I drove until the pavement beneath me changed to dirt. About ten miles later, my car bumping on uneven surfaces, I found the road to Kingdom. Almost hidden from sight, it cut through a large grove of trees. Anyone not knowing what to look for would surely miss it. I turned off onto a small lane not made for automobiles. As soon as I was certain my car couldn’t be seen from the road I’d just left, I pulled over and got out.
A strange sensation had come over me when I’d made the last turn toward Kingdom. For the first time since I’d left the town I grew up in, I felt a twinge of homesickness. Not for my mother or for the friends I’d left behind. For the town itself. I stared down the road, wondering what awaited me. How would I be greeted? It was impossible to know unless I gathered up the nerve to complete my journey.
I’d stuck my keys inside the pocket of my jeans, and when I pulled them out, the card Roger had given me came out with them. After staring at it for a moment, I crumpled it up, jogged to the other side of the road, and tossed it down into the deep ravine that bordered the other side. It was a dangerous drop, and more than once horses and buggies had needed rescuing when drivers were careless about navigating the narrow path. I watched the card land in a snowdrift at the bottom. Roger had been so cruel to me and to the other children from Kingdom that I had no desire to call him or ever see him again. Besides, he reminded me too much of Clay. I briefly wondered if he and Clay were still friends. Probably not. Clay had been gone a long time.
I hurried back to the car and checked on Charity. She’d fallen asleep again not long after lunch. I smiled at her angelic face and wondered how my decision to come back to Kingdom would affect her. Charity had always been loved by the only parent she knew. If she experienced rejection because of me, what would that do to her? Even as I asked myself these questions, I was reminded that I had no other choice. I had to protect her from the known threats, and I couldn’t afford to worry about what might happen.
The tiny town wasn’t on any map, so surely no one from the outside world could find us there. Perhaps my father and the church might try to turn us away, but no matter what lay ahead, I’d find a way to make it work. At least until I could come up with another plan. I got back in the car and drove as slowly as I could, trying to miss all the ruts, but it was almost impossible, since snow covered everything. After hitting one rather large hole, the car jumped violently and Charity woke up.
“Are we there yet, Mama?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “This sure is a bumpy place.”
Cherry Bear, you have no idea how right you are. “We’re almost there, honey. If you look out your window you’ll soon see the town just over that big hill.”
I glanced back at her in the rearview mirror, taking only a quick look, since watching the road was vital to our safety. The snow began to drift down from the sky again, and I feared that our journey would soon become even more treacherous.
Although the ground was now white, I could remember walking down this path in the spring, wild flowers covering the ground below the tall trees. Purples, blues, yellows, and reds had anointed the area like colorful patchwork quilts. I’d pick the flowers and bring them to my mother, who put them in a jar, decorating her drab kitchen with various shades of the season. Even Father seemed to like them, though he was opposed to almost everything beautiful or colorful. This attitude especially applied to our clothing. Our dresses had to be dark blue or black, with aprons in the same shades. In the winter we wore dark bonnets, and in the summer, black prayer coverings.
Not long before I left, Pastor Mendenhall introduced the idea of pastel-colored dresses for the women and white prayer coverings for the unmarried girls. The young women in Kingdom buzzed with excitement about the idea, but a few weeks later, the elders, under the direction of my father, quashed the notion. “This is the beginning of the world’s leaven,” Father had said in response to the pastor’s suggestion. “It will introduce vanity and encourage impure thoughts in the minds of our young men. This idea has no place in Kingdom, and we will not have it.”
The kind pastor, not wanting to start strife in the church, backed off. However, the pastor’s wife, Bethany, quietly got up and walked out of the meeting when the elders’ decision was announced. Since I took Charity and ran away not long after this incident, I never heard what fallout resulted from her rebellion, but her bravery helped me to make the decision to leave.
