Bradleyville

Jase

One good thing about not owning lots of stuff was that it didn’t take too long to get organized. Shortly before noon on his second day in Bradleyville, Jase flattened the last of the emptied boxes and plopped it on the stack by the door. As soon as he carried the tower of cardboard down the stairs to a recycling dumpster, the open-concept kitchen, dining, and living area of his apartment would be as neat as a pin. The way he liked it.

When Brother Tony told him the church would provide his living quarters, Jase didn’t know what to expect. Yesterday after lunch when he’d followed Brother Kraft up the set of outside stairs to the second-floor landing, he’d mentally prepared himself for disappointment. How nice could a place be if it was part of a garage? But the paint, carpet, and tile were so recently updated that the “new” scent still lingered. All in all, it was much brighter and fresher than his old townhome. Despite its size—less than half the space he’d had in San Antonio—he found a place for everything he’d brought with him. If any youth group kids or parents wanted a tour, he wouldn’t be embarrassed to let them in.

Jase still had to organize his dresser drawers and closet. A person shouldn’t live out of suitcases for more than a day or two. Sure, the rest of the place looked neat, but not until his clothes were put away would it really feel like home. He’d used the same measuring stick when he was a boy, bouncing from foster home to foster home. Except back then he’d carried everything in a black garbage bag. Still, if he got to unpack, he knew he’d stay. At least for a while. His urgency to get fully settled battled against his resistance to adopt Bradleyville as his new home, making his insides twitch.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had organized the kitchen cabinets instead of eating breakfast. Bless Leah Kraft’s heart, she’d fully stocked his fridge with milk, apples and oranges, assorted lunch meats and cheeses, plus a half dozen whipped topping and butter tubs containing leftovers from her own kitchen. She’d even loaded the door with basic condiments. The Krafts were good people—thoughtful, generous. He already liked them a lot.

He selected a tub and peeled back the lid. A single slice of meatloaf and a lump of mashed potatoes waited inside. Perfect. He bumped the fridge door closed with his hip, took a half step to the mini microwave on the counter, slid the container in, and pushed Start. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he knew how to operate such a simple appliance. When the thing gave a tinny ding!, he transferred the steaming food to a plate, then sat at the little table tucked against the pony wall separating his kitchen from his living room. He folded his hands and bowed his head.

“Dear Lord…” A lump filled his throat. Why was praying so hard these days? He used to talk to God as easily as if they were seated across a table from each other. Now even thanking Him for a meal left him tongue-tied and empty worded. Maybe even empty hearted. And he was going to lead young people?

Suddenly the food didn’t hold the same appeal. He scraped it back into its tub and returned it to the refrigerator. As he rinsed his plate, someone knocked on the door. He glanced at the clock hanging on the soffit above the sink. One o’clock already—the time he and Brother Kraft had agreed upon to turn in the U-Haul and then do some car shopping.

Jase put the plate in the sink, grabbed the towel he’d draped over the oven door handle, and hurried to the door. He opened it and gestured the minister inside while drying his hands. “I lost track of time. Let me get my jacket, and—”

Brother Kraft whistled through his teeth, his gaze roaming the room. “Look at this place.” He scuffed across the freshly vacuumed carpet and touched the frame of the Spurs poster Jase had hung dead center above his faded brown leather sofa. “Decor items up and everything. It looks like you’ve been here for weeks already.”

Jase folded the towel and lay it over the pony wall. Then he snagged his jacket from a hook behind the door and shrugged it on. “I think better when I’m not in the middle of a mess.” He wasn’t as obsessive about neatness as he’d once been, but he’d probably never completely recover from the total disarray in his earliest memories. He’d probably never forget the piles of garbage and clutter that accompanied his mother’s mental illness and led to his removal by the state. Rachel had understood his need for order and hadn’t ever made fun of him the way his college roommates had. He’d found his soul mate. And now she was gone.

He pushed aside thoughts of mess and of Rachel. This was his new chapter, remember? “Besides, I figured some parents might want to come up, see where I live, since their kids will probably hang out here some.”

Brother Kraft turned and faced Jase, his expression solemn. “If you did all this work for that reason, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you…all gatherings with the kids will take place at the church. In this day and age, having kids to your apartment?” He brushed his toe against the nap of the carpet, pushing the shaggy strands the wrong way. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you. You were given a glowing recommendation by someone I hold in respect, so it isn’t personal. We just have to take extra precautions.”

Jase understood. During his tour of the church building yesterday, he’d determined there was plenty of room in the fellowship hall for activities, and even the smaller room designated for the youth was adequate for Bible study and small-group meetings. In all honesty, he didn’t mind keeping his apartment his private domain.

