LEVINA BLINKED HER EYES A FEW TIMES BEFORE SHE REALIZED that she was in Tillie’s old room. She rolled onto her side and pulled the pink and white quilt up around her neck. Day was breaking, and tiny rays of sunlight shone through the window and onto the foot of the bed. Outside, the rooster crowed good morning and the far-off moo of a cow reminded her that she needed to get up and milk. Then she remembered that Naaman was home to handle that chore.
She threw back the covers, then sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she recalled how long she’d lain in bed last night before sleep finally won out. Today would be a hard day for all of them, but Levina quickly set to praying that it would be a blessed day filled with forgiveness.
Please, Lord, help the children to see their father for the truly wonderful man he is and not just for his actions this past year. Help them to remember that all things are of Your will, even if we don’t always understand Your plan for us at the time. May You bless this day with Your grace and be with us during these trying times.
Levina knew that she needed to heed this prayer as well, to remember the many years Naaman had been a wonderful husband and doting father to their children. She stood up and walked to the closed door of Tillie’s room, then slowly pulled it open. She was surprised to smell bacon. Thirty-one years of marriage, and she’d never known Naaman to cook breakfast. She wasn’t even sure he knew how.
She scurried across the hall and eased the door open. The room was empty, the bed made. Levina breathed a sigh of relief as she walked to the row of pegs on the wall. She pulled down a dark green dress and quickly slipped out of her nightgown, glancing twice over her shoulder as she did so. It wasn’t until she turned back around that she saw a piece of paper on the middle of the bed.
Slowly she eased toward the note and picked it up, then she squinted as she tried to focus. After finding her reading glasses on the nightstand, she read:
MEI DEAREST LEVINA,
I LOVE YOU MORE TODAY THAN I DID YESTERDAY, AND LESS THAN I WILL TOMORROW.
YOUR LOVING HUSBAND, NAAMAN
Levina pushed her glasses up on her nose and read the note again, recalling how Naaman always used to tell her that. She pressed the note to her chest and tried to remember the last time he had said those words.
Her pulse quickened as she crept across the den and into the kitchen, expecting to find him preparing breakfast—or trying to—but the room was empty. However, the table was set and a serving plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast awaited her. He’d set the rhubarb jelly right next to her plate, knowing it was her favorite. In the middle of the table was a glass vase filled with tiger lilies from their flower bed.
She walked to the window and saw Naaman walking into the barn, then she turned back to face the table. She sat down and filled her plate with bacon that was burnt to a crisp, overcooked eggs, and toast that was blackened on both sides. She’d sneak the leftovers to their Irish setter, Hitch, when she was done.
She picked up a piece of bacon with her fingers. As she bit into it, most of it crumbled in her hand, but she thought about what a lovely gesture this breakfast was. She took a few more bites, just to get her through until lunch, then scraped the rest onto a paper plate for Hitch.
After the dog enjoyed the leftovers and the kitchen was clean, Levina headed to the barn. Orange met with the green fields in the distance as the sun climbed upward, and fresh dew slipped between her toes as she strolled across the grass. She pulled the door open and saw that Naaman had just finished milking the cows. Her garden clogs were just inside the barn door, so she eased her feet into the shoes and took a couple of slow steps toward him.
“Where’s Lou-Lou?” He looked up at her as he wiped his hands on his breeches.
Levina walked closer then sighed. “She died last month. I reckon I don’t know what happened.” Levina recalled the day she found the old cow on her side. “Maybe old age?”
“Remember when we named her?”
Levina smiled. “Ya. It was Tillie who called her that when she was young, and it just stuck.”
They were quiet for a few moments, then Naaman walked to his workbench and ran a hand gingerly along the top. “I’ve missed building furniture.”
“Danki for breakfast, Naaman. And for the flowers—and the note.” She bit her lip for a moment, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “But you didn’t have to make breakfast. You know I’ve always done that.”
Naaman hung his head, then looked back up. “It was terrible.”
“Nee, nee . . . it’s not that. I just always—”
He chuckled. “No, Levina. It was awful. I ate as much as I could, and I reckon I hated to even set the table for you, but I thought you might eat a little.”
Levina brought her hand to her mouth.
“I see you laughing.” He pointed a playful finger at her.
“You never could cook, Naaman.” She looked away. “But it was a very nice thing to do.”