Although Kansas was known for its flat plains, the terrain around Kingdom was very hilly. The large hill that hid the town from prying eyes also made the last mile of our trip somewhat dangerous. My tires slipped and skidded up the sharp incline. As we finally made it to the top, the snow was falling more heavily, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of the car. We were almost at the edge of town before the place I’d known as home so many years ago became visible through the misty white veil of winter.
“What’s that, Mama?” Charity called out. She pointed to the large white structure on the corner as we approached the heart of the town.
“That’s the church, Cherry Bear,” I said. Kingdom Mennonite Assembly Church looked exactly as it had when I’d left. It was as if I’d only been gone a few days. The surprise came as I drove farther into town. Several of the shops on Main Street had been painted. Charity asked about almost every building we passed, so I tried to tell her about them.
A few of the businesses I remembered were gone, and there was at least one new sign painted on the front of another building, but the snow prevented me from reading it. The quilt shop was a lovely blue, and the café was crimson with white trim. Eberly’s Hardware was yellow, and Menninger’s Saddle and Tack, although it was still white, was trimmed with green. Green shutters, a green door, and green window boxes. The blacksmith shop, where my father worked when he wasn’t at the church, looked exactly the same—bare wood weathered by time, and it still leaned slightly to the right. Some of the men in our church used to tease Father that in a strong wind the entire building would fall down. However, offers to help rebuild the structure were turned away. Father always said he would do the work himself, but somehow it never got done. Obviously nothing had changed. The large wooden sliding door was shut, meaning he wasn’t there. I sighed with relief, since I really wasn’t ready to deal with him yet.
“Mama, is this Kingdom? I think it’s pretty.”
I had to agree with her. But the biggest shock of all was the discovery that I wasn’t driving the only vehicle in Kingdom. There were four others parked amid the horses and carriages hooked up to hitching posts in front of various stores. I saw two pickup trucks and two cars. One dark-colored car with its bumper painted black and another car that was bright yellow with shiny chrome bumpers. It was parked right in front of Cora’s Corner Café. Some brave soul had certainly broken ranks with the status quo. I pulled over and gazed at the brightly colored restaurant.
Cora Menlo. I’d forgotten how kind she’d been to me. It had been very hard for her to get the approval of the elders to open her small business. In Kingdom, the elders basically ran everything. No one could make a move without first getting their permission. And anyone who wanted to become a part of our community had to seek an audience with the elders before putting down stakes. Of course, not everyone was considered holy enough to join our ranks. And God help the citizens who displeased them. Even though Cora had lived in Kingdom since she was very young, I could still remember how she trembled the day she petitioned my father all those years ago. Just as the elders could vote to allow someone to live in Kingdom, they could also vote to expel them.
“Women should stay home and feed their husbands,” Father had insisted. “We have no need of a restaurant in this town.”
“My husband is dead, Elder Engel,” she’d said, standing in the kitchen of our small home, addressing my father. “I have no way to make a living.”
“The church provides for you, Sister,” he’d replied gruffly. “That should be good enough.”
“But I’m a good cook, Elder. As you know, many of our men are without wives. They work in their fields but have no one to come home to. No one to cook them a good meal. This would be a service to the community. A ministry. I . . . I think there are a lot of lonely people in Kingdom who need companionship. And a place that feels like home.” She’d cast her eyes to the floor. “And when a wife is sickly or with child, I could assist them. I see many ways my restaurant could benefit our people.”
“Our people are benefited through the church, Sister. This is God’s way. If you want to help our community, you may do so by joining the other women from our congregation who cook for others without expecting to be paid. I find it sad that you will only do a good deed if you are given money for it. Surely this does not please God.” Father’s dark, bushy eyebrows had knit together in anger. He wasn’t used to being challenged, especially by a woman.
I’d watched Cora’s expression as she faced my father. She jutted out her jaw and met his eyes without fear. Something I’d never been able to do. “Pastor Mendenhall said he thought it was a fine idea.” She spoke these words quietly but with obvious strength, knowing the effect they might have on my father. He was frequently at odds with the pastor he and the other elders had elected. Our pastor, in my father’s opinion, was trying to mix the world’s leaven into the church by talking too much about love and forgiveness. Father saw these as bywords of the world, using them as excuses to wink at sin.
