie was upset with him, and he didn't blame her one bit. He was fairly sure that any charges she fired at him were deserved. He'd lied to her, and broken any number of the covenants of their marriage vows. He'd raised his voice to Elsie and Viola, and to his mother, too.

He'd sinned in many, many ways.

But instead of launching into accusations, she walked to the tack room, leaned against the door frame, crossed her arms over her chest, and stood silent. Watching him.

His mouth went so dry, he could have sworn it had been stuffed with cotton.

For a good two minutes, neither of them said a word. After glancing her way, he turned and continued brushing the broom across already clean cement. It was impossible to stand still.