Naaman walked closer, until he was right in front of her. “I’m going to make things up to you, Levina, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“If you cook for us, it might be the last thing you do.” She folded her arms across her chest but grinned.
Naaman got a look in his eye that she remembered from times past, a twinkle that always came before he said something very sweet. “I will make it up to you.”
She inched one eyebrow upward. “See to it that you do.” Then she spun around and walked out of the barn.
NAAMAN WATCHED HER WALK TO THE HOUSE. IF HE DIDN’T know better, he’d think she was the same spunky, playful woman he’d married over three decades ago. He couldn’t recall the last time they’d joked like that, or done much of anything that didn’t revolve around hard work and the children. Even though their lives had always included prayer, strong faith, and fellowship, the intimacy between husband and wife had eluded them for a long time.
Naaman thought about his time in Ohio. There’d been no pressure to do much of anything. He’d helped his cousin Levi with chores around the farm, but there was no worry about pleasing anyone else, and he had lots of time to himself.
Levi and Mary had two sons still living at home, both in their rumschpringe. The couple were going through some of the same things Naaman and Levina had experienced when their children were going through their running-around period. Levi was particularly perturbed when sixteen-year-old Ben sneaked into the house late one night, smelling of beer.
Naaman recalled a night like that with Adam. But once all of their kinner were out of the house, there was no one to focus on. Only Levina. And he didn’t know her anymore.
He spent the rest of the morning working in the barn, clearing the cobwebs from his workbench and reorganizing his tools and supplies. Not much was out of order, but it felt good to shuffle around among his own things. Levina brought a ham and cheese sandwich out to the barn when he didn’t come in for dinner, but she didn’t stay. In the afternoon, he repaired a section of fence between the house and the west field.
It was midafternoon when he crossed the yard and headed toward the house. He noticed that there was a fresh coat of white paint on the hundred-year-old structure. He wondered which one of his sons had painted the house while he was away—or had they worked together? There were also two new rocking chairs on the front porch and a variety of potted plants that weren’t there when he left last summer. He eased his way up the porch steps then into the house. He could hear Levina humming in the kitchen, something he never remembered hearing her do before.
She jumped when he walked into the kitchen. “Ach, I didn’t hear you come in.” She went back to chopping potatoes.
Naaman ran his hand the length of his beard and watched her, although the humming had stopped. “I missed you in our bed last night.”
Levina stopped chopping, but she kept her back to him as she spoke. “Did you miss me in your bed for the past eleven months?”
Ouch. “Ya, I did.” It was the truth. He hadn’t slept well while he was away. Nearly every night he’d reached across the bed to drape an arm across Levina, but always awoke to an empty bed to match his empty heart.
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.
Naaman sat down at the kitchen table. “When will all the kin-ner be here?”
“Around five. In time for supper.”
He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Three thirty. “I reckon I’ll go bathe before they arrive.” He paused when she didn’t say anything. “I’m really lookin’ forward to seeing everyone, especially Rosemary’s new little one.” His heart hurt as he thought about his grandchild being born in his absence. He mentally calculated— Adam had four children, Jonathan had three, and Rosemary had given birth to . . . his tenth grandchild—a baby girl they’d named Leah. Soon his two youngest daughters, Freda and Tillie, would be adding to that number, he reckoned. “It will be gut for us all to be together,” he added as he stood up from the table.
“I laid out some fresh towels for you, ones that came off the line today.” Levina poured the chopped potatoes from the cutting board into a pot on the stove.
“Danki.”
Levina knew how much he liked towels fresh from the line. It was a nice gesture for her to put some out for him. But not uncommon, he realized, wondering if he’d made a point to thank her in the past.
LEVINA ADDED WATER TO THE POT OF POTATOES, LIT THE GAS burner, then checked on the pot roast in the oven.
She turned around, leaned against the counter, and sighed. Perhaps she should have told Naaman that they wouldn’t all be together today. Levina had pleaded with Adam, but he wouldn’t budge.
“He is not mei daed,” Adam had said firmly.
When Levina tried to remind her son about forgiveness, Adam said his father should have thought about his actions before he abandoned his family. “I have shunned him.”
“You can’t make that decision, Adam,” she’d told him. “That is for the bishop and elders to decide.”
But Adam had refused to listen.