In my mind’s eye I could still see his face as he glared at poor Cora. “I see you have already gone over my head. Why come to me then? Is it your plan to stir up strife so we will give in and agree to your proposal?”
Cora continued to meet Father’s furious expression. “No, Elder Engel. I came hoping to receive your blessing. I have no desire to create strife in the church.”
My father had taken two steps closer to the frightened woman. She immediately moved back. “I will take the Christian way and be a peacemaker,” he’d thundered. “I will not contest this plan of yours. But do not expect to see my family cross the threshold of this . . . this restaurant.” He spit the last word out as if it were rancid food.
Cora, obviously feeling as if she’d won the battle, scooted out of our house before her victory, albeit small, could be snatched away. I happened to catch my mother’s quick smile as she returned to stirring a pot of beef stew simmering on our stove. That smile bothered me for a long time. It had never occurred to me before that my mother might actually disagree with my father about anything.
Cora got her restaurant. At first only single farmers and widows came to eat. But eventually, families drifted in and Cora’s business was a success. True to my father’s word, our family never stepped foot inside Cora’s Corner Café.
I looked around at a place where change had always been unwelcome. But something had obviously happened in Kingdom. Change had come, welcome or not. Two women hurried out of the quilt shop, capes protecting them from the cold. The dresses that peeked from underneath their winter cloaks were adorned with colorful printed flowers. One dress dark green, the other a deep pink.
“Mama,” Charity said rather breathlessly, interrupting my musings, “this place looks like it’s been here forever.”
I laughed. “It hasn’t been here forever, but it sure has been here a long time.” After living in Kansas City, my daughter was certainly taking a step back in time. The buildings in Kingdom were old. Some of them going back to the very foundation of the town. The first settlers who called the area home were part of a thriving settlement called Mason City, named after its founder, William Mason. Mason had been instrumental in bringing the railroad to Kansas. Unfortunately, many years later the route was changed, leaving Mason City miles away from the railway line. That decision eventually turned the city into a ghost town.
Twenty years later, a disgruntled group of Old Order Mennonites, uncomfortable with what they saw as worldly and unrighteous changes to their faith and not willing to unite with their Amish brothers, discovered the abandoned city. They decided to build their own “Kingdom of God,” the first name they gave their new town. Eventually, it simply became Kingdom. The aim was to mold the place into their vision of what God’s kingdom on earth should be. They developed a sanctuary, hidden from the unwelcome attention of a sinful world.
Although people in nearby towns knew about Kingdom, almost everyone left them alone. Kingdom residents preferred anonymity, as did their neighbors. Folks who lived in the reclusive town weren’t known for their welcoming attitudes. As a girl I recalled several occasions when a hapless fisherman or hunter accidentally wandered into town. None of them stayed long after being greeted by a resolute committee of Mennonite elders, dressed in their plain clothes, wide-brimmed hats, and obligatory beards, demanding to know their business.
A couple exited the hardware store carrying satchels and wearing the darker and more traditional clothing that I was used to. They got into a buggy and headed down the street toward the residential part of town. The business area was very small, but many of the people who live in the area were farmers, so the actual vicinity designated as Kingdom stretched out for several miles all around.
I drove to the middle of town and turned down Paradise Road, toward my family home. Apprehension caused my heart to beat wildly inside my chest, but, as I watched the houses pass by me, memories of childhood friends and fun times began to come alive in my mind.
Two blocks away from my house, a group of small children ran around in the front yard of a home where the Hoffmans had once lived. Their daughter, Callie, had gone to school with me. But these children couldn’t be hers. Most of them looked several years older than Charity, and when I left, Callie had still been single. As I drove past they stopped their playing to stare at me. There might be a few cars in Kingdom now, but it was obvious they were still a novelty.
