The Days of Redemption (5 page)

Then she remembered.

With a groan, she sat straight up again. “Oh, Elsie, we're hosting church next Sunday!”

“I know.” Smiling a little, she said, “The next two weeks are going to be terrible.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Because ever since I can remember, everyone's treated me like I was the sole imperfect Keim. The damaged one.”

“That's not true. You're not damaged.”

One of Elsie's brows lifted. “True or not, damaged was how I felt. But now . . . it seems that I'm not the only one with a flaw. I just might be the only one who is used to admitting it.”

Yes, they did all indeed have flaws, Viola realized. Some that were far worse than a vision problem.

Some much, much worse.

The key slid into the lock easily. But the brass doorknob stuck when he turned it to the right. As always. Remembering to push the knob in slightly, he jiggled it a little harder. Finally, the lock gave way. The hinges squeaked in protest when he opened the door. As a wave of musty air sprang out to greet him, Ed peeked inside.

He was home again.

His feet felt glued to the faded and frayed welcome mat. Who would have thought it would be so hard to go inside?

Glad no one was around to see him hesitate, Ed took a deep breath, clipped the screen door open, then stepped forward. The entryway looked as dark and felt as eerily cold as a cave.

But of course it would be. No one had lived there in almost two years.

Before he knew it, he had stopped on the edge of the area rug, ready to pull off his heavy boots. Just as his mother had always insisted upon.

But his boots weren't muddy, it wouldn't make much of a difference in the dusty spaces, and, of course . . . his mother was long gone. She wouldn't be there to make sure he obeyed her dozen or so “household commandments.” Funny how she'd ruled the three of them with an iron will, hidden carefully inside warm hugs, beaming smiles, and a laugh that could light up a room.

A lump formed in his throat, as the pain of his loss hit him all over again. It had been three years now, but here, standing inside the house, looking around at the entryway, the room she used to take such special care of, the pain was so intense he had trouble breathing.

The fact was, it felt like he'd lost more than just a mother. He'd lost a connection with his past that he hadn't even realized was important until it was too late.

“You need to shake this off, Edward,” he said, in a true imitation of his mother. “Nothing will get done by standing frozen in one spot.”

Almost chuckling, he walked into the front room and pulled up the shades, letting light stream into the room. Next, ignoring the sheets covering the furniture, he forced himself to walk through the rest of the two-bedroom, one-bathroom house and continue to pull up shades. He even cracked open two windows, preferring the cold, fresh air to the stale scent surrounding him.

In preparation for his arrival, he'd called the gas and water company the week before. He lifted the faucet handle and saw that he did, indeed, have running water.

Another check showed that the refrigerator was cooling.

Satisfied that the necessities were taken care of, he pulled off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and went in search of cleaning supplies. His mother had been a big fan of Pine-Sol, and he knew the fresh, piney scent would go far in restoring the old house.

After a few glitches, he'd found the mop, a bucket, and half a bottle of the cleaning liquid.

It felt good to do something with his hands. This, he could concentrate on. It would be far easier to get rid of dust and grime instead of the pain of his loss.

Ignoring the cold, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. In no time at all, he was sponging off baseboards, windowsills, and counters. He'd just begun to mop the white linoleum floor when he heard a clatter, followed by a yip, and another clatter at the front screen door.

Dropping the mop, he quickly rushed to see what was going on, only to be greeted by a red miniature dachshund. Its tail was wagging fast enough to beat the band, right in sync with the most annoying barking he'd ever heard in his life.

“Hey, you,” he said, daring to approach the tiny intruder. “What in the world are you doing here?”

Soft brown eyes met his. The little dog crept two steps closer, then lifted its head, obviously ready to be petted. He obliged and scratched the dog behind its ears. “Where's your collar?”

The dog looked well fed, but a little scraggly. No collar was to be found. When he petted its side, he realized it was chilled. No small wonder, it was near on twenty degrees, with a chance of snow in the forecast.

