I woke up Sunday morning when something soft brushed my cheek. My eyelids felt as if they weighed a pound each. I started to drift off again when I heard my daughter’s voice.
“Mama, we’re in a very strange place.”
That got my attention, and I struggled to sit up. Charity leaned over the edge of my bed. She touched my cheek again.
“Are you up yet, Mama?”
“I am now,” I said with a smile. “Why don’t you change your clothes and let me try to wake up a bit more?”
She scooted out of the room while I attempted to find the willpower to put my feet on the floor. The bed Cora had prepared for me was so comfortable I didn’t want to leave it.
The four rooms above the restaurant were in surprisingly good shape. Cora had explained that the building had been a hotel when Mason City was in its prime. And before Cora put in a restaurant, it had been used to store farm equipment and horse supplies. Avery Menninger, who ran the Saddle and Tack, purchased it and allowed other residents to use it for storage.
When Cora presented him with the idea of starting a restaurant, he moved his and everyone else’s things out. Avery, who’d never been much of a fan of my father or his friends, bravely went against the wishes of the church elders. Not long after Cora had stood in our kitchen, asking my father for his blessing, I overheard Avery tell James Hostettler, a local farmer, that it gave him a great deal of satisfaction to put a “burr under Elder Engel’s saddle.”
Avery, James, and several other men in Kingdom repaired, painted, and installed kitchen equipment for Cora. The rooms upstairs had also been cleaned up, but that was ten years ago. Now the wood floors needed to be polished, and the walls would certainly benefit from some fresh paint. But all in all, the entire area looked to be in better shape than I’d hoped for.
Last night, Cora pulled out the cot she’d stored in a closet and put fresh sheets on both it and the bed. After showing Charity and me around, she declared, “I only need one storeroom. That will not only give you and Charity your own bedrooms, it will also provide you with a living room. The kitchen downstairs is yours, as is the main bathroom. And there’s a shower in the basement along with another small bathroom. Right now our electricity is run by a good-sized generator, but we got word that the electric company will reach Kingdom in the spring. Anyone who wants electricity can have it. I intend to be the first in line.”
I was surprised that the electric company even knew Kingdom existed. Cora didn’t elaborate, but I was fairly sure she was behind the move of modern technology to the small Mennonite town.
As I pushed myself out of bed, I couldn’t help but think about Cora’s incredible offer. Our own bedrooms, a living room, a fully stocked kitchen, and an indoor toilet. What else did we need?
Coming to Kingdom had been a journey made out of fear, yet I was beginning to think it might work out on a long-term basis. Reba and her cohorts would never find me in Kingdom, nor would the man who had stalked us in Kansas City. Charity and I were finally safe.
I sat on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands. I’d have to give the situation some time to see how it worked out, but at that moment I didn’t want to think about what might happen tomorrow. At least for now we were out of harm’s way, and that felt wonderful. Today, Kansas City felt a million miles away.
I checked my watch. It was just now nine o’clock. As if on cue, the big bell in the church began to ring. Most of Kingdom’s faithful would be finding their seats in the building’s large meeting room. Although some churches would call that room their sanctuary, the term had been rejected by the elders as too worldly. As far as I was concerned, it was a good choice, since under the direction of my father, the church had never felt like a safe haven anyway.
Cora, who lived in a small one-bedroom house a couple of blocks from the restaurant, planned to meet us at the café sometime around noon. That gave me time to unpack and poke around a bit. Last night I’d brought our suitcases in from the car and tossed them on the floor, too tired to unpack. Cora had asked me to pull the car around back and park it in an empty shed so it wouldn’t take up space in front of the café. It had taken several attempts to get it started. After the engine finally turned over, it belched and wheezed all the way to what I fear might end up being its final resting place.