Several of the houses on Paradise Road had been painted colors other than white, the only shade once approved by the elders. I was seeing the seeds of a revolt. It was certainly about time.
My house finally came into sight—still white, of course, and looking in need of some attention. There was peeling paint, and a screen was off one of the front windows. The two-story structure was only a shadow of what I remembered, and I was amazed by how much smaller it looked.
I pulled the car over and stared at the place where I’d been born, trying to gather courage to go inside.
“I want outta the car, Mama,” Charity whined. “I need to go potty.”
“Okay, Cherry Bear. But wait just a minute, okay? I have to make sure Grandma and Grandpa are home. I’ll be right back.”
She wasn’t happy about it, but my daughter nodded her assent. I wasn’t being totally honest with her. I could see our horse in the corral and the buggy in the shed. But until I knew we wouldn’t be turned away, I didn’t want Charity anywhere near my parents.
I left the car running, even though the heater was almost useless, and I hurried up to the front door, dreading the response that might be waiting for me on the other side. I knocked lightly, and a few seconds later the door swung open. My mother’s face registered shock.
“Hello, Mother. I—” was all I got out before she threw her arms around me.
“Lizzie,” she said between sobs. “Lizzie, you are home.”
I hugged her back, trying to blink away tears that sprang into my eyes. “I . . . I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me. . . .”
She put one hand on each of my cheeks. “You are my daughter, Elizabeth Lynn. There will never be a day when I do not want to see you.” She studied my face as if trying to memorize it. “Are . . . are you home for good?”
“I don’t know, Mother. I lost my job, and I need a place to stay for a while.”
She bit her lip, and her already pale face turned even whiter. “Your father . . .”
“I know. But I had nowhere else to go.”
“Shush.” Mother took her hands away and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. “Your father is not at home now. We will talk and try to find a way.”
“But the buggy . . .”
“He has ridden with Elmer Wittenbauer to a special meeting. He will not be back for a while.” She looked out toward the street. “Is Charity . . . Is she with you?”
I smiled. “Of course she is. I’ll get her.”
“Oh my. Yes, please. I want to hold my granddaughter.”
I hurried back to the car and helped Charity out of her car seat. “That’s your grandma, honey,” I told her. “And she can’t wait to give you a big hug.”
Charity looked past me and saw my mother standing in the doorway. She stared up at me, her eyes big. “Mama, why does Grandma look so funny?”
I knelt down next to her, pulling her red wool coat tight to protect her from the cold. “People dress a little different in Kingdom, honey. But it’s okay. Your grandma knew you when you were just a baby, and she has always loved you.”
Charity gazed silently at me for a moment. Something in my expression must have reassured her, because she suddenly beamed. “Okay, Mama. If she already loves me, then I should love her back.”
I shut the car door and took her hand. As we walked up the stone path to the house, she suddenly let go of me and ran to my mother, her little arms flung out wide. Mother knelt down and waited for her, wrapping her up in a big hug.
“It’s really cold out here,” I said when I reached them. “Let’s hug each other inside, okay?”
My mother nodded and stood up. “Please come in. I will heat up some cider.”
Charity and I followed her into the house I’d left behind so long ago. It looked the same but shabbier. The wood floors were scuffed, and the furniture was in need of refinishing. My mother had obviously re-covered the couch and a chair. But a rocking chair that had once belonged to my grandmother sat broken and pulled to the side of the room. And an ancient bookshelf where religious books were kept was short one of its shelves.
“Why hasn’t Father taken care of the house or fixed the furniture?” I asked. My father was a harsh man, but he’d always been faithful to keep our home and furnishings in good repair. He had prided himself on being able to fix anything that was broken, although he would never admit he had any kind of pride. Instead, he considered himself to be a good steward of the blessings he believed God had bestowed on him.
Mother gently removed Charity’s coat and hat and held her hand out for my jacket, not meeting my eyes. “Things are a little different from when you left,” she said quietly.