The dog stepped closer, then to his amazement, snuggled closer, whether because she enjoyed the companionship or the heat, he didn't know. “You're cold, aren't you?”

And thirsty, too, he had no doubt.

After fetching it a little bowl of water, Ed left the dog in the kitchen and went outside to look for its owner. But he saw no one wandering around at all. In fact, things looked fairly empty on the street. “Well, this is a fine situation. I've got an old house and a wayward dog and no clue about what I should do with either of them.”

The folks at the mission in Nicaragua would take great pleasure in his confusion, he knew. The whole time he'd been there, he'd taken pride in being the go-to guy, the man who could solve any problem, no matter how big or how small.

Now, he seemed to be as frozen as the air stinging his cheeks. He had no idea what to do next.

A new steady stream of barking interrupted his reverie. When he went back to the dog, it stilled, eyeing him hopefully.

“You were waiting for me, weren't you?” he mused. Walking to one of the closets that lined the hall, he pulled out an old blanket from the bottom of a stack. It wasn't too dusty, so he made a little nest on the floor for the dog.

The homeless pup sniffed the blanket, looked up at him warily, then crawled right into the middle of it. Almost instantly, it slept. Just like it wasn't planning to go anywhere.

For some reason, that made Edward feel pleased. It was nice to no longer be alone.

The next morning, when Ed returned to Daybreak, he became entangled in a rousing discussion about pie, of all things.

“Hiya, Edward,” his father greeted with a distracted wave. “Pull up a chair and help me talk some sense into Mr. Showalter and this girl.”

While Jacob Showalter merely laughed, Viola raised her hands to her hips. “Mr. Swartz, I don't believe that I need to be ‘talked to.' ”

Ed hid a smile, kind of liking that she was giving his father a run for his money. There weren't too many folks who would venture into a war of words with his formidable father. “I'll pull up a chair,” Ed said, “but I don't intend to get in the middle of any argument. Especially not an argument about something as important as pie.”

As Viola visibly tried to hide her smile, Ed let his lips start to curve upward. It was a pleasure to see his father looking so animated and lively. Especially when just three years ago, Ed had wondered if he'd ever see him smile brightly again.

“You'd best change your mind about that,” Mr. Showalter reported from his usual spot on the overstuffed couch. “Your father here has a bee in his bonnet and won't be sidetracked.”

Now he didn't even try to temper his grin. “You have a bee in your bonnet, Father?”

His
daed
brushed off his quip. “All I've been saying is that Bonnets has the best chocolate cream pie in town.”

“And all I'm saying is that you're wrong, Atle. The Berlin Bakery is the best, for sure. Bonnets don't hold a candle to the Berlin's chocolate cream.” Turning to Ed, Mr. Showalter raised a brow. “What do you think, Edward?”

“I have no opinion. Both bakeries sound
wunderbaar,
for sure.”

But that was obviously the wrong answer. Both men's eyes flashed with annoyance. “Take a stand, man,” his father chided. “Everyone has an opinion worth defending.”

Defending? Ed looked at Viola. “How long has this conversation been going on?”

“Too long,” she said with an amused grimace. “And there's no end in sight, either. Neither man will back down.”

“Ain't no reason to,” Mr. Showalter said. “My opinion is right; your father's is wrong. That's all there is to it.”

“I'm sure the desserts from both restaurants are mighty good, Daed.”

“Anything would taste good to you, son. As you just said, you've been at the ends of the earth, eating rice and rations.”

Well, he hadn't just said that. Not exactly. Though his father did have a point. He had been far away from Amish pie bakeries.

Of course, the people at the mission in Nicaragua would also be somewhat horrified to see so much energy expended over something so insignificant. If everyone had food in his belly, well, that was a blessing in itself.

But perhaps that was the point about retiring—it gave folks an opportunity to fuss about things that didn't matter all that much.

As the conversation continued with more men and women coming out of the woodwork to voice an opinion, he became aware of two things: One, his father was not in any hurry to hear about the house and the cleaning he'd done.