He smiled. “No worries. I wouldn’t want to open the door to any kind of scandal or ill conjectures toward Beech Street Bible Fellowship. Or you, by default. I’ll plan to hold all our activities at the church.”

“Good.” A breath of relief eased from the preacher’s mouth. He picked up a short stack of flattened boxes and opened the door. “Let’s get these things cleared out so you won’t have to trip over them, and then we’ll head into the city. I told Ronnie to expect us at his dealership around two. He’s got a couple of cars picked out for you to give the once-over. I’ll take my car, you drive the U-Haul, and I’ll lead the way.”

Jase scooped up an armful of cardboard. “Sounds good. I’ll follow.”

“I’ll follow.” Isn’t that what he’d said the night at church when he went forward with Rachel and committed himself to becoming a church planter? And look where God had led. He hoped Brother Kraft would prove more trustworthy than God was.

Wichita

Kenzie

Kenzie plopped the last bag of clothes in the middle of her living room floor. Six trash bags meant two trips each for her, Lori, and Ruby. The pile astounded her, and her mind spun, imagining the stack of rugs that would grow from this generous donation. She put her hands on her hips and heaved out a mighty “Wow.”

“ ‘Wow’ is right.” Lori sagged onto Kenzie’s floral love seat, reminding Kenzie of the way Caleb collapsed on the lawn after a long day of playing. “Girl, you really need to live in a first-floor apartment. Or bug the landlord to put in an elevator. Carrying those things up the flight of stairs did me in.”

Ruby shook her finger at Lori. “I’m more than double your age, and you don’t hear me complaining.”

Lori rolled her eyes, snickering. “Yeah, well, you boomers have a stronger constitution than us spoiled millennials.”

“You got that right.”

Kenzie grinned at her boss and coworker. Although she never participated in the teasing sparring matches that played out between them, she enjoyed spectating. “I appreciate your help bringing it all up. And, Ruby, I’ve decided to write an anonymous thank-you note to your Texas sister. May I put the store’s address on the envelope for the sender instead of mine?”

Ruby shrugged and headed for the door. “That’d be fine. In one of those bags is an envelope with a note from her. If her address isn’t written in it somewhere, let me know and I’ll get it to you.”

“Thanks.”

“And for now…” Ruby opened the door with a flamboyant gesture. “I’m outta here. Strong constitution or not, I’m pooped.”

Lori and Kenzie waved goodbye. Then Lori slid from the couch and sat cross legged on the floor. She began untying a bag’s plastic strings. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

Kenzie reached for the ties on the bag closest to her. “What’s that?”

Lori gestured toward the kitchen. “I’ve helped you often enough to know how to categorize by color and type of fabric. Fix us some sandwiches and then bake a pan of brownies while I organize these clothes into stacks.”

Kenzie raised her eyebrows. “You really think a couple of sandwiches and a pan of brownies is a fair exchange for…” She flapped her hands at the mountain of bags.

Lori laughed. “You underestimate the scrumptiousness of your brownies. Honestly, Kenz, I’ve never had richer, fudgier, more chocolatey brownies than yours. You could patent the recipe.” She dug into the first bag. “What’s your secret?”

Kenzie hunched her shoulders. “If I tell, then it won’t be a secret anymore.”

Lori gaped at Kenzie for several seconds and then hooted with laughter. “Did you just joke with me?”

Kenzie blinked several times, replaying her last comment. She tapped her chin with her finger, the way Ruby often did when she was thinking. “Um…did I?”

Lori laughed harder.

Kenzie couldn’t help but smile, even though she hadn’t intended to make a joke. She’d learned the brownie recipe from her mother, who learned it from her mother. Kenzie intended to pass it on to her daughter. If she ever had a daughter, which became less likely with each birthday that slipped by. How could she be twenty-eight already and still unmarried? If she’d joined the Amish church instead of moving to Indianapolis after her rumspringe, would she have a husband and children by now? Most likely. But would she be any happier than she was now? There was no way to know for sure, but she doubted it anyway.

She loved her family and missed them more than she knew how to express. Yet when she remembered living under the strict rules of their sect—rules that were supposed to give her the assurance of righteousness—her stomach churned. She’d been a good girl. Always a good girl. But not until her rumspringe, when she met a group of college kids doing a mission project in the city, did she learn about grace. Accepting the grace made possible by Jesus’s death at Calvary had swallowed the feelings she’d always had about not being good enough for the almighty God. She wasn’t good enough. Not nearly good enough. But thanks to grace, her position as God’s child was secure. As much as she loved her family, she could never go back to the system of hoping to earn her right to heaven.