“I definitely noticed some changes in Kingdom, but that doesn’t explain why Father has neglected our home.”
Mother took our coats over to the coatrack on the wall near the door and hung them up. Then she pointed toward the kitchen. “Let us go into the kitchen, where it is more comfortable.”
I glanced over at the fireplace. It was cold, and the wood basket kept nearby was empty. In the winter, it had always been stocked with wood.
I took Charity’s hand and led her to the kitchen, where an old woodstove provided needed warmth. Mother’s carved oak table and chairs, also once my grandmother’s, looked the same. The tablecloth my grandmother had made for her beloved daughter was slightly more threadbare, but the stitched flowers were still vibrant. The middle of the cream-colored tablecloth contained a ring of blossoms in light pink and blue with yellowish green leaves, thin vines connecting each flower. All four corners were decorated with small bunches of blossoms, and on each end, hanging over the side of the table was a big blue flower.
Mother loved it so. When Grandmother Bessie Lynn passed away, it became even more special to her. Every stitch had been done with love, and I’d always been very careful not to spill anything on it. Right after Grandmother died, Mother tried to store the precious cloth in a trunk in an attempt to preserve it, preferring to use the old oilcloth covering we’d had on the table for many years. But my father had forbidden her to put it away. “Tablecloths are to be used, Anna. It is pride that makes you want to ignore the reason it was created.” As was always the case, Mother didn’t argue, just left it on the table. But every time a stain appeared, I watched her cringe.
I ran my hand lightly over the old tablecloth, wishing Grandmother were still here. She’d died a couple of years before I left Kingdom. I’d been named after her. Even though everyone called her Bessie, her actual name was Elizabeth Lynn. Frankly, I was surprised my father had allowed Mother to pass down the name to me. But she’d told me once, in a moment of unusual candor, that Father hadn’t always been the harsh authoritative figure I’d only known. He’d actually been close to my grandmother at one time. I could still see Grandmother’s kind smile. She was the one who nicknamed me Lizzie when I was a child. Mother and most of my friends called me by that name, but Father refused to call me anything except Elizabeth. He never explained why, but to me it was just one more sign of his contempt for me.
“Mama, I need to go potty,” Charity reminded me. “Real bad.”
“I’ll take her,” Mother said. “You warm up. We’ll be right back.”
I watched the confusion on Charity’s face as my mother led her outside to the outhouse. The day was going to be filled with new experiences for my daughter.
Some of the houses in Kingdom used generators to pump water through pipes, but my father had never seen the need to bother with that. Having to go outside on harsh winter nights was solved another way. I couldn’t help but giggle when I thought of trying to explain a chamber pot to Charity.
A few minutes later they walked back up the path. Charity looked somewhat stunned.
“Mama,” she said with dramatic emphasis when she came inside, “the potties here are just like the ones at the lake.”
I nodded, having forgotten the trip we took to a state park once. It had taken me a while to get Charity to use the outdoor commode. She’d had a hard time believing there wasn’t a regular toilet hiding somewhere nearby. “This is a bad potty, Mama,” she’d said, wrinkling her nose. “It smells bad, and you can’t flush it.”
“You two sit here,” Mother said, smiling. “I’ll get the cider on the stove.” She took an old pot from under the sink and filled it with cider from the propane refrigerator. Then she set the pan on top of the woodstove.
Mother had been cooking on this stove ever since she and Father married. It had two dampers. One that moved smoke out of the house and another that controlled how much heat went to the burners. Even though I’d loved my electric stove in Kansas City, I had to admit that this ancient cousin did a fine job. Mother was a whiz with it, creating wonderful meals with a minimum of fancy kitchen equipment.
I watched her as she worked. She seemed thinner. Mother had always been rather frail, but I’d never seen her back down from hard work. She was the kind of person everyone took for granted, because she never complained, never admitted to being tired or ill. Although I could remember her taking care of me when I developed colds or the flu, I couldn’t actually recall her ever being sick herself. Mother had quiet strength and a graceful, ethereal beauty about her. Her large blue eyes were certainly mirrors to her soul. I’d always been able to tell how she felt by looking in her eyes.