And two? Viola Keim was more than a little quiet around him.

And once again, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her.

“What do you think of that idea, Edward?”

“I'm sorry? I wasn't paying attention.”

As he'd known he would, his father scowled. “What is it with you young people? I'm continually having to repeat and explain myself to you.”

“Sorry—”

“I was saying, Edward, that I think we should send Viola out to get pie samples and bring them back.”

Before he had time to venture an opinion, Viola shook her head. “I don't think that's a
gut
idea at all.”

“Why not?”

“I canna carry all the pies back here, for one.”

“And?”

“And . . . I can't afford to be buying you pies, either, Mr. Swartz.”

As Ed could have predicted, that started a flurry of emptying pockets among the residents. Before long, thirty dollars in singles, fives, quarters, and dimes had been accumulated.

His father looked at the pile with pleasure. “That should be more than enough to buy two pies, Viola. Off you go now, and don't worry. Edward here will help you carry them.”

She visibly blanched. “Him?”

He felt her pain. “Me?”

“Yes, and yes.” Turning to his son, his
daed
's voice turned a little snippy. “Edward, surely you don't intend to make poor Viola carry the baked goods all by herself, do you? And such a long way, too. I raised you better than that, surely.”

“You raised me well, Father. But that doesn't mean this scheme is a good one.”

Getting to her feet, Viola looked like she was doing everything she could to ignore his very being. “Mr. Swartz, please don't worry about me needing help. I'm certain your son isn't used to offering his services freely. I can go get your pies on my own.”

Ed grunted as he felt yet another jab taken at his character. “I'm surprised you can lift your head, you're so sanctimonious, Viola.”

“I'm only speaking the truth, Edward.”

“The name is Ed.”

“
Nee,
it's Edward,” his father groused. “Your mother and I gave you a perfectly
gut
name. You should use it in its entirety, not just the first two letters.”

Now it seemed he could do no right with anyone. “I should have stayed home with the wiener dog,” he muttered.

“Wiener dog?” Viola asked.

“Yes. Um, somehow I've adopted a dog. A little red dachshund, somewhat down on her luck, wandered to the
haus
yesterday. I couldn't find her owner, so I made her a bed in the kitchen.”

He'd even privately named her Gretta, though he wasn't in the mood to share that bit of information.

“What is going to happen to her when you leave?”

“I don't know.”

Viola frowned. “If you've taken in a dog without thinking ahead to her care, that's hardly fair to the dog.”

“I only just found it.”

“You could have taken her to the shelter.”

“Enough already, Viola. There's no need for you to be badgering me about this.”

“I wasn't badgering,” she countered, her cheeks staining red. “I mean, I didn't mean to badger. I was only giving my opinion.”

“Which you seem to do all the time, even though we hardly know each other.”

Her eyes flashed. “I'm beginning to think I know enough.”

“Enough, you two,” his
daed
interrupted. Just as if they were twelve years old. “Go on now, and don't tarry.”

“Yes, Mr. Swartz.” Viola gathered up the bills and change and put it in an envelope. “You know, I must say that you're getting terribly bossy.”

His father looked pleased. “I've earned the right to be bossy. I'm an old man.”

“You're not that old. And once more, I must tell you that bringing you pies isn't in my job description.”

“You bring me coffee. Pies aren't that different.”

Viola looked about ready to pop a gasket . . . then looked at him again and chuckled. “You certainly know how to get me on my high horse, Mr. Swartz. Fine. I'll go get your pies. I'll be back when I can.”

Looking extremely satisfied, his father grinned. “
Gut.
Now be a sweet girl and let my son accompany you.”

“It's really not necessary.” She would barely glance at him. “I'll be fine . . .”

Ed stood up as well, took the envelope full of bills and change, and slipped it into his jacket's front pocket. It sat heavy there, making his coat jingle when he stepped away from the table. “Of course I'm going to help you. I'm not going to let you go run my father's errands on your own.”