Lori flicked her fingers at Kenzie. “Scoot. Go. Sandwiches first. Chicken salad, if you have any left. It was delish yesterday.” Still chuckling, she peeled back the black plastic and removed a blue plaid shirt. “Then…secret-recipe brownies.”

Standing, Kenzie kicked off her tennis shoes and left them beside the front door. Then, stocking footed, she padded to her compact kitchen. In her first apartment in Indianapolis, she’d nearly climbed the walls of her little kitchen, it was so tight compared to Mamm’s spacious kitchen in their farmhouse. But a decade of functioning in a small space had eliminated the cramped feeling. Now, since she only cooked for herself, she appreciated having what she needed close at hand. If she got married and had a family, though, she’d want a kitchen more like Mamm’s.

Funny how her “when” thoughts about marriage had changed to “if” thoughts. And how silly to think about it at all, considering there wasn’t a single prospect for matrimony on her horizon. Technically, she was now an Englischer, but somehow the men her age still saw her as set apart. Lori often teased that one could take the girl from the Amish but not take the Amish from the girl. Maybe Lori was right. Being alone wasn’t so bad, though. If she were married and had children underfoot, she wouldn’t be able to weave. Maybe God wanted her to be a weaver instead of a wife and mother. She could be content with His desire for her. He’d done so much for her. Should she complain about serving Him?

She spread the last of the chicken salad on slices of bread, cut the sandwiches in half, and arranged them on plates. The sandwiches looked sad all alone on her secondhand denim-blue stoneware, so she added a handful of chips and a dill pickle spear. Simple fare, especially for an evening meal, but Lori had confided she never cooked—unheard of from Kenzie’s point of view—so she cheerfully consumed anything homemade.

Kenzie put the plates on the table and peeked around the corner. The sofa already held several stacks of neatly coordinated items. Lori was definitely earning her sandwich. Even though Kenzie knew Lori wanted the brownies to take to church, Kenzie vowed to bake a batch that was all for Lori tonight. She’d bake another pan for the church get-together on Saturday so they’d be fresh.

“Lori? Supper’s ready.”

Lori jumped up so fast, her springy curls bounced. She screeched the chair legs on the linoleum floor and sat, then folded her hands. Kenzie sat, too, and imitated Lori’s gesture. They both bowed their heads. Kenzie silently recited the Lord’s Prayer. When she lifted her head, Lori was looking at her. And frowning.

Kenzie glanced at the food. “Is something wrong? Oh—I forgot drinks.” She stood and headed for the refrigerator. “Milk or water?”

“Water, please. Thanks.”

Kenzie pulled out two water bottles from the fridge and returned to the table. She set one in front of Lori and slid onto her chair’s vinyl seat.

Lori tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “Can I ask you something?”

Kenzie shrugged. “Sure.”

“How come you don’t pray out loud?”

Kenzie picked up one of the sandwich halves and bit off the corner. “I was taught prayer is private. It’s boastful to let others hear what you say to God.”

Lori continued to frown across the table. “So…you never pray out loud?” She took a big bite of her sandwich and followed it with a chip.

Only one time had Kenzie prayed aloud, when she was seven years old. Mamm was laboring to deliver her seventh child, and Kenzie—or, more accurately, Mackenzie—had climbed into the barn loft, the closest spot to heaven she could reach. She’d opened the vent window and yelled her desire to the blue sky, fully aware that all her brothers from the oldest, Timothy, to the youngest, Caleb, were also in the barn and would hear every word.

Her childish voice rang in her memory. “Dear God, let my baby sister be born fast and healthy!”

Mamm’s labor continued for another nineteen hours before the newest brother finally arrived. The midwife declared him healthy, but Seth was never as robust as the other Hochstetler boys, and he succumbed to a fever when he was not quite eight years old. After the long, difficult labor and delivery, Mamm never conceived another child. Although Kenzie’s minister had assured her God’s sovereignty had already determined the course of Seth’s life, Kenzie would never stop wondering if his condition was her punishment for making bold demands from the barn loft. She wouldn’t risk it again.

Kenzie shook her head.

“Do you think you ever will?” Lori tapped the edge of the plate with her pickle, turning a thoughtful look on Kenzie. “I mean, you’ve left a lot of your Amish behind—you don’t cover your hair, you wear modern clothes and use modern technologies.” She grinned impishly. “Well, sort of. Seriously, Kenz, skirts all the time, and no TV?” She pointed at Kenzie with the pickle spear. “It’d be okay to totally unbend, you know.”

Kenzie laughed. “I totally unbent during my running-around period, believe me.” She hadn’t gone as wild as some of her friends, but she’d sampled enough of life’s temptations to know what she was missing by living more conservatively. “Wearing skirts and not having a TV have nothing to do with how I was raised. I’m more comfortable in skirts than in blue jeans, and I can’t afford cable.”