“How about some butter cookies?” she asked Charity.
My daughter frowned. “I don’t know what those are.”
Mother opened the old cookie tin on the counter and withdrew several cookies, which she placed on a plate. “You try these, Charity. I believe you will like them.”
I smiled and nodded at her. “Your grandmother makes the best butter cookies in the world. Trust me.”
Charity picked up a cookie from the plate, still unsure about this plain-looking treat. She gingerly took a bite, and her face lit up. “These are really good, Mama. I love them.”
My mother pushed the plate toward me. “Here, Lizzie. You have some cookies too.”
It didn’t take any additional prompting. I bit into one, the familiar taste igniting memories of sitting in this kitchen, warming in front of the stove, eating cookies and drinking cider before Father came home. The pleasant memory vanished at the thought of my father, and my stomach tightened the same way it had all those years ago when he returned from the shop or the church.
“So when will Father arrive?” I asked after finishing one cookie and as I reached for another.
“He should be home shortly.” She frowned as she ran a finger down the stitching on the tablecloth. “Kingdom is different now, Lizzie. Your father . . .” She sighed and looked up at me, her smile tight. “There are younger people in the church who . . . well, who are pushing for change. They say the old ways are too restrictive, and that the love of God should be emphasized more than His judgment. Pastor Mendenhall is very supportive of this opinion. He has said that the true tenets of the Mennonite church stress grace, as does God’s Holy Word. But your father and several of the elders do not agree.” She hesitated, her eyes searching my face. “Your father insisted we leave the church, Elizabeth Lynn.”
I couldn’t hold back a gasp. “He . . . he’s left? I don’t understand. He’s no longer an elder?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, and two of the church’s other elders have gone with him. Three others remain and three new elders have been appointed. That is where your father is today, meeting with the men who departed. They seek to find a way to remove Pastor Mendenhall from office.”
“How can they do that if they’re no longer part of the church?”
“I do not know. But since Kingdom Mennonite Church was founded without the oversight of a larger governing body, there is no one to intervene.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Your father is determined to start a war in Kingdom. I do not know what to do.”
“And where do you stand, Mother? On which side do you find yourself?”
Her face turned pale and she looked away. I really didn’t expect her to contradict my father, so her response took me by surprise. “I hate the way people have been treated in this town,” she said, her voice trembling. “And I hate that my daughter had no choice but to run away.” She reached out and took my hand in hers. “My Bible talks of a God of love and forgiveness. This is not the God your father purports to know so well. I do not want to be disobedient to his headship in our home, but I believe he and his friends are wrong.”
I was shaken by her words. For some reason the smile I’d seen on her face when Cora defied my father drifted back into my mind. “So what are you going to do, Mother?”
She let out a long, tortured breath. “There is nothing I can do, Daughter. My job is to stand by your father even if I disagree with him. I am his helpmeet.” Even as she spoke of acquiescence, a look of defiance painted her delicate features. “But I pray every day, Elizabeth Lynn. I ask God for His help to change our church and our community into a place that honors Him.
“My parents raised me in the Mennonite faith, and I was proud to be a part of such a wonderful, caring group of people. Our congregation was small, but we were a family. We loved each other because God loved us, and we forgave each other because He became forgiveness for us. Our modest dress was beautiful and worn out of respect for our God. It was not a prison uniform. But then we came to Kingdom, and everything changed. Here, we have become hateful and critical under the rule of men like your father. And I believe it stinks in the nostrils of God!”
Her sentiments were spoken with more emotion and passion than I’d ever seen from her. I was so shocked, at first I could only stare at her. It took several seconds for me to respond.
“Why didn’t Grandfather and Grandmother leave Kingdom, Mother? Why did they stay if they disagreed with the way the church was run?”
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.”
Charity mulled this over, her mouth pursed in thought. “Okay, milk,” she said seriously.