I unzipped our suitcases so Charity and I could begin to sort our things and find a place to put them. There was a small dresser in the room I’d slept in, so we put what we could in it. I was delighted to find quite a few hangers in the closet, since I hadn’t thought to bring any. They’d probably been left behind by Cora’s sister. I wondered what would happen if she decided to come for another visit. Would we have to leave? I gazed around the apartment, reminding myself that the arrangement could be temporary. Maybe it wouldn’t pay to get too comfortable.
Charity and I gathered our clean clothes and headed downstairs. A look out the window revealed several inches of snow on the ground. Although the wind still gusted, the sky was clear. There was absolutely nothing moving outside. The little town looked deserted. However, the deep ruts on the streets made it clear that many members of Kingdom’s Mennonite church had climbed into their buggies and made the frigid trip to Sunday meeting.
Charity and I climbed down a narrow set of stairs that could only be accessed through the kitchen. They led us to the basement, where a metal shower stall had been installed in one corner. Charity and I took turns showering. It took a while for the water to heat up, so it was challenging at first. But all in all, the experience wasn’t too bad. When I was a child in Kingdom, bathing meant waiting for water to be heated up on the stove before it was poured into a large tub in the middle of the kitchen floor. Most of my friends took baths only once a week, but my mother made me bathe twice a week. Discovering showers after I got to Kansas City was a revelation and a joy.
After washing, we went upstairs for breakfast. A previous tour of the kitchen had availed me of all the pertinent information I needed to whip up a meal. Within thirty minutes Charity and I were eating scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. I brewed coffee for me and poured milk for my daughter.
“I never had breakfast in a restaurant, Mama,” Charity said. “But I like it.”
I smiled at her. “I like it too, honey.”
She turned her head sideways and gazed at me with a puzzled look. “Do we live here now?”
I stuck a forkful of eggs in my mouth to give me a moment to frame an answer. Then I swallowed and put my fork down. “I don’t know, Cherry Bear. We’ll probably stay here for now. How do you feel about that?”
She pondered my question for a few seconds before answering. “Well . . .” she said finally, drawing out the word. “I like Grandma very much, even though I don’t like her potty. Not one little bit.” She scrunched up her face to show her displeasure. Then she relaxed her expression into something more amenable. “But I do like her butter cookies. She hugs me too hard, but that’s okay.” She took a deep breath as she considered the rest of her answer. “I’m not sure about the funny way some people dress here,” she said, “but I love all the horses. And I like this restaurant—and Miss Cora. She’s a really nice lady. And I really, really, really like our rooms upstairs.”
The look on her face suddenly turned serious. “There’s nobody next door like in our other apartment. Sometimes they said bad things to me if I bounced my ball in the hallway. I’m glad no one’s mad at me here.”
I chuckled. “Well, you won’t be able to bounce your ball in the restaurant when it’s open, you know. And you’ll have to find a way to keep yourself busy while I’m working.”
“Miss Cora said I could help her. She’s gonna give me a whole quarter a day.” She searched my face to see if I was impressed. I tried to look properly amazed.
“When did you start calling her Miss Cora?” I asked.
Her brow furrowed with the gravity of her explanation. “Well, she is like your boss, and you told me to call your other boss Miss Sylvia. So I decided it was the right name for her.” She raised her eyebrows. “Is that wrong?”
I shook my head. “Absolutely not. I think she looks just like a Miss Cora. Don’t you?”
She giggled. “Yes, she does. I think we’ll be very good friends.”
“I do too, honey.”
“Mama?”
“Yes,” I said, chomping on a piece of bacon.
“If you start working here, do you have to dress funny like some of the other ladies?”
“You mean in long dresses?”
She nodded slowly. “And funny hats.”
I shook my head. “Miss Cora told me I can wear whatever I want, so I’ll just wear jeans and a nice blouse or sweater. And my comfortable shoes.”
She thought for a moment. “What about an apron like Miss Cora?”
I laughed. “Yes, I forgot about the apron. I’ll have one of those too.”
“Good. I like them. They look cool.”