“Makes sense.” Lori didn’t sound convinced.

Kenzie waved her hand toward the living room. “Stop and think…if I had a television in there, would I be lazy and watch it after work instead of using my loom?”

“No.” Lori shook her head. “No.”

Kenzie gave her friend a rueful smile. “That’s kind, but sometimes I think your opinion of me is higher than it should be. I’m not perfect.”

Lori rolled her eyes and laughed. “Did I ever say I thought you were perfect? Nuh-uh.” She bit into her pickle, still grinning. “But you’re dedicated. You’re what I’d call an old soul. Earning money to send to missionaries is too important to you to set it aside for a little TV watching, so your loom will always come first. Am I right?”

Kenzie lowered her head, trying to hide the warmth flooding her cheeks. “You’re right.” If the mission team in Indianapolis hadn’t shared the good news of Jesus with her, she’d still be lost in a pit of insecurity and worthlessness. No one should spend her life so entangled. As she wove, she always prayed for the lost—including her daed and mamm, her brothers and their families, and those living in her former community. She’d weave rugs until she was too old to thread the warp, even if she could afford cable.

“Thought so.” Lori sounded smug.

Kenzie glanced at her friend. A grin curved Lori’s full lips and brought out her dimples. Kenzie shook her head, smiling. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

Lori laughed. “I’ve been told that before.” For a moment, her expression clouded, but her grin returned so quickly Kenzie wondered if she’d imagined it. “Let’s hurry and eat so I can get back to sorting and you can get the brownies baked, okay?”

Kenzie picked up her sandwich. “Okay.”

Lori stayed until past ten and organized all but the last bag of clothes. She squealed in delight when Kenzie presented her with her very own pan of brownies, and she gave Kenzie a hug that stole the breath from her lungs.

After Lori left, Kenzie cleaned up the kitchen while her radio crackled out tunes broadcasted by a contemporary Christian music station. With everything restored to order, she started for her bedroom, intending to put on her pajamas and ready herself for bed. But as she passed the living room, the lone stuffed bag seemed to beg to be emptied. She changed direction and dropped to her knees next to the bag. The ties already dangled, loose, so she tugged the opening wide and emptied the entire contents. All men’s trousers and blue jeans. What a wonderful gift.

She used any donated fabric that could hold together, but the heavier fabrics made the sturdiest and, therefore, the most desirable rugs. She sorted the pants into stacks by color, her hands moving so deftly and instinctively she didn’t even have to think about where to place them. When she finished, she picked up the crumpled bag, folded it, and put it with the others near her front door. She’d take them to work. They were still usable. Waste not, want not, Grossmammi always said.

She returned to the stacks and picked up the pile of gray-toned items. As she laid them on the stack Lori had sorted, she felt something hard. Often she found loose change or other small items, from petrified wads of chewing gum to packages of dental floss, in the pockets of donated pants. Making sure the pockets were empty before she applied her scissors was part of her routine. She pulled the pair of trousers from the pile and let them unfold. Then she reached into the pocket. Her fingers encountered something round, but it didn’t feel like a coin.

Frowning, she pulled the item free. She held it to the light and gasped. She dropped the pants, and they puddled on the floor at her feet. She gaped at a single diamond attached by four prongs to a wide band. She pinched it between her fingers and tilted it, watching the light bounce from the stone’s facets. Was it real? One of the older women from work, Van, wore a cubic zirconia solitaire necklace to church every Sunday. The man-made stone looked so real that if Van hadn’t confessed it was an imitation, Kenzie would never have known.

Maybe this ring also wasn’t as valuable as it appeared. She angled the band and looked at its underside. Another gasp left her throat. A tiny stamp reading 14K indicated this wasn’t a cheap gold-plated band. An engraving in a flowing script hinted at a story Kenzie longed to uncover.

She read the words aloud. “ ‘From this moment into eternity.’ ” She hadn’t intended to whisper, but her voice emerged low and husky, almost with reverence. She stared at the ring until the words wavered. She blinked several times, then stared at it again. She was holding someone’s wedding ring. It was too small and delicate to be a man’s ring. Yet it had come from the pocket of a man’s pair of trousers.

Her pulse pounded so loud in her ears that it muffled the song playing on the radio. If this was a real gold-and-diamond ring—and it certainly seemed to be—she needed to return it to its owner. Ruby had said her sister had been collecting clothing items for months. Would she remember who’d donated this particular pair of pants? She’d talk to Ruby on Sunday after church. In the meantime, she’d better find a safe place to keep the ring.