I flashed Cora a thumbs-up, and she scurried away to fill our order. I glanced around the room, feeling rather conspicuous but thankful that almost everyone had gone back to their meals. Those who met my gaze smiled warmly at me. This was a much different reaction than the one I’d received after Charity was born. The town really was changing.
But then I spotted John Lapp sitting at a table across the room. His expression was far from welcoming. After one angry glance, he refused to look my way again. He and his wife, Frances, had been my chief accusers. I could still remember Frances’s scathing diatribe condemning me and my “ungodly behavior.” I’d never denied that I’d sinned, and I’d told her how repentant I was. But that wasn’t enough for Frances. I had a feeling that tarring and feathering me still wouldn’t have fulfilled her need to see me punished. John was an elder in the church, cut out of the same cloth as my father. I’d bet everything I owned, which wasn’t much, that John was one of the elders who’d left with him.
I looked the other way, ignoring John the same way he chose to disregard me. As a rather large family got up to leave, I noticed a young man who had previously been hidden from my view. He was sitting alone in the corner staring intently at me. His brownish blond hair curled over the collar of his blue denim work shirt.
For a moment I didn’t recognize him, but it only took a few seconds before I realized the handsome man who seemed to find me so interesting was Noah Housler. I took a sharp intake of breath. He was even better looking than I’d remembered. I was so surprised to see him I couldn’t seem to think clearly. What was he doing here? He’d left Kingdom a couple of years before I did, headed for college and life somewhere else.
It struck me as odd that, until that moment, I hadn’t thought about Noah for years. He had been my best friend. We’d shared many happy times together, running around Kingdom, laughing and talking about almost everything. He’d been the most popular boy in the Washington school. Although Kingdom children weren’t allowed to go further than the eighth grade, Noah’s father had rebelled against the church elders and demanded that his son stay and graduate.
The main reason I liked school was because it gave me time away from Father and allowed me to spend time with Noah. As we got older he spent most of his time at his family’s farm, and in church, the boys and girls were carefully kept separated. But at school we had special classes and assemblies together, even though he was a year ahead of me.
Without warning, a memory popped into my mind that I hadn’t thought about since I’d left Kingdom. My father had spanked me with a branch after some small infraction. I was eight years old and Noah was nine. He found me behind the church, crying. Instead of asking me what was wrong, he just came over and sat down next to me, holding out his arm so I could nestle against his shoulder. I’d never been that physically close to a boy before. It felt strange yet exhilarating. He smoothed my hair with his other hand.
“It will be all right, Lizzie,” he’d said gently. “I promise you that someday everything will work out. Don’t be afraid. I’ll watch over you.” We never talked about it again, but I knew he was looking out for me from that moment on. No one bullied me at school again without Noah warning them to leave me alone. I suddenly remembered the time he beat up Roger Carson not long before I left school. Roger had been teasing me, and Noah lit into him without a moment of hesitation. It was the only time I ever saw Noah lift a finger to another human being. He got in a lot of trouble for it, both at school and in church. He apologized, but I knew he wasn’t really sorry. There were many times before I left when I wished he’d hold me again like he did the day after my father’s whipping. But he never did. No boy did. Until Clay.
“Whatsa matter, Mama?” Charity said loudly. “Are you sick?”
The sound of Charity’s voice made me jump. I’d been lost in my thoughts and was horrified to realize I’d been staring at Noah. I quickly looked away. “Hush, Cherry Bear,” I said under my breath. “I’m not sick.”
She screwed up her face with concern. “But you look all funny.”
I frowned at her. “If you don’t be quiet, I’m going to—”
“Lizzie?” a deep male voice said.
I looked up and found Noah standing next to me. My heart leapt into my throat. His emerald eyes bore into mine, and I couldn’t find my voice.
He smiled. “It is you. I thought so.”
I nodded like an idiot, unable to tear my eyes from his. They were even greener than I remembered. “Yes . . . yes it’s me,” I said finally, my voice squeaky. “How are you, Noah?”