I winked at her. “They are cool, aren’t they?” I found it funny that my modern daughter liked aprons.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
“Where is the TV? I’d like to watch cartoons now.”
I swallowed hard. This should prove to be interesting. I explained to her that the TV was still in the car. I’d bring it in, but there might not be any TV channels available in Kingdom. However, I quickly reassured her that the DVD player would still work, and she would be able to watch all her movies. I had to explain the concept more than once, since in Charity’s mind, anytime a TV is plugged in, shows just magically appear. But after going around several times about airwaves and cables, she finally decided that as long as she could watch her DVDs, Kingdom was still a good place to be. Our TV only got three channels in Kansas City anyway, so it wasn’t really a big loss.
We cleaned our dishes and headed back upstairs. I’d gotten a broom and dustpan from the kitchen, along with some disinfectant and clean cloths. By the time Cora arrived, we had everything pretty well straightened up. I put out some of my pictures and a few knickknacks from home. And in the storage room we found a large wooden box that could serve as a toy box for Charity. Since it was empty and shoved in a corner, I hoped Cora would be okay with it. And she was.
“My, it’s beginnin’ to look pretty good up here,” she said when she came up the stairs. “I have a few things in my car that should help. Why don’t you two help me carry them in?”
We made several trips to bring in some colorful rugs, a couple of quilts, and a small mahogany bookshelf.
“Cora, this is wonderful. Perfect for our books. Thank you for letting us use it.”
She waved her hand at me. “I’m not lettin’ you use anything. All this stuff is yours—if you want it.”
I hugged her. “Thank you. I know I keep telling you how much I appreciate what you’re doing for us, but I truly don’t know where we’d be if it wasn’t for you. You’re an absolute angel.”
She blinked her eyes and sniffed. “Don’t remember ever bein’ called an angel before. You’re gonna make me cry if you don’t knock it off.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “I told Avery Menninger about you stayin’ here, and Monday afternoon he plans to bring you some furniture that used to belong to his daughter before she moved away. It’s nice stuff, Lizzie. And there’s a proper bed for Charity.”
She gazed slowly around the room. “Why don’t we clean up these floors today before we move that furniture in? They could sure use some polishin’.” She frowned at the walls. “We don’t have time to paint, but I think if we wiped these walls down really good, we might get them lookin’ a whole lot better.” She grinned at both of us. “Are you girls game?”
We both said yes and spent the rest of the afternoon working to make the upstairs of Cora’s Corner Café a livable space. We were able to fit all the extra items into the storage room. Then we polished the floors, cleaned the walls, and put rugs down. By the time we finished, it was beginning to look like a real home. As we’d moved all the things we couldn’t use out of what would be our living room, we’d uncovered a large wood-burning stove sitting in the corner. It hadn’t been fired up in a while, but it was in great shape and had been properly vented.
“I had that put in about three years ago,” Cora said as we surveyed our handiwork. “I was hopin’ my sister might think about movin’ here, and I wanted to make things nice for her. But she won’t leave Oregon. It’s been her home all her life.”
“Maybe she’ll change her mind someday.”
Cora shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. She has multiple sclerosis, and travelin’ that far is out of the question for her now. It’s only her and me left. We had a brother, but he died a couple of years back, and our folks have been gone for a long time.”
“She’s not married?”
“No, she never did find anyone, but she’s the kind of person who’s happy livin’ alone. Now me, I hate it. I miss my husband every day.”
“You never had children, Cora?”
“We wanted them, but it just never happened. We didn’t let it get us down, though. We had each other, and that was enough.”
Cora and I carried logs from the large woodpile just outside the back door and placed them in a box next to the stove. I love fireplaces and could hardly wait to get some furniture in the room so we could start a fire and enjoy the cozy atmosphere. I also fetched our TV and DVD player from the car. Charity looked relieved to see them. We all went downstairs for dinner, tired but pleased by our efforts.
“You two sit here while I make supper,” Cora said.
“Heavens, no,” I said. “You worked too hard to be waiting on us.”
She laughed. “I’m makin’ some grilled cheese sandwiches and heatin’ up some chicken noodle soup that’s in the refrigerator. Not much work to that. I’ll be back in a flash.”
I gave up and stayed where I was. Sitting down for a while felt good. Within fifteen minutes, we were eating gooey, buttery, grilled cheese sandwiches. Cora’s chicken noodle soup was the best I’d ever had. Much better than the soup from a can Charity was used to. She kept telling Cora how much she loved it. I was pleased that she enjoyed it, but I also felt a little guilty about not making more meals from scratch for my daughter. Of course, I’d been working a full-time job, studying for my degree, and taking care of Charity without the help of a husband. At the time I believed I had good reasons to cut a few corners, but in the end, the sacrifices I’d made hadn’t paid off. My job was gone, and I had no way to continue my studies. It had all been for nothing.
Cora left around eight o’clock, and Charity and I went upstairs. We sat on the floor and played games for about an hour, and then I put her to bed in her new room. Her toy box was there, along with a beautiful rug and an incredible quilt that Cora had insisted we hang on the wall. A snowman stood in the middle, its stick arms held out to its sides, and a colorful scarf wrapped around its neck. Cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows on top decorated the corners. More marshmallows lined the quilt borders. A big black hat sat on the ground next to the snowman, and next to the hat was a carrot and lumps of coal. It was as if he wasn’t quite finished yet. The whimsical quilt had been crafted by Hope Kauffman, and Charity fell in love with it at first sight. “Look, Mama,” she said dreamily, “it makes me want hot chocolate with marshmallows.”
I kissed her on the nose. “Me too. If you can stay awake a little bit longer, maybe I can make some.”
Her dark eyes grew wide. “Oh, Mama. That would be . . . like magic.”
I had to swallow the lump in my throat. There hadn’t been very many magical moments in Kansas City. Bedtimes were strictly followed because I had to study every night and then get up early to take Charity to school or the baby-sitter. On weekends, I’d spent almost all my spare time in front of the computer. Having hot chocolate together after she was supposed to be in bed was certainly a break in our routine. And as I gazed at my beautiful daughter, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was long past due.
I hurried down to the kitchen and easily found all the ingredients for homemade hot chocolate. A quick search of the pantry revealed a package of marshmallows. In almost no time at all I was carrying two large cups of hot cocoa up the stairs.
Charity had left her bed and was sitting on the floor in what was now our living room watching the snow drift down outside. I stopped for a moment and stared at her with a lump in my throat. She looked so sweet and innocent waiting for me, the glow from a nearby oil lamp highlighting her features. More than anything else, I wanted to capture that moment and keep it in my heart forever.
Finally I sat down next to her, and we watched the snow together, drinking our chocolate. We didn’t talk much, just enjoyed the cozy room and the feeling that, at least for a little while, we were safe and everything was right with our world.
As Charity got back into bed, she smiled at me. “This was a good day, Mama. The best day of my . . .” Those were the last words she said before she drifted off.
I sat next to her, watching her sleep for a while, grateful that Cora had brought a couple of chairs from the restaurant upstairs so we’d have something to sit on. When I left Charity’s room, I pulled the other chair up next to the window where we’d just been. I gazed out on a quiet, snow-covered town, no one stirring, the snow coming down lightly now. The only illumination came from a porch light installed next to the front door of the café. It was hard for me to believe I was back in Kingdom.
As I wondered what the future had in store for us, I soaked in a feeling of peace—something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. But would it stay? Could I trust it? Or would the evil I’d sensed in Kansas City find a way to follow us here?
I left my spot by the window, headed toward my bedroom, and crawled into bed. That night I dreamed I was walking down a road bordered on both sides by bright wildflowers. But I was afraid to pick them, afraid of the deep, dark, and bottomless ravine that lurked somewhere behind their beauty.