His hands clasped his wide-brimmed black hat. “I’m fine. Still living at home, farming wheat and raising milk cows.”
“But you went to college. I didn’t think you’d ever come back to Kingdom.”
“I did go for a couple of years, but my father died not long after you went away. That left my mother alone with my brother, Levi. He’s a good man, but he’s not a farmer. Never was. So I came home to help out.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” And I was. Even though I was thrilled to see him, he was someone who’d had a chance at a better life. And here he was, trapped in Kingdom against his will, his dreams left unfulfilled.
He chuckled, a deep throaty sound that made my face feel warm. “I was glad to come home, Lizzie. You may find this hard to believe, but I never wanted to leave Kingdom in the first place. That was my father’s plan, not mine. I happen to love it here.”
If seeing Noah again hadn’t been enough of a jolt to my system, hearing him say he actually wanted to live in this small backward town certainly completed my sense of disorientation.
“I don’t understand.”
He nodded slowly. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. I heard that this town wasn’t kind to you. But I believe those attitudes can change, and I’m determined to make that happen.” He smiled shyly. “My brother and I were recently asked to accept eldership positions at church, and we’re both working hard to bring a new spirit to Kingdom.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, your father doesn’t understand. He believes our goal is to destroy what he and others have tried so hard to build.” He gazed down at his hat, turning it round and round in his long fingers. “I won’t say anything bad about your father, though. He’s a good man who sees things in a different light than I do. I’m just sorry he dislikes me so much.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say, Noah.” I looked at my daughter, who was talking softly to The Princess. I swung my gaze back to Noah. “I truly hope you can make a difference here. This town has been a bastion of rules and regulations all my life. And God help those of us who prove too weak to measure up to the standard.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, Lizzie. Sorry for your pain, and sorry that I wasn’t there for you. If I’d only known . . .”
I tried to pull up a smile. “You had your own life to live. Fighting my battles was never your job, even though you seemed to think it was.”
His eyes sought mine. “I liked fighting your battles,” he said softly. “And I never forgot about you. When I came home and found out you were gone, I tried to find you. But no one here knew where you were.”
I nodded. “I didn’t tell anyone.” I glanced over at Charity, who was still busy with her doll. I couldn’t tell Noah I’d left town because of her. If she overheard me and understood, it would hurt her and devastate me.
Noah followed my gaze and seemed to understand. He quickly changed the subject. “So you’re here visiting your parents?” he asked.
I didn’t answer right away, trying to figure how to tell him we were here for more than a visit without going into details.
“I’m sorry. It’s not my business . . .”
“Oh no. It’s not that. I’m afraid there’s no simple answer, Noah. Maybe one of these days when you have time, I’ll tell you all about it.”
He smiled at Charity, who had forgotten her doll and was now gawking at him with her mouth hanging open. I felt a rush of embarrassment.
“I’d like that, Lizzie. Maybe we could get together sometime soon?”
I nodded, trying to quell the nervous fluttering of anxious butterflies in my stomach. “Sure. That sounds good.”
“Well, I’d better get back to the house. My mother will have dinner waiting.”
I frowned at him. “If your mother’s making dinner, what are you doing here?”
He laughed. “Cora makes the best apple pie I’ve ever tasted. I could never tell my mother that, so I sneak in here a couple times a week and order a piece. You just happened to catch me.”
I grinned at him. “I won’t tell. I promise.”
“Thank you.” He put his hat back on his head and said good-bye to Charity, who continued to stare at him with wide eyes. She didn’t say anything in response to his gesture.
I started to chastise my daughter for being rude, but before I could get a word out, she took a deep breath, turned toward me and said, “Mama, this man looks just like Prince Phillip . . . from Sleeping Beauty.” She fastened her gaze back on Noah, staring at him with an expression that bordered on adoration. “Are you Prince Phillip? My mama has been waiting for you such a long